The Eskimo Invasion (27 page)

 

 

Except for old Eevvaalik, these Esk children saw only inexperienced Esks
as their models for growing up. "Do you hunt walrus?" Dr. West asked.
"Do you play at hunting walrus? Harpoon? Seal?"

 

 

"Wal-rus?" Already these two-year-old children, who looked like twelve-year
-olds, didn't know what walrus were. Due to the outspreading population
pressure around this harbor where the supplies were landed, these Esk
children might not even see a seal. A little girl climbed onto Dr. West's
lap. Smiling not so shyly, she reminded him of Little Martha, his first
daughter. "Tell me of our Grandfather in the sky."

 

 

"Once there was a great white bear who looked down from the stars,"
Dr. West began, but since he last was on the Boothia Penninsula, the
myth must have been crystallized in a new order, because the children
giggled and began telling him the story.

 

 

"That star. That star." They were pointing, but in the sun-faded Arctic
summer night the star was invisible to Dr. West.

 

 

"That star flying to this place closer all the time," the boy explained
patiently. "That is how we began. Grandfather Bear send part of himself
ahead. He say be fruitful and multiply and prepare this place for me."

 

 

"What does fruitful mean?" Dr. West asked. "Multiply?"

 

 

"Don't know yet," the boy answered solemnly. "But -- when we have covered
the world, Grandfather Bear will come. And once again all of us will
become one. It will feel so good."

 

 

The children giggled and laughed and clapped their hands, echoing:
"Will feel so good." -- "Will feel so good."

 

 

Like children everywhere, their attention was shifting, and they lost
interest in Dr. West and ran away to play. Dr. West listened to their
shrill voices in the distance while he removed the wooden box of aerosol
spray cans from his pack and left it among the bigger wooden crates.
He walked away, his heart beating faster instead of slower.

 

 

What are you doing? Dr. West's young-old face twisted as if a spear was
probing his heart.
I'm doing what has to be done now. The thing which
can't be done once the Esks have spread through the Canadian population.

 

 

But do you know what you are doing? Dr. West blindly hurried away,
thinking of Marthalik's gently smiling face across the breakfast table
in California. Anxious to please him, at first she had repeated that
she was glad not to be bothered with a baby: "I dream about many babies.
Something, Grandfather Bear from the sky? Silly dream." Like the waxing
moon her restlessness increased each month, and she cried out in her sleep,
but to him she laughed with embarrassment: "Eh-eh, it feels strange not to
have a baby every month. Feels strange not to accomplish anything."

 

 

And now Marthalik was gone.
Steve and Marthalik. Marthalik and Steve.

 

 

Do you know what you will be doing to these people psychologically? Why?
Dr. West punished himself as he pushed into Eevvaalik's tent and shoved
his photographic equipment back into his emptied pack.
Can I even predict
their physical reactions to this pathogen?

 

 

He winced at the thought of children playing with the orange cans.

 

 

Endospores of the bacteria were "sleeping" in these aerosol cans marked
MOSQUITO SPRAY.

 

 

It was true that this was the self-attenuating strain; fading like the
ripples from a stone dropped into a pond, as the bacterial infection spread
outward through the population, its virulency would weaken outward to
nothing. It could not infect the world. From a single source, it could not
even engulf a small country.

 

 

But Marthalik was the only Esk on whom the birth-limiting bacteria had been
tested. Although he needed to act quickly because the Canadian Government
was preparing to resettle the Esks throughout the North, from a scientific
point of view he knew he had acted too quickly, insanely. One Esk was not
a valid test sample.

 

 

"All members of a species will not react exactly the same to a new disease."
In his mind, on a graph, a bell-shaped curve confronted him. The vertical
margin of the graph counted people. The horizontal margin rated virulency.
Individual reactions tend to group along a bell-shaped curve. On the
left-hand "lip" of the bell curve are few people with surprisingly slight
reactions to a disease. The great majority of people, indicated by the
hump of the curve, have the typical illness. A few down the other side
of the bell curve suffer violent reactions.

 

 

Dr. West's face tightened like a death mask. If the virulent side of the
bell graph had a cutoff appearance, the researcher would be looking at
an abstract line of corpses.

