Between Two Worlds (17 page)

“Be quiet!” he snapped. But we rubbed noses.

When the sky cleared, Bag of Bones crawled into our entrance. “I drove my sled to the ship. Mitti Peary wants you two to come, and Akitsinnguaq, too. Today is Christmas.”

It was a cold, dry day with only the barest sliver of
moon and no stars. As we trudged through the snow, our Ancestors showed themselves in the milky streaks that filled the sky above us. Ahead, the wide horizon glowed green and purple. Magic hung over the earth.

Good smells of roasting meat met us as we climbed onto the ship. So they still had some of their musk oxen. We pushed our way into the forward saloon full of crewmembers. Marie, with gold ribbons in her hair, wearing a dress with red bows on her chest, danced around a little Christmas tree. The tree glowed brightly with candles and was draped with strings of popped corn. At first glimpse, the tree was a mystery. Where had it come from? Marie explained that her mother and Grease Beard had created it with wire, wax, straw from packing crates, and ground coffee for bark.

Cin was inside with us, too. Duncan was stroking the dog’s belly. He rose. “Billy Bah! Merry Christmas!”

His smile was forced.

Tooth Girl clutched my hand and, a little frightened, backed away from the tree. She and Bag of Bones stared, in awe. Even Angulluk kept his distance, though he couldn’t stop gazing at it.

“I’m so glad to see you!” Marie threw her arms around me.

Mitti Peary greeted us with handshakes. After we’d taken off our
kapatait
, we sat on the floor and Marie gave us our stockings. I tipped mine upside down. Dried dates, roasted peanuts, red-and-white striped candies, an orange,
and chocolates fell into my lap. Such rare gifts! We all received the same things.

These presents would be the talk of the village, and we’d parcel them out and try to save most of them for stormy days. Tooth Girl licked a piece of candy. Bag of Bones, more experienced in the goods of the
qallunaat
, peeled his orange.

“Don’t you love Christmas, Billy Bah?” Marie asked.

“Yes,” I said. “You made stockings for us! My Marie!” We rubbed noses.

“Charlie’s about to serve us all a grand meal. Musk ox steaks, and canned peaches and corn bread, and raisin loaves that Mother and I made. We’re using up most of Charlie’s stores, but it’s Christmas! After we eat, we’ll sing and have games.”

Duncan came over and boldly took a seat on the floor between my husband and me. The three of us watched Marie dance about the tree. Duncan caught my eye, then glanced back to Marie. Angulluk, staring at Duncan, looked like he was about to stab a seal. I felt sorry that I was the cause of his anger.

In my mind a single thought echoed:
I am divided
. While surrounded by my husband and friends, I felt alone, unsure. Without warning, tears began to stream down my face.

I realized I loved both men.

Snow filled the sky and blanketed the land with heavy drifts on the day Navarana’s family called me to her igloo. The old woman wanted to see me alone. I found her on her sleeping platform, wrapped in furs, and so weak after days of fever that she could hardly stir. Yet her dark eyes shone from her wrinkled face, and her voice was clear and bold, her mind lucid as a pool of fresh water.

“Panik, I will not live to see the sun again,” she said.

“Death will not take you away for a long time yet, Aana.”

“I will die before tomorrow. I am weak, and we have entered the long, hungry passage of winter. It is folly to feed my old and useless body.”

“No, Aana,” I said. But she’d made up her mind.

“
Ta! ta!
Listen, Eqariusaq, while I have strength. It is in my heart to tell you the vision in front of me. It is your future.” She let me lift her head with furs. “I see you as a mature woman, wise, insightful, and steady. People admire you. You’ve endured many trials in your youth and enjoyed some good times, too. Your restlessness has left you. The many hindrances to your happiness have gone away.”

“Thank you, Aana.” I was grateful for the blessing. I took her bony hand, cold to the touch. Did I dare ask her what else lay in store?

“Will I ever feel life in my womb, Aana?”

“The vision does not show me. You and many women friends are sewing furs. You all talk and laugh as you work.”

“Are you seeing me here, with the villagers?” I asked. “Or at my birthplace, Itta?”

She frowned. “Neither. You are on a ship. There is blue water behind you, and ice floes. It is a sunny day. The sailors are doing their chores. You’re independent of the
qallunaat
, even as they are all around you. The spirits say you can find contentment among them, so long as you remember who you are. If you are content within, any place can be home. They say: ‘The world is your home.’ That’s surprising. I did not know such a thing was possible!”

She coughed, and her voice was quieter. “Your happiness will grow. Your understanding of people will grow. With understanding will come freedom, the freedom to accept all that life has to offer. Wait a little longer; trust that when the season is right, when you are no longer feeling pulled or divided, you’ll find yourself even stronger than you are now. Making decisions will come easily for you, and you will learn to speak from your heart.”

“I will remember, Aana.” It was so much to take in, though I felt hope that the best part of my life lay ahead.

I looked into her ancient face. I needed to ask one
more question. “Do you know where my mother and father are?”

She closed her eyes and gripped my hand. “They are coming toward us now, two figures in black seal furs. He has a mustache and small beard. She is short. They’re talking … arguing over who will be the one to speak to us. Ha!”

I smiled, closed my eyes, and I, too, could see my beloved parents.

“Eqariusaq, your father has a message,” she declared. “He says that their spirits will soon be reborn.”

