The Pole (11 page)

I looked around the room. It certainly seemed smaller—but somehow safer—when we were all in here. Commander Peary was sitting at crates that he'd fashioned into a desk, writing in his journal. He was always writing in that journal, recording the events of the expedition “for posterity.” That was a fancy way of saying for people to read about it.

Commander Peary had a real way with words. When he was talking, it sounded more like he was saying a speech, even if he was just saying ordinary things. More like something you'd read in a fancy play by Shakespeare or a Dickens story than somebody just talking over their back fence asking you about what you were having for dinner or what the weather was going to be tomorrow.

Mr. Marvin was sitting on the edge of his bed, reading. Dr. Goodsell was in his bed, under the covers, possibly asleep. Mr. MacMillan was writing a letter. He wrote a lot of letters. Considering that he
wasn't going to be able to mail them until we returned to civilization—at least six months from now—it seemed like a curious thing to do with his time.

Over by the fire, sitting around a crate they were using as a table, were the Captain, George, and Matt. They were playing cards, but mostly that was just an excuse for them to sit and talk and debate and argue. I loved sitting just off to the side, listening to them. A whole lot of what they talked about made little sense to me. Discussions about philosophers I'd never read, places I hadn't visited, music I'd never heard, and words and ideas that were beyond me.Though, it did seem like I was understanding just a little bit more now than before.

I slumped into a seat beside the card players. I felt like I could relax now, knowing that the dogs were okay. It wasn't my job to watch the huskies, but I was pretty attached to a couple of the dogs, and I knew they liked me, too.

Usually the dogs were just staked down to the ice, but it was now too cold for even them to be out in the open.The Eskimos had built shelters out of snow and ice—they called them igloos—and the dogs were clustered together inside.

It was fascinating to watch those igloos being constructed. The Eskimos used long knives to carve out gigantic blocks of snow. The blocks were then
piled up together in a little circle, getting smaller toward the top until a dome was formed. Little bits of snow were pushed into between the blocks—sort of like mortar between bricks—to block the wind and bind them together. Finally an opening was made. It was more like a tunnel than a door. It wasn't easy to get in—you had to practically lie down on your belly and crawl along.

It was almost warm inside those igloos.You were protected from the wind, and also the body heat of all the dogs together raised the temperature until it was only a few degrees below freezing. That was about as warm as the sledge dogs ever liked it.

George looked up from his cards. “So, Danny, how are the dogs?”

“I didn't check them all, but they seemed okay.”

“Of course, they're fine!” Mr. Marvin called from across the room. “They're just dogs!”

“To the Eskimos they're more than dogs.”

“I'm no Eskimo,” Mr. Marvin sneered.

“Lucky Eskimos,” George said under his breath, and Matt chuckled.

“Those dogs are important to the whole mission,” the Captain said. “Without them there would be no possibility of reachin' the Pole. Good to check on them.”

“Let the Eskimos take care of that sort of thing,” Mr. Marvin barked.

“I think Danny is pretty attached to those dogs,” George suggested.

Mr. Marvin scoffed. “Doesn't make sense to get attached to something you might have to eat!”

“Eat?” I asked in shock, turning to the Captain. He shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes dogs have to be eaten.”

“We're going to eat the dogs?” I asked, not believing my ears.

“That's not the plan, but sometimes plans go awry,” Captain Bartlett said. “Ya eat dogs or ya die.”

“I'd rather die,” I said.

“No you wouldn't,” Matt said. “I've had to make that choice.”

I gasped.

“Not a choice I ever wanted to make,” he added. “I have to agree with Matthew,” Commander Peary said from across the room. He'd turned away from his makeshift desk. “I can say that of all the animals I've eaten, dog is one of the least appetizing.”

“Tough, stringy,” Matthew said.

“But in all fairness,” Commander Peary said, “those dogs had been worked to within a whisker of death. Nothing left but sinew and string. Perhaps a fine, fat, pampered poodle might be a more tasty treat.”

