5
The Igloo
Now I must say, should say, better saywhile time allows, what I have to say, or should I complete what I was about to say, it’s all the same, what I was about to say was: as I find myself in this igloo, like my father did so many years ago, so long ago, the memory is really but fragmented cloud of mist, I must tell you all thismy story, it is because I have killed you. Yes, oh yes, you are by my side in my igloo, dead, dead as can be, deader than dead, all chopped up dead; I am done with the Great Hunt; I mourn you now, as it should be, as it is being done. It is my great day, perhaps you had yours when I was on your back, and you may even have laughed at me. And it is starting to get colder again, maybe 40-below zero out there, and the winds, oh the winds are wild again, it is your angry spirit I think. And I hear silence. I have been talking for a long, very long time telling you my story oh Great One, like the mountain, you are like the mountain. Your spirit has been patient, but angry. My dogs are silent, it tells me as I look out my icy window, my window made of ice, and see your sons and daughters out there, I counted an hour ago, four of them, and I think more are coming; was this your plan, your revenge? For they have eaten my dogs, now they want my heart, my warm blood in their throats. And the meat I’ve hid, that once belonged to you, they ate that also: old stale meat, meat so rough it is only good for its own kind. You see, they do not have the respect you and I have. They are from the younger generation; they will create a disorder to things. I think it is the end of all the North. It will come; it is ahead of me, on its way: for worse not better. They wait for me to leave; they will not come into my igloo like you did to my father’s, because they know I have you, your fur your head: my trophy I suppose. And they fear your spirit.
They will wait for me to starve, than for the ice to melt, and then drag my ragged body out; or they will tar down this igloo when they get angry enough, and say hell with your spirit, when all seems well: one will dare and the others will follow: one will not dare to do it alone, but when there are many, they are of a different mode, like man, they will make a middle evil spirit, where all will justify what one wanted, and now all are to blame; I will not run, but you know oh Great Spirit, and you knew Old Great One, I have no place to run to, to go to in this cold, without dogs, without much of anything now, but I have you I suppose.
Loud Thoughts
I was happy most when I could simply stare into the sky, into the world of stars: most happy indeed: indeed I was most happy like that that child in his mother’s amaaq [back-attachment used to carry a child].
“I know ‘Spirit Bear,’ the time is too, way too serious for joking, I will not worry about setting the record straight; –before I thought in years, months or days, now it is seconds. Time is very short. Thank you for your concern.”
I used to measure the temperature, no time now to too much to thing about, got to put my thoughts in order, to pack them away, the treasure of a man, that is all we have left is it not: Everything is collapsing, but the recollections, the wealth, the fortune of a man. I now seem to have a picture of my mother in my head; it is like it has been there a long long time. This feeling I cannot explainthe bear spirit hears my voice:–I know,
“My sacrifice is meaningless to your children out there. But if I would not have killed you, you and I would not be able to deal with such a disappointment in life, as having greedy children, children that stand waiting to eat your treasure: me, as I have my treasure in my iglooyour head. And now, yes, I know, I’m pending death, now is the time.”
Pity I am not a writerI could describe how the bears wait impatiently for me out along side my igloo; –pacing in the fifty-below cold, I think it is that cold now, I feel my bones, and twentyfive-mile an hour winds. In circles they go these impatient siblings. Waiting for my flesh, listening: — moreover, I will receive their welcome with my harpoon soon. The land will remember, and say I went by the order, there rules, the nature of the land. Not like the standbys in the great cities my grandfather told me about. Today the cost will be my life.
“No, I will not remain here, great bear, not here in isolation. It is useless to fight I understand, but I will. Unflinching I will have to be not to allow misery, hunger, cold, doubt or despair subdue me. That would be a horrible death.”
I will say no more for the moment. “Don’t forget me bear?” It’s getting colder out there, more snow I see. I will fight, just so I do not fall, Here I am…they see me in my ice-window.
Back to the Igloo
It is no ones fault but my own, I know I have chosen life over death, but death was part of the order of things, the nature of the land: I will simply be part of the dead order, which is part of the cycle: lest we’ve all forgotten that part: how shall we leave, like a chicken or a bear, I will leave like a bear. You gave me my desire; I cannot be mad oh Great Spirit. How could this be? Even in the waiting, I got to tell my story; it is my morning for the Great One, my testament, if you will, to the bear that was honorable, Ursus-arctos. Like all children, they have gotten their prize, their wealth, and the meat he offered them of his old body, as they wait outside my igloo for me, greedy are they not. The children in Barrow and other parts of the land will make up stories about me. I hope those bears, choke on memy rough meat, like their fathers was: I hope I do not taste good: its wild flavor they are after and I suppose I have that in my bones: in my marrow, they will chew my bones dry. As far as you go, old bear, you are to, like me, too too old to taste all that good, anyways. I had good dogs, but they killed them, I know, for they are gone. I will not survive in this land without my sledge; I see that it is busted up. The bears are cleaver, they learned a lot from, from the Great One.
I hear the wind the cold wind is seeping in. A bear is looking in my window; he sees the Great One and me. I have won the prize.
Oh Great One, let me step outside a moment with my harpoon, for what do we live for, is it not desiresI will have two great moments now? Oh yes, and you and I have no more: 1yes, there they are, and here I am:
“Sjorfaa! Sjorfaa!”
The End
See Dennis’ travels at his website:
