feed the bear!" he shrieked.
The giggling Eskimo women slyly were stuffing the birth control pills
into their ears. Their bellies inflated. Scurrying children massed. The
Earth tipped. From the darkness of space opened the jaws. "The bear!" he
shrieked.
In more lucid moments, Dr. West clutched his swollen thigh and thought
what a good man Edwardluk was. Laughing, straining, uncomplaining,
that was the Eskimo image. Eskimos were cheerful people who fought no
wars. It was true. So true. Men of goodwill all over the world would
not let the Eskimos starve no matter how many Eskimos --
The headwind carried the smell of coal smoke, the barking of dogs.
Loud voices were threatening. The sled had stopped. A harsh voice wheezed:
"This bastard has a beard! He's a whiteman."
"At his eyes, look," the younger voice murmured on with an accent as
if he might have been one of the political refugees from West Germany
who'd flocked to Canada since 1984. "Such sore eyes -- "
"Lift the dirty smuggler." They were carrying him into darkness and dumped
him. "Don't let the Eskimo get away," the harsh voice wheezed. "Kerosene
eyedrops for snowblin -- "
"No, wait!" Dr. West gasped. "Leave my eyes alone. I'm a doctor. I must be
flown to a hospital with -- with Edwardluk."
"If you're a doctor, where's your kit?" the Guard's harsh voice challenged.
"You smuggling bastards won't even leave the world's best people alone.
Twenty years I've been waiting to catch you." His voice subsided in a
succession of wheezes as if he had chronic emphysema.
"In his pack are no trade items," the younger voice soothed, and Dr. West
felt the caribou skin being pulled off the lower part of his body.
"His leg -- " the young voice thickened in a retching sound, and Dr. West
became aware of the stench.
"Gangrene," the old Guard wheezed. "Hope the bastard dies." Edwardluk, Edwardluk , Dr. West thought desperately. "Help -- " From his
swollen throat his voice squeezed out so distantly it must be nearly
inaudible.
"This good man. You will like us," Edwardluk's Eskimo voice was murmuring
hopefully. "West says much food here. Dog bite him. Mad dog bite his leg.
This person drag him on little sled that many sleeps." Edwardluk must be
holding up stubby fingers, still trying to communicate. "Dogs drown. This
person drag him all the way across."
"Sea ice over there?" The halting voice of the old Guard was attempting
to reply in Eskimo as if he'd spent twenty years cooped in the Station
listening to language records, never allowed to speak to an Eskimo.
"Big travel. Bad ice." There was respect in the Guard's voice.
"You long-traveling hunter!"
Perhaps they were shaking hands.
Edwardluk giggled with embarrassment. "Pulled whiteman long way. Children
hungry. He say much food here."
There was an awkward silence. Already the Guard grievously had sinned
by allowing the Eskimo inside the Station. Now he was being asked to
further violate the purpose of the Sanctuary by giving the Eskimos food.
In the silence, Edwardluk laughed in confusion. "Will you help us?
Many-many people hungry!" Edwardluk must be spreading his short arms.
"Many people. Here his marker-book."
Muttering, the Guard must be turning the pages. "I'll be damned!"
"He count people. Say not enough seals," Edwardluk expounded. "He count
babies. He say more hungry quick."
"The Director should make his own survey," the Guard's voice blurted
in English. "This smuggler must be crazy. He's counted too many children.
Can't be this many until the end of the second Twenty-Year Plan."
"From now is twenty years," the accented younger voice remarked almost
maliciously. "But we are not permitted close enough to count. These
Eskimos we know are too many already or they would not be starving."
"He say all whitemen love us. We help him," Edwardluk's voice swept on
hopefully. "All this way pulling sled like
The giggling Eskimo women slyly were stuffing the birth control pills
into their ears. Their bellies inflated. Scurrying children massed. The
Earth tipped. From the darkness of space opened the jaws. "The bear!" he
shrieked.
In more lucid moments, Dr. West clutched his swollen thigh and thought
what a good man Edwardluk was. Laughing, straining, uncomplaining,
that was the Eskimo image. Eskimos were cheerful people who fought no
wars. It was true. So true. Men of goodwill all over the world would
not let the Eskimos starve no matter how many Eskimos --
The headwind carried the smell of coal smoke, the barking of dogs.
Loud voices were threatening. The sled had stopped. A harsh voice wheezed:
"This bastard has a beard! He's a whiteman."
"At his eyes, look," the younger voice murmured on with an accent as
if he might have been one of the political refugees from West Germany
who'd flocked to Canada since 1984. "Such sore eyes -- "
"Lift the dirty smuggler." They were carrying him into darkness and dumped
him. "Don't let the Eskimo get away," the harsh voice wheezed. "Kerosene
eyedrops for snowblin -- "
"No, wait!" Dr. West gasped. "Leave my eyes alone. I'm a doctor. I must be
flown to a hospital with -- with Edwardluk."
"If you're a doctor, where's your kit?" the Guard's harsh voice challenged.
"You smuggling bastards won't even leave the world's best people alone.
Twenty years I've been waiting to catch you." His voice subsided in a
succession of wheezes as if he had chronic emphysema.
"In his pack are no trade items," the younger voice soothed, and Dr. West
felt the caribou skin being pulled off the lower part of his body.
"His leg -- " the young voice thickened in a retching sound, and Dr. West
became aware of the stench.
"Gangrene," the old Guard wheezed. "Hope the bastard dies." Edwardluk, Edwardluk , Dr. West thought desperately. "Help -- " From his
swollen throat his voice squeezed out so distantly it must be nearly
inaudible.
"This good man. You will like us," Edwardluk's Eskimo voice was murmuring
hopefully. "West says much food here. Dog bite him. Mad dog bite his leg.
This person drag him on little sled that many sleeps." Edwardluk must be
holding up stubby fingers, still trying to communicate. "Dogs drown. This
person drag him all the way across."
"Sea ice over there?" The halting voice of the old Guard was attempting
to reply in Eskimo as if he'd spent twenty years cooped in the Station
listening to language records, never allowed to speak to an Eskimo.
"Big travel. Bad ice." There was respect in the Guard's voice.
"You long-traveling hunter!"
Perhaps they were shaking hands.
Edwardluk giggled with embarrassment. "Pulled whiteman long way. Children
hungry. He say much food here."
There was an awkward silence. Already the Guard grievously had sinned
by allowing the Eskimo inside the Station. Now he was being asked to
further violate the purpose of the Sanctuary by giving the Eskimos food.
In the silence, Edwardluk laughed in confusion. "Will you help us?
Many-many people hungry!" Edwardluk must be spreading his short arms.
"Many people. Here his marker-book."
Muttering, the Guard must be turning the pages. "I'll be damned!"
"He count people. Say not enough seals," Edwardluk expounded. "He count
babies. He say more hungry quick."
"The Director should make his own survey," the Guard's voice blurted
in English. "This smuggler must be crazy. He's counted too many children.
Can't be this many until the end of the second Twenty-Year Plan."
"From now is twenty years," the accented younger voice remarked almost
maliciously. "But we are not permitted close enough to count. These
Eskimos we know are too many already or they would not be starving."
"He say all whitemen love us. We help him," Edwardluk's voice swept on
hopefully. "All this way pulling sled like
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