From Papa and the other hunters, Alika had learned a lot about nanuk, the royalty of the Arctic. The bears lived much of the year on the sea ice and gave birth to their cubs in snowdrift dens on land. As well as respecting the bears, all Inuit were afraid of them.
Over the years, Alika had seen a few lumbering along the floe edges in the distance. He had run, fearing they'd scent him. Outside his family's dwelling, buried in snow much of the year, were five honored skulls of bears his papa had killed. The skulls warned other roaming bears not to intrude. So the boys had grown up with reminders of nanuk.
Alika knew that with its thick fur, huge paws, small ears, and stubby tail, a bear could weigh up to fifteen hundred kabloona pounds. They were once brown in color, legend said, but became white to blend in with the snow and ice. They dated back millions of winters, Alika had heard.
Alika and Sulu liked the old stories about nanuk best, particularly the ones passed down from the illupiruq, the great-grandparents. The boys asked the same things over and over. Papa answered each time as if the questions were new. Mama often nodded.
When the hunters of Nunatak gathered together in the long darkness, Alika and Sulu listened with the other villagers. The stories were often about nanuk and the old times when the people speared the great white nomad, the times before guns. They always spoke of nanuk with reverence. When they killed nanuk, they asked for forgiveness. When they escaped his wrath and were not eaten alive, they thanked him.
Old Sipsu said, "A hungry bear kept me inside my hunting iglu for five days until I used my knife to dig out the back of it. The bear chased me and took off part of my leg and was ready to chew the rest of me until I stabbed his nose. My mama made a clean cut of my stump and my papa made a crutch to replace the part that nanuk had eaten."
Old Arutaq laughed when he talked about outrunning bears, but everyone knew he had been paralyzed the one time nanuk had surprised him at a seal hole. He'd jammed his spear into the bear's black nose and taken off across the floe. Sulu had laughed long about that, imagining what bowlegged Arutaq had looked like running away.
Then Appa told of being out in his kayak, trying to spear a beluga whale, when nanuk swam up from behind, more interested in him than the whale.
There were many stories like these passed down by the brave men who hunted nanuk with spears and dogs on open ice.
As Alika and Sulu lay together on their sleeping platform in the dark, Sulu said, "Tell me all the old stories again."
Alika said, "Well, animals ruled the lands everywhere, thousands and thousands of winters ago, well before the first two-legged hunter was born. Caribou and musk oxen were ten feet tall back then. Other animals were even larger than icebergs, with tails twenty feet long."
"Where are they now?" Sulu asked.
"They've been dead a long, long, long time."
"How long?" Sulu asked.
"I don't know," Alika answered. "But as time went by, nanuk became smaller, as did the caribou and the musk oxen, the size we have today."
Sulu said, "Why don't the caribou and musk oxen have souls like bears?"
"I think they do," said Alika. "Maybe Inu knows for sure. But I do know about the souls of bears. Papa always made certain that the souls of the ones he killed were satisfied and went to nanuk heaven. He smeared caribou fat on their mouths and hung his lance over their heads for five days. He would not kill another bear for many months, and that satisfied their souls."
Both Alika and Sulu knew about Papa's fight with one bear before they were born. He had been gone three days and came home with the nanuk carcass on his sledge and with frightful wounds on his back. They'd seen his scars. He'd shared the bear meat with the whole village.
Sulu said, "Is it true what Inu has said, that bears can hear us talk?"
"I think so," Alika answered. Inu would not say what wasn't true.
"After they are dead, can they hear us talk?"
"Their souls can. They never really die," Alika said.
Sulu said, "When Papa killed his last bear, he put its skull over in a corner and Mama decorated it with beads. Why?"
"To make its spirit happy. Inu said to always do that."
Sulu asked, "How does Inu know so much about the spirits of the bears?"
"Because Inu has been to bear country on the other side of the moon. Like I said, the soul of the bear, the tornaq, does not die with the body," Alika said.