 

 

"God, forgive me!" Dr. West couldn't know
where
Marthalik's mild reaction
would fit on a bell-shaped curve of the entire infected Esk population.

 

 

I tell you I had to act now before these people scattered. Dr. West
wondered if he had spoken out loud. Eevvaalik was staring up at him
wide-eyed.

 

 

"We will go now," Dr. West said quietly, and he knelt beside Eevvaalik
and began to help her up.

 

 

"Eh-eh, this person stand by herself." Eevvaalik swayed while he supported
her arm, and as she shuffled across the tent floor, she was temporarily
halted by a paroxysm of coughing, and then she continued on out into the
garish Arctic day-night under her own power. "Eh-eh, big sky."

 

 

Her legs sagged, and Dr. West supported her while the mosquitos whined.

 

 

Dr. West knew he was going to need strong helpers to carry Eevvaalik
all the way across the tundra to his plane. He hoped the Mountie was
asleep. Quietly, Dr. West drafted four Esks. Unquestioningly they tried
to obey him. Finally, two of the Esks understood -- observed from him how
to form a carrying chair of their interlocked hands for Eevvaalik. The other
two Esks wandered along behind. Dr. West was beginning to think he would
get away with Eevvaalik.

 

 

The Mountie blundered toward them, his hair still rumpled with sleep,
his eyes blinking in the weak midnight sunglow. Dr. West realized that
an Esk must have been instructed to watch constantly, and the Esk had
run to awaken the Mountie.

 

 

"Sir, if she is so ill," the Mountie mumbled, "you'd best take her to my
cabin." He added apologetically: "Our doctor isn't here. Gone to Walrus
Point Encampment two sleeps ago. Put her in my cabin. I'll send a boy
for the doctor's reserve kit, if you want to give her something."

 

 

Dr. West started to speak and couldn't. It was now or never.

 

 

The Mountie blinked at the pair of Esks. "You, you, walk slow. Carry
old woman to big cabin."

 

 

"Eh? Not old," Eevvaalik protested faintly as they carried her away from
Dr. West.

 

 

"Sir, you'll want some tea." The Mountie's hand closed on Dr. West's arm
and steered him toward the cabin.

 

 

It was as if the Mountie knew how Marthalik had been removed to California
and didn't intend to let Dr. West fly off with Eevvaalik as well.

 

 

Dr. West felt suddenly old. As he walked, he resisted the urge to glance
toward the stack of crates. He wondered if the Esk spy had witnessed him
hiding the box of spray cans. Would the Esk tell the Mountie of the little
box the whiteman had left among the crates?

 

 

"You, you put her on the floor. Over there by stove," the Mountie was
ordering the Esks as they entered his cabin. To Dr. West the Mountie
smiled wanly. "I'm not afraid of a little TB."

 

 

"Eevvaalik's was an arrested case of TB," Dr. West said. "What was the
doctor -- how was the doctor treating her?"

 

 

"Don't know, sir. I thought antibiotics cured that sort of thing nowadays,
but -- are the germs, sir, getting ahead of us? I'd thought she was better."

 

 

"Have you seen TB among the Esks ?" It was a rhetorical question. Dr. West
was nerving himself to walk defiantly out of the cabin and hike to his plane,
to flee.

 

 

"None, sir. Esks all seem sound as Canadian dollars," the Mountie laughed
wearily. "Healthier than the rest of us."

 

 

"And multiplying a hell of a lot faster," Dr. West blurted, realizing
he was going to stay and see it out to the end no matter what happened.

 

 

"One chap had a crate fall on his foot today, sir. Bloody mess. He's not
complaining of much pain, but Esks don't," the Mountie's sleepy voice
rambled on. "Bloody mess. Sir, since the doctor may not be back for days,
I was hoping you'd have a look at this injured Esk. Not now, sir. After
you've slept."

 

 

Dr. West knew the Mountie didn't intend for him to leave. He was the
mouse. Was the Mountie the cat? He sat down on the corner bunk.

 

 

Swirling with thirty-six hours of exhaustion, Dr. West slept among the
whining mosquitos.

