The Middle of Everywhere (13 page)

“Sure thing,” Tom adds.

Geraldine and Lenny raise their eyebrows.

Etua knows more about net fishing than I do. A bit of net is still caught under the ice, and when we lift it out, we find more fish. When we turn the net over on the ice, some of the fish are still thrashing from side to side as if they're trying to swim.

Etua uses a short heavy stick to kill them. One swift whack to the head, and the fish stop moving altogether. Etua laughs as he whacks the fish.

If someone had told me two weeks ago, when I was still in Montreal, that today I'd be watching a laughing five-year-old clubbing fish to death, I'd have been disgusted. But now that I'm up here, things look different. We need to eat, the dogs need to eat, and there's no point making the fish suffer any more than they have to. It's better to kill them quickly than to let them suffocate on the ice.

That gets me thinking about how the kids at school— even Geraldine—were surprised when we didn't put Tarksalik down. With all the snow, it's impossible to see the dogs, but I know from the occasional yelp that they're still out there, ready to get back to work when it comes time to bring us home.

For the Inuit, dogs aren't pets the way they are for us in the city. Maybe
we're
the weird ones—keeping dogs on leashes, taking them for walks in the park and training them to sit or shake a paw. Until now, I never gave much thought to how we treat animals in the city.

Once all the fish are dead, we pile them onto the back of the
qamutik
. Most are already half-frozen. “When we get 'em back to the camp, we'll lay them out in rows so they can freeze through,” Tom says. The wind whips the wool pompom hanging from the woolen string on top of his
nassak
, so the pompom lands on his forehead, just over his nose. Tom shakes it off his face. “Once we're back in George River,” he says, “Steve'll bag the fish and Joseph… er…” Tom catches himself. “Maybe not Joseph. Not for a while, anyhow.”

“D'you think he'll be able to carve again?” I ask Tom. Dad told me Joseph is one of the best carvers in all Nunavik.

“I hope so,” Tom says. “Joseph sells his stuff to some fancy art gallery in Quebec City. That helps pay for dog food.”

Geraldine and her dad are helping us load fish too. “No sense in worrying about Joseph,” Matthew says. He looks out at the snow and then up at the sky. “What happens now ain't up to us. Joseph's in bigger hands.”

Afterward, we all go to the Snowflakes' spot on the lake and load up their fish. Etua brings his stick, but he doesn't have much work since most of the Snowflakes' fish are already dead.

My elbow rubs against Geraldine's as I reach down for another armful of fish. She is humming a tune I don't recognize. She could move away, but she doesn't. I figure it's a sign that maybe she likes me. At least I hope it is.

“Hey, Noah,” Lenny calls from out on the ice. It's hard to know how far away he is exactly because of the way the snow is blowing. “Come give me a hand, will ya?” Maybe because it's the first time he's called me Noah, I stop what I'm doing and head over. Geraldine is still humming.

I see Lenny's dark eyes shining even through all the snow. It looks as if he is only about twenty feet away from me now. When I come closer, I can hear him chuckle. “Hey, Noah, have a look over here.” He is pointing at something on the ice. His lip is swollen from where I punched him.

The fact that he uses my name twice in a row should tell me Lenny is up to something. But I don't figure that out at first.

I move toward him, but a fresh gust of wind blows in and for a few seconds all I see is snow. I can still hear Lenny chuckling, but the sound seems to be getting more distant. The snow is swirling all over. I put my arms out in front of me. I don't want to bump into Lenny.

When the wind dies down, and I get to where Lenny was, he isn't there. What's going on?

“Lenny!” I shout.

At first, he doesn't answer, but then I hear him. Only now his voice seems to be coming from a different direction altogether. “Over here, Noah,” I hear him call out. “Hurry, will ya?”

I must have lost my sense of direction in that last whiteout. “I'm coming,” I call as I turn around.

Again, I follow Lenny's voice, but when I get there, he is gone.

“Come on, Lenny!” This must be his idea of a joke.

Though I can't see him, it's as if I can feel his presence.

I turn to see whether he could be behind me. What if he jumps me? Worse still, what if he wants to beat the crap out of me? He must want to get back at me for punching him.

“Noah?” This time, Lenny's voice sounds really close. Is he going to disappear again?

