Nunani: In the bones of the world (Part one)

If you hear enough Inuit stories, something may strike you as odd, perhaps even a bit eerie. Strangely, it is not the magical, imaginative occurrences — such as animal transformations and shamanic feats — that are so peculiar. Instead, it is that you may recognize things that existed in the ancient past, things that have somehow wormed their way into myth and legend.

Taitsumaniguuq:

A hunter was having the poorest sort of luck. He was paddling along in his kayak, despondent. He hadn’t sighted any prey, and had pretty much given up. He was half-heartedly swishing his paddle through the water, watching the ripples trail away from it, when he thought he heard a grunt.

He looked up to see a distant figure standing on an ice-cake, and wondered why he hadn’t spotted him earlier. It was obviously someone who had become stranded.

He paddled over. As he approached, he could see that it was a very short, heavy-set man. The stranded man looked quite dour, but even from this distance the hunter could see that his clothes were very finely made — perhaps the finest he had ever seen.

Saying nothing, the hunter brought his kayak up to the ice-cake, stepped out of it, and secured it firmly. While he did this, he periodically looked over his shoulder at the stranded man, and noted that the man seemed fascinated at the way the hunter secured his kayak. It was as though the stranded figure had never seen anyone secure a kayak along the ice edge before.

The hunter then stepped closer to the stranded man, hands up in greeting. The man simply glared sullenly, stepping back a pace. At this, the hunter stopped and asked:

“How come you’re out here with no kayak?”

The man squinted distrustfully, before answering,

“My kayak drifted away. That’s the third time this season, and it’s beginning to upset me.”

The hunter was more than a bit taken aback by this confession, and unsure of what to say, when the stranded man asked,

“I noticed you had a way of keeping your kayak from drifting off. Do you mind showing me how you did that?”

The hunter agreed, and walked the stranded man over to his kayak, showing him how to secure it. While he did so, his eyes kept glancing over to the stranger’s bow, slung over his shoulder. The bow was so long (or perhaps it was simply that the man was so short) that its lower end trailed along the ground as he walked.

But that wasn’t what the hunter found so remarkable. Instead, it was the workmanship of the weapon. Unlike the bows the hunter was used to, the stranded man’s bow was constructed almost entirely from a single piece, perhaps whalebone. The cordage was perfectly lashed and wound, such that the whole bow seemed as much a work of art as a tool. The hunter had never seen its like.

He drew out his explanation of how to secure the kayak, giving himself time to think. Now, he was more puzzled than ever. He couldn’t figure out how it was that this stranger possessed such fantastic clothes and tools, and at once was so incompetent that he could not secure a kayak, as a child might be able to do.

For a brief instant, the hunter entertained the idea that perhaps the short man simply had a very competent wife. But he quickly dismissed this notion, since it could not explain the bow — which the man himself would have had to make.

Somewhat disturbed, he smiled nervously at the stranded man, who smiled back.

“Thanks,” he said, “I’ll try to remember that trick. Now, can you give me a lift back home?”

The hunter’s smile faded.

“I can’t,” he said. “This is just a one-person kayak. You’ll be too heavy.”

The stranded man began to laugh at this. For a moment, he was doubled up with laughter, and the hunter stepped away from him, wondering if he was crazy.

At the sight of the hunter’s alarm, the stranded man curbed his laughter a bit, but still couldn’t entirely quit chuckling. He beamed at the hunter and said,

“You Inuit… hilarious! I can make myself light or heavy at will!”

(Continued next week.)