Sulu asked, "Do you think nanuk is part human?"
"It is said that when the bears are in their own houses, they are naked like us, but they put their hides back on when they go outside."
Sulu asked, "Is it true that long ago nanuk took turns being human and even married humans?"
Alika nodded. "They are much like us. As you know, they can stand on their hind legs, sit down or lean against a hummock. You know the skinned carcass of the bear resembles our bodies. Think about that, Sulu."
Sulu asked, "Is there any time of the year when nanuk is more dangerous?"
Alika replied, "It all depends on the food supply. One time before you were born, the seals just disappeared. No one knows why they swam away, but the bears were starving and so were we. Then some of the bears came to our village, and Papa stood guard and shot them. It was their survival or ours."
Sulu asked, "What makes the bear so dangerous?"
"Papa said that the thin bear is always more dangerous than the fat bear. It is only hunger that causes them to attack humans. I think they are the most dangerous in late summer, when the water is still open and they haven't had many meals. Remember Jimi?"
"Yes."
A bear had come into the village and carried Jimi away. He was ten years old, the same age as Sulu. His remains were found two miles from the dwellings, causing much sorrow as well as fright.
"I hope that doesn't happen to us," Sulu said. "A bear eating me!"
"Papa always told us to stay away from nanuk until we are very experienced hunters. And we must never mistake its speed. It looks slow when it walks along, but an eyeblink will show you just how fast it can run. Suddenly, those jaws that can take an arm off have you by the shoulder. But remember this, Sulu: The bear will let off a slight puff of air before it attacks. If you hear it, shoot. This has happened to Papa a few times. The bear surprised him, and he heard the soft puffs. One time the bear was only five arm-lengths away. Hungry bears will stalk you and come up behind you."
Sulu said, "I will run."
Alika said, "You'd better run very fast."
Sulu yawned.
"Go to sleep now, Sulu."
"I will. Thank you for talking." Then he added, "Someday I'll carve a bear of ivory and give it to you." Papa had three walrus tusks waiting for that day. Teacher Etukak would not permit ivory for a while. Sulu could use only soapstone or wood.
Alika said, "I know it will be beautiful. Now go to sleep."
Newborn bergs can be five hundred feet
high and reach twice as deep underwater. A berg fifty to
a hundred feet high may have swordlike spikes on
its face because of the way it has melted.
7
In the middle of the strait, more than fifty miles below Nunatak, Alika, Sulu, and Jamka stood in front of their new home as they floated slowly along. They were looking up at the mock moons. They had seen these friendly moons many times before, but they still watched them because they'd been told the spirits had planted them up there especially for Inuit eyes.
There were times when the circling moon was visible, but the surrounding small ones were missing. Alika and Sulu wondered where they had gone and why. Inu had once said the small missing moons were asleep below the horizon and would return to be with the moon after they rested.
Soon, Alika and Sulu crawled down the low entrance tunnel, barely two feet high, followed by Jamka. Then Alika placed a block of hard snow in the tunnel to ward off any wind that might come up. Jamka would again nestle between them in the dank chill. The bedding was alread
y on the sleeping platform. Jamka would get the usual prod in the ribs if he snored, which he often did.
Sulu lay silent for a while, then said, "Papa did not rescue us today. Where was he?"
"I'm sure he tried if he thought we were still near home."
Silence again from Sulu, then, "Will we die out here?"
"Not unless I make mistakes."
"What kind of mistakes?"
"Fall off the ice and into the water. Get us mixed up with a bear." It would be easy enough to slip-slide down a hummock and fall in.
"How long will we have to stay out here?" Sulu asked.
Good question! Alika had a choice of two answers: He didn't know how long, or he could suggest they might drift over to Greenland. He chose the latter. Give Sulu some hope.
"I'd like that," Sulu said.
"So would I," said Alika.
Sulu was thoughtful again for a few minutes, then asked, "Why did we leave Grandmother Maani to die?"
