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

RACHEL ATTITUQ QITSUALIK

“Quit joking,” the hunter said to the stranded dwarf, more than a little spooked.

But the dwarf just kept on chuckling, saying:

“I’m not joking. All my people make themselves light or heavy at will. We do it all the time. It’s easy. I had forgotten that your kind can’t.”

By the time the dwarf had finished this statement, the hunter had realized that this was not a human being he was speaking to. He had heard his father and uncles tell stories of these people, the “Tunit.” They were a folk who possessed strange powers and knowledge, but lacked common sense. While they made many wondrous things, they were not as cunning as Inuit, and so remained few in number.

This explained why the stranded dwarf owned such a fabulous bow, why he wore such fine clothing, and yet seemed to lack the good sense to pull his kayak out of the water when he wasn’t using it. It explained why he was stranded, why, as the dwarf had stated, his kayak had drifted away for “the third time this season.”

And now this Tunik wanted a ride back home. The hunter was scared to oblige him, since he didn’t really understand what kind of creature he was dealing with here. Would the Tunik kill him along the way? Once they arrived? If he simply refused the Tunik’s request, would the creature become angered and attack him? The hunter couldn’t see any good coming out of this.

The dwarf was now glaring at him, and asked:

“So, are you going to give me a ride or not?”

Seeing no alternative, the hunter agreed, and wriggled into his kayak. Once he was set, the dwarf took a flying leap, landing on the stern. The hunter winced, expecting to get doused with icy brine, but the kayak hardly even bobbed in the water.

He looked directly behind him, and there sat the Tunik, grinning fiercely, gripping the kayak with his legs. It was just as the Tunik had said: he now weighed little more than a feather.

So the two of them set off toward the Tunik’s home. The dwarf gave directions, insisting that it was only a couple of days away. They talked little along the way. The hunter was very frightened, and felt as though he was being kidnapped. The Tunik seemed to sense this, and held his tongue, perhaps hoping that it would minimize the Inuk’s stress.

What the Tunik did seem keen on was watching the hunter at all times. He seemed fascinated by the way the hunter did normal, everyday things. How he checked the ice and snow periodically. How he studied the weather patterns far off on the horizon. Even how he ate. It all made the hunter very edgy, and he was actually relieved by the time they came to the Tunit camp.

How does one go about describing a Tunit camp? The trick is to do the place justice in few words, for it is utterly inhuman, and therefore can never make much sense to our kind. But the hunter found himself there, as one of those rarest of Inuit does, experiencing it with his human faculties.

So we had best try to keep up with him, in terms that we can understand, if for no other reason than to facilitate the story. Let us just bear in mind that we look upon the Tunit through our own awkward little lens, as though trying to gaze through a window that is far, far away — and that the Tunit, in trying to comprehend us, might feel the same strangeness.

We can never fully understand what that hunter experienced. After all, he was a guest of the Tunit, and we were not.

Here resided a scene of unrivaled wealth and beauty, where even the most common sorts of tools were of a craftsmanship that the hunter had never before imagined. He could see now that the bow his companion bore, that which he had so admired, was very ordinary in comparison to the way the Tunit routinely fashioned their items.

Even the toys of the Tunit children were extravagant works of art. It was as though the Tunit would not tolerate that which was plain or ugly among them.

(Continued next week.)