Then, just like that, before I know what is happening, Lenny is beside me, pinning my arms behind my back. It's like he appeared out of nowhere. My heart is racing. With all the snow, the others won't know what he's about to do to me.

I'm so afraid I nearly lose my breath. I gulp for air and try kicking him in the leg, but my boots are too big and Lenny sidesteps away just in time. He's laughing, but I still don't trust him.

I feel the heat from Lenny's lips near my right ear. He won't let go of my elbows. The weird thing is, he's not hurting me.

Lenny leans in even closer. I still want to break away from him, but it's like I don't have any strength. Even if he isn't hurting me, I'm afraid he might.

I think of my dream about Roland Ipkins. Now Lenny spins me around so we're facing each other. I don't want to look into his eyes, but I've got no choice.

Lenny has that smirk on his face, but his eyes don't look angry. Is this another one of his tricks?

“You afraid of me?” he asks.

There doesn't seem to be any point in lying. “Uh… yeah,” I tell him.

Lenny loosens his grip on my elbows. “Guess you forgot what my great-uncle Charlie Etok said about fear the other night: it tires you out worse than anything else.”

I shake my elbows loose. “Guess I did.”

“There's one more thing I want to know. How come you wear such a silly hat anyway?”

“It's a ski tu—” But before I'm done my sentence, Lenny whips the ski tuque off my head. It flutters in the wind like a flag.

“Give it back!” I cry out.

Lenny just laughs and tosses my tuque into the air. I guess I should be happy he isn't beating me to a pulp. Still, my ears are burning from the cold. I cover my ears with my hands. “C'mon, Lenny!”

“Would the two of you quit fooling around and get back to work?” It's Matthew. He's got my tuque in his hands. He throws it over to me.

Geraldine is coming this way too. Her mouth is open, and at first I think it's because she's singing. Then I realize she isn't singing; she's shouting. At first, I can't make out what she's saying because of the wind. But I can see her lips moving. And then, when she gets a little closer, I hear the words too. They are so high-pitched, you'd think they could travel all the way back to George River.

“Where's Etua?” she yells.

That's when the dogs start barking too.

I look over to where Etua was inspecting the fish, checking whether they were really dead. There's no sign of him.

NINETEEN

“E
tua!” Geraldine shouts. “Where are you? Etua!”

Geraldine's dark eyes have a wild look. “He was right n-next to me,” she says, her voice breaking. “Then I turned around and he was gone. Etua!”

The rest of us are shouting too. “Spiderman!” I call, thinking maybe he'll hear that better than just his name. But when we stop to listen for him, all we hear is the wind's fierce whistle, the dogs' barking and our own frightened-sounding echoes.

“He can't be far,” Matthew is saying. His voice still sounds calm. He raises one hand over his eyes to help him see better.

“Then why isn't he answering?” Geraldine sounds like she's about to cry.

“Maybe he can't hear us over the wind and the dogs,” I say. “I couldn't hear you before, and you were screaming.” I'm chewing on the inside of my lip. I bite down so hard, I taste blood.

I shouldn't have gone out onto the lake when Lenny called me. I should've thought about Etua. I promised to keep an eye on him. I screwed up. Again.

“We should split up into three search parties,” Tom says. Nobody argues. Not even Matthew.

“Jakopie, Roy and I'll head into the bush. Matthew and Geraldine, check the tents. You two cover the lake,” Tom tells Lenny and me. I don't complain about being stuck with Lenny. The only thing that matters now is finding Etua.

The lake looks bigger and snowier than ever. Is Etua out there somewhere? I feel inside my pocket for the ptarmigan feather Tom gave me. At first, I can't find it, but then I feel something thin and hard way at the bottom of my pocket, where the lint collects. Yes, that's it. I must be getting desperate if I'm starting to believe in lucky feathers.

“We'd better find him soon,” Geraldine whispers, and now I can tell she's really having trouble fighting the tears. “He could freeze to death out here.”

I pat Geraldine's elbow. “We'll find him.”

“Etua! Spiderman!” I shout as Lenny and I trudge along the ice.

“Etua! Spiderman!” a voice echoes back. This time, it isn't my voice echoing. It's Geraldine's. She's out there calling for Etua too.