Alika was surprised. Where had this question come from?
The family had been hunting toward the mountains last spring. There was snow nearby. Grandmother Maani was very old, and she told them it was her time to go. Then she sat in the middle of a small iglu as the family built it around her, without an entry tunnel. She closed her eyes as the last block was placed, and the family said words to her spirit and then they went on their way. It was Inuit tradition for the elderly to die alone, with no one nearby to interfere with their spirits. The family returned in five full moons to bury her body in rocks. Burial was never in the frozen earth.
Alika said, "That was how she wanted it—one less mouth to feed."
Sulu was silent again, then asked about Nanuki, once more thinking of death.
Nanuki had died of something wrong with his stomach four winters ago. He was wrapped in skins and dragged up a hillside on his sledge. He was then placed in a sitting position in a big rock hole, with his face to the west and all of his personal possessions laid out around him. Sulu had seen the procession, Alika remembered. During the ceremony, the women expressed their sorrow by inserting a small bunch of dried grass into their left nostrils, and the men inserted grass into their right nostrils.
"That's enough thinking about death, Little One."
Jamka had begun to snore again, and Alika poked him.
Sulu asked, "What shall we name our ship of ice?"
"I have no idea," Alika answered. What would his brother think of next? "You decide." Sulu was full of surprises.
"What about Polar Star?"
"Polar Star. That's a good name," said Alika. The spirits would approve.
There was silence for another few minutes. Then Sulu said, "I need to keep talking."
"About what now?"
"Anything. I can't stand this terrible silence." No wind was blowing.
Alika sighed. He shook his head in frustration and tried to think of something else to talk about. Sulu had been on caribou hunts with their parents and other villagers.
Alika blew out an exasperated breath. "Caribou live on our tundra all year. They have round hooves so they can walk more easily on the snow. Some of our caribou go south, swimming rivers after the thaw. Others go up to the tree line to winter. They dig through the snow for plants to feed on."
"Tell me about wolves," Sulu insisted.
Alika said tiredly, "Wolves move with the caribou herds. The caribou know the wolves are there and can do nothing about it. A wolf picks out a single caribou, and the caribou cannot escape. The wolf rushes, leaping at the caribou's neck and tearing it open. The wolf feasts on the raw meat while the caribou herd moves on. Then the ravens feast."
Sulu said, "I've seen it."
"Then you didn't need me to tell about it."
Sulu said, "I know."
The night would never be solid black. Even in the
middle of winter, there was always faint light below the
southern horizon. And each montk there was always
the reflection of the snow, the northern lights, and the
familiar moon shining down to comfort the Inuit.
8
For almost an hour, in the scant midday twilight, Jamka had been sniffing for seal holes at the ice edge. Alika and Sulu followed him thirty or forty feet away. Alika knew the rhythms of the winter seal, which began at the end of summer when the ice was new. As the temperature dropped and the ice thickened, the seal repeated its underwater mining to keep the vertical breathing tunnels open. Finally, the dog found a hole he thought was active. He dug down in a flurry of white until he exposed the small opening.
All Inuit children grew up knowing that without seals, their people could not live in the Arctic. Hunters only killed them for skins and food so they could walk in warmth with a full belly. As it said in an old Inuit poem:
Nuliajuk, great goddess of mankind,
Send us the seals
So that we may have food,
And fat,
And clothing.
Beasts of the sea,
Come offer yourself
In the cold, clear light
Of the morning.
One thing that Alika did not have to worry about was his harpoon. It was believed that seals and other animals resented being killed by shoddy harpoons or spears or knives, and if they were, they told their souls. The souls then warned other animals. But Papa's weapons were works of art that would never cause a seal to resent its death. And Alika always wore a small seal, carved out of wood by Sulu, for a good-luck charm.
He sat on his square of bear hide, wriggling his toes to keep them warm. "I hope the clouds will move east so I can hunt tonight by the moonlight."
Sulu sat on another square nearby. He said, "I dreamt about birds last night."
