The Eskimo Invasion Read Free Page B

not encouraged them

to re-create.
     
     
As Dr. West walked across the thawing gravel shore, up in the camp dogs

yelped. The Eskimo behind the largest tent was whipping his dogs. Yelping,

they dragged the loaded sled across the slope in front of the cliffs,

surging north along the ice foot, that dangerous ledge of ice clinging

to the foot of the cliffs. One shapeless Eskimo lay on the sled. As the

man ran alongside, Dr. West saw the long glint of metal in his hand. And

Dr. West smiled, imagining Hans Suxbey's outrage because this departing

Eskimo was carrying a rifle.
     
     
In the camp, Dr. West realized the actual number of sagging caribou

skin tents was only about fifteen. At five Eskimos per family, that

would be seventy-five Eskimos. But so many children were running back

and forth, there seemed more like 175, he thought, smiling down at the

brash little boy who kept grabbing at the stock of his rifle and being

dragged along. The boy stopped. Smiling, he looked back at the sky.
     
     
A distant whining sound in Dr. West's ears grew to a screech as the F-111B

appeared from the west. With its swing-wings spread, the obsolete fighter

flew relatively slowly over the sea ice from Franklin Strait on over

the Boothia Peninsula, heading east. Presumably it was returning to

the main Cultural Sanctuary Guard Station on the east coast of the

peninsula. Dr. West was not pleased to see the jet fighter returning

from the direction in which his English pilot's Turbo-Beaver had gone.
     
     
"Whiteman's skua bird," Edwardluk remarked, evidently unimpressed as he

stared after the vanishing jet fighter.
     
     
This comparison further disturbed Dr. West. "Why do you call it a skua bird?"
     
     
"Chases other whitemen's birds," Edwardluk answered as Dr. West was afraid

he would. "Old Peterluk says its beak has many rifles. Old Peterluk says

there are two white men inside. Is this another lie?"
     
     
Dr. West looked around, expecting to see an old man in the camp.

"Where is Peterluk?"
     
     
Edwardluk's smile widened as if in embarrassment. "Peterluk has gone

hunting." Edwardluk glanced north along the ice foot where the sled had

disappeared around the point. "This person thinks Peterluk has gone to

pray for more power. This person thinks Peterluk is afraid of you. Eh-eh,

Peterluk even took his old wife. He said you would be a whiteman and we

would not be able to understand you, but he lied."
     
     
"Have you ever seen a whiteman?" Dr. West supposed Edwardluk must have been

a baby twenty years ago when the Cultural Sanctuary was established.
     
     
"Peterluk said you would be a whiteman," Edwardluk side-stepped the question,

his smile more embarrassed, and he murmured: "You are so much taller.

Are you going to -- You are a whiteman?"
     
     
Dr. West answered softly. "My name is West." Trying to explain the meaning

of his name, Dr. West pointed with his own boldly un-Eskimo nose in the

direction the afternoon sun was sinking. "West is a good man's name

and Edwardluk is a good man's name and we speak the same language,"

Dr. West's voice rose hopefully. "We are friends forever."
     
     
Edwardluk's smile gleamed like the morning sun. "We are brothers, all of us."

His hand trembling on Dr. West's arm as if with excitement, Edwardluk guided

him into the low-straddling tent of ancient caribou skins.
     
     
Children scrambled on an unsteady pavement of flat beach stones. Dr. West

stumbled over the bloody carcass of a seal. In the dimness of the tent,

another young woman smiled from behind the cooking lamp. "Cut meat!"

Edwardluk shouted proudly, and she giggled but obediently snatched up

a crude saw-toothed stone and chopped at the bared ribs of the seal.
     
     
The other girl finally staggered into the tent carrying Dr. West's

ninety-pound pack. With a gasp she tried to lower his heavy pack to the

stones without dropping it. Dr. West stepped forward, almost reaching

out to help her, but this