Ivory Carver 02 - My Sister the Moon (16 page)

WHEN THEY HAD ARGUED, SAMIQ HAD KNOWN THE hardness of the man who was his grandfather. And now, before the hunters of the village, he again felt the man's stubbornness, a hardness covered by persuasive words. 

"We trade then?" Many Whales asked. 

No one answered, and Samiq thought that everyone agreed. 

Some of the men had already gotten to their feet, eyes scanning the horizon, watching the sea, testing the sky. But then, Hard Rock stood, several men standing close to him, and Samiq, watching Many Whales, saw the old man stiffen, a sadness in his eyes. 

"You are wrong," Hard Rock said. His words were low and soft, but forceful, and Samiq felt the thrust of them even where he stood at the back of the circle of men. 

"The women must work harder, drying the meat and storing oil so we will eat for many months. Perhaps next year there will be no more whales." 

But Many Whales answered quietly, "We will trade meat for meat. Seal for whale." 

"There is no argument in that," Hard Rock continued, "but what of the oil? Seal oil is nothing. Or will you trade bird grease for our whale oil?" 

Samiq felt the beginning of defeat in the argument and waited, his breath tight in his chest. His people needed the meat. The oil even more. 

"Will you take baskets?" came the insult. 

Many Whales did not answer. 

"Whale Killer," Hard Rock called, and Samiq raised his eyes to meet Hard Rock's stare. "What can your people trade for oil?" 

Samiq looked at Many Whales, but there was no answer in the old man's eyes, and Samiq knew he must give his own answer. "The First Men have always been traders," he began slowly. "You have traded with them. I do not need to remind you about the things stored in their ulas. I do not need to tell you about the sealskins packed with fish. Sinew of caribou, strong and fine as woman's hair. Seal oil and meat. Baskets. Healing roots." He shrugged. "Ivory, obsidian as well. My brother makes fine knives." He drew the knife Amgigh had given him from the scabbard at his waist and held it up so the men could see the long black obsidian blade. 

An intake of breath, silence, then the sudden babble of many voices. 

But once again Hard Rock spoke. His words were harsh, and Samiq suddenly realized that the argument was not over the trading. The Whale Hunters did not need so much whale meat, and to trade with the First Men was a time for celebration and feasting. The argument was over whose voice would rule the people. Many Whales was once a great hunter, but now he could no longer take whales. His value was in teaching his skills, sharing his wisdom. But Hard Rock was a hunter, now bringing more whales than any other hunter ever had. He was the rightful chief. 

Samiq studied his grandfather's face. The old man's eyes were closed, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. 

Hard Rock still stood, and now he looked at the men gathered around him. Some of the men stared out toward the sea; others sifted the beach gravel between their fingers. 

They do not want the choice, Samiq thought. It is too difficult. 

"I will not trade," Hard Rock finally said. "My portions will stay in the village. But each man must choose for himself. I will not decide for anyone but myself." 

This is the fair thing, Samiq thought. Each man must decide what he will do. And he felt a greater respect for Hard Rock, and he understood why Many Whales had closed his eyes, understood that Hard Rock was worthy to be leader. 

The men left, some walking to the stream, others gathering at the edge of the sea. Samiq watched his grandfather, waited as Many Whales sat with eyes still closed. 

Images of Speckled Basket as she lay beside him in the grass suddenly crowded in to fill Samiq's mind, to cloud his thinking. 

When Samiq had returned to the ulaq, Fat Wife had squinted her eyes at him and told him Many Whales had gone to speak to the men, that Samiq should join them, but before Samiq was able to leave, Fat Wife circled him, chortling as she brushed bits of grass from the feathers of Samiq's parka. 

She said nothing, but Samiq felt his cheeks begin to burn, and as Samiq climbed from the ulaq, Fat Wife called after 

him, "Next time have Speckled Basket pick the grass from your parka, then Many Whales will never know." 

And remembering her words, Samiq's face again burned. How did she know it was Speckled Basket? Did the woman speak to spirits? 

Many Whales cleared his throat and opened his eyes, and Samiq's thoughts were drawn back to his grandfather. What would Many Whales think when he found that Samiq had disobeyed him? How could Samiq defend himself? What man did not need a woman? But what hunter did not deny himself that pleasure to strengthen his power for hunting? No wonder Many Whales did not consider Samiq a man. A man did not let his anger dictate his actions. A man practiced control in all things. 

"They have left?" Many Whales asked Samiq. 

"Yes, Grandfather," Samiq said and found he could not meet his grandfather's eyes. He had not only disobeyed, but also cost his grandfather the leadership of the Whale Hunter people. He had never considered himself to be selfish, but suddenly all his anger seemed foolish, and the remembrance of his time with Speckled Basket was like a rock lodged in the center of his chest. 

But then Samiq's inside voice said, "What you did with Speckled Basket was the action of a boy, not a man, but your concern for your own people is not a selfish concern. Each man must consider the needs of his people. Why else hunt? Is your life worth nothing more than seal meat and oil? No, you hunt for your people, so they might live. There is no selfishness in that." 

