Polar Boy Page 5

  “See, told you so.” Miki runs laughing towards the entrance.

  I dive at her, but she drops flat to the ground and I somersault over to land with a thump. Right at the nose of the bear.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LITTLE BEAR

  Fear rips our voices to shreds. My heart splutters and jerks. I lay still, like Papa taught me when I first walked on the ice.

  The bear lies motionless too.

  “I think it’s dead,” Miki whispers.

  Sniffing the air, Finn shakes his head. He’s not so sure.

  “Maybe it’s sleeping.” I roll over to nervously touch its paw. It’s cold, like a corpse. “Miki’s right. It’s dead.”

  The cub’s nose is crusted with dry mucus, its fur sodden in dirty patches, and frozen saliva hangs from its partly open mouth. I can see a broken tooth sitting loose on the edge of its lip. Nana was right. The bear does have something I want. A replacement for Grandfather’s bear tooth necklace.

  Even I’m not afraid of a dead polar bear. I grab the tooth, waving it in triumph.

  The bear’s eyes follow.

  “It’s not dead,” I squeak. I’m frozen again, right in front of its nose, my fingers clenched over the stolen tooth.

  “Are you sure?” Miki whispers.

  “This bear’s sick,” says Finn, helping me to my feet. “Not good.”

  It’s not good for the bear but it’s a lucky break for me.

  The bear watches with empty, hopeless eyes. It reminds me of Mush, limp in my lap, struggling to breathe. She looked at me with eyes like that. Without thinking, I reach down and pat its cold snout. Being brave is about forgetting to be afraid.

  “I bet it’s got healthy parents somewhere,” says Miki. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “What if it dies?” I don’t want Raven to have the cub. This bear is nothing like the terrifying beast that stalks me across the ice and into my dreams.

  “Dead bears are not our problem. Come on.” Miki tugs at my parka sleeve.

  Finn is ready to go too. The low rumble of a bigger bear growls in my imagination and spurs me into action. Shoving the tooth in my pocket, I scramble after Miki and Finn back down the rocks. My heart is light. It’s over. I’ve faced the bear and I’m still alive. I can’t wait to tell Nana and to wave the tooth in Tuaq’s face. If he’s going to be a shaman then I’m going to be a great leader. A hero of my people. Like Grandfather K’eyush, I’ve stared into the eyes of a bear.

  We race the wind until, breathless, we reach the cluster of temporary igloos. Everyone is already inside, resting their tired feet and trying to get warm. Winding our way through the new snow streets, we peer from sled to sled until we find our home for the night.

  “See you later,” I call to Finn, as I follow Miki into our tunnel entrance.

  Mama looks up from her cooking pot, her face streaked with relief. Even though she knows we can’t stay tucked behind her breeches like little children, she worries when we are away from the village camp.

  “I met the bear.” I wave my tooth proudly. “Miki and Finn saw me. I even touched it.”

  “This should be a good story.” Papa sits on the ice bench covered in fur and pats the space beside him. Mama leaves the stew to bubble. Aunty, Uncle and Nana crowd around me.

  Miki and I tell the story together, and I show the tooth again.

  Before anyone has a chance to admire my bravery, Nana interrupts. “Why was the bear sick?” she asks.

  I don’t know the answer. Bears don’t catch cold. There’s nothing warmer than polar bear fur. Grandfather had a blanket made of his bearskin and, during the longest, coldest winter nights, he would tuck Miki and me under it. Bears don’t starve either. Not like people. A bear can smell a seal under ice while a hunter would walk past and catch nothing all day.

  There’s only one thing it could be. The reason I got into so much trouble when I was wrestling with Tuaq. Even a small cut quickly becomes dangerous.

  “Maybe it had an infected wound,” I suggest.

  Nana nods. “Yes. I expect that’s it.”

  “You are a brave boy.” Mama puts her arm around me. Aunty smiles. Papa and Uncle take it in turns to slap me on the back. Miki looks pleased too. But Nana says nothing. Her eyes search my face. What is she looking for? I’ve already answered her question.

  After dinner, I sit beside Nana.

  “You didn’t tell me how brave I was,” I tease. Hinting.

