Talking at the Woodpile Read Online Free

suggestion that Suyuk’s oldest son should accompany him. Malak was younger and less experienced than Angunatchiuk, and he was heavy and slow, with rotting teeth. Other hunters said, “His clumsiness makes it impossible to track game. When he lies on his belly he passes wind and the animals run off. He and Suyuk just laugh—they think this is funny—but it is more work for us. One time Ojuk, the elder brother of Alak, smacked him with his bow while they lay in the bushes and then had a big fight with Suyuk.”
    On their return Malak would criticize every move Angunatchiuk made to anyone who would listen.
    â€œNo, uncle, don’t trouble yourself or cousin Malak. I will be fine,” Angunatchiuk said, failing to keep the anger from his voice.
    Suyuk heard the tone and snapped, “Go do what you want, waste your time. Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I am talking about.”
    Angunatchiuk’s snowshoes kicked up snow as he ran toward where the hunter had last seen the herds. The caribou and mammoth had trampled the ground, and willow bushes were torn up by the roots so that clumps of soil dotted the snow. He would keep his eyes sharp; mammoths were testy, and the thick willows hid them until they were almost on top of you.
    Caribou were more plentiful; mammoth numbers had declined in recent years. Yugunvaq had seen great numbers of them dead on the plains, some with blood around their mouths, while the living staggered about wheezing as if they couldn’t breathe.
    Crawling over a hill, Angunatchiuk came upon a herd of caribou grazing lichen by scraping away snow with their hooves. He crept forward with his bow and paused to rub two pieces of wood together, mimicking the sound of antlers rubbing on trees. A curious bull approached Angunatchiuk’s hiding place, and when it was close, he leaped out. The animal bolted and slipped to its knees. Angunatchiuk released two arrows in quick succession. Each found its mark deep in the animal’s chest, and the caribou dropped to the ground. The herd scattered.
    â€œAlak will be happy,” Angunatchiuk said softly. He was exhausted. The burst of speed and excitement had drained his energy, but he was pleased at his success.
    He turned the caribou over on its back and cut off the legs at the knee joint, then removed the head. He sliced, then pushed and pulled the hide away from the neck, stomach and legs. With the skin lying on either side of the carcass, he split the stomach, and the steaming guts spilled out, filling the air with the pungent smell of warm meat. He removed the organs, set them aside and cleaned the bum-gut. He split open the stomach and ate the undigested vegetation. Using a length of babiche, he wrapped the meat in the hide to sled back to camp. Then he dug a hole in the snow and cached the rest.
    Busy with his work, Angunatchiuk hadn’t noticed the dark line of clouds forming on the horizon to the north. A torrent of wind and blinding snow slammed into him, catching him off guard. In a minute he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. The elders had mentioned conditions like this. Their warning, “Wait it out,” rang in his ears. He dropped his work and groped toward a large snowdrift in a clump of trees. He put on his gloves and hollowed out a tunnel with his snowshoe. Once inside he sealed the entrance and lay in the dark, catching his breath and listening to the wind’s howl. Then, saying a prayer for the end of his difficulties, he fell asleep.
    As he slept, Angunatchiuk’s body heat raised the temperature in the cave to a tolerable level, and his clothing kept him warm. After he woke, listening as the wind rattled the frozen willows, he knew the storm was still raging. He cut strips of frozen meat and ate them. There was nothing more to do but shift his weight once in a while and make an air hole, which lengthened as the snow deepened.
    Days later, he awoke. Everything was