 

 

When Dr. West awoke, there was an intermittent hissing noise within the
cabin. He opened his eyes, and watched the Mountie moving around in the
cabin with one arm upraised, waving a little orange can. A masking odor
of artificial pine trees drifted down upon Dr. West's face. Breathing
quickly, Dr. West raised himself on one elbow.

 

 

The Mountie lowered the orange-colored aerosol spray can. "You've had
a good sleep, sir. -- Canned bacon for breakfast, sir?"

 

 

Dr. West couldn't open his mouth to answer. His contracting stomach
was about to crawl out of his mouth as he watched the Mountie using the
mosquito spray.

 

 

"Any time I wake up," the Mountie's voice chatted on, "I call that meal
my breakfast. I miss not having fried seal liver. This spray must be the
slow-acting kind. Ah, see that mosquito! Still circling around like a
skua. Skua's a fierce gull. Nearest thing we have to a vulture. Sir,
do you want your eggs sunny-side up? Those bearded chaps from New York
may think themselves better than uniformed men, but the girl, skinny
little thing -- she's the cook in their landing ship, made me a present
of this dozen eggs. A uniform always appeals to the women, sir. Never fails.
Made me a present of this strawberry jam. How many pieces of bacon will you
be having, sir?" He sprayed near the frying pan.

 

 

The scent of artificial pine trees blending with the overpowering odor of
frying bacon whirled and thickened. Dr. West blundered outside and threw
up before an interested audience of young Esks. They were impressed by
his dry heaves for a few moments. Then, giggling, a boy chased a girl
through the crowd, spraying her face with another orange can. Dr. West
imagined her engulfed in a fog of invisible bacterial spores.

 

 

When Dr. West blundered back into the bacon-reeking cabin, the mosquitos
were whining unabated. The spray seemed harmless to mosquitos.

 

 

Eevvaalik was awake. Squatting in the corner, she was devouring Dr. West's
unfinished breakfast.

 

 

"Here, sir, a good cup of tea will swish out the stomach, I always say."
The Mountie cheerfully waved his hand at a mosquito. "When you feel fit,
I hope you'll take a look at the Esk with the crushed foot." The Mountie
evidently intended to keep Dr. West as long as he could.

 

 

Dr. West knew the Mountie had been in communication with his superiors by
radio. Were they belatedly reviewing the "kidnapping" of Marthalik? That
might necessitate telephone calls to authorities in California. Reputedly
the R.C.M.P. were sticklers as to legal procedure, careful as to the
rights of a suspect.

 

 

This Mountie might suspect Dr. West was attempting to make off with
Eevvaalik, but proving that to a judge would be difficult if Dr. West
denied the intent. Dr. West stood up.

 

 

After inspecting the crushed foot of the grinning Esk, Dr. West told the
Mountie he wanted to walk to his plane to get his medical bag. Instead,
the Mountie sent an Esk to get the bag.

 

 

In that irritating moment, Dr. West hoped this damned, smug Mountie
would be susceptible to the endospores from the aerosol can. In males
the infection sometimes produced uncomfortable and embarrassing symptoms
like prostatitus. In twenty-four hours he would know --

 

 

In twenty-four hours the Mountie appeared crestfallen. Perhaps in his
latest radio conversation, the R.C.M.P. had told him to forget his
suspicions. No warrant would be issued. Dr. West felt like telling the
Mountie to go to hell. He felt like walking off to his plane without
looking back. He might get away with it.

 

 

"Sir, there's a woman having a bit of trouble giving birth," the Mountie
muttered, blocking his path.

 

 

With so many Esks around all day, the Mountie produced one inescapable
case after another for Dr. West, whose irritation exploded.

 

 

"Serves her right for having one every month!"

 

 

"I know you don't mean that, sir. She's a mother."

 

 

"Of course she's a supermother."

 

 

"Sir?"

 

 

"She'll produce so many children that your children won't have room to
sit down."

 

 

"I'm a bachelor, sir."

 

 

"You're a human being. You'll be one of an inundated species."

 

 

"Sir, are you talking about birth control? We were warn -- Anyway it
doesn't seem to do any good. The Family Planning nurses said the Esk
women WANT to have more babies."