  “If you were brave then you don’t need me to tell you,” she says. And she searches my face again.

  This time I know what she’s looking for. There’s nothing brave about leaving a sick bear cub to die.

  “I wasn’t brave, was I?”

  Nana shakes her head.

  “And it’s not over, is it?”

  Nana shakes her head again. “But you must listen to your own heart. Not to my words.”

  I want to be angry with her for taking away my joy and filling my stomach with fear. But it’s not her fault. In my heart, I already knew. I didn’t give anything back. The bear gave me its tooth and I repaid the gift with nothing. I don’t understand how facing a cub can give me the courage to help our people, but I know better than to question Ananaksaq’s wisdom.

  Nana closes her eyes to leave me alone with my thoughts. What can I do? I’m not a healer of bears. I don’t know anything about medicine. Except that it tastes bad and smells worse. My heart isn’t light any more. Turning Nana’s words over and over, I look for an easy way out. But there’s none. Nana’s words stick in your throat like the bones in an ice-fish.

  Leaving Nana to snore, I slump down beside Miki. Fingers twisting and twirling, she’s playing games with string. Shapes form in her hands – baby’s cradle, fox trap, whale, ice-fish.

  “What was that about?” Miki asks.

  “It’s not over. I have to save the cub.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I can clean its wound.” My heart is stronger than my fear. I’ve made my decision. “I’m going back tonight.”

  “We’ll take it some food.”

  She’s coming too. I knew she would, and when I climb out from our igloo, Finn will be waiting.

  “Dinner,” Mama calls, banging on her cooking pot to wake Nana.

  It’s my favourite. Seal stew. But my stomach is tied in so many knots I struggle to swallow.

  “Aren’t you hungry, Illy?” Mama asks.

  “Eat up,” says Papa in a stern voice. “Tomorrow there might be none.”

  He means it. It wouldn’t be the first time there was no food for a meal.

  “Yes, Papa.” But each forced mouthful tastes like year-old caribou skin.

  Nana watches, searching until she finds what she’s looking for. You can’t keep a secret from her. Nana can see through ice walls. A boy’s brain is easy to chip away.

  Later, when no one is looking, Nana hands me a small bag. “You’ll need this.” It smells disgusting. Only medicine stinks like that. “Use the water to wash out the wound. Then pack the herbs onto it.”

  “Will that work?” I ask.

  Nana smiles. “I don’t know. I’ve never treated a bear before. Ask me again tomorrow and I will know the answer.”

  Miki and I play games with stones. Waiting, waiting. Until Mama snuffs out the lamp and we climb into our sleeping bags. Waiting, waiting. Listening to the rustling of bodies struggling into warm dreams.

  Papa and Nana snore in harmony.

  “Ready?” I whisper to Miki.

  She slides out of her sleeping bag and together we sneak down the tunnel and out onto the ice. A dark shadow turns to greet us.

  “Hello, Finn,” I say.

  “Food,” he says, patting the bag slung across his shoulder.

  “Food and medicine. We’ve got everything we need. Let’s get this over with.” I lead the way but I don’t feel like a leader. I’m cold and frightened.

  Halfway across to the rocks, a footfall echoes softly on the snow behind us
. I imagine a bear sneaking along with big padded feet. I can’t look, but Finn does.

  “Tuaq,” he says.

  “What are you looking at? Scaredy-hares,” Tuaq sneers. “I bet you thought I was a bear. Grrrr.” He lunges at Miki who kicks snow up into his face.

  “Why are you here?” I demand.

  “What does it look like? I’m coming with you.”

  I cross my arms and glare. “No, you’re not.”

  “We don’t want you,” adds Miki, softly.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Tuaq doesn’t move.

  “Go home,” I yell.

  “You can’t make me. I’ll tell if you do,” he says as Finn moves towards him. “Then you’ll have to stay home with me.”

  He’s right. Not even Nana could convince Mama that I am safe on the ice at night.

  “I heard about the bear. I want to see,” Tuaq insists.

  “All right then, but stay out of my way.”

  I don’t like to admit it, but I’m impressed. He didn’t have to come. He’s braver than me. Anyway, it might be useful to have an extra person. In case we need someone to distract the bear while we escape.

