Chapter Eighteen
Owliktuk, the esquimaux chieftain, is both troubled and astounded when he learns that the Englishmen, instead of departing empty-handed as he intended they should, have made a new camp near the vein and are now busy digging up the yellow rock with their metal implements and smashing it into small pieces.
He doesn’t understand how they could have found the right place on their own and wonders if they have access to some magical power, some companionable spirit who led them there.
The longer they stay nearby, he thinks, the more likely it is they will cause some kind of trouble.
They might claim that the Indians they brought with them are their servants, but in his experience, Indians are wild and vindictive and won’t be easily controlled.
When he hears what has happened and that his clever plan to make them leave has gone awry, he warns the other families to be on their guard whenever they’re out hunting or gathering moss and to stay well away from the strangers at all times, even if it means they have to turn around or go out of their way.
He also, on his own, pays a secret visit to Unaleq, the local shaman, to gauge his opinion and get his advice.
Unaleq, although he is nearly as old as Owliktuk, prefers to live alone without any family or even a wife for company.
In wintertime, he builds his own small iglu, and in summer he pitches his tent on the other side of the hill close to the fishing weir about half a day’s walk from Ox Lake.
Owliktuk has told him over the years that he should join the rest of the band, but he always declines the offer.
He says if he ever gets lonely, then he talks to his friendly spirits, which is a strange thing to say even for a shaman but, in Owliktuk’s opinion, only proves—if any proof were needed—that he’s serious and trustworthy and not the kind who only claim to have special powers for the prestige or because they are too lazy to hunt for themselves.
To begin with, they talk about the usual subjects—winter weather, the state of the deer herds, who has been arguing with who lately—and then, when there is a gap in the conversation, Owliktuk reaches into his bag and shows him the knife.
“We’ve had some visitors,” he says. “Strangers from below. They brought us gifts like this.”
Unaleq takes the knife and examines it for a while in silence, then gives it back.
“White men, you mean?” he says. “What are they doing up here?”
“Three white men, yes, and four Indians who they say are their servants. They claim to be friendly and peaceful, and one of them even tries to speak our language. He says he learned it trading with the fish eaters on the coast.”
“A white man speaking like us?” Unaleq says with a look of surprise. “That’s something I’d like to hear.”
“He does his best with it, but he makes all kinds of odd mistakes. Sometimes it’s hard not to laugh.”
“So why have they come here? What do they want from us?”
“That’s the most surprising part. It’s not furs or hides they’re after; they came here looking for the yellow stone. I tried to put them off. I told them they were looking in the wrong place, but they went searching anyway and found it all by themselves. I don’t know how they did it.”
“Some people think the place with the yellow stone is special, you must know that. They say that spirits live there.”
“That’s why I came here to get your advice. If we let them take the stone away, will it bring bad luck on the band? Will we be punished for it?”
Unaleq shrugs.
“I’ve been there a few times out of curiosity—I even spent the night there once a few years ago—but I never sensed anything unusual. If you ask me, it’s mainly superstition.”
“So we don’t have anything to fear?”
“I didn’t say that. Not at all. I think you have plenty to fear.
The Indians are always dangerous, we both know that, and the longer they stay near the village, the more dangerous they become.
I had a dream last night, and in the dream all the fish in Ox Lake had floated to the surface.
They were lying there packed together, covering the whole lake like a thick sheet of glittering silver ice. ”
Owliktuk feels a sudden stab of fear when he hears this. Shamans’ dreams are always important and powerful, he thinks, and this one doesn’t sound good at all.
“Were the fish all dead?”
“I’m not sure if they were dead, but it’s certainly a strong warning. You need to be very careful from now on.”
“We could attack them now, right away,” Owliktuk says, “before they do us any harm. Kill some of them and chase the rest away.”
Unaleq ponders the idea for a while, then shakes his head.
“It’s too early for something so drastic,” he says.
“There’s no need to risk a battle until you really have to.
For now, I’d advise you to keep as far away as you can, and if anything strange happens in the village, however small, come and find me.
Indian curses are hard to lift, but if I catch it early I can do my best.”
Owliktuk thanks him and offers to lend him the knife for a while, but he shakes his head and says that slate and bone are still good enough for him.
“They should be good enough for you too, Owliktuk,” he says, looking serious. “For all of you. We’ve lived here in the same way forever, since the world began, so why do we need to change anything now?”
He’s quite right, of course, Owliktuk thinks later on, as he walks back toward the village through damp, breezeless air and buzzing clouds of biting insects.
There’s no need to change anything, no need to add or subtract, not really; we already have whatever we need.
But the problem is that once you get a glimpse of something new—when you see how quickly and easily this knife in my bag, for example, can cut through meat and bone—it’s hard not to imagine that life could be different and better if only we had a little more of what the Indians and the white men have in abundance.
I can feel it inside myself even now, that ticklish, urgent feeling, a need that wasn’t there before.
I wish I didn’t feel it, I wish I could be as wise and contented as Unaleq, but I know I can’t be.
The iron is too hard to resist. And if an old man like me, who’s lived through fifty hard winters here without complaining once, feels that way, how must it be for the others who are younger and softer and more impetuous by their nature?
Hekwaw hides the hammer in the shadows beneath a pile of deer hides at the back of the family tent.
Later, when the Englishmen have all gone away and everyone has calmed down again, he’ll make up a story to explain where it came from, but for now it’s much better, he thinks, if no one knows except him.
Even though Owliktuk is getting old, he still has a nasty temper, and Hekwaw can easily imagine how furious he’ll be if he ever discovers the truth.
He realizes what he did was wrong—strictly speaking, you could even call it a betrayal given that he promised, like everyone else, to keep the location of the yellow stone a secret, but he doesn’t believe it will do any harm, not really.
The yellow stone serves no purpose, after all, so if the Englishmen want it so badly and are prepared to give them iron in return, why not just accept the offer?
His father would argue that the two pieces of iron they already have is plenty, and that trusting strangers, especially strangers who bring Indians with them, is reckless, but Hekwaw thinks his father is being too cautious and fearful.
Iron makes everything quicker and easier, and if two pieces are good, then three or four are even better—that’s how he sees it.
He could say that to his father’s face, of course, but if he did, there would be an argument, which he’d certainly lose in the end.
So even though he hates to lie, on this occasion he doesn’t have much choice.
If only Owliktuk was a little more open-minded and sympathetic, he thinks, I wouldn’t have to go behind his back.
But the truth is that after so long in charge with no one brave enough to question his decisions, however odd or confusing they are, his father has become rigid and hidebound and stuck in his ways.