The North Water(57)
“Christ alive,” Drax says. “I hant seen that before. I seen plenty, but I hant seen that.”
The man looks up at Drax and grins. His teeth and lips are red with seal blood. He cuts off another piece of the raw liver and offers it to him. Drax considers a moment, then takes it.
“I’ve eaten worse in my day,” he says. “Plenty worse.”
He chews once, then swallows it down and smiles. The elder Yak smiles back and laughs. When the younger one comes back from the tent, they confer for a while and then beckon Drax closer. The elder reaches into the pile of giblets and pulls out a severed eyeball. He pierces its skin with the point of the knife and sucks out the inner jelly. They look at Drax and grin.
“That don’t trouble me none,” Drax says. “I’ve eaten eyeballs before, an eyeball’s easy pickings.”
The elder finds another eyeball, pierces it as before, and gives it to him. Drax sucks out the juice, then puts the rest into his mouth and swallows it down. The Yaks start cackling wildly. Drax opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue to show that it’s truly gone.
“I’ll gobble down anything you can give me,” he says, “any fucking thing at all—brains, bollocks, hooves. I int fussy, see.”
The elder Yak points to his chains again, growls and claws the air.
“Aye,” Drax says. “Aye, that’s about the size of it right there.”
*
That night the Yaks feed their dogs with the remains of the rancid walrus meat, tether them to whalebone stakes driven into the gravel, and then crawl inside the snow house and settle down to sleep. They leave again early the next morning but return after dark with no seals to show for their labor. The next day, it is snowing too hard to hunt and they stay inside the snow house all day. Drax hobbles through the blizzard, past the scattered humps of curled-up dogs, to visit them. He gives them each a pinch of tobacco and asks them questions. When they miss his meaning, he repeats himself more loudly and makes signs. In response, they point and laugh and trace out patterns in the air or on the rawhide surface of their reindeer sleeping bags. Occasionally, they slice off a piece of the frozen seal liver and gnaw on it like licorice. There are periods of silence, and periods in which the Yaks talk to each other as though he is not even there. He watches them and listens to what they say, and, after a while, he understands what he must do next. It is not a decision, so much as a slow uncovering. He feels the future gradually show itself. He smells its hot perfume hanging in the arctic air, like a dog smells the rank requirements of a bitch.
When the blizzard abates, the Yaks go out seal hunting again. They kill one seal on the first day, and two more on the next. When they give over the final butchered carcass as agreed, Cavendish shows them the second rifle. He makes five more marks in the snow, but the Yaks shake their heads and point back in the direction they came from.
“They want to go back home,” Sumner says. They are standing outside the tent; the sky is bright and clear, but the air around is bitter cold. Sumner feels its desiccating bluntness press against his face and eyes.
“They can’t go back,” Cavendish says. He points down at the ground again and waves the rifle at them.
The elder one shows him the rifle they already have, then points again to the west.
“Utterpok,” he says. “No trade.”
Cavendish shakes his head and softly curses.
“We have enough meat and blubber now to last a month,” Sumner says. “So long as they come back before the supply runs out, we can survive.”
“If that old bastard goes the other one must stay here with us,” Cavendish says. “If they go off together, we can’t be sure they’re ever coming back.”
“Don’t threaten them,” Sumner warns. “If you press too hard, they’ll be gone for sure.”
“They may have that one rifle but they hant got no balls or powder for it yet,” Cavendish says. “So I reckon I can threaten the bastards all I like if I have a mind to do it.”
He points at the younger man and then at the snow house.
“He stays here,” he says. “You”—pointing at the older man, then gesturing west—“can fuck off if you want to.”
The Yaks shake their heads and smile ruefully, as if they understand the suggestion but find it both foolish and faintly embarrassing.
“No trade,” the older one repeats lightly. “Utterpok.”
Unafraid, amused even, they look at Cavendish for a while longer, then turn away and start walking back towards the sledge. The tethered dogs uncurl from their snow holes and start to yip and howl as they approach. Cavendish reaches into his pocket for a cartridge.
“You think killing them will change their minds?” Sumner says. “Is that your best idea?”
“I int killing anyone yet, I’m just aiming to get a little more attention, that’s all.”
“Just wait,” he says. “Put down the gun.”
The Yaks are already busy reloading their sledge, rolling up their bedding, and lashing it to the wooden frame with strips of walrus hide. When Sumner walks across to them, they don’t trouble to look up.
“I have something for you,” he says. “See here.”
He holds out his gloved hand and shows them the looted gold ring that he has been carrying, buttoned in his waistcoat pocket, since the day of Drax’s capture.