The Raven's Gift - Don Rearden [3]
“I’m in it for the adventure. John here? We figured Alaska was the only place anyone would hire someone as goofy-looking as him,” Anna joked.
Gary laughed. “Let me ask you, have you, as a couple, experienced anything like this, remote living, like Alaskan Bush life?” he asked.
“We’ve travelled abroad quite a bit,” Anna replied. “And my husband likes to go on the cheap, so we know all about zero-star accommodations. We’re open to adventure and cultural experiences. We’re tired of the whole urban sprawl thing. Plus, this guy here isn’t a fan of confined places. The open tundra will be perfect for him. I think it’s in his blood. He’s already part Alaskan.”
John shook his head at Anna’s attempt at humour. She often tried to make light of his not knowing.
Gary took the bait. “I saw you marked ‘other’ on the application, but I’m not supposed to ask about those things, of course. You’re Alaska Native?” he asked.
John shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s why I just check ‘other.’ My father was a product of the war, I think. My grandfather was stationed somewhere up here during the Japanese occupation of the Aleutians. He stayed here for a while afterwards, doing studies for the Atomic Energy Commission. I never met my grandmother.”
Gary nodded, as if this was commonplace. “Probably not Amchitka. I wonder if you were a Project Chariot baby?” He turned to Anna. “Does he glow in the dark?”
“Project Chariot?” John asked.
“A genius government idea back in the fifties to detonate a nuke to create a deep-water port in Point Hope. We actually dumped radioactive waste there, just to see what the effects would be, and as you might expect, the Inupiaq villagers there have some of the highest rates of cancer in the country. Amchitka, well you’ll have to research that for yourself. Let’s just say that in the late sixties the government detonated three nukes in Alaska, one of which was the most powerful bomb the U.S. has ever detonated. You will appreciate, as a history teacher, John, that our state has quite a colourful record.” He stood up and stretched, then walked to the window and looked out at the sweeping postcard view of the wall of mountains that buttressed the east side of Anchorage.
“You’ve got to understand something,” he said. “We’ve had the most qualified of teachers refuse to get off the airplane when they arrived in their assigned villages. The place you’ll be going will look as familiar as the moon to you. Flat. Barren. Not like this, I can tell you that. The weather is usually brutal, and the housing situation, to be honest, is less than perfect. Pretty shitty, actually. The best part is you’re going to be immersed within the Yup’ik culture. Really, it’s one of the last places in America where children grow up speaking their Native tongue. Nicest people in the world, but like any indigenous population struggling to adapt to this world …”
He turned back to them, sizing them up as if to pick teams for a dodge ball game in gym class.
“We’ve done quite a bit of research on the area,” Anna said. “It fascinates us, really. The chance to live somewhere so exotic, in our own country—and help out some kids who really need it. We both love teaching. And he’s excited to do some hunting and be outdoors twenty-four seven.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s in his blood too.”
“If hunting is allowed. If not, that’s fine,” John added, not wanting to spoil the interview.
“Well, you’re in luck, John. The Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta is home to one of the world’s largest waterfowl refuges, and one of the last living subsistence cultures in North America—which, if you’re a fan, equates to quite a bit of bird hunting and salmon fishing. So if you like fishing or plucking ducks, you’ll be just a little north of heaven. Plus, you could be hunting so much you get sick of it. Last spring the National Guard unit in the area got a fifteen-month deployment to the Middle East. Over a thousand of the leaders and hunters