"You understand?" Many Whales asked, and it seemed to Samiq as though Many Whales had also heard Samiq's inside voice. 

"Yes," Samiq answered. 

"He will be a good leader," Many Whales continued, and Samiq realized that his grandfather spoke of Hard Rock. 

"Hard Rock makes his own way, leaving others to follow or not," Many Whales said. 

"They would have done what you asked," Samiq answered. 

"Yes," the old man replied. "But it was time. This is the best way. No one was dishonored." 

Samiq stood and waited as the old man pushed himself to his feet. 

"You understand that there will be little whale oil or meat to trade with your people, that the alananasika's portion is the largest and if others trade their meat, they cannot be assured that Hard Rock will share with their families during the winter?" 

Samiq nodded. 

"You understand why Hard Rock questioned you?" 

Samiq smiled. "I am of the Seal Hunters." 

"No," Many Whales answered. "That is not the reason." He cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his parka. "As a man grows old, he becomes wise in the ways of others. He leams to watch the eyes, the set of the jaw, the working of the fingers. I have watched Hard Rock. He is afraid the whales have come because of you. That is why he says you will be the hunter if another whale comes. He wants to see if you have the power to call in another whale, and if a whale does come, Hard Rock wants to see if you have skill enough to take it. 

"Most years many of the whales speared do not die or are washed to another beach. Many times the hunter cannot get close enough to set his spear, or if he does, the whale overturns his ikyak. This year, every whale speared has been taken. Someone has great power. Hard Rock is afraid it is you." 

SAMIQ WAS THE FIRST IN THE VILLAGE TO SEE the sighting fires, and the young boys who watched for the fires had only begun to call when Samiq joined them, crying, "Whale! Whale!" 

He met his grandfather at the top of the ulaq, the old man squinting at the lookout's fire, and when Samiq was close enough to hear, Many Whales said, "You are the whale hunter. The whale hunter does not call out. Come inside. Fat Wife has your chigadax." 

Samiq took his spears from the weapons corner of the ulaq, and Many Whales handed him the carved ivory box that held the poison Samiq would put beneath the spearheads. Samiq tied the heads on with strands of sinew. The sinew would break once the harpoon entered the body of the whale, leaving the poisoned tip to fester deep in the whale's flesh. 

He pulled on his chigadax and for a brief moment clasped the amulet that hung from his neck. 

Many Whales placed his hand on Samiq's wrist. "I saw the spouting," the old man said. "It is the low wide spout of a humpback. You could not ask for a better whale to take first time out. But watch for his flukes. They are long and he will use them like a man uses his arms." He released Samiq's wrist. "Be strong," he said. 

Then Samiq climbed from the ulaq. The people waited for him, staying back a small distance as he walked to his ikyak. Samiq noticed that Hard Rock was not among the people, but Samiq lifted his head and walked as a hunter should walk, eyes on the sea, spears heavy in his right hand. He 
was a whale hunter, and for the first time since coming to his grandfather's ulaq, he feit he had a place in the Whale Hunters' village. 

Samiq carried his ikyak into the water and climbed in, stretching his legs out before him. He pulled the hatch skirting close around his chest, fastening it over his shoulder with the braided cord Fat Wife had made. He lashed his spears to the top of the ikyak and pushed himself out into the ocean with his paddle. 

Once free of the turbulence of the shore, he skimmed easily in the sea, scanning the water from the top of each swell. For a long time he saw nothing, and he wondered if he had taken too long in dressing, in launching his ikyak. But then he saw the widening circle of bubbles, the foaming just beneath the surface, and he steadied his ikyak, the paddle nearly vertical in the water, Samiq ready to turn or dart forward. Suddenly the water darkened, and Samiq knew the whale was breaking the surface. 

As Many Whales had said, it was a humpback, its long, white-edged flippers pale against the water. The whale came slowly, turning as it rose, showing the ridge of its back. The water roared, and the sound was immense, hammering against Samiq's ears. Samiq moved his ikyak forward and arched his arm back, ready to fling the first spear. 

But then the largeness of the animal, the churning of the water, made Samiq unsure of his skills. The whale was a mountain, and Samiq was suddenly only a boy, and he realized how small his ikyak was against the sea, how weak against the whale. He tightened his hand over his throwing board, but could not make his arm move, could not throw the spear. 

Then the whale was again deep in the water. 

Samiq shook with disappointment. You are a child, he told himself. Only a boy, afraid to be a hunter. Perhaps your grandfather is right. You should return to the Seal Hunters and weave baskets. But then he remembered something else his grandfather had told him: that many men fail the first time they go out to hunt the whale. That even 
Hard Rock had turned his ikyak and fled from his first whale. 

So Samiq pushed away the fear that had settled into his stomach like a rock, and again he held his harpoon ready. He spoke to himself, not in anger, but as if he were speaking to another hunter, with kindness, with encouragement. 

"The whale might come again. You are strong. Be ready. Be ready." 

He paddled his ikyak toward the northern horizon, taking his bearing from the yellow haze of the sun and the gray line of the shore, and again he saw the darkening of the water. Again he saw the sea turn green as the whale neared the surface, but this time Samiq drew close, taking the chance that the whale would flip his ikyak. 