  We trudge on without words. Finn rarely speaks anyway, and Tuaq knows no one wants to hear anything he has to say. I’m too frightened to chatter. Even Miki is quiet.

  By the thin light of the whaling moon, it’s hard to climb in the shadows and darkness. When Miki slips, Tuaq braces her fall with his body, dislodging a shower of small stones. He could have fallen too. Two brave actions in one night. Still, I don’t have to be polite about it.

  “Watch what you’re doing,” I say to him crossly. “You’re making too much noise.”

  “Yeah. I’ll just let her fall next time,” he snarls.

  Miki regains her balance enough to kick me in the shins. Ouch!

  “Shhh,” Finn says.

  At the cave entrance, the bear sprawls where we left it. Its eyes drag behind us as we circle its body, looking for the wound. There’s nothing to be seen. No blood at all.

  “Any ideas?” I ask.

  “It must be underneath. We could look under its paws,” suggests Miki.

  Everyone looks at me. I have to go first.

  Looking under the closest paw and up the foreleg, I find nothing. Tuaq checks the other front limb, Miki and Finn the back paws. Still nothing. We’ll have to roll the bear cub over.

  That won’t be easy. The cub is four times the size of Mush when her winter fur is thickest.

  “You’ll be all right,” I whisper in the cub’s ear.

  “Here.” Finn shows me where to place my hands. “Here.” He positions Tuaq, then Miki. Together we push, shove and heave until the bear flops with a great thump and a small grunt of pain. My arms ache from the weight. Without Tuaq we couldn’t have done it. Nana was right when she said one day I would need him.

  On the cub’s side is a small but deep gash. A bite mark maybe. Not too large. That’s good. But around the wound oozes green and black. Poison. That’s not good.

  Finn hands me his whalebone knife. There are no snow sculptures to carve tonight. It’s flesh and blood this time.

  I scrape as carefully as possible. The bear moans. Fingers shaking, I continue. By the time the wound is clean, the bear’s lids are fully closed. Now nothing moves, not even its eyes.

  “Is it dead?” Miki says quietly.

  Tuaq shakes his head and holds out his hand for the medicine bag. I hesitate. This is my bear. But Nana said Tuaq is born to be a shaman. My bear needs all the help it can get so I hand the bag to him.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be all right,” I whisper in the bear’s ear again. “Tuaq’s not as useless as he looks.”

  Tuaq glowers as he takes the herbs and crumbles them expertly between his hands. Then adds the water to massage them into a paste. With gentle fingers, he smears the foul-smelling salve onto the wound. There’s only one way he could know how to do that. Nana is teaching him. I try to look at Tuaq through Nana’s eyes. But I can’t. Still, even in my eyes he’s changing. Tonight, he’s not putting himself first. He wants to help the bear as much as I do.

  “Thanks,” I say. This time I don’t begrudge it.

  “That was good.” Miki admires Tuaq’s handiwork.

  Finn smiles approval. “Very good,” he says.

  “I knew you lot wouldn’t be able to get it right. Otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted my time coming,” says Tuaq, tossing the bag back at me.

  I dislike him all over again.

  Finn places the seal meat in front of the cub’s nose. Lids flicker. A polar bear has the best sense of smell on ice.

  There’s nothing more we can do. Bending down, I pat its cold nose one last time. “You’ll be all right,” I whisper in its ear again.

  Two eyes stare. Brighter, wider. My confidence skids and slides down the rocks.

  “Time to go,” I say, getting up as fast as I can. I lead the others quickly away. Miki hums as we climb back down. By the time we reach the ice, we’re all singing along.

  I know it’s not over yet and I’m still afraid. But my heart isn’t as heavy as it was before. Maybe I’ll be all right too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE CARIBOU

  Dogs racing, snow flying, we’re in a hurry now. Beneath us the ice is changing. Our sleds weave through rocks smudged with lichen and swish across patches of sludge. If Papa’s calculations are right, we’ll see the ocean tomorrow.

  Closing my eyes, I imagine the bear cub waking, stretching and sniffing my footprints. I want to daydream but Miki wants to play.

  “I spy … caribou droppings,” she yells.

  Sleds skid and scratch to a halt, as their drivers rush to huddle round the piles. Nana prods through the pats with a length of whalebone.

  “It’s fresh,” she says.

  Our noses have already told us that. The hunters want to know how many animals and which line they travelled.

  “Maybe thirty – bucks, cows and calves. A short walk away for a Too-lee man,” decides Nana.

  She peers into the distance with our eyes following. When Nana waves her story stick, magic happens. Clumps of rock and snow transform and the herd takes shape.

  Grinning, Papa punches both arms to the sky. “We’ll camp here tonight. Women and children will build igloos while men hunt caribou.”

  Excitement tugs at our hands and feet until we erupt, stomping and clapping. Caribou and whale will make our village wealthy; rich with the promise no one will go hungry for a long while.

  Finn and I will hunt for the first time. My heart races, already running along the caribou trail.

  Uncle throws baby Massak into the air, catching her in a huge bear hug. She giggles. Then sneezes all over my parka. Yech. Luckily, everyone is too busy to notice my glowing face and mucus-splattered shoulders. Even Miki and Finn are not looking.

  If the hunt is successful, there’ll be hours of hard back-bending work. Carcasses to skin and scrape, meat to freeze, and hide to soften ready for sewing. Maybe we’ll have new winter clothes. Mama nods as her eyes measure Miki and me. She’s already cutting and slicing the pieces.

  Papa is adding the detour, factoring the whale and counting the herd. Travelling across ice is all about lines, the directions they take and the places they cross. The crevasse has drawn a new line in the snow. Next year we’ll travel this trail, hoping to find the herd again.

  “Look.” Finn points to small padded prints beside the hoof marks. It’s the Arctic Circle of life. Predator follows prey. The wolf follows the caribou and the polar bear sniffs out the seal. Every year my village follows the whale. And every day Nana’s bear stalks closer. If I don’t see it on the horizon, it lurks in my imagination. Fear is a circle. Something is always running. Like the caribou. Like me.

  Papa grins even wider. Caribou, whale and wolf.

  “We need to work quickly before the wolf frightens the herd.” He unpacks the sled, handing ice knives to Miki, Mama and Nana. I unhook the
bows from behind Nana’s chair.

  My bow is made of a bone from last year’s whale. Its string is the strong sinew from a caribou’s back. For a week, I chewed and worked the sinew until not even Finn could break it. Saliva trickled down my chin. “Foolishness rushes and wisdom dribbles”, Nana always says. She’s very wise and dribbles all the time.

  “Here.” Miki hands me my arrows.

  I feel sorry for Miki. Her place is with the women, sewing tiny stitches, stirring the cooking pot and filling the lamp with seal oil.

  “I wish you could come with us.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t mind. I need to learn this stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “You know.” Her face is bright red.

  I shake my head. I don’t know.

  “Wife stuff. For when I get married.”

  Now my face is red and Miki giggles at my embarrassment.

  “Come on, Iluak.” Papa rescues me. “It’s time to go.”

  Tuaq is standing beside Nana. Like Miki, he has to stay and work. While we’re gone, Nana wants Tuaq to help her ask the spirits to guide our hunt. He’ll miss all the fun but I don’t feel sorry for him. When I return home victorious, I’ll wave my caribou antler in his face.

  Beside me, Mush whimpers softly.

  “You have to stay too,” I say, tickling her ears. “I’ll bring you back a huge bone.”

  Snowshoes whispering and sneaking, Papa guides us along the deer path. Every hunter dreams of new clothes, water bottles, sleeping bags and plates piled high with meat. Brown curious eyes turn to watch us, gauging the threat. If we move too close or walk too fast, the caribou will run. So we sneak up, low and slow, like an artic fox.

  The hunters mentally sort the herd. The biggest bull is too old, his hide hard to soften and his great shanks too tough for Nana to chew. Protected by the spirits, pregnant mothers and little calves are not ours to hunt. We have twenty-one healthy caribou to choose from. The wolf is nowhere to be seen. Smart and wary, he’ll return to scavenge whatever parts we leave.

  Papa leads us to a vantage point further down the trail. “Here we’ll build snow walls to crouch behind,” he says.