The story of an Inuit family as they go through hardships that we all must face. |
Eyes of the Earth Chapter 1 Aukaneck Anger is boiling. Like the waves of a stormy sea. So cold. But so strong. They call to me. Come. Pass the ball. No. I will keep this ball. It is mine. NO. You cannot take it. Stop. I don’t like it when you do that. You are not my friend. You are not my friend. I am cold. My coat is on the ground. You are laughing. It is ripped. You are mean to me. I am not happy. Sinaaq is here. She is shouting. To them. You are bad. You know what he is. You know nothing. To me. Come, inside. Take your coat. I will fix it. I am walking. Igloo. Mother. Sad, tears. They were being mean to him mother. I knew they would. He is different. I know he is. He cannot play with them. I know he can’t. You cannot let him. Yes I can. Chapter 2 Sinaaq I am watching the game of catch with a sealskin ball. There is Aukaneck. There is Keelut. There is Iqniq. Iqniq passes the ball to Aukaneck on the ground. The only way Aukaneck can play is if the ball is rolled to him. Aukaneck is special, but maybe not in a good way. He is different. He can hardly talk and his face is distorted. He has no friends to play with unless Iqniq is feeling nice enough to let him. Mostly he is just ignored. He is my brother. Aukaneck has the ball. He hugs it close. “Auka!” Iqniq calls. “Pass to Chu!” Chu waits expectantly, hands out. “Uooohh.” Aukaneck moans. I can see Iqniq is confused, but I know what he’s saying. No. “Iiiieee keeeebaaaa now. Miiiine.” He wants to keep the ball. He says it is his. Keelut comes over to him, scowling. “You gimme the ball, little man.” Keelut is on the other team. Keelut is mean to my brother. I know Auka won’t give him the ball. “UOOOOHHHH!” Aukaneck protests. “Youuuunooo taaaakkkke.” “Give it to me!” Keelut demands. “Now.” “Ooooh. I nooo liiiike yoooo do daa. Youuunoo fren.” Aukaneck responds tearfully. He repeats his last line. You are not my friend. Keelut grabs Aukas’ coat and tears it off his body. I know it is time to step in. Auka cannot help himself. And Keelut knows better than to take his coat. Without it you freeze in minutes. “Keelut!” I shout angrily, pushing through the throng of boys until I reach him and Auka. Keelut stares at me with narrowed eyes, challenging me. “You are bad.” I announce. “You know what he is. You should know how to treat him.” “He always gets in the way of our games.” Keelut says, slightly subdued. “Oh, well, if your games are interrupted, excuse me.” I respond sharply. Keelut hangs his head. “Come now, Auka.” I help him into his coat and lead him away to our igloo. Before we leave the area, I stop to talk to Iqniq. “Iqniq, why didn’t you stand up for him?” I ask quietly. Iqniq glances at Auka. “Look, Sinaaq.” Iqniq sighs. “Keelut is the leader. The choice for me was Auka or friends. I chose friends. And I wouldn’t want a second chance to change my answer. I am nice to him, mostly. I talk Keelut into letting him play. But Auka is not a good friend. And he’s different. I don’t want to be like him.” “You know nothing.” I hiss at him. He turns away, the shame and guilt clearly written on his face. When we come to our igloo, mama rushes out. She sees the look on our faces and becomes white. