Baal

THEY WALKED TOGETHER between the crude huts. Virga saw that if the ground had not been smoothed by heavy snow it would have turned his stomach. Everywhere there was frozen garbage, frayed ropes, dog excrement, cans and crates. They stepped across pools of icy blood that glimmered black in the lantern light shining through hut windows; Virga was startled by the frozen gaping maw of a huge seal whose puckered protuberant eyes looked like softballs.



Near many of the prefab huts dogs were tied to steel poles driven into the ground. As the two men passed, the huge, intelligent-eyed animals struggled to their feet, tangling each other in their ropes as they did so. Virga saw that several of them were sick and several had been severely bitten in dogfights; these misfits curled up into balls of white fur and let the stronger animals walk about over their bodies as they pleased.



"How long have you been here?" he asked Michael.



"Yesterday. I arrived by charter flight. I had them set up the oil drums for you."



Virga nodded. He was aware now of the eyes that peered through windows and then darted away. He heard the creaking of doors; he turned once and a door slammed shut with a noise that made a pack of sledge dogs nearby leap to their feet, expecting the hiss of the whip.



Ahead there was the tall timber spire of a church, battered by the subzero winds. A plaster image of Jesus had been nailed above the arched doorway and the figure's eyes looked plaintively down at the approaching men. With only the traditional robes of Nazareth to shield it from the awful wind, the image looked odd to Virga.



To the left of the church was a prefab dwelling with a number of windows and a stone chimney that now showed a brief column of white smoke. Someone passed a window and in another moment the door was opened.



A lean-framed elderly man in a dark brown sweater said, "Dr. Virga, yes? We've been waiting for you. Please come in."



Virga entered a room lit with kerosene lamps. The walls were plastered with newspaper for extra insulation; there was a crude painting of a halo-crowned Jesus. On the floor were animal skins. There was a fire in a wide stone hearth and Virga immediately stepped to it to soak up the warmth. The man took Virga's coat and gloves and said, "You've come a long way?"



"Yes. A very long way."



"My name is Thomas Lahr; I am minister to the Eskimo in this settlement."



Virga shook the offered hand, finding that the man's palm was as hard as the toughest leather. He said, "You're a Lutheran minister?"



"That is right. We came here when the man before me took ill and died. His grave is just beyond the village." He called into the next room, "Dorte, we have a new visitor. Is the tea brewing?"



A woman as old as Lahr came into the room and said hello. Her face was weather-beaten and heavily lined, though in her eyes there was a tremendous and refreshing hope. "Dr. Virga?" she asked.



"Yes."



"Can I prepare something for you to eat? Some broth?"



"Yes, that would be fine. Thank you."



She smiled and, nodding, stepped back into what Virga presumed was a small kitchen.



Michael was slowly and methodically peeling off first his bulky fur coat and then a lighter parka. He hung them to dry over a wooden rack near the fire.



Through a window Virga saw beams of light and shadowy figures moving in the darkness. He stared.



"They're very curious people," Lahr said. "They mean no offense; they were frightened of you and now they feel safe to gather up ice to melt for water. It's just that the noise of the airplane and the activity in this area has unsettled them."



"They won't harm the crate, will they?" Michael asked.



"Oh no, oh no," Lahr said. "Don't worry about that."



"What crate?" asked Virga, looking around at Michael.



"Something I brought with me."



"I didn't see it."



Lahr said, "It's perfectly safe where we left it, out in the storage shed. No one will harm it."



Virga was still looking at Michael. "What is it?" he asked.



Lahr's wife came through the doorway with tea. It was thick, black stuff that clung to the sides of clay cups. Michael and Virga drank it in silence.



Lahr stretched out in a chair before the fire and said, "So. Your friend and I have been discussing the problems of teaching Christianity to the nomadic Eskimo, Dr. Virga. I find his views very interesting."



"You're the only Danish family here?" Virga asked.



"Oh yes. Actually the Eskimos have taken to us quite well and vice versa. They're fascinating people. When I decided I would like to be a missionary in the North I read books and books on their customs; I even attended classes on Eskimo culture in Copenhagen. But nothing is as revealing as observing their way of life first hand. They have a perfect communion with the land."



"In some ways," said Michael from his position in the corner of the room, "they've been damaged by the white men who came here to teach Christianity."



The elderly minister smiled and waved a hand. "Yes, yes. I couldn't agree with you more. There were some unscrupulous men posing as missionaries. With them, unfortunately, came venereal disease and alcoholism. Now the Danish government has to ration beer and liquor on a monthly basis to these people: one bottle of spirits, two bottles of wine, or twenty small bottles of beer. That's the Greenlandic disease, that and suicide. This year we've had six. I don't know what it is. Their moods change so quickly. They're difficult to predict. Did you know," he turned to Virga, "that many many years ago, after listening to the Christian missionaries from the Netherlands, some Eskimo fathers killed their sons to make a religious gesture? Yes, it's true. Unbelievable. But of course then the Eskimo was much more naive.



"Still," he continued, "there are elements of the primitive that linger. During the summer months when the sun begins to thaw the bay the piniartorssuit - the best hunters - pray to their individual and very personal deities before taking to the ice. The animals, the winds, the tides: all of them have spirits. And all of them, like the Eskimo, have their moods."



"Your task must be very difficult," said Virga, finishing his tea and putting the cup aside.



"I consider it a learning experience. We'll be here until we die. I couldn't conceive of living again in Copenhagen. Now all that seems too distant to be real. This," he motioned in a circle with his hard brown hands, "is real. These are the real people. For four years I've settled family disputes, I've laughed and cried with them, I've seen them give birth and lower coffins. Yes; we'll die here. It would be a fine place. Ah! Here's your broth. Drink it while it's hot."



As Virga lifted the steaming mug to his lips Lahr leaned forward in his chair and said quietly, "So you two men are going northward, uh? That's the way their helicopters went."



Virga looked up. Michael had not moved from his corner.



Lahr said, "Oh," and glanced over at Michael. "You didn't tell him, did you?"



"No."



"Well." He turned back around to Virga. "They came less than seven days ago. They dropped prefab materials and supplies down and built that shed out on the airstrip to keep them dry. I don't know who they were but... well, I kept to my business and advised the elders to do the same. I had a very strange feeling about these men. The Eskimos stayed in their huts and even the dogs cringed from them. I thought about sending a message to the Ice Patrol that maybe these men were up to no good, but one of the younger hunters, Ingsavik, came to me and said he had spoken with these men, that they were part of a weather-research team. He said everything was all right and I should not try to alert the authorities. I did as he asked and the men left soon afterward.



"I thought nothing more of it," the minister said, "but they returned only a few days ago and recovered their supplies. Then the helicopters flew to the north, toward the barren ice flats, and that was the end of it except..."



The man paused. Virga said, "Yes?"



"Perhaps there's no connection. I had noticed he was drinking heavily and beating his wife and that probably had a great deal to do with it. But Ingsavik stripped and walked away into the snow. His wife screamed and begged him not to go but he struck her in the face until she was senseless and let her drop. I walked with him for almost a kilometer asking him if I could help, but he turned on me in a rage. Then he begged my forgiveness and ran away across the flat. It's a time-honored method of suicide."



Virga sat motionless. Behind him the fire cracked.



Lahr said, "Who were these men? You know, don't you?"



"Yes," Michael replied, "we know."



"And you cannot tell me?"



"No. We cannot tell you. But if you understand that our search is just, then possibly you can help us. Dr. Virga and I want to leave as soon as we can; it may even be too late now. We need someone who knows the ice flats to guide us. We need a sledge and dogs."



The other man shrugged. "All of them know the ice flats, but they're wary of strangers by nature. And certainly no one would take the trouble of guiding two kraslunas into the North. Bad country. You men don't know the ice; the man who took you would be considered a fool by his peers."



"We can bargain with them?"



"Perhaps." Lahr looked over as the door opened and a young Eskimo boy entered, glancing nervously at Virga and Michael. He was carrying two buckets of chunk ice. Lahr said, "Come on, don't be afraid. This is Chinauganuk, a young man who brings us fresh ice every morning. Yes, take those into the kitchen, will you? Dorte helped deliver Chinauganuk's little brother a year ago and in this way he hopes to repay the debt."



The boy, buried in thick dirty furs and his eyes rolling in fleshy folds, said a few words to Lahr in the Eskimo language that sounded to Virga like clickings of the tongue and a sudden clearing of the throat. Lahr shook his head and replied. The boy looked at the two strangers and backed warily toward the door. Lahr said, "He's afraid you're piktaungitok - evil - as he believes the men with the helicopters were." He said something in a soothing voice to calm Chinauganuk, and the Eskimo, after glancing with visible fear into Michael's radiant eyes, scurried through the door and into the darkness.



"Well," Lahr said after another moment, "the old superstitions persist and there is not much I can do to change them. I can tell them about a forgiving and powerful God and the glory of Christ but I cannot take away the teachings of the ancients. And I do not know if it is wise to try."



Lahr looked into the fire as if attempting to read there some answer to the question he had asked himself. Then he turned again toward Virga. "I've asked Chinauganuk to send his father, Migatuk, around to see us. He's one of the settlement elders and he may suggest a guide for you, though I doubt seriously that he will wish to regard your journey as anything but a hazard. That may sound rude, but unfortunately it's a reality."



"We understand," Michael said.



