Silence of Stone by Annamarie Beckel Page B

seemed only mildly wary of her approach, she watched them closely, her stomach roused to hunger, the baby kicking hard in anticipation. Finally she saw a small one, bleating, apparently alone and unguarded. Marguerite crept closer, raised the sabre, and stabbed. Again and again, in a frenzy, she stabbed the writhing body so that the seal stained its white fur with its ownred blood. When the pup lay still, she gutted it at once and ate the liver, hot and steaming.
    Curious black faces turned and watched, but did not threaten.
    Though small, the seal pup was heavy, and Marguerite strained to move it. As if her baby understood, it lay still and quiet. Marguerite, strengthened by food, managed to lift the seal across the vein of open water and then tug and slide it toward shore. She carried it to the cave like an offering, every muscle aching with exhaustion.
    Roused from emaciated lethargy, Damienne was ecstatic. She quickly ate the heart, though it hurt her teeth, which had loosened in her swollen gums. She licked crimson blood from her lips and grinned.
    Using the sabre, the axe, and Michel’s dagger, they stripped the seal of its heavy white fur, cut the body into pieces and carried them into the cave. Their stomachs rumbled as they watched and smelled the roasting meat, fat dripping and sizzling in the fire. Unable to wait for the dark meat to cook fully, Marguerite and Damienne ate until they were glutted and drowsy.
    Eyes heavy, Marguerite stared into the fire, not quite believing their good fortune. She rubbed her swollen belly and murmured psalms of praise: I will love thee, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my firmament, my refuge, and my deliverer. My God is my helper, and in him will I put my trust…And they cried to the Lord in their tribulation, and he delivered them out of their distresses.
    Marguerite praised and thanked God, but believed it was Michel who had brought her – and the baby – this gift of food. Her love for him, and her grief, grew larger.
    She slept then, but fitfully. Marguerite fretted, anxious for the dawn, fearing the seals would be gone before morning. Then she worried that the baby would come too soon, that she would be too weak to hunt. She put her hands on her belly and whispered, Wait, child. Wait. Let me hunt, let me find food.
    Marguerite agonized over how they could preserve the meat. They had no salt. How could they dry it and yet keep the wolves away? She wondered how she could tan the heavy white furs to make cloaks and boots.
    Très inquiète. Km-mm-mm.
    â€œ
Oui
,” I answer. “She worried. Always she worried.”
    Marguerite was granted nearly a fortnight to kill seals. She and Damienne ate as much as they could, then they rendered the fat, saving the oil in the seals’ own stomachs and bladders. They cut the meat into thin strips they could dry outside during the day. At dusk they laboured to move everything into the cave to keep it away from the wolves, foxes, and weasels.
    Then, crystallizing out of white fog, the white bears came. Enormous and ferocious.
    I hear again the
huff-huff-huff
just outside the cave and see a huge white paw snaking in between the rocks and pulling at the wooden barriers. I tell the spider about the bears and about Marguerite’s terror.Lifting her front legs, she captures my words and wraps them tightly in her silky thread, confining the memories – and the fear – within her web.

    Isabelle leaves her bench and sidles closer. She shows me her slate, the letters neat and carefully formed. She has drawn a small bird in the corner. Each foot has five crooked toes. “Do you think God is too busy sometimes?” she asks.
    â€œToo busy?”
    â€œPapa says that maybe God was so busy with the king’s wars that he couldn’t hear my prayers for Mama.” Her voice is small and quiet, words lisped through the gap in her front teeth. “And that’s why she died.” Isabelle waits,