Samiq raised the spear, holding his ikyak steady with the paddle, stiffening his fingers on the throwing board as the animal broke the surface. For a moment, Samiq's eyes were on his ikyak, on the water that rushed up with the whale and flooded over the bow. The water was like the surf in a storm, and it forced the ikyak down like a sea lion diving. The sea covered the bow, covered the bindings that held Samiq's other spears. Samiq swung his paddle back, forcing it into the white foam, churning the water until the bow of his ikyak pulled itself up. 

Then the whale turned, exposing a white side, and Samiq forgot about his ikyak, forgot all things except the whale. He tightened his hand on his spear thrower, leaned back against the stern of his ikyak and hurled, aiming, as Many Whales had told him, so his spear would hit beneath the flipper. 

It was not a beautiful throw. The spear spun then wobbled, caught in the foam, but some spirit seemed to carry it to the whale, and Samiq thought he heard the animal moan as the spearhead entered its body. The heavy layer of blubber under the whale's dark skin closed around the spear shaft, and a thick gush of red pumped from the wound as the whale dove, leaving a slick of oil and blood on the surface of the water. 

Samiq fought to keep his ikyak from turning over in the froth from the whale's dive. He pulled a sealskin float from 
its ties on the top of his ikyak, made sure a ballast rock was firmly attached to the float and hurled it into the water where he last saw the whale. Then he turned as quickly as he could, pushing his ikyak toward the shore with long, hard strokes, the waves giving him speed. Hunters were standing on the beach, and as he approached them, Samiq lifted his paddle over his head, the signal that the whale had been hit. Several men climbed into their ikyan, pushing them into the sea, paddling out toward the whale. But Samiq went to the alananasika's hut, to give himself to the whale as he wanted the whale to give itself to the Whale Hunters. Gift for gift. And in his becoming, Samiq gave thanks to the whale, to the animal that would lend its flesh so the Whale Hunters could live. 

It was the third day. Samiq marked the time by the noises of the village. He had become whale again, felt himself sicken, knew he was near death. But now, suddenly, he was only himself. What had happened? 

He waited, listening. Yes, there were voices coming from the beach. He heard Hard Rock and Dying Seal. They had returned. Was the whale now on the beach, or had it been lost? 

Suddenly the door flap of the hut was drawn back and Many Whales stood in the opening. The light that shone around the old man blotted out his face, and Samiq could see only the outline of his grandfather's thin arms and legs, the hunch of his shoulders. 

He stood without speaking, and finally Samiq asked, "The whale is beached?" 

"Yes," Many Whales said quietly, still standing in the doorway, the old man making no move to help Samiq stand. 

"It is time for me to remove the poison?" 

"Yes." 

Samiq stood, suddenly uneasy. There was a harshness in his grandfather's manner that Samiq did not understand. 

Many Whales turned and Samiq followed him from the hut, but Samiq stopped at his first sight of the beach, for there was no whale. 

"There," Many Whales said, gesturing toward Samiq's ikyak, "go to your whale." 

Samiq turned toward the old man, seeking the meaning of his grandfather's words. Several other hunters had gathered, Hard Rock with a broad smile on his face. 

"Your grandfather tells you to go to your whale," Hard Rock said. "But I say, 'Stay here.' The Seal Hunters will recognize your spear will they not? You have banded it to match your seal harpoons. Surely, they know not to eat your poison." 

But Dying Seal laid a hand on Samiq's shoulder and said, "The choice you made is a choice every hunter makes, to feed his people. You have power. We have never seen such power." 

But Hard Rock pushed past Dying Seal, spat on the ground near Dying Seal's feet and looked into Samiq's eyes. He spoke low so Samiq heard the growl of anger under his words. "You will never be alananasika. Your power is nothing. Do not think you can rule people like you rule whales!" 

Hard Rock turned and the others followed, leaving Samiq and Many Whales alone on the beach. And Samiq felt as though he were still in the dream of his becoming, as though the world that his eyes saw was not real. He had not called the whale to the First Men's beach. What man had power to do such a thing? 

"I did not ..." Samiq began, but Many Whales cut off his words. 

"Will you stay or go?" Many Whales asked. 

"I still have that choice?" 

"Yes." 

For a moment Samiq let himself think of Kiin, of his mother, of the First Men's village, but then he remembered his promise to Kayugh, to Amgigh. There was still much he needed to learn about hunting whales. 

"I will stay," Samiq said. 

Many Whales nodded. 

"I did not send the whale . . ." Samiq said, but Many Whales again cut off Samiq's words. 

"You are hungry?" 

Samiq drew in a long breath. "Yes," he said. 

"I will have Fat Wife bring you something." 

Many Whales walked toward the ulas, but then he turned, his eyes now softer. "Samiq," he said, "a man's power is not only what he knows it to be, but also what others think it to be." And then in a quiet voice that spun out in the wispy fog that was settling over the beach, he said, "If the Seal Hunters were my people, I would have done the same."