Trapped in Ice (7 page)

A cheer went up from the huddle of men. The dogs joined with their own chorus of approval. Mr. Stefansson waved his arms in the air and then disappeared from my view, hidden behind the other men, as he stepped down from the sled. Almost instantly the sleds started moving and the group of men fanned out as they watched them start off. I moved over to stand beside Michael. I followed them with my eyes as they moved along “Main Street,” a flat, clean, clear patch of ice stretching away from the ship. Distances were deceiving on the ice, but this trail went on for over a mile until it reached a pressure ridge which had risen up twenty feet into the air. A passage, just wide enough for a sled to pass, had been hacked through the ridge.

Slowly people turned away and started wandering back to the ship, climbing the stairs to leave the ice. I stood and watched as the teams became smaller and smaller on the horizon. Finally even the sounds of the dogs didn't come back to my ears. I observed them until finally they reached the icy ridge, and first one sled, and then the other, went through the passage and disappeared from view.

“
HELEN! MICHAEL!
” sang out Mother's voice. She was standing on the ship, peering over the railing. She had yet to leave the ship. We both walked over until we stood directly below her. I wondered if she'd seen all of what had just gone on.

“Have you both had breakfast?” she asked.

“No, ma'am,” I answered.

“Michael?”

“Not yet ... but I'm not hungry.”

“I want you both to come and eat right now.”

“But Mom, I have to help feed the dogs,” Michael protested.

“The dogs can wait. I want you to eat breakfast right now.”

“But Mother!” Michael started to protest before he was cut short.

“Don't ‘but' me, young man. There may be no trees for me to cut a switch but I can still warm your behind! Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered quietly, looking down at his feet.

“Good. I'm going to have breakfast myself,” she said and walked out of our view.

Her words brought an instant smile to my face. This would be one of the few times in weeks we'd eaten with Mother. She'd been taking her meals alongside her sewing machine.

“Come on, Michael.”

“I'm going to eat breakfast with Kataktovick.”

“But Mother said to—” I started.

“Eat breakfast,” he interrupted, “and that's what I'm going to do. I'm just not going to eat in the galley.”

“Mother will be very angry!” I warned him, but I doubted he'd take either my words or her threat very seriously. He started to walk away.

“Michael!” I called out.

He turned around. He looked like he was ready for an argument.

“Tell Kataktovick I'll be down to see the dogs later.” Michael smiled. “I'll tell him.” He walked away towards one of the igloos, while I went around the side of the ship.

As I walked, I removed one glove and reached into one of the pockets of my parka. I felt a couple of small pieces of meat nestled there. I always kept a couple of scraps for one of the dogs, Daisy, who was much gentler than the other dogs. She always made a fuss and licked my hands. She'd learned I had treats for her and would push her muzzle against me as she tried to figure out which pocket it was in. I decided to go down and see her right after breakfast.

I climbed the stairs two at a time and then hurried below deck to the galley. Mother was already seated at the big table, as were Dr. Mackay, Mr. Hadley and Captain Bartlett. There was an empty seat on each side of Mother. I gave her a small kiss on the cheek before sitting down beside her.

“Where is your brother?”

“He's having breakfast ... with Kataktovick ... on the ice.”

“He is what?” she demanded.

“Having breakfast with Kataktovick,” I repeated quietly.

“I heard what you said! I meant, why isn't he here? He knew perfectly well what I meant.”

“Just what the boy needs, a breakfast of blubber,” Mr. Hadley laughed.

“Blubber?” I asked.

“Yeah, raw whale or seal fat
...
that's what those people eat, you know,” he explained.

“Blubber! He can't eat blubber for breakfast!” Mother said, turning white. “Helen, you go and get your brother immediately!”

Before I could even take to my feet, Captain Bartlett spoke. “They eat a lot more than blubber, Mrs. Kiruk. Lots of things. 'Member these people live up here an' they know what they should be eatin'. If Michael eats like a native he'll stay healthy like 'em. Isn't that right, Doc?”

The doctor put down his steaming cup of coffee. “The natives do seem to handle these barbaric living conditions remarkably well. Although, I must admit I've never actually treated or examined one.”

“Good thing you haven't,” Mr. Hadley chipped in. “If you've ever had to be at close quarters with one of them you'd realize they stink to the high heavens! Dirty, filthy Indians is what they are.”

“They aren't dirty. It just don't make sense to bathe up here unless ya want ta die of pneumonia,” noted Captain Bartlett.

“Well, as my dear departed mother used to say, ‘cleanliness is next to Godliness,' and these people don't have any of either. Nothing but heathens. Godless, dirty Indians, the whole bunch of them.”

“They have their God,” Captain Bartlett said.

“What do you mean by ‘their God'? Last time I was in church the minister told me there was only one God. I have yet to meet an Eskimo who was a Christian.”

“Inuit,” Captain Bartlett said.

“In your what?” asked Mr. Hadley.

“Inuit ... not Eskimos or Indians. They call themselves Inuit. It means ‘the people.'”

“They aren't my people. Now if you'll excuse me,” Mr. Hadley said, rising from his seat. “There's no point in you and I discussing this again, Robert. I don't know why you have such a soft spot for these Indians, so I'll not waste my time. I have things to attend to.”

As he opened the door to leave, Michael walked in and took a seat.

“I thought you were eating elsewhere,” Mother commented.

“Changed my mind when I saw the menu. Raw fish and some other stuff that was all dried out. It looked like shoe leather.”

Cookie put down a big bowl of porridge in front of Michael, who instantly dug into it. He swallowed a big mouthful. “This is good, but I can't wait to taste caribou.”

“You'll have to wait,” the Captain said.

“I guess so. Mr. Stefansson said he wouldn't be back for at least a few days.”

Captain Bartlett rose from the table, carrying his empty bowl and ever-present coffee mug. He walked over and placed the bowl in the sink and then refilled his mug from the steaming urn.

“I don't want ya ta be disappointed, Michael. Remember he's not goin' ta the general store ta pick up some grub. This is the Arctic. Maybe he can't find caribou. Maybe he hits bad weather and gets socked in. Maybe the ice breaks up and he can't get back ta the ship.”

“Can't get back to the ship!” I exclaimed. “But if he can't get back to the ship then he'll …” I bit down hard on
my lower lip to stop the tears which suddenly threatened to erupt.

“Vilhjalmur knows more about the Arctic than almost any man alive. 'Sides, he has good men, good dogs an' plenty of supplies along with him,” Captain Bartlett said. “He'll be just fine an' dandy.”

“Thank you, Captain, that is very nice of you to reassure Helen,” said Mother.

“Not tryin' ta be nice, ma'am. Just tellin' facts as I see 'em. Vilhjalmur will do just fine. No sense in worryin'
...
leastways about him. We have too much ta do ta waste time worryin'.”

“What still needs to be done?” asked Dr. Mackay. Captain Bartlett turned directly to Mother. “Clothes all done?”

“Yes, as of yesterday.”

“Good, 'cause I'm goin' ta need your help ta construct the komatiks.”

“What is a ko ... ma
...
tik?”

“Here, let me show ya,” Captain Bartlett said. He pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket. He unfolded it and flattened the paper on the table in front of Mother. Both Michael and I peered at the rough pencil drawing.

“It looks like a sled,” observed Michael.

“Special type of sled ... a type used by the Inuit. Kataktovick helped me with the drawing.”

“Why do we need new sleds?” asked Dr. Mackay.

“The ones we have are too big an' bulky.”

“I've been out on a few trips, Robert, and they seem to work just fine,” Dr. Mackay disagreed.

“Fine for little trips, but not for anything longer. 'Sides, we don't have enough sleds for what we'll be needin'.”

“What are these made of?” asked Mother, pointing to the picture.

“Wooden frames covered by seal an' caribou skins, mostly. I'll make sure the frames are made an' then help ya ta stretch the skins atop 'em.”

“What else needs to be done?” Dr. Mackay asked. “Have to finish what we started. All the rest of the supplies have ta be brought up on deck. Some should even be taken down onta the ice.”

“The ice! Why in good God would we need to do that?”

“Like my gramma always said, ‘don't put all your eggs in one basket,'” Captain Bartlett replied.

Dr. Mackay's face took on a serious look. “These are very troubling suggestions, Robert. From what you're saying I can only assume you think that the ship is in ... ”

Captain Bartlett stood up and placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. “Helen an' Michael, could ya go an' find Jonathan for me? Tell him I need ta see him.”

“Could I finish my porridge first, sir?” asked Michael.

“No! Go with your sister right now!” Mother insisted.

Both Michael and I recognized that tone and we instantly rose to our feet and hurried out of the galley. The door swung shut behind us.

“First she orders me to come and eat and when I try to eat she orders me to leave. That doesn't make any sense. I wonder what's so all-fired important they need to talk to Jonnie?” complained Michael.

“They didn't send us away just to find Jonnie. They wanted to …” I started and then stopped, realizing Michael didn't have any idea why we were sent away. There was no point in worrying him too. At least one of us would be able to sleep well tonight.

“They wanted to what?” he asked.

“Nothing. Let's find Jonnie.”

“You start to talk and then you stop. You're making about as much sense as Mother.”

“I'll check below deck and you check topside and on the ice. Okay?” I said, quickly changing the subject.

“Okay,” agreed Michael and then went running off.

I started my search but with no enthusiasm. I knew we were on a wild-goose chase. They didn't want to talk to Jonnie. They just wanted to send us away so they could discuss what was happening, things they didn't want us to hear. Part of me longed to be in the galley, to be part of what they were saying, while the bigger part of me wished I could be like Michael and have no idea of what was ahead. Here I was, caught in the middle; too young to be included in their conversation, but old enough to worry about what it could be about.

 

 

Chapter Nine

I
RAISED MY HAND TO KNOCK
on the closed door. Beautiful music spilled out from under it. I hesitated for an instant and then knocked, quietly, and stepped back to wait for an answer. There was no reply. The music continued to flow. It had taken all my nerve to come here in the first place and now I had to fight the urge to flee. But I had to know the answer. I'd tried talking to Jonnie but he didn't seem to know anything more than I did. I thumped the palm of my hand against the door with such force the sound echoed down the corridor.

“COME!” came the response.

I opened the door and was hit by a wave of heat. Stepping into the room I was engulfed in both the warmth of the air and the sound of the music. Captain Bartlett was seated in a chair, sitting beside an enormous gramophone. His eyes were closed. On his lap sat Figaro, curled up in a sleeping ball.

“Captain Bartlett …”

He brought one finger to his lips and raised the other hand to silence me. I stopped. He lowered his hands, and his eyes remained closed. There was a look of total peace on his face as the music, the only sound in the room, swirled about.

I looked around. Over in the corner there was a small pot-bellied stove, the fire gleaming through the partially open grate. That explained why the room was so warm. Most of the cabins, including the one I shared with Mother and Michael, only had heat coming up through the vents from the boiler room. Over by the Captain, on a sturdy wooden table, sat his gramophone. Protruding from it was a big, black horn, which magnified the sound. Beside the player was a shelf containing hundreds and hundreds of records. The music came to an end. I looked over and Captain Bartlett opened his eyes.

“Mozart. Beautiful music ... so hauntin', an' majestic an' lonely. It reminds me of—”

“Up here,” I interrupted.

A flash of white formed into a smile and shone through his beard. I was thrown by the smile. I didn't think he knew how to smile.

“Exactly. Ya surprised me, girl. Didn't think ya'd figure that. This is one of my very favourite pieces of music.”

“I know.”

“Ya do? How would ya be knowin' that?” he asked. A puzzled look crossed his face.

“Well ... it's just ... I mean ... I know that you play it every night.”

“And how would ya know that? Are you listenin' at my door?”

“No! I mean, no sir, Captain! It's just at night, my bed is right by the wall and I can hear the music coming from your cabin.”

“I'm real sorry, lassie. I didn't mean ta bother ya with my music.”