"I expect my friend Migatuk will take his time in paying us a visit," the elderly minister said. He took the empty cups and stepped toward the kitchen. "I'll pour more tea and then you men can tell me what's happening down below. I'm afraid most of the news I get here is very dated."



When Lahr left the room Virga said to Michael, "I don't see how you reached this place before me."



Michael looked at him and said nothing.



"Thank you for waiting," Virga said, and the other man nodded his head.



After another round of tea and more conversation between the three men, Lahr listening and then reacting with disgust at the news of murders and bombings, the door came open again.



With the bitter gust of wind and snow that blew in across the floor came a heavyset Eskimo man, bareheaded, with narrow inquisitive eyes and cautious lips compressed tight. The stub of a cigarette burned at his mouth and Virga caught the scent of harsh tobacco and sweat. The man closed the door behind him and nodded respectfully to Lahr. "My son brought your request," the man said in a stiff Danish-influenced English.



"Sit down, Migatuk. Over by the fire. That's right. Would you like a brew?"



"No." The man's eyes flickered back and forth between the two strangers.



"Your family is well?"



"Yes."



"And your wife no longer has her trouble sleeping?"



"No."



Lahr said to Virga, "Migatuk's wife was experiencing some very upsetting nightmares there for a while." He turned again to the stocky Eskimo. "You're my friend, Migatuk. I value your friendship highly. Because you're my friend I know I can make a request of you that I ask you to consider carefully."



Migatuk cocked his head to one side.



"These men want to journey up into the flats," Lahr said. The Eskimo nodded. Now there was the beginning of a mocking smile, though the eyes remained carefully controlled. He took his cigarette stub and flicked it into the hearth. "These men have come a very long way," the minister was saying. "They know nothing about ice travel."



"Nuna sutakasuitok," the Eskimo said. "Why do you wish to go up there? Nothing is there but a few small settlements and ice. In the darkness the hunting is bad. So why?"



"It has to do with the men who gathered their supplies here," Michael said. "We must find them."



Migatuk shrugged. "They left. They flew into the north, yes, but can you be certain they did not fly also in some other direction?"



"A possibility. But someone in a northward settlement might have seen their helicopters."



Lahr said, "What I would like to ask of you, Migatuk, is that you recommend someone as a guide to these men. Yes, I know. Their not knowing the ice would make it very dangerous. But I have faith in their cause, though they've felt it best to keep their reasons to themselves."



"There is something I do not understand about this," Migatuk said in a firm voice. He looked for a few seconds at Michael and then back at Lahr. "I would not ask any other man to do this thing; I would not do it myself."



Lahr looked disappointed. He nodded and said after a pause, "All right then. I understand your feelings. But I have another request to make, if my friends allow. Perhaps the two-headed man can help them?"



The mocking smile vanished off Migatuk's face. He slowly lit another cigarette and shrugged.



"Would you take them to the two-headed man?" Lahr asked. "I would consider it the greatest personal favor."



The man muttered something in his native language and Lahr replied. They talked back and forth for a few moments and Virga could see the restrained fear in the Eskimo's dark eyes. Migatuk sat examining his calloused knuckles for a long while, then he looked around at Virga and Michael and said in an authoritative tone, "I will take you to the two-headed man. But no further. We leave in the morning. I will ask the women to find for you kamiks and dogskin mitts." He took a final drag at the cigarette and flicked it with the other smoldering butt. Then he nodded at Lahr and went through the door.



"He's a very fine man," Lahr said. "Not many of them would have done this for you."



"What's this about a two-headed man?" Virga asked.



"A shaman," Michael said. "A sorcerer."



Lahr looked at him in surprise. "I didn't know you knew the language. Well then, as you overheard, these people hold the two-headed man in great esteem. He lives a few kilometers to the north and has for several years, all alone. One rarely hears the word shaman anymore. It's rather something the elders talk about when they relive the ancient past. I've never seen the man, though once last summer I went up there with a group of very reluctant hunters. I saw his hut but his dogs and sledge were gone."



"Why is he called that?"



"I don't know. A shaman, according to the legends, is traditionally deformed in some way or another, but I draw the line at believing he actually has two heads. I do understand that he's a very fine hunter. Once a year, before the thaw, a chosen elder is allowed to visit him to ask his opinion of what the season's hunting will produce. Perhaps he can help you in determining the route of the helicopters; his eye, they say, is everywhere. But there is also the possibility that he will refuse to talk with you because you are white men, and therefore considered less than perfect by the Eskimo."



Lahr looked out the window. Following his gaze, Virga saw someone approaching through the gloom, a kerosene lamp swinging from one hand. "Ah!" Lahr said. "Chinauganuk is coming to take you to be fitted. Please don't be offended by any sexual comments the women may make about you to each other. They see kraslunas so rarely."