She paused to listen. “You must not grieve for them. They’ve found their way and have everything they need.”

“Ai!”
I said. “Yes, I can hear them, too!”

“Our time is approaching,”
they declared.
“As we have always been together, we journey together now. We will never be separated. All is well.”

Happiness washed over me. “Thank you for calling them to us.” Then I addressed my parents.
“Anaana! Ataata! Thank you for coming. May we meet again soon.”

“Farewell,”
they said together. Then they were gone.

Navarana gave a long sigh. “Once death releases me from this body, I hope to live again in my own igloo. Perhaps I will be ready in good time so Mikihoq can welcome me back into the world. She is with child.”

“I hope that will be,” I said, though my happiness was tempered with sorrow. For soon, old Navarana herself would be gone. Even when reborn, the crotchety old
woman would no longer be there to stir the big pot of soup, or to mutter and scold.

She coughed and looked at me once more with her shadowed eyes. “Call the others in. It’s time for the family to sing for me.”

“Yes, Aana.” I took her hands. “Thank you. Farewell.”

Her death was so near that we’d begin the songs of lament. Before I left her side, I studied the deep lines running across her forehead, her high cheeks, and her mouth, now peacefully set. I wanted to remember her face, framed by her long white hair.

Soon the family gathered in the igloo. Mikihoq, her husband, Qihuk, their children, and I raised the lamenting songs. I believed Navarana could get well, if she willed it. But this was her final privilege. We could not stop her.

She died during the night. When the morning stars rose, we bundled her in furs and took her to a corner of the village, under the shelter of an outcrop.

I was sad to see Navarana covered with stones, and yet grateful, too, that she had a kind and hasty death, and even a serene expression. Unlike my parents, she was given a proper burial. By her sides lay her two lamps, her sewing things with her
ulu
, her cooking pot, and her wonderful steel-bladed axe. She’d lived a long life and a full one. She’d been luckier than most.
This is the way death should be
, I thought.

In the coming weeks, I missed her keenly. I hadn’t fully appreciated her. If only I’d paid as much attention to her
counsel earlier as at the end. Now no one was left to talk at me, to admonish and advise from the perspective of many long years. I would have to make my own decisions; I would have to discover what the spirits advised on my own.

Snowstorms hid the next risen moon and kept the hunters from going out, even to the nearby ice. Working by lamp flames, repairing clothes, I thought about Duncan. There was no talk of going to the ship, or anywhere else.

Another dark moon cycle followed. Our caches of meat grew sparse, and snow drifted so high that we couldn’t find all the provisions. Bag of Bones and the other children dug in the snow near the igloos for seal bones and scraps; we boiled them for soup. Some people ate fat from their lanterns. We all became sad and listless from hunger. Angulluk and I turned to each other at night for warmth, but not for pleasure.

The bad weather went on and on, and the villagers killed a few of their precious dogs for food. But at last, a full moon shone and hunters trekked out through the pathless, snow-covered land and brought back seals. Our courage returned with the food and the sweet light of the moon. The village came alive again with children’s screams and laughter.

And then one day, a weak white sun shone forth. Pure, sunlit colors came into focus. What joy! Angulluk untied
the dogs, and they fought over the seal entrails. Their coats showed reddish or deep brown, new colors that came with the sun. The puppies had grown to adults, almost as large as the rest.

As the sky opened, I looked out to the horizon at the golden rays. It was the moment I’d been waiting for.
“Ai!”
I said, rising to my feet. “At last!”

People poured down to the beach. Angulluk and I ran along with them. Soon children chased back and forth on the ice and dogs scampered everywhere, barking. I raised my arms and slid happily.

Sammy, dressed in sealskins, his thick hair now shoulder length, ran after Tooth Girl and Runny Nose onto the frozen bay.

“Come back, Sammy!” Ally called. He raced into a wet patch, slipped, and drenched himself.

Mikihoq, her pregnancy beginning to show, ran down the hill and grabbed him. If only Navarana could have joined us!

Would I live to see as many sun-returns as she had? It was the
young
mothers who often died in childbirth, or just after. For the first time, I saw that there might be some advantage to staying childless.

Now, as my father had taught me to do on the first day of sunlight, I took off one mitten, held my hand in the air, and smiled with half my face. My actions felt like a partly remembered dream, and I yearned for my father
to tell me the missing parts.
“Ataata,”
I told him,
“I give the salute, to help the world be reborn, and so that I will also be reborn.”

The sun drew out of sight, but far into the night, the song drums sounded. In the darkness, we gathered and feasted on seal meat. We emptied the oil in our lamps and replaced it with new seal blubber, to show our eagerness for the change in seasons and to quicken the transformation. The heavy snows were melting in small streams, and hunters talked of driving sleds into the distance.

By the next moon, I’d twisted enough sinew to make new lines for the dogs, and Angulluk had readied the harnesses. He and I and Bag of Bones took a short trip to the valley to empty snares and traps and bait them again with stinking meat. After skinning the game, we drove back on the sled with carcasses and pelts of three rabbits and two foxes. With more furs, I could sew new spring clothes for Angulluk and me.

Whenever the sky cleared, I walked to the beach to watch the sun rise, a little earlier every day. I imagined Duncan as a lean figure bouncing as he walked over the ice from the
Windward
. “I hope he visits me,” I said aloud.