I shuddered, but the other men laughed. George's laugh cut through everybody else's. He loved to laugh.

“A poodle might be a welcome choice right about now,” George said. “I'm certainly tired of seal and walrus, and I never want to taste another morsel of pemmican as long as I live!”

I agreed with that.

“You've eaten bear meat,” Matt said.We'd all eaten polar bear. “Dog isn't very different from bear … it's got a more oily flavour but it's similar in texture.”

I made a mental note to myself not to eat any more bear.

“I rather liked the bear meat,” George said. “We've been out of bear for at least a week. I wonder when we might get more?”

“Just a matter of time,” Matthew said, “until another bear wanders into camp.”

“Only animal without the brains to avoid the hunter,” Mr. Marvin said.

“Oh, it has brains,” Captain Bartlett said. “It just hasn't had the experience to let it know that it should be afraid of us, or anything else.The polar bear is the most fierce killing machine God ever placed upon this planet.”

“Most fierce?” George asked.

“No animal on earth is a match for a full-grown male of the species. Neither lion nor tiger can match it for muscle or mass or courage.”

“I'd dare say an elephant would be more than its match,” George said.

“An elephant is certainly larger, but it is, for the most part, a gentle soul. It does not eat or hunt humans … unlike the white bear. Do you know what a polar bear fears?”

Nobody said anything. Perhaps they were trying to come up with an answer.

“It fears nothing,” the Captain said. “And do you know what it eats? … Everything.”

That thought sent a shiver up my spine.There had been three polar bears killed within a dozen feet of this shelter, and more times than I could count bear tracks had been seen on the periphery of the camp.

“Perhaps a polar bear would eat anything, but I have my personal limits. I have to say that I will not be eating monkey again,” Commander Peary said. “You ate monkey as well when we were in Nicaragua, didn't you, Matthew?”

He nodded his head. “I have had that, shall we say, pleasure. I would prefer dog to monkey.”

“Understandable,” Mr. Marvin said. “Eating a monkey must be like eating one of your cousins. It hasn't been that long since your people have been down from the trees themselves,” he said, and laughed.

Nobody else laughed. I saw Matt's eyes flash with anger. Sometimes people said things—even Commander Peary—about Matthew being a Negro. Even when they were said joking-like I knew Matt didn't like them.

“Not long since
any
of us have been down from the trees,” George said. “At least, if you believe the works of Charles Darwin.”

“Interesting book, that
Origin of Species,
” Commander Peary said. “If Darwin is correct, we're all just a monkey's uncle.”

“Or more correctly, a monkey's great-great-great-grandson,” George said.

“Captain Bartlett,” Commander Peary said, “you are a man of deep religious faith, one who is familiar with the Bible. I am curious to know what you make of this theory that man evolved from the lesser beasts.”

“It's an interesting idea,” the Captain said.

“But does it not conflict with the biblical account? God making heaven and earth in six days, and Adam being created from clay, moulded by the hands of God, and that all the other creatures were then created to be of service to man?”

“That is the word of the Bible,” Captain Bartlett agreed. “But the Bible is only the words of man, not those of God himself.”

“Some people would consider that a blasphemous statement,” George said.

“And some people are damn fools,” Captain Bartlett replied. “God spoke and people listened, but man is fallible. Besides, who's to say if God's day is the same as our day? Perhaps His six days are six thousand of our years? And who can say that He didn't craft
creation through the means outlined by Darwin?” He paused. “What I do know is that, regardless of the creation, there is one animal that would be less appealing to eat than either monkey or dog or bear.”

“Aahhh,” Commander Peary said. “I think I would agree with that.”

“As would all of us,” George agreed. Matthew nodded his head as well.

I had no idea what animal they were referring to. I didn't want to eat a dog or monkey, but could they mean a pet cat, or perhaps something awful to the eye like an octopus or …? Then I realized what they meant … at least, I thought I knew.

