Face the Winter Naked (38 page)

A
large yellowed map of King William Land hung on the wall behind the counter,
with Gjoa Haven circled in red, a desolate island surrounded by water—or ice,
depending on the season. David thought he may as well have been a speck of matter
light years from Earth. For all he knew, even God would forget where he was.

“You’ve
had a rough trip,” Per said, “Maybe after you’ve rested and calmed down, you’ll
feel better.” He turned to the pilot as Mac came over. “Thanks for bringing him
down in one piece, Mac. The weather turned bad, I was worried.”

“My
pleasure, Per. Nice kid you’ve got here. Better looking than his old man, too!
He was good company.” Mac looked at David and grinned. “But I think at one
point, he imagined we were flying upside down! Couldn’t see the sky or the
ground.”

“You’re
lucky I didn’t throw up,” David said. “Next time I go anywhere, I’ll walk.”

The
incident of a few moments before seemed forgotten as the two men discussed
weather conditions before Per turned to David again. “What do you say we go
back to the native room for a “mug-up”—that’s what Eskimos call their tea
breaks. You’d be surprised how much tea they drink.”

“You
two have a lot of catching up to do,” Mac said. “I have some mail and packages
to bring in, but I’ll be along shortly.” He secured his parka against the storm
and left the building.

“I
remember the tea and the cold,” David said when they were alone again. “I
assume most Eskimo villages are about the same as far as culture goes.”

“There
are a few differences, which you’ll find out. But they do love their tea,
especially when their insides are frozen.”

“Frozen
insides? It gets that cold up here?”

“Colder!”
Per laughed. “But you’ll get used to the weather, and you’ll soon have tea
coming out your ears. There’s nothing more comforting to these people than
socializing over a cup of hot tea. On the other hand, some of the men drink
home-brews, unless I catch them. A drunk Eskimo is a lazy Eskimo who won’t
hunt, and the Hudson’s Bay Company is all about hunting and trading furs.”

“I
have a lot to learn.” David looked around the room again, noting how rustic and
ancient it looked, as though he’d stepped back in time. All the basics for life
in Gjoa Haven seemed to be on display in this one area. In a moment of lightheadedness,
he was overcome with a feeling of déjà vu.
I know this place!
But the
feeling vanished quickly and he refocused on what Per was saying.

“Your
two most important lessons will be patience and acceptance. You’ll need both to
stay sane in the dark winter months. There’ll be times when you lose your
patience, David, but if you don’t accept things the way they are, you’ll be
asking for trouble.”

Are
we going to stand around all day while he gives me the whole history of the
Arctic?

“Do
you still have that little book of Eskimo words?”

“I
don’t know where it is,” Per said. “I speak
Inuktitut
fluently now, so I
don’t need it. I’ve spent years learning their language.”

Not
only that, but Per Jansson had even rejected the anglicized version of his name
when he reached adulthood, and he’d once held the distinction of being a family
man with the Hudson’s Bay Company in remote northern areas reserved for young
single men. As a rule, managers never stayed long at one trading post. But Per
had been at Gjoa Haven longer than usual after the company moved him from Perry
River when Ingrid’s health deteriorated and he returned her to Alberta with
their son.

 “I
won’t know how to talk to these people,” David said. “I’m sure I’ll make a fool
of myself.”

“You’ll
do fine,” Per said. “The Eskimos are good teachers.”

“Do
they speak other languages?”

“Some
speak English, a little French. Most prefer their own language.”

Per
led David into a small room at the back of the store, speaking as he went.

“The
Eskimos are friendly, but they’re people with problems like anyone else:
illnesses, blood feuds, hunger. Religious taboos, a shaman’s black magic. It’s
a hard life but they deal with it. Some of us aren’t so lucky.” He motioned to
one of two tables with checkerboards set up. “Have a seat. This is where
Eskimos come to socialize and play games. I’ll brew some tea while you give me
the family news.”

“There’s
not much to tell. I went to school and helped on the farm. That’s about it.”

David
removed his parka and sat down as Per moved quickly from the cupboard to a
cast-iron heating stove that radiated warmth into the room. The man talked
incessantly, and his hands trembled when he measured tea.

“I
think you’re going to like it here once you get used to the people and the
climate.”

“I
don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope.
After the plane leaves, you’re stuck until the next mail delivery, and that
could be months. You’ll probably feel like a stranger for a few weeks, but I
hope you give the place a chance.”

“I
tried to learn more about Eskimos before I left Peace River.” David studied the
game board. “You mentioned black magic, but I think shamanism’s the real thing.
One of my friends knew someone whose grandfather was healed by a shaman.”

“Is
that right?” Per sat down across from his son. “Don’t mess with that stuff,
David, it’s hocus-pocus!”

“But
I don’t see—”

“Shamanism’s
dangerous. Don’t get involved.” Per changed the subject abruptly, indicating
the discussion was closed. “So, how was life on the farm? What did you do?”

David
couldn’t recall a time when he’d been cut off right in the middle of a
conversation, and Per’s comments disturbed him. But what could he do? If he
pursued the subject, it would only make things worse. He decided to ignore it,
and Per was waiting for an answer.

“What
did I do? I lifted bulls and baled hay.”

Per
burst out laughing. “Shoveled manure!”

“Yeah,
lots of that.”

“Gerda
didn’t write much,” Per said. “And the mail’s often late because of the
weather. So I don’t know much about your life in Peace River. How did they
survive the Depression?”

“Okay
I guess. I don’t remember doing without anything.”

Per
thought for a moment. “Lars was lucky to keep the farm.”

