5
Tessa awoke with a sensation of anticipation, almost giddiness. It wasn’t only about the impact such a field trip could have on her research and reporting about Inuit traditions—it was also about seeing and experiencing more of Alaska, living with and in the elements, leaving behind the toys and tools of contemporary American living. It would be an adventure as much as a study. But, naturally enough, facets of her academic and analytical side intruded on the excitement she was trying to control. Suppose this Kalluk is much less than R. E. makes him out to be? Suppose the trip is all talk and won’t really happen?
Even as Tessa admonished herself with logical questions and concerns, the visceral feeling that something exciting—something good—was about to happen stayed with her. She looked out the window over the sink as she rinsed her cereal bowl and spoon.
The day was a radiant one; the sun was finally exerting some strength after the long and murky wintertime dawn. Now, the light glinted on the pristine patches of snow so brightly that she had to look away.
When Tessa sat at her table, coffee mug in hand, she intended to arrange her laptop files and steno-pad notes into a chronological series, first editing each for accuracy, clarity, and coherent phrasing. It would have been a whole lot easier if she had reviewed the cards prepared on any given day on that day. If she’d done so, she wouldn’t be faced with what looked like a Dumpster load of paper rectangles scattered across her work area. She worked assiduously for perhaps ten minutes.
Then she began adding items to the list she’d begun in bed last night.
When a small plane droned by overhead, Tessa looked up, as if she could see through the ceiling of the cabin. Hearing planes buzzing by was certainly nothing new, particularly at this time of the year, when bush pilots were flying hunters deep into the raw interior of Alaska for trophy caribou, moose, and bear. She despised sport hunting. It seemed to her to be a total disregard of life for no real purpose, and the concept of a man with a high-powered rifle killing a magnificent animal, spilling the creature’s blood, just to mount its head on a wall, disgusted her. Barbaric and cruel were the two words she used most often in discussing sport hunting.
She was well aware that the People hunted year round, with no concern for the government-mandated hunting seasons or limits. The Inuits had done this for hundreds of years and, like their American Indian cousins, wasted nothing of their kills.
The sound of the plane had become a distant rumble, but now it was coming back, the rumble rising to a sharp whine and then to the throaty roar of a powerful engine. Tessa hurried to her back door and stepped outside, scanning the sky toward the highway leading to Fairview. The aircraft, a single-engine job painted a bright red with some writing she couldn’t quite make out on its side, wasn’t much above treetop height and was nosing downward. The pitch of the engine changed to a throaty snarl as the plane dipped below the trees, out of Tessa’s line of sight. She stood, hand on the edge of the door, listening, watching. In what seemed to be no more than a quick minute, the engine changed tone again, and the airplane popped up over the trees, climbing hard. In a matter of moments it was a small, silent speck in the distance in the cloudless sky.
When her phone rang forty minutes later, Tessa already had her boots on and was ready to shrug into her heavy coat. She did so as she answered, fumbling the receiver for a second.
“He’s here,” R. E. said without a greeting, his voice like that of a little boy telling a friend that he’d gotten a puppy for Christmas. “Can you come to the store? I’d really like you two to meet.”
“Sure, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Great! Oh, just thought I’d warn you. There’ll be a kinda frightening-looking dog out in front of the store. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s Kalluk’s, and he’s perfectly OK.”
“What’s frightening about him if he’s OK? Is he mean or something?”
“Well, no—not mean, not exactly, anyway. The thing is, he looks just like a wolf, except larger. That kind of intimidates people.”
“Right.”
“See you in fifteen minutes, then.”
Tessa got in the Jeep and pulled it onto the road. That fits with my impression of the great Kalluk, Tessa thought as she smiled to herself. A frontier man of steel who travels with his faithful canine companion. Her slightly mocking smile disappeared as the thought continued. Although she knew it was quite impossible, Tessa was certain she felt the neat line of long-healed punctures on her right calf that’d been there for almost thirty years. And she could still hear the slavering growl of the neighbor’s German shepherd as his teeth cut through her skin. She recalled the bone she’d taken from him, intending to throw it for him to chase, and how the dog had snatched it up from the ground and run off as Tessa screamed in pain and fear. That was a long, long time ago, she told herself.
Tessa did her best to ease her old Jeep over the frozen ruts of the mercantile’s parking area, but the creaks and bangs of the vehicle made her cringe. She reached out to pat the dashboard sympathetically, considered the silliness of such a move, and then did it anyway.
As she opened the Jeep’s door and stepped out, she caught a flash of motion at the corner of the building. There’d been nothing there a second ago; now there was.
Tessa’s mind at first told her the animal was a large German shepherd. Even as the thought was settling, she knew she was wrong. Her best friend’s family had owned a pair of collies named Hansel and Gretel. But neither Hansel nor Gretel carried their heads like that, sloped down a bit from their bodies. And this dog was too big. His eyes were arresting: motionless, a honey shade of gold with obsidian pupils. The animal stood statue-still, a forepaw lifted an inch or so above the ground.
His coat, heavy and thick, for the most part was a dusky ash color, but his broad chest was pure white. He stood a yard tall at the shoulder. He wasn’t menacing—at least not precisely so. Instead, he projected the possibility of quick violence, like the aura that surrounds a poisonous spider in a glass enclosure in a zoo.
“Hey, Tess!”
Tessa looked away from the animal to see R. E. standing at the store’s door. When she looked back, the animal was gone. She took a step back and pointed to the corner of the building. “I guess I kind of met Kalluk’s dog,” she said.
“He won’t bother you. He can be a little scary if you don’t know him, is all. C’mon, let’s go inside.”
A native woman Tessa didn’t recognize sat at a table at the back of the store, her coat draped over the back of her chair, her attention focused on the tall man who stood facing her. The man motioned with his hands as he spoke. His luxuriant ebony hair reached his shoulders. He wore a leather vest over a chambray work shirt, jeans, and black engineertype boots. His shoulders were broad, and his upper body tapered to a narrow waist. Tessa and R. E. walked toward the table, and the man turned to face them. His eyes went immediately to Tessa’s, and for a moment she felt like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard.
His skin was the darkened amber of the older, hunter Inuits Tessa had met—a naturally reddish hue deepened by countless hours under the sun and in the elements. His features were chiseled, without softness, cheekbones high and prominent, forehead wide, eyes chestnut black, nose straight, mouth that didn’t seem like it would smile easily.
“You’re Tessa, the anthropologist,” he said.
“And you’re Kalluk, the activist.”
Now he grinned, and his entire face lost its hardness for that moment. “At your service,” he said. His voice was amazingly similar to that of Johnny Cash, who was a favorite of Tessa’s father.
He put his hand on the seated woman’s shoulder. “This is Jessie,” he said. “An old, old friend and probably the finest paid guide anywhere near the Park.”
“Not so old, Kalluk.” The woman smiled, revealing white teeth that a dentist would envy. She was, Tessa estimated, in her midforties, with her black hair untouched by silver and cut quite short for a native woman. Tessa took Jessie’s outstretched hand. “Good to meet you, Jessie,” she said. Jessie’s hand was warm and her palm rough with calluses.
Kalluk’s hand was extended as well. His palm, Tessa found, felt much like Jessie’s—proof that both of these people didn’t spend much time pushing papers or punching computer buttons.
R. E. pulled out a chair for Tessa and headed toward the coffee urn. Kalluk sat next to Jessie.
“I saw your . . . uh . . . pet outside, Kalluk,” Tessa said.
“That critter is about as much a pet as a piranha would be,” Jessie said with a smile.
“He’s a good ol’ boy—maybe a bit strange the first time you meet him. He’ll grow on you.”
Tessa nodded. “What’s his name?”
She was surprised to see Kalluk’s element-darkened face suffuse with blood. Is he blushing?
“Well . . . I usually just call him Boy, or You, or whatever comes to . . .”
“Tell her,” Jessie said.
“Well . . . you’ve gotta understand that . . . see, my niece . . .”
“Tell her,” Jessie repeated.
He sighed. “His name is Fuzzums, actually.”
Tessa couldn’t stop the giggle. “Fuzzums?”
R. E. returned to the table and put a cup of coffee in front of Tessa. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“It’s not that it’s funny,” Tessa gasped. “It’s just . . .”
“Funny,” Jessie said.
“Well, yeah,” Tessa admitted.
Kalluk sighed. The blush in his face had receded. “The first place I brought him—right from the folks I bought him from—was my sister’s house. My niece was three at the time, and she fell in love with him and begged to be allowed to name him. How could I say no to her? So—Fuzzums it is. He answers to Fuzz or Boy, though.”
“That’s very cute, Kalluk,” Tessa said. “I didn’t mean to laugh, but the name was kind of a shock.”
Kalluk smiled. “Sure. No problem.” His eyes held hers for a moment longer than the situation called for. There was a short, not completely comfortable silence before R. E. broke it.
“So, Kalluk,” he said. “What have you been up to since you were last here?”
“The usual. I’ve been speaking in the big cities—Anchorage, Fairbanks, Juneau—trying to drum up support for my social programs. There’s the hunting thing too. Demanding that traditional native groups buy licenses and abide by government-established seasons and limits is crazy. And now this airplane stalking and killing of wolves . . .” He shook his head.
“It’s an awful thing,” Tess said.
“I’m afraid you’ll soon hear more about it. I’ve been told that lots of it goes on near—and inside of—Denali. They call it ‘aerial gunning,’ and there’s about as much sport in it as there is in clubbing baby seals. These outfitters, as they call themselves, charge fat cats from the lower 48 six to seven thousand dollars for a couple days of murdering wolves from a nice warm two-engine plane with a pitcher of martinis at their elbows.” Kalluk’s voice took on a hard, sharp edge of disgust. “Sometimes they’ll go back for the pelt if the kill was large enough. Most times it’s not worth the trouble to them.”
“But aren’t the wolves protected by the state, by the feds, at least to some degree?” Tessa asked.
Kalluk and Jessie looked at Tess as if she’d just asked if the tooth fairy was real.
“It’s a joke,” Jessie said. “A sad, cruel joke.” There was pain in the tone of her voice. The silence around the table this time was a grim one.
“Anyway,” Kalluk went on, “I’ve spent more time than I ever wanted to listening to car horns and city racket. It’s great to be back in the real Alaska.”
Tessa wondered why no one had brought up the field trip yet, but she’d learned that the Inuits didn’t leap into important topics in conversation. It was considered good manners and respectful of the parties concerned to spend some time in general chatting and local gossip first.
“Where will you stay while you’re here, Kalluk?” Tessa asked.
Jessie smiled. “I’ve booked him in at the Fairview Hilton,” she said.
“The Fairview Hilton?”
“Yeah,” Jessie said. “I have an old hunting cabin my grandfather built many years ago not too far from your place, Tessa. It has every amenity a native Alaskan needs: no electricity, no running water, a falling-over privy, and gaps between the logs big enough to let the wind and snow inside.”
“Sounds swell.” Tessa grinned.
“It’s not as bad as Jessie makes out,” Kalluk said. “And I won’t be there all that long.” He paused for a moment. “I’m hoping to get the field trip organized and ready to go within a couple of weeks. If I don’t, I could miss the connection with the group I want to hook up with.”
“R. E.’s told me a little bit about your plans,” Tessa said. “I’d like to hear more.”
“There’s not a whole lot to tell. It was—is—kind of a spontaneous thing. I met the great-granddaughter of an old native who still travels with his family, still lives like his ancestors did. The guy is over eighty, and from what I’ve heard, he could probably outwork R. E. and me on the worst day he ever had. There are either eleven or twelve people in the family, but I’m not sure about that. The beauty of the whole thing is that these native People haven’t allowed much of anything to encroach on how they live.” Kalluk moved his hand as if to dispel a bad idea. “They’re not unaware and they’re far from stupid. They know what’s going on in Alaska, if not in the world in general. Simply stated, they like their ways better—they like their lives better than what the new millennium can offer.”
“They’re a family, then? Blood relatives?” Tessa asked.
“In a sense, yes. Sons have brought wives and daughters husbands. But a few of the men and women aren’t actual relatives.” Kalluk’s eyes showed some mirth—perhaps a bit of teasing. “Let me use an anthropological term: consanguinity.”
Tessa smiled. “Yes, I know what that word means.”
Kalluk smiled back at her. “The old Inuit concept of family isn’t predicated on blood. A man or woman who joins a group is automatically family, and there’s no distinction between them and the original blood members.”
Jessie broke in. “I think Tessa would like to know how modern—or un-modern, if that’s a word—these folks live, Kalluk. Right, Tessa?”
“Yes, I would. That’s important to what I’m doing here.”
Kalluk sat back in his chair. “Of course the People see jet contrails in the sky, and of course they talk to other folks who aren’t following the traditional way of life. They’ve seen the pipeline, they’ve seen roads where there weren’t even trails before. I suppose they know that cell phones and computers and things like that exist. But they don’t care. That’s where the beauty of it is. These people and others like them recognize and accept and love a sort of life that may never really touch us.”
Jessie reached over and patted Kalluk affectionately on the shoulder. She said to Tessa, “My friend here is the type of guy who, if you ask him what time it is, will spend the rest of the day telling you how to build a clock. I’ll tell you this, though: he’s worth listening to, at least about the People.” She considered a moment. “About hunting and native rights too.” This time, she shoved the shoulder she’d just patted. “Don’t go getting a swelled-up head, Kalluk.”
