Читать книгу Pomiuk, Prince of the North - Alice Walsh - Страница 7

The blizzard ends, and we begin a journey to a new camp. I help Kupah load the komatik. There is a lot of wild barking as we harness the dogs. Kupah pours hot water over the runners of the komatik to make them glide more easily. Everything is fresh and white, with no tracks of humans or animals. Kupah hands me a pair of goggles made from driftwood. I put them on, knowing they will protect my eyes from the blinding whiteness.

“Go!” Kupah shouts, and the dogs dash forward, their tails curling over their backs as they pull the heavy load. Their breath rises like steam in the cold winter air.

All day we travel over vast fields of snow. Kupah scans the hills, but there are no caribou, birds, or other animals. “The blizzard has driven the animals away,” he says. “Tomorrow we will travel to the frozen sea.”

We build another snow house. This one is small, for we know we will be moving on. For supper Kootookatook gives me a small piece of walrus meat. She smiles, showing teeth that have been worn down from chewing animal skins. “Eat well,” she says. “There is no more food.”

I chew slowly, not knowing when I will be able to eat again. Sometimes after a blizzard, months can pass before the animals return. Our only hope now is for fish or seals to be speared through the ice. So we set out in search of aglu, the breathing holes made by seals in the sea ice.

When we reach the frozen sea, I kneel motionless, elbows on my knees, my double-pronged spear ready. Hunting parties are all over the ice. Men, women and children bend over holes with spears, hooks, and lines. Silently, patiently, we wait at the breathing holes.