There was nothing unusual about that, Alika thought.
"First, a raven, over the horizon, caught the smell of that baby walrus the bear killed and went after the remains the bear left, pecking the white fox again and again until it gave up."
Alika laughed. "That's one tough bird." Only the snowy owl was as tough.
"The next dream I had, you were with me. There was a horned lark being chased by a falcon..."
Suddenly the indicator rod jigged, and Jamka stiffened and bent forward. A seal's bullet-shaped head appeared, and Alika drove the harpoon lance into it just below the right eye, grabbing the attached rope with his left hand. The animal struggled in a death dance but could not get away.
Alika yelled in triumph and Jamka howled loudly. Sulu shouted, "You did it, brother!"
Alika sat down in the snow by the fresh kill, exhausted more from the long watch than from the short struggle. He knew he was lucky. Once, when the family was almost starving, Papa had stayed by a hole for nearly forty-eight hours before making a kill.
If this could happen every week, they'd survive. Alika felt good. He said to Sulu, "I'll butcher it now and scrape the skin tomorrow or the next day." He'd watched his mama many times with the ulu, the very sharp woman's knife. Other knives were used to prepare the skin for drying.
Jamka, eyes fastened on the seal carcass, sat a few feet away. He would follow every move until he got some meat.
Wanting Sulu to be involved in everything, to keep his mind occupied, Alika said, "Get the knife for me."
Meanwhile, he rolled the seal onto its back. It was fat and healthy, fully grown. "And get me the freshwater bag." The walrus-intestine bag was wrapped in one of the musk ox hides so it wouldn't freeze. In a gesture to the spirit of the dead seal, Alika poured a little water into its mouth, blessing the animal for the gift of its body.
A few minutes later, holding a front flipper, he cut around at the bottom of it, through a layer of fat down to the meat. Then he did the same thing to the other flipper, the tail flipper, and the head. From the head, he slit the belly to the tail, through the layer of greasy blubber to the stomach, and continued to separate the blubber from the meat, lifting the skin. Finally, he made cuts through to the ribs an
d spine, preserving the all-important skin. It took him longer than it would have taken Mama, but the results were the same.
Jamka was almost drooling, waiting for his share. Of course he'd be rewarded for finding the proper aglus.
"It won't be long," Sulu said happily.
The beat of wings approaching low overhead in the final moments of the noon twilight made them look up as a pair of ravens crossed the sky. Some said the black birds were good luck; others said they were omens of evil.
Sulu shouted, "We'll be rescued!" He was one who believed ravens were good luck.
"Or the wind will blow us ashore," said Alika with joy as the wing beats faded.
The boys took some of the meat into the snowhouse and stored the rest, along with the skin and bones, in the smaller iglu. Then Alika used the bow drill, with a few fingers of dried moss, to start the cooking fire. Jamka preferred his meat raw.
They would boil the meat, along with the heart, stomach, flippers, and head. The intestines would be cleaned of digested food, squeezed out, and washed in freshwater. The liver could be eaten raw or cooked. The blubber would melt into oil. They soon ate.
It had been a successful day, and now it was time to sleep. The odor of the cooked meat lingered in the snowhouse, reminding both Alika and Sulu of their own home and how good life was there with Mama cooking and Papa telling stories, singing the old songs, sometimes beating on the drum.
Jamka was again in the middle on the sleeping platform, a slice of moonlight shining down on them through the window. After a silence, Sulu asked, "What will happen to me if something happens to you?"
Alika said, "Nothing is going to happen to either of us. If the wind blows hard enough, it will push us over to Greenland. We'll go ashore, someone will give us a kayak, and I'll paddle us home."
"Home is a long way," said Sulu.
It seemed to Alika that Sulu thought only of home. "I know, but I can do it."
The northwest wind, the woman's wind, sometimes blew hard in late October and November. Blizzards were sometimes pushed by the woman's wind, but it could also push the floe eastward.