Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [107]
Tuluk was speaking low, now, and the others nodded slowly. Gabriel could feel they were genuinely worried and maybe a little apprehensive as well.
“These dogs see Kiggertarpok in front. These Inuit see Kiggertarpok, too. They are afraid. But the dogs, they want to follow Him. And so these Inuit have to follow, too. And they follow and they follow and they find you. And around you in the snow, we can see the … shapes … of Kiggertarpok. Not from a long time ago. There to warm and save you. But, then, Kiggertarpok is not there anymore.”
Gabriel nodded. He dimly understood why the angakoq was looking at him that way. These fugitives had been diverted from their route, which they deemed the way to salvation, by a Spirit who had led them to no better finding than a half-frozen qallunaq with nothing to share and unable to help them in any way. And, on top of it, this white wreck had about him the reek of the uncanny, carrying an amulet that had been apparently enough to enrol Kiggertarpok as his tornaq, his helping spirit. Gabriel wondered if he should tell them of his little chat with Saana, or Helen, or whoever she was, but somehow he thought that would not sit well with Whatsisname the Sombre Sorcerer, who looked either wary of a possible rival or jealous of a favour bestowed on one more useless qavaq. Bringing your own God to the exploration party is one thing, but stealing other people’s helping spirits was certainly as criminal as stealing a knife. Gabriel tried for what he thought was Eskimo politeness.
“I am sorry you had to go out of your way for a person as useless as I am.”
“You angakoq?” asked Uitayok bluntly.
Gabriel decided not to make any extravagant claim about his momentary supernatural powers, which he suspected had everything to do with a typical local cocktail of alcohol, exhaustion, and numbness from the cold. He also knew that Inuit were, generally speaking, more or less uneasy with their own shamans, and still more cautious about those of others. And then there was the matter of the notoriously tense relationships between shamans themselves. He certainly did not want to get into some sort of contest with one well-seasoned, ill-meaning angakoq. They would not believe his denial, of course, as angakut as a rule always play it cagey with strangers. But at least he would have tried his best to make himself understood.
“It’s only the amulet,” he reassured them. “You want it?” he then asked the angakoq as a gesture of goodwill. But the shaman took a step backward, spitting on the floor. This did not necessitate any translation. Judging by the way he had glanced at it, he was obviously interested, but probably did not want to accept anything from the qallunaq in front of the others.
“Do you hungry?” asked Uitayok, who was looking for some way to dispel the tension that was condensing in the igloo. He was the host and considered his guest, however unwanted, to be under his protection. Gabriel, who remembered he had not eaten anything either at or since Brentford’s wedding, was hungry indeed, but the smell that rose from the food reserve Uitayok was indicating was not exactly appetizing. He said yes, though, thinking it would at least help in creating some sort of bond between them all.
But this proved even harder than he thought. Tuluk announced some kivioq, and dragging a dead seal from the reserve, he ripped it open with a knife. Gabriel’s heart darted up into his throat. The seal was actually a kind of larder, and had been filled with rotting sea birds looking a bit like miniature penguins (guillemots or auks, maybe, but Gabriel, the typical city dweller, knew little ornithology). These were now passed around. The Inuit took the heads of the birds inside their mouths, and having gnawed at their necks with their renowned all-purpose teeth, peeled the birds like fruits, with a quick downward gesture, before eating their bodies. Then they took the fat from under the discarded skins and smeared their faces with it, as it was, Tuluk