The Eskimo Invasion (13 page)

 

 

"My former colleagues at McGill have never forgiven me." The Director's
face seemed to age. "Because my own career began at McGill, Lecturer in
Eskimo Ethnology over thirty years ago, they think I owe them special
treatment. For twenty years they have been demanding to inspect, that is,
to violate my Eskimo Cultural Sanctuary, even though this would shatter
its purpose. Hordes of note-taking ethnologists by their very presence
would disturb the cultural pattern of any primitive people. How can
my easily influenced Eskimos regain their prehistoric independence and
self-confidence if they're to be jostled by professors, with notebooks,
and then denigrated by loudmouthed whitemen riding in Sno-Cats and
flaunting two-way radios, nylon tents, rifles, canned food, steel knives?
My industrious Eskimos may be beginning to recreate bone knives."

 

 

"If they don't starve to death this winter -- " Dr. West thrust.

 

 

Hans Suxbey stared him down. "While you were delirious, your babblings
about a one-month gestation period for women, for women, that is, not
lemmings, was reported by some gullible spy to the sensationalist press,
where your name was printed. Your ravings were quoted. This may have
destroyed the remnants of your professional reputation."

 

 

Dr. West nodded glumly. "What did you do with my black notebook?"

 

 

"You attempted an incredibly sloppy age-sex census."

 

 

"At least it shows a disproportionate number of children, suggesting
a startling increase in population. Too many hungry mouths, not enough
adult hunters, starvation this winter. Where is my notebook?"

 

 

"Prehistoric Eskimo culture was shaped by their harsh Arctic environment."

 

 

"Implying starvation has cultural benefits which you can't admit to the
press or Parliament," Dr. West persisted. "More Eskimos, more starvation,
more authenticity in your cultural museum."

 

 

"I plan to introduce plastic intrauterine birth control devices into their
religious rites in four years when the Eskimo elements of their culture
are stronger, and I plan to enter my -- their Sanctuary."

 

 

"Do it now. Open your eyes to reality in your Sanctuary," Dr. West said,
"or there will be too much starvation this winter. Your Guards will turn
against you and tell the world what they know. When Canadian voters learn
that your Eskimos are starving in Canada, land of wheat surpluses -- "

 

 

"You're exaggerating. You're threatening me?" Hans Suxbey bleated.
"My Cultural Sanctuary's my life."

 

 

Hans Suxbey leaned forward, "It's the Boothia Peninsula my enemies want
to grab. Members of Parliament would use your lies, any lies, to open
the Sanctuary. They hope to strike oil for Quebec. They don't care about
my Eskimos. Think what happened to your Navahos when -- "

 

 

"Since uranium was discovered, their living standard has improved."

 

 

"True Navaho culture has vanished," Hans Suxbey stated. "And our last
Eskimo culture will vanish if liars like you cause Parliament to vote
against my annual appropriation. In Parliament, that greedy old Etienne
LaRue is the tool of the oil interests. In Parliament that reactionary
old racist, LaRue, is drooling to destroy me and my Sanctuary and the
last Eskimo culture. That senile old paranoid in Parliament for twenty
years has been trying to destroy me and the last Eskimos."

 

 

"At least the Eskimos in the Co-Ops will -- "

 

 

"Those aren't Eskimos." Hans Suxbey leaned forward, repeating his old
protest. "They're lost as Eskimos. They're simply round-faced Canadians
disappearing in the homogenized cultural slurb spreading all over the
world from the United States."

 

 

Dr. West said nothing, no use arguing with this wild-eyed old man that
the real villain for the increasing similarity of cultures throughout
the world was not the United States. It was technology.

 

 

"You are anxious to leave Canada," Hans Suxbey was saying, like an offer
to do business.

 

 

"Yes." Dr. West was trying to think how he could get back to the Sanctuary
and rescue Marthalik before the winter starvation began.

 

 

"But when you reach the United States, you would talk to journalists
and contact my enemies at McGill. Deliberately or not you would help
destroy the Sanctuary."

 

 

This was difficult for Dr. West to deny. "If you bring me to trial for
violating the Eskimo Cultural Sanctuary, the publicity will do the same
thing." Immediately he wished he hadn't said that because -- but surely
this civilized man wouldn't have him murdered -- would be?

 

 

Hans Suxbey opened his attaché case on his knees and thrust at him the
microphone of the tape recorder. "Whatever lies you tell in the States
will be contradicted by your recorded statement." He aimed the microphone
like a gun. "Simply tell us how you intended to study those debased
Co-Op Eskimos to the west. Your aircraft strayed off-course near our
Sanctuary and crashed off-shore. Our more authentic Eskimos rescued you.
-- What you say now simply will confirm our press release of last month
when you were brought to the hospital. You were quoted, shall we say,
through my mouth -- "

 

 

Dr. West felt the trap close.

 

 

"You observed them to be well-adjusted to their environment," Hans Suxbey
was saying. "Happy and well-fed, they are succeeding admirably in their
use of bone and stone artifacts. While one Eskimo was transporting you to
our Guard Station, a rabid sled dog attacked you, severely injuring your
leg. You remember raving with delirium, strange dreams like a one-month
gestation period -- "

 

 

"Go see for yourself."

 

 

"Shall we rehearse before I switch on the recorder?"

 

 

"Yes, rehearse the truth," Dr. West blurted. "Face facts. It's important
that you personally enter the Sanctuary this summer, now. See for yourself.
Not only will Eskimos starve; suppose for example this one-month gestation
trait were not transmitted by inheritance from a mutation. Suppose this
increased growth rate of Eskimo embryos has a viral cause, like a cancer,
like a communicable cancer which could spread to mothers throughout
the world?"

 

 

"The ultimate population explosion?" Hans Suxbey laughed. "When you were
fired as Director of Oriental Population Problems Research, you went insane."

 

 

"No, I admit the one-month gestation period probably did begin as a mutation
rather than a virus, but when a people's birthrate rises so suddenly, it must
be investigated at once. There's not only starvation for your Eskimos;
there may be long-term implications for Canada."

 

 

"My next inspection within the Sanctuary is scheduled in my Plan in four
years. By helicopter, I'll conduct my next flyover then."

 

 

"Four years?" Dr. West bleated. "Flyover? Inspect from an altitude of
5000 feet? You're the one who is insane. You don't want to disturb your
cultural museum. You want survival of the fittest Eskimos? In four years
when you enter, you'll inspect your museum -- of starved corpses."

 

 

"Now if you'll relax, we can rehearse something more reasonable for the
tape recorder."

 

 

"Like hell I will!"

 

 

"Then don't." Hans Suxbey snapped the attache case shut, rose and departed.
"Ever."

 

 

 

 

For another month Dr. West underwent minor operations on his leg, waiting
for Hans Suxbey to return or for the hospital to release him. Now that
the tendons and remnants of muscle were healing they were giving Dr. West
daily physiotherapy -- in his room. When he proudly hobbled into the
central station, the nurse abruptly pressed an alarm button and an orderly
appeared from the elevator and firmly hobbled him back to his room.

 

 

"You're not a prisoner," the nurse insisted and the doctors insisted
while they cheerfully played with endless minor cosmetic operations on
the skin of his leg, and more weeks crawled by while Dr. West practiced
walking quickly to the window of his room.

 

 

Snowflakes fluttered against the glass. Dr. West stared out at the last
brown leaves in the park which surrounded the cylindrical white towers
of the prison. With the growing strength in his body, he daydreamed of
Marthalik. Through a thin spot in the mirrored one-way glass, Dr. West
studied the silhouette of the nurse at the central console. When the
wheezing Cultural Sanctuary Guard was in the bathroom, Dr. West opened
the closet and studied the Guard's civvies for fit. He knew the Guard
was standing on the toilet seat with his head in the air vent smoking a
cigarette, which was the Intelligent Man's Cure for Emphysema. Swiftly,
Dr. West entered the bathroom carrying the Guard's pillow, and the
Guard's wheezing stopped. When the dim silhouette of the duty nurse left
the console to inspect one of the other rooms, Dr. West put the limp
Guard to bed, using both oxygen and manual resucitation to start his
wheezing again. He crowned the Guard with the sleeping helmet dialed
to MAXIMUM. The sleeping Guard's civilian trousers were too short for
Dr. West, the old sportcoat lacked modern duo-lapels, but the next time
the nurse left her console station, an unstylish Dr. West left the ward
by elevator.

