The Pole (12 page)

“I'd hazard a guess and say it's Shakespeare,” George said with a laugh.

“Would anybody care to be more specific?” Captain Bartlett asked.

There was no answer.

“Matthew?” the Captain asked.

Matt smiled. “
Richard the Third
… act one, scene four, spoken by Brakenbury.”

Captain Bartlett touched his hand to the side of his head and offered a salute. I wasn't surprised by Matt knowing the answer. The two of them—he and Captain Bartlett—were always trading quotes … Shakespeare, Dickens, the Bible. Matt was more than just my tutor, he was my example of what somebody could do, how much they could learn, without ever having gone very far in school.

“‘Oh weary night, oh long and tedious night …'” Matt said.

Captain Bartlett stood up and walked over to one of the lamps, extinguishing it, and the room became even dimmer.

“George, would you care to field this one and show the benefits of a higher education at Cornell?” Captain Bartlett asked.

“I would love that opportunity. Unfortunately, I have the opportunity but not the knowledge.”

“Anybody else care to venture a guess?”

“A Midsummer Night's Dream?”
I asked.

“Correct!” Captain Bartlett exclaimed. George slapped me on the back and Commander Peary looked pleased—although not as pleased as Matt.

“I believe it is Helena speaking, act three … perhaps scene two or three,” Captain Bartlett said.

“Scene two,” Matt replied.

Captain Bartlett extinguished a second lamp, leaving just one burning. I moved toward my bed while there was still light.

“Let me leave you with one final quote. ‘O grimlooked night, O night with hue so black …'”

As he said the final word he extinguished the last lamp and the room was thrown into darkness. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust—it wasn't total darkness because there was still some light coming from the stove. I could just make out the shadowy figures of the men settling into their beds.

“Well?” Captain Bartlett's voice asked from the darkness.

“Act five, scene one,
A Midsummer Night's Dream
,” Matt replied.

“Correct.And at this point a midsummer's night is nothing more than a dream. Good night, gentlemen.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DECEMBER 3, 1908

THE WIND WAS RAGING
outside the walls of our little shelter. It was so strong that even the canvas roof was rippling. The sound of the wind was a constant. It didn't always make the same sound, but it was always there in the background. Sometimes it was faint, other times a whistle or a dull rumble. Sometimes it roared like a wild animal or the passing of a train. Stranger, sometimes it sounded like a human voice crying out, or laughing, or even speaking. In the middle of the night, lying in the dark, if I listened hard enough I could almost make out the words it was saying.There was a rhythm, like a poem, like it was saying the same word over and over, or maybe a whole phrase. There were times when I thought if I just listened harder, concentrated every fibre of my being, I could understand. But I never could. Maybe it's not that I wasn't listening hard
enough, but that the wind was speaking a different language. Inuktitut. That would make sense. The Arctic wind
would
speak Inuktitut, the language of the people of the north.

Along with the wind there was one other sound that was almost always there at night. Snoring. Both Commander Peary and the Captain snored almost every night. Dr. Goodsell did some nights, too, and occasionally George and Mr. Marvin added to the chorus. And, just like the wind, the snoring came in different sounds and textures, from whistles, to snorts, to rumbles, to roars.

It would start with a snore from one corner, and then, like an answer, a second snore would pipe up from the far side of the shelter. It sounded like they were talking back and forth. Other times the sound just kept growing as each successive snore was added on top of the other until it made a strange symphony. Certainly nothing that Bach or Mozart would have taken credit for. At those times it would be loud— loud enough to keep me awake.

The noise was disturbing, but it was also reassuring. I knew that outside the walls of our shelter there was nothing but snow and ice and bone-chilling cold for thousands of miles. But here I was surrounded by the members of the expedition. Maybe I couldn't see them in the dark, but I could hear them, and I knew they were there to protect and care for me. I could
lie in bed and let the wind and the snoring—just another form of wind—sing me to sleep.

But that night I heard a different sound. It was more like a cry … no, a whine … no, something else, something I'd never heard before. Then it was gone … if it had ever been real to begin with. It had sounded almost like an animal crying out in pain.