“We
didn’t starve if that’s what you mean. But some of my friends had a hard time
with their dads out of work. We gave away tons of food. . . . I didn’t think
you’d remember Uncle Lars and Aunt Gerda.”

“Why
wouldn’t I? Lars—big man, country face. And Gerda is—”

“Aunt
Gerda is as wide as Lars is tall!” David grinned. “Oh, and Mother’s family
called me Johnson, not Jansson.”

“I’m
not surprised. They didn’t approve of me changing the name back to the old way.
Did it bother you?”

David
shrugged. “At first, but I got used to it.”

“Tell
me about Lars. Did he treat you well?”

“Of course. He respected my feelings and treated me
like the son he never had.” David made direct eye contact with Per for a
moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife. “Look what he
gave me for my birthday.”

Per
took the knife and opened the blades one at a time.

“Very
nice,” he said, handing it back. “It’s even got your initials on it. Reminds me
of one I used to have.”

“I
carry it with me all the time.”

“A
good knife comes in handy up here.” After a minute, Per said, “I hate to admit
I lost track of your birthdays.”

David
ignored the remark and returned the knife to his pocket. “Uncle Lars taught me
to ride a bicycle, and he took me fishing and canoeing. When we weren’t working
on the farm, we paddled up Peace River.”

“Did
you now? Tell me about it.”

“He
taught me to paddle and showed me how to portage a canoe. He said he was going
to make a voyageur out of me.”

“See?
Lars thinks you’re a fur trader!”

David
shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But that’s a big river. We got caught in
a storm one time when we were out fishing.”

“You
can fish in Gjoa Haven after the ice melts on the lakes, or fish through the
ice. But for now I’m thankful you’re here. After I close the store, we’ll go
over to the house and I’ll cook a welcome feast.”

David
pulled the checkerboard closer and moved a red checker to the next row.

“Don’t
go to any trouble on my account.”

Per
got up and went back to the stove, opened the door and shoveled in some coal,
then adjusted the damper.

“It’s
no trouble for a son I haven’t seen in years. I have meat simmering and I baked
bread early this morning.”

Per’s
mustache twitched when he smiled. Whistling while he worked, he poured steaming
water into a large pot filled with tea leaves, then sat down and cupped his
hands around the pot.

“I
forgot you have to wear a parka in the store,” David said. “Why not put a
heater out there?”

“Eskimos
are used to the cold, David.” Per glanced toward the doorway when the sound of
footsteps and laughter drifted in from the other room. “No point wasting fuel
when they only come in to trade a few times a year. Besides, someone always
leaves the door open.” He looked down at his hands. “I keep my mitts on unless
I have to write an order. When it’s very busy, or when taking inventory, a
clerk’s hands freeze.” He strained hot tea into a mug, pushed it across the
table and indicated a small dish of sugar. “You’ll want some of that, the tea’s
strong.”

David
stirred too much sugar into his tea and waited for it to cool a little before
drinking.

“My
trunk, some books, and other stuff are still on the plane.”

“We’ll
get those later,” Per said. “But for now just sit back and relax. Get warm.” He
reached out suddenly and moved a black checker. “Get the noise of the airplane
out of your head.” He looked up as Mac entered the room.

“Hey,
Mac, did you see the
St. Roch
on your way over?”

“Nope.”
Mac poured himself a cup of tea. “I gassed up and took right off again before
the storm got worse. Couldn’t even see the ground.”

Per
turned to David. “The
St. Roch
is the RCMP schooner. Maybe you heard that
it rescued the
Fort James
crew last year after the
James
got
crushed by the ice. Now the
St. Roch’s
frozen in for the winter at
Cambridge Bay. The officers patrol the islands once a year by dogsled. You just
missed them. They were here a few days ago with an eighteen-dog team.”

“No
kidding?”

“Did
I mention the noise? Dogs howling day and night!” The commotion in the other
room grew louder. “I think you’re about to meet our Eskimo friends.”

David
felt a headache coming on as he picked up his mug and drained the rich dark
liquid. The last thing he wanted was to meet new people before he’d had a
chance to unwind.

“In
a few days, I’ll show you the routine for the post,” Per said. “Before long,
you’ll know how to grade furs and keep books as well as I do.”

Disregarding
the fact that the pilot was still there, David stood abruptly and looked Per
straight in the eye. When he spoke, his voice sounded calm and mature, but his
open defiance made his stomach hurt.

“I
might have to learn this trading business, because for now there’s nothing else
to do on this desolate rock. But I have no intention of following your
footsteps.”

He
regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth. It was a bad way to
renew a relationship, because now he needed Per Jansson more than Per needed
him.

Per
rose slowly, his hands gripping the table’s edge. He glanced at Mac from the
corner of his eye. No one had dared address him like that since his run-in a
year ago with a man drunk on home-brewed wine.

“You’re
exhausted from your trip,” he said. “We’ll discuss this later.”

They
both sat again and Per turned to the pilot.

“So,
Mac, what’s the news from the outside world?”

“Tense,
but easing up,” Mac said. “Or it seems to be.”

“The
Company’s been operating at a loss for some time,” Per said. “I cut back on my
own expenses, took a pay cut, hunted and lived off the land like an Eskimo.”

David
remained silent, listening to the men. He thought about Uncle Lars, the farm,
the warm rolling landscapes, meadow flowers and barnyard smells. Cows swishing
flies away with their tails, waiting to be milked. Living off the land meant
different things to different people, depending on where you lived.

Mac
turned to David, cutting off his thoughts.

“I’m
leaving soon, so I’d better unload your trunk.”

“I’ll
help—”

“Oh
no, there’s plenty of help out there. Stay here and relax.” He extended his
hand. “Thanks for the company, David, and good luck in your new home!”