 

 

He had learned the visiting hours.

 

 

On the ground floor he limped away among the visitors departing from the
Minimum Care Ward. He limped after them along the concrete path between
the concrete towers. As blankly windowless as silos, they housed the
"students" at the New Ottawa Reformation Center. At the gate there was
no security. It must be the towers which were escape-proof, Dr. West
thought as he entered the monorail car, dropping the Guard's quarter in
the slot. The mono whined above the sprawling metropolis of Ottawa.

 

 

He knew Ottawa was only fifty miles from the U.S. border, but the broad
St. Lawrence River would intervene. Probably the hospital would be contacting
the police and Hans Suxbey. Dr. West hoped the Director of the Cultural
Sanctuary would try to call off a public search because arrest publicity
would provide new ammunition for the enemies of Hans Suxbey. Dr. West
thought, if he reached the U.S., his delirium already misquoted by the
press, who would believe his story of a one-month gestation period in
the Eskimo Cultural Sanctuary? He needed Marthalik.

 

 

If he sought help at McGill University, he thought those nervous
ethnologists might be indecisively helpless. Their instincts would be
to guard their research grants. They were afraid to offend the Canadian
Government or even such minor political battlers as Hans Suxbey.

 

 

"But there is one man here in Ottawa, he won't be afraid -- to use me."
Dr. West hoped he could use this powerful man as a passport back to the
Cultural Sanctuary.

 

 

From the monorail he looked ahead to the hill bristling with Parliament
buildings. Like a square-sided rocket, the Peace Tower pointed at the
afternoon sky as Dr. West limped toward the private office of the most
ferocious member of the Canadian House of Commons.

 

 

Inside the outer office of Etienne LaRue, Gobelin tapestries swathed the
walls. The cut-glass chandelier glittered. The receptionist's desk was
Louis XIV, and the buxom receptionist seemed wasted on Etienne LaRue,
who was eighty-four years old with a handshake like parchment.

 

 

"When I heard your name, Dr. West, I come out!" Etienne LaRue straightened
and his eyes seemed startlingly youthful. "That lying Suxbey, weeks ago
how he lied the press! But my friends in the hospital have report to me --
you seem sane. I wish to believe with you."

 

 

Scurrying, the old man led Dr. West to the inner office, where a fortyish
man rose ponderously, sliding a bottle back into a drawer.

 

 

"It may be useful to speak in front of my nephew," old Etienne LaRue
snapped. "Tell him -- Henri, listen to him -- how the Sanctuary has
become a concentration camp of the dead."

 

 

As Dr. West opened his mouth, Etienne LaRue's voice rushed on: "That dog
in the manger, Suxbey, would seize the whole Northwest Territories. For
his Eskimo empire, he is stealing Canada's future living space. He is a
maniac! Do not describe for me all the atheistic sexual abominations
taking place under his leadership. Each fiscal year I have been pleading
with Parliament that we must defeat his wasteful request for appropriation.
Always I have said, reopen the Eskimo Cultural Sanctuary to the honest
Canadian people to whom Canada belongs!"

 

 

Somehow Etienne LaRue didn't leave Dr. West much to tell. Dr. West
remembered Etienne LaRue had begun his rise to elder statesman a
generation ago on a political platform of linguistic independence
for Quebec.

 

 

"But there are only a few hundred of these Eskimos," Dr. West kept trying
to calm Etienne LaRue. "Only the few Eskimos on the Boothia Peninsula have
the monthly gestation period. Of course, they do seem different from other
Eskimos in other ways. Their complexions are so clear and unweathered, as
if they're all quite young. They seem even more good-humored and patient
and honest than the Co-Op Eskimos. With the exception of one older Eskimo
who still owns a rifle, they were kind to me. They are wonderful people."

 

 

Old Etienne LaRue's face wrinkled as if in disgust. "You -- Doctor West,
are another visitor from the United States who becomes an expert on Eskimos
in a week. Like a child's book, you tell of Eskimos like happy angels
smiling." LaRue's voice lowered to a whisper. "Those squint-eyed heathen
are barely human!"