I keep my eyes on the snow near my feet. Maybe we'll see small tracks. Maybe Etua fell and he's having trouble getting up. His parka probably weighs more than he does. But with the snow coming down so hard, Etua's tracks will be covered in no time, and so will Etua.

“He's wearing a red parka,” I say to Lenny. “And a red
nassak
.”

“I know,” Lenny snaps. You'd think I'd said something really annoying. I shouldn't let it bother me, but it does. Again, I think of Roland Ipkins. I remember the anti-bullying workshops we had in elementary school. The lady who came to talk to our class told us we should feel sorry for bullies. At the time, I thought she was out of her mind. Imagine feeling sorry for Roland Ipkins, who used to squash my sandwiches at lunch and once put dog shit in my rain boots. There was no way I could feel sorry for him! But I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Lenny isn't a bully after all. At least not the kind of bully I'm used to. Maybe Lenny is more into tricks than torture. Maybe kids up north don't just have a different attitude to animals; maybe kids up here also have a different attitude to other kids. Maybe they're not mean the way city kids can be.

Lenny stops for a few seconds to look out at the lake like Matthew did, using his hand for a visor. “You shouldn't have left him alone,” Lenny mutters. There he goes again, criticizing me. And I'm not just going to keep taking it. Just like I shouldn't have kept taking it from Roland Ipkins all through elementary school and then into high school.

“You shouldn't have called me over and tried to trick me,” I say. “And you shouldn't have taken my ski tuque.”

“Who started it?” Lenny says. “Who punched me in the face?”

“You started it. You've been ragging on me since I got here.”

Lenny doesn't have anything to say to that.

I'm not done yet. “We all said we'd watch Etua. Not just me.”

Lenny doesn't have anything to say to that, either.

We trudge a little farther. Lenny is breathing hard. Or is it me? The wind burns my face, and my lips are so chapped they hurt.

I think of Steve and Joseph out on the snowmobile in this storm. Will they make it back to town in time for Joseph to catch the plane to Kuujjuaq?

Then I remember Joseph's thumb on the snow outside the tent and Tarksalik lying on the road in a pool of blood. And now Etua is missing. People, even grown people, die in weather like this. How's a little kid going to make it?

It's starting to feel like the whole world is falling apart around me. I'm not angry the way I was a few minutes ago; now I'm more sad than anything else. And hopeless.

“Steve'll never forgive us if something bad happens to Etua,” I say. I am talking more to myself than to Lenny.

Lenny stops in his tracks. When he raises one hand in the air, I feel the muscles in my back and stomach contract. I'm wondering if now is when he's going to punch me or maybe strangle me instead. When Lenny puts his hand on my shoulder, I feel relieved, but still a little nervous. I can't trust him. He doesn't like me any more than I like him. Probably less.

“Will you cut it out?” Lenny says, looking me hard in the eye. “Nothing bad's gonna happen to Etua.”

I shake my head, but I don't say what I'm thinking, which is: How do you know? And if you're so sure and so big and tough, how come your hand is shaking?

“Etua! Spiderman! Where are you?” Lenny is shouting now. We're walking again, side by side, not saying a word except to call for Etua.

“What's that?” I say, pointing to a spot of color on the shore about thirty feet from where we are, though it's hard to judge distances with the snow blowing so hard.

“I don't see nothin',” Lenny says.

You mean
anything.
You don't see anything, I think. Something tells me Lenny wouldn't appreciate a grammar lesson right now.

I tug on Lenny's arm. “I see something.” My chest starts to feel a little lighter. It hasn't been long since Etua went missing. If we find him now, he should be fine. “Maybe it's Etua.”

We pick up our speed. “Do you see it now?” I ask Lenny.

“I see somethin',” he says. “But it's not red.”

We are walking against the wind. But I don't care about the snow or the cold or the wind. I don't even care about whether Lenny plans to try and kill me.

Lenny's right. Whatever we've spotted isn't red, so it can't be Etua. The heavy feeling in my chest comes back. Maybe we shouldn't have bothered heading to the shore. Maybe if we'd kept walking straight out on the lake, we'd have found Etua by now. Maybe we should turn back right now.