It came again. I perked up my ears a little trying to hear. It had definitely come from outside … and was that the dogs barking and baying? Maybe. But it didn't matter. If the dogs were making a racket somebody else would hear it and do something about it. Unless everybody else thought the same thing …

I pulled the blanket down and was hit by a wave of cold. I threw my legs over the edge and reached around for my mukluks in the dark. I found one and tried to slide my foot inside.The leather was cold and stiff and I had to force it in. I did the same with the second. I was already wearing my parka but it was unbuttoned and I fumbled with the buttons, fastening them.

I stood up and, with one hand on my bunk for balance and guidance, I started toward the door. I had to check out the sound. Probably nothing except a couple of the dogs fighting. Probably. But I had to check.

Part of me wanted to wake somebody up, to tell them what I was doing, or even ask them to come
along. George would have come along if I'd asked him, I was sure. But I wasn't going to ask. No sense in waking somebody up for nothing. Probably there was no sense in me even going out to check. But I was going to go anyway.

I worked my way to the door. I put my hand on the knob and readied myself. If I wasn't careful, when I released the latch the door would blow wide open, and the cold air and snow rushing in would wake somebody or everybody else in the shelter. I put my shoulder against the door to stop that from happening. I slowly eased it open. It didn't push back. I could still hear the wind, but it must have been coming from a different direction.

I could hear the dogs barking more clearly now. They always barked a lot, but there was something different this time. I went to step outside but stopped myself. First I reached over and took one of the rifles that was leaning against the wall. The metal of the barrel felt freezing against my skin. I hadn't put gloves on. Maybe I should go back to my bunk and get them or—the dogs were barking louder, almost frantically.

I stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind me. It was dark—it was always dark—but it was brighter than inside.The moon was big and bright and gave off enough light to allow me to clearly see the shelter across from us. I circled around the side of the
shelter to where the dogs were kept and—I stopped dead in my tracks.There was a polar bear—a gigantic polar bear—standing beside one of the igloos!

I quickly retreated to the safety of the shelter and peeked around the corner.

The dogs—inside the igloo and unseen—could sense the bear … smell the bear. So that was why they were barking so wildly.The bear knew about the dogs as well. It circled around the base of the igloo, sniffing, prodding it with one of its front paws. It knew there was something inside—something to eat—but it didn't seem to know how to get the food out, or how to get in.

Suddenly the bear reared up on its back legs. It raised a paw high above its head and then smashed it against the side of the igloo! The igloo exploded, ice blocks went flying into the air, and the whole side collapsed. Instantly half a dozen dogs came charging out of the opening. The bear swung its paw again and one of the dogs went flying! It landed ten feet away, crashing against the ice with a terrible thud and rolling. When it tried to get back to its feet, it stumbled, staggered, and then collapsed. Its blood was staining the ice!

The other dogs scrambled around the bear, snapping at its heels and barking hysterically. The bear, standing on its back legs, towered above the dogs and swung its front right paw, trying to hit them. They
danced around, in and out, snapping and snarling, somehow managing to avoid the bear's deadly attempts to— It hit a second dog and knocked it through the air! The dog skidded to a stop, got back to its feet, and scrambled to rejoin the attack. More dogs streamed out of the gash in the side of the igloo. There were now at least a dozen dogs attacking the bear. Their attempts were almost useless, though— the bear was so much bigger and protected by thick fur and rolls of fat.

I couldn't just stand there and watch. I stepped out from behind the shelter—I needed to be in the open to fire. I was terrified the bear would see me, but it was too occupied with the dogs to even notice. I brought the gun up to my eye and looked through the sights, right at the bear's chest. It was so big and I was so close I couldn't miss, but would I kill it or just injure it? Once it was shot it
would
notice me, and nothing's more dangerous than a wounded bear. I raised my sights higher. I wanted to put a shot into its head. I tried to draw a bead, but as the bear engaged in its deadly dance with the dogs it jumped and jived and scrambled so much that I couldn't be sure of a shot. I might miss, or even hit one of the dogs by mistake.

The bear reared up onto its back legs again and suddenly I had a clean shot. I levelled the rifle, pulled back the bolt, and fired. The rifle recoiled
against my shoulder, sending me reeling backwards! A split second later the bear jumped and roared in pain as the bullet buried itself in its neck and a flash of blood exploded outward! Almost in slow motion the bear turned around, looking for the source of its pain. It moved its head from side to side, swinging it back and forth, searching. Finally it stopped moving and stared directly at me, blood still gushing out and staining its fur. It dropped to all fours and charged me!

I fumbled with the rifle, fumbled with the bolt, trying to draw a second bullet into the chamber as the bear rushed toward me, bigger and bigger. And then—it swooshed right by me! I spun around and watched as the bear raced away, the dogs trailing after it, snapping at its heels.The bear staggered and then fell to the ice, skidding to a stop.The dogs set to it, snapping and biting. I expected it to get back up, turn, swing, fight, but it didn't. It just lay there on the ice. Dead. It was dead! The dogs ripped at its skin, tearing off patches of fur.

All at once there were people all around: Eskimos and members of the expedition—the Captain, George, Matt—people streaming out of the shelters, all trying to make sense of the sounds that had roused them … the dogs, the scream of the bear, the gunshot. I stood there frozen in place as they swirled and swarmed around me.

Captain Bartlett got to me first. “Danny?”

I motioned with the end of the rifle toward the bear, lying there, the dogs still attacking its lifeless form. I walked toward the bear. There was a trail of blood staining the snow. The dogs were all over it—six or seven of them—snarling, climbing on top of it, biting its leg, ripping off pieces of fur and flesh. A couple of the Eskimos started to grab the dogs, pulling them away. They didn't want to leave and fought hard, snapping at their handlers. The dogs were in a blood lust, standing over their fallen enemy. Finally the last dog was forcibly removed and dragged away.

I stood over top of the bear. Absently, gently, I nudged it with my foot as if I were trying to wake it from its sleep. It didn't wake. It didn't move. It didn't even budge. I bent down. It just lay there on the ice, its head and neck at an awkward angle, its whole side covered with blood. Its tongue was hanging out of the side of its mouth and its eyes were open, reflecting the moonlight.

“One shot?” George asked.

I nodded.

“Pretty good shooting.”

I nodded again.

“Danny, get back inside,” Captain Bartlett said.

“You're shaking … badly.”

“He doesn't have gloves or a hat, no wonder,” George said.

I was shaking but it wasn't from the cold. My legs suddenly felt weak and my knees started to buckle.

George grabbed one arm and Matt the other. I didn't resist as they led me back to the shelter.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DECEMBER 25, 1908

“
FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM
, the power and the glory, forever and ever, Amen,” Captain Bartlett said.

“Amen,” we all answered in unison.

I lifted my head.

“It is said that God is everywhere. Look about,” Captain Bartlett said.

We were standing on the ice. The camp was on the shore, in the distance, lit by the moon and the millions and millions of stars that twinkled overhead. There was no sound … no wind. It was as though even the wind had stopped to listen to the Captain's sermon, to praise and honour the birth of Jesus. A few months ago I would have believed that was a ridiculous thought, but now, I wasn't so sure. Why couldn't the wind have a spirit, the ice, the sky? The Eskimo stories that talked about such
things made just as much sense to me as those in the Bible.

I looked down at the little manger that Captain Bartlett had fashioned out of one of the discarded crates. Inside was a baby Jesus doll made of sealskin and cloth. One of the women had made it. It was beautifully crafted and looked so lifelike that I almost thought it might open its eyes, smile, and be real. It had hair as dark as night, olive-coloured skin, and although the eyes were closed, I imagined beneath those closed lids they were dark, Eskimo eyes.

Oh sure, there was a bit of a grumbling from a couple of members of the expedition who thought it wasn't proper for Jesus to look like an Eskimo, but I thought, why not? Maybe it wasn't blond-haired and blue-eyed like the Jesus in the church books back home, but Captain Bartlett said the people of Bethlehem were all dark-skinned, dark-eyed Arabs who looked more like the Eskimos than any of us.