“Do you mean …?” I let my sentence trail off. I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

“Cannibalism,” Captain Bartlett said softly. “The eating of human beings.”

“I've heard tell of people in Africa and the Pacific who eat people as part of their regular diets,” George said.

“More like for festive occasions,” Captain Bartlett said. “Or for ceremonies. Eatin' the heart and brain of your fallen enemy is said to give you his strength.”

“I don't know about that,” George said. “If he was so strong he wouldn't have lost and you wouldn't be eating him to begin with.”

Again everybody laughed. I laughed too, but more out of nervousness.

“What is done by the primitives of the world is far different from what would be done by men of culture and breeding, civilized folks,” Mr. Marvin said.

“Afraid that is not true, sir. Have you not heard of Sir John Franklin?” Captain Bartlett asked.

“Who has not?”

Slowly, reluctantly, I raised my hand. I didn't want people to know of my ignorance, but not as much as I wanted to not
be
ignorant.

“Franklin is thought by some to be the greatest polar explorer of all time,” Captain Bartlett said, and then he turned to Commander Peary. “Present company excluded, of course.”

Commander Peary nodded.

“Franklin was a Rear Admiral in the British Navy. He led expeditions through the Canadian Arctic in search of the North- West Passage to the Orient.”

“Did he find it?” I asked.

“He made many discoveries, but ultimately all he found was death for himself and his entire crew,” Captain Bartlett explained.

I didn't like the sound of that at all.

“And you believe there was cannibalism involved in that ill-fated ending?” George asked.

“There can be little doubt from the remains that were found. Knife marks on bones, the way the skeletal remains were scattered,” Captain Bartlett said.

“Poor souls.To die in such a manner. Even partaking of human flesh did not preserve life but merely damned their souls,” Mr. MacMillan said.

George shook his head slowly. “So sad, although I have a question.” He paused. “Perhaps this question is a little bit indelicate.”

“Too late for that,” Captain Bartlett said. “Speak your mind.”

“Well … if there is a noticeable difference between an old tough bull and a young heifer, then wouldn't there be a difference between an old dog and a young dog, perhaps?”

“I would imagine.”

“How about between a boy and a man?”

Captain Bartlett looked at me. “So, you're wonderin' if perhaps Danny there would be more tender than Commander Peary or myself?”

“Well, yes,” George said. He stood up, walked over, and lifted up one of my arms. “He's a little on the scrawny side, not a lot of meat, but he would be far more tender than an old sea-dog such as yourself.”

This was a totally bizarre conversation.They were talking about what I would taste like if they had to eat me to survive!

“He might be more tender,” Matt said, “but what if it's more like turkey?”

“You think he'd taste like turkey?” George asked.

“No, no. I imagine he'd taste more like
monkey
. I meant what if the variety of the meat was like turkey. Some people like light meat and some like dark. Would I be dark meat?”

Commander Peary walked over to join the men at the card table. He put a hand on Matt's shoulder. “This talk has been most interesting, but there is much to be done tomorrow. Perhaps it is now time for us all to turn in for the night.”

George stepped up onto the crate. “‘Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow!'”

“You don't look like no Juliet,” I said.

“Bravo, Danny!” George said, clapping his hands.

I broke into a smile. “Everybody knows
Romeo and
Juliet
,” I mumbled.

“Not everybody,” Matthew said.

“Obviously you have been taking your studies seriously,” Captain Bartlett said.

In the quiet times in the evenings both Matt and the Captain talked to me about things, or read to me, or had me read. Some of what they talked about went way over my head, or bored me to tears, but other stuff was truly amazing. I think I loved best when they just talked to me—or discussed something between them. The best discussions were when they didn't agree and they debated and argued. Even when I didn't understand everything they said, it was all pretty amazing.

“Now it's my turn for a quote. ‘Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, makes the night morning and the noontide night.'”