called. “I’m ready to go when you are!
The wind blew across the wolf den, shattering the heads of the cotton grass and shooting their seedlets south with the birds. No one answered. The wolves were gone.
PART II
Miyax, the girl
T HE WIND, THE EMPTY SKY, THE DESERTED EARTH — Miyax had felt the bleakness of being left behind once before.
She could not remember her mother very well, for Miyax was scarcely four when she died, but she did remember the day of her death. The wind was screaming wild high notes and hurling ice-filled waves against the beach. Kapugen was holding her hand and they were walking. When she stumbled he put her on his shoulders, and high above the beach she saw thousands of birds diving toward the sea. The jaegers screamed and the sandpipers cried. The feathered horns of the comical puffins drooped low, and Kapugen told her they seemed to be grieving with him.
She saw this, but she was not sad. She was divinely happy going somewhere alone with Kapugen. Occasionally he climbed the cliffs and brought her eggs to eat; occasionally he took her in his arms and leaned against a rock. She slept at times in the warmth of his big sealskin parka. Then they walked on. She did not know how far.
Later, Kapugen’s Aunt Martha told her that he had lost his mind the day her mother died. He had grabbed Miyax up and walked out of his fine house in Mekoryuk. He had left his important job as manager of the reindeer herd, and he had left all his possessions.
“He walked you all the way to seal camp,” Martha told her. “And he never did anything good after that.”
To Miyax the years at seal camp were infinitely good. The scenes and events were beautiful color spots in her memory. There was Kapugen’s little house of driftwood, not far from the beach. It was rosy-gray on the outside. Inside, it was gold-brown. Walrus tusks gleamed and drums, harpoons, and man’s knives decorated the walls. The sealskin kayak beside the door glowed as if the moon had been stretched across it and its graceful ribs shone black. Dark gold and soft brown were the old men who sat around Kapugen’s camp stove and talked to him by day and night.
The ocean was green and white, and was rimmed by fur, for she saw it through Kapugen’s hood as she rode to sea with him on his back inside the parka. Through this frame she saw the soft eyes of the seals on the ice. Kapugen’s back would grow taut as he lifted his arms and fired his gun. Then the ice would turn red.
The celebration of the Bladder Feast was many colors—black, blue, purple, fire-red; but Kapugen’s hand around hers was rose-colored and that was the color of her memory of the Feast. A shaman, an old priestess whom everyone called “the bent woman,” danced. Her face was streaked with black soot. When she finally bowed, a fiery spirit came out of the dark wearing a huge mask that jingled and terrified Miyax. Once, in sheer bravery, she peeked up under a mask and saw that the dancer was not a spirit at all but Naka, Kapugen’s serious partner. She whispered his name and he laughed, took off his mask, and sat down beside Kapugen. They talked and the old men joined them. Later that day Kapugen blew up seal bladders and he and the old men carried them out on the ice. There they dropped them into the sea, while Miyax watched and listened to their songs. When she came back to camp the bent woman told her that the men had returned the bladders to the seals.
“Bladders hold the spirits of the animals,” she said. “Now the spirits can enter the bodies of the newborn seals and keep them safe until we harvest them again.” That night the bent woman seemed all violet- colored as she tied a piece of seal fur and blubber to Miyax’s belt. “It’s an i’noGo tied ,” she said. “It’s a nice little spirit for you.”
Another memory was flickering-yellow—it was of the old men beating their drums around Kapugen’s stove. She saw them through a scarf of tiny crystals
The wind blew across the wolf den, shattering the heads of the cotton grass and shooting their seedlets south with the birds. No one answered. The wolves were gone.
PART II
Miyax, the girl
T HE WIND, THE EMPTY SKY, THE DESERTED EARTH — Miyax had felt the bleakness of being left behind once before.
She could not remember her mother very well, for Miyax was scarcely four when she died, but she did remember the day of her death. The wind was screaming wild high notes and hurling ice-filled waves against the beach. Kapugen was holding her hand and they were walking. When she stumbled he put her on his shoulders, and high above the beach she saw thousands of birds diving toward the sea. The jaegers screamed and the sandpipers cried. The feathered horns of the comical puffins drooped low, and Kapugen told her they seemed to be grieving with him.
She saw this, but she was not sad. She was divinely happy going somewhere alone with Kapugen. Occasionally he climbed the cliffs and brought her eggs to eat; occasionally he took her in his arms and leaned against a rock. She slept at times in the warmth of his big sealskin parka. Then they walked on. She did not know how far.
Later, Kapugen’s Aunt Martha told her that he had lost his mind the day her mother died. He had grabbed Miyax up and walked out of his fine house in Mekoryuk. He had left his important job as manager of the reindeer herd, and he had left all his possessions.
“He walked you all the way to seal camp,” Martha told her. “And he never did anything good after that.”
To Miyax the years at seal camp were infinitely good. The scenes and events were beautiful color spots in her memory. There was Kapugen’s little house of driftwood, not far from the beach. It was rosy-gray on the outside. Inside, it was gold-brown. Walrus tusks gleamed and drums, harpoons, and man’s knives decorated the walls. The sealskin kayak beside the door glowed as if the moon had been stretched across it and its graceful ribs shone black. Dark gold and soft brown were the old men who sat around Kapugen’s camp stove and talked to him by day and night.
The ocean was green and white, and was rimmed by fur, for she saw it through Kapugen’s hood as she rode to sea with him on his back inside the parka. Through this frame she saw the soft eyes of the seals on the ice. Kapugen’s back would grow taut as he lifted his arms and fired his gun. Then the ice would turn red.
The celebration of the Bladder Feast was many colors—black, blue, purple, fire-red; but Kapugen’s hand around hers was rose-colored and that was the color of her memory of the Feast. A shaman, an old priestess whom everyone called “the bent woman,” danced. Her face was streaked with black soot. When she finally bowed, a fiery spirit came out of the dark wearing a huge mask that jingled and terrified Miyax. Once, in sheer bravery, she peeked up under a mask and saw that the dancer was not a spirit at all but Naka, Kapugen’s serious partner. She whispered his name and he laughed, took off his mask, and sat down beside Kapugen. They talked and the old men joined them. Later that day Kapugen blew up seal bladders and he and the old men carried them out on the ice. There they dropped them into the sea, while Miyax watched and listened to their songs. When she came back to camp the bent woman told her that the men had returned the bladders to the seals.
“Bladders hold the spirits of the animals,” she said. “Now the spirits can enter the bodies of the newborn seals and keep them safe until we harvest them again.” That night the bent woman seemed all violet- colored as she tied a piece of seal fur and blubber to Miyax’s belt. “It’s an i’noGo tied ,” she said. “It’s a nice little spirit for you.”
Another memory was flickering-yellow—it was of the old men beating their drums around Kapugen’s stove. She saw them through a scarf of tiny crystals
Similar Books