Kalluk focused on Jessie for a long moment. His right hand reached across the table and grasped hers. “Will you marry me, Jessie?” he asked.
Jessie snorted. “Not on your life! I might just as well marry a rodeo cowboy. Do I look like I’m crazy?”
“I guess that means no,” Kalluk said with mock heartbreak in his voice.
“How long have you two known one another?” Tessa asked, laughing.
“Forever,” Jessie said.
“Not nearly long enough,” Kalluk said. “But her attitude could give us problems in the future. Maybe she’ll—”
“Maybe she has things to do beyond listening to your nonsense,” Jessie said. “Come on, I’ll take you to the cabin and have someone drop off the old Jeep later. You need anything from the store here?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Kalluk stood up. “Look, this is all clear to me. We’re all going out, no? Jessie will whine and carry on a bit, but she’ll go. R. E.’s tongue has been hanging out since I first mentioned the whole deal. The only way to leave him behind would be to hog-tie him to the foundation of his mercantile. And Tessa . . . well, her eyes said yes as soon as we met. Maybe she’d have to be hog-tied too, to leave her behind. So, unless I’m wrong, we’re set.”
He grinned and turned away. Jessie stood, drank the last of her coffee, and waved as she hustled after Kalluk.
R. E. and Tessa remained at the table. “What do you think?” he asked.
“About the field trip? About Kalluk?”
“Both.”
“I’ve got to admit that now that I know Jessie is going, it’s more enticing to me. If she’s a guide, she must know her stuff. I like her. The trip could be the high point of my time in Alaska, at least from the university’s perspective.”
“And about Kalluk?”
“Well, it’s hard to say, since I just met the man twenty minutes ago.” She mused for a few moments. “He seems rather taken with himself, but that’s probably not strange for someone who’s in the spotlight as much as he is. I’m sure he’s nice enough.”
“Well. More coffee?” R. E. asked, standing.
“No thanks. I’ve got work waiting for me.” She got up from the table.
“Think about the trip, OK? And about Kalluk: he’s kinda like Fuzz. He grows on you.”
“Maybe he does,” Tessa said.
That evening, just after dark, Tessa went to her kitchen at the sound of a vehicle coming up her driveway. The headlights were askew—one pointed down a few feet in front of the vehicle and the other seemed to be searching the depths of the sky. The driver wasn’t showing the car any mercy—it pounded and swayed its way over potholes and ruts at twice the speed Tessa used on the same stretch of driveway. Tessa clicked on the outside light. The vehicle, she saw, was an old WWII Jeep. Although manufactured with no enclosure around the cab, this one had an obviously homemade wooden boxlike affair to spare the driver from the elements. The Jeep pulled in front first and then backed around to face the driveway. Tessa noticed that there was no license plate at either end and that one of the brake lights was out. She watched as Kalluk stepped out of the driver’s side and R. E. and Jessie from the passenger side.
Tessa tugged open her door as the trio stepped up to it. “Come on in,” she said. “I’ll put coffee on.”
“Don’t bother with coffee, Tessa,” Jessie said. “This is an official visit—not a coffee and chat one.”
“Official? I don’t get it,” Tessa said.
The cabin suddenly seemed very small with three extra people in it. A little confused, Tessa said, “Official or not, let’s sit down. Come on.”
R. E., Kalluk, and Jessie took the couch, sitting elbow to elbow, their coats still on and buttoned. The three of them looked vaguely uncomfortable, like Tessa’s students did when they attempted to explain why their term papers were late. Tessa pulled the chair from her worktable around to face them. “What’s up?” she asked.
Jessie answered. “We’re here to tell you more about the trip and to answer questions. We’ve discussed this, and we’d really like to have you come along. We think you’d bring a lot if you joined us.”
Tessa was about to speak when Kalluk took the floor. “For one thing,” he said, “it’d be good for the credibility of the entire idea—having a university anthropologist a part of the group when we meet with the natives. What you observe and write about would generate some academic and general interest in what we find.” He smiled. “And it’d bring in even more people when I speak at schools too.”
R. E. was next. “I want you to really see Alaska, Tess. I want you to love it as much as I do. Long after the trip, no matter where you are, what you tell people will have a real effect on how they perceive us and our land, and I think that’s important.”
