Nunani: Black Island

RACHEL ATTITUQ QITSUALIK

“Father, are you an angakkuq?”

With his usual way of answering a direct question, my father answered indirectly.

“Do you think I’m an angakkuq?”

“What did you see?” I asked.

“Nothing. All I did was wake up.”

“Were you scared?”

“Yes, of course (suuqaimma) – (no wonder) – I didn’t know how I ended up there.”

“What did you do?”

“I was cold. I walked around, but I couldn’t see a thing. The island was pitch black. I could hear the ocean and that was all.”

I was quiet as I played with this in my head, trying to imagine the events as he had originally described them:

“I had drifted in my boat for a few hours, trying to figure out what the source of my engine trouble was. The spark plugs were fine, not yet rusted. In my concentration, I hadn’t realized that I had drifted out of sight of land. Waves were rising. The sky looked menacingly dark.

“I took a quick break to light up the kerosene lamp, drinking the last of my tea out of a thermos. This would have to be my last drink before heading back to shore. A fast check for leaks revealed that a small gash had developed on the side of the boat, which would necessitate bailing here and there in between repairs. The engine was flooded, and I would have to dismantle it for repairs. The storm was picking up, looking serious. I wasn’t worried yet, but I knew that I must sight land soon. This had been a short trip to check the nets and supplies, but if it got longer, the main concern would be lack of water – unless I was blessed with rain.

“If you get lost on the water, let the waves carry you – they eventually end up on some shore. On every sixth or seventh wave, really charge ahead, as this is the largest and strongest wave, which will propel you. Relax and bail, go with the flow until the seventh, then surge ahead again. On and on I went like this…

“I remember thinking of my warm sleeping bag, and I must have nodded off to sleep at some point. I don’t know why.

“I awoke shivering upon some unknown shore. How could this be? Had I somehow drowned? There was a darkness around me, so total that I could feel it. I tried to feel my way along blindly, then stood up. As soon as I took a step, I instantly stumbled. My limbs were completely numb. It made me feel as though I no longer truly existed.

“Then there was a miracle. A light was suddenly shining down on me. Looking up, I saw a seagull flying. It’s wing shone with light, and illuminated a path to my boat. Then I took out a canvas and built a shelter, waiting until I was rescued.

“I still don’t know how I had been cast there in such pitch blackness, or how a seagull had come to help me. That is all I have to say about how I understood it.”

Later, in my “reading” tent which was set up against my parents’ house, I pulled out one of my comics. I often did this to think and find my own space. I tried to make sense of what my father had told me. I suspected that there must have been some explanation that science could offer.

Maybe, as I read this word in the comic strip before me, my father had an h-a-l-l-u-c-i-n-a-t-i-o-n. Maybe he had swallowed a bunch of salt water and it had affected his brain, got sick and had a bad dream, bumped his head or something.

Then again, I reminded myself, there were many things in this world we could not understand, as our minds were too “small.” So what if a seagull actually illuminated his path? Just because it was odd didn’t mean that it hadn’t been from the Creator.

Perhaps I was a bit envious of my father. I longed to witness my own ripple in time, a sign of the strangeness of our universe. My days seemed spread out ahead of me, dull and boring. Among endlessly sunny days, I wished for just one of rain. And sometimes, my own imagination was as dark as that Black Island. Sometimes.

Pijariiqpunga.