Jessie nodded. “There’s this too: can you imagine being out in the wilderness for a couple weeks or more without another woman to talk to? I’ve done it a few times in my business, and it’s the same each time. Guys jabber like excited kids for the first couple of days, and after that it’s pretty much grunts and groans and complaining about the food and discussions about whether Ford or Chevrolet engines are better.” Her grin spread into a full smile. “Seriously—I’d love to have you along, and I really do think you’d be a great addition. Will you think about it?”
Tessa felt frozen to the spot, not sure of what to say.
“You must have questions. Ask away, Tessa,” Kalluk said.
“I have—but first I need to say that this is a surprise and quite a compliment, and I appreciate it. I’m just a little overwhelmed, I guess.”
“Maybe if we can give you some answers you’ll be less overwhelmed,” R. E. pointed out.
“Maybe so.” Tessa thought for a moment. “OK—how many people are involved?”
“No more than six if you join up,” Kalluk said. “The four of us and a pair of Inuit brothers I know. Any more and we’d be like a safari, and any fewer we might be undermanned if we hit weather.”
“That’s a big ‘if ’too,” Jessie said. “This isn’t the best time of the year for this.”
“No,” Kalluk agreed. “Probably not. But this is when we’ll be able to meet up with the people I want to be with—and the ones Tessa wants to study.”
“There’ll be four sleds for the first part of the trek,” R. E. said.
Tessa looked at him questioningly.
“Snowmobiles, Tess. We’re borrowing them from Jessie’s guiding operation. We fill the tanks before we set out and ride them until they’re half empty. Then we mark the spot and go ahead on foot, hauling our tents and provisions on runners and on our backs.”
“How far out will the trip go?” Tessa asked.
“Maybe a hundred and twenty miles,” Jessie said. “But it’s not the number of miles but the kind of terrain we’ll be covering—and the weather.”
Kalluk nodded. “There’s some rough ground between here and where we’re headed. Nothing anywhere near impassible, but it won’t be a Sunday jaunt, either.”
“What about food, medical supplies, communications equipment—all that?”
“Covered,” Kalluk said. “We’ll be hauling MREs—meals ready to eat. They’re lightweight, nourishing, easy to heat. Some of them don’t taste half bad, either. We’ll bring standard medical emergency supplies.”
“Communications will be a little tough out there,” Jessie admitted. “Cell phones of course won’t work, and radio contact isn’t really effective. The only units we could get are heavy and expensive and not too reliable. But I’ve taken dozens of trips out supplied just as we’ll be, and I’ve had no problems that radio contact would have solved.”
“That’s a major point, Tess,” R. E. said. “Jessie does this sort of thing for a living, and Kalluk has been out many times alone or with groups. They know what they’re doing.”
The conversation went on for another ten minutes, touching on weather, required supplies, anticipated distance traveled per day, as well as the minutia of any such undertaking. After a few moments of silence, the trio stood from the couch.
“We’ll leave you alone now,” Jessie said. The men murmured agreement. At the door, R. E. said, “Think about it, Tess. Call me when you’ve decided, no matter when it is.”
“I will,” Tessa said. Each of the visitors then shook hands with Tessa rather formally, almost as if they were investors considering a joint business venture. Tessa watched from her kitchen window as the single red taillight of the old Jeep disappeared around the curve in the driveway. She stood for a minute looking out into the darkness and then went back into the living room. She checked the fire; it didn’t need wood and was pushing out heat nicely. She sat on the couch where Kalluk had been and reviewed the conversation.
She remembered a conversation she’d had with her father when she was thirteen and considering going on a two-week trip to a summer art and crafts camp. “There are some things that can have the life and fun analyzed right out of them, honey,” her dad had said. “Think things over, pray about them, talk with me or your mom or your friends, and then make your decision. OK?” He’d smiled then and hugged her tightly. “ ’Course, if you did go, you’d have to be very, very careful or you might just have a great time—and you might even learn something.”
The camp had been wonderful, and Tessa made two good friends, both of whom she continued to communicate with through letters and telephone calls.
OK, so I’m a little . . . cautious by nature. Contemplative, maybe. Solidly analytical. I like to turn things over in my mind, see all the facets. I’m a college professor, after all. I’m supposed to question and inquire, right?
Tessa pushed up from her slouch on the sofa and started to the kitchen. Halfway there she made a U-turn and ended up once again sprawled on the couch.
There’s not a thing in the world wrong with being cautious. It’s not that I’m afraid to go out into Alaska, not at all. It’s just that . . . what? What is it? She sighed. It’s just that I’m a bookish geek who acts ninety-five instead of thirty-six . . .
“I’m in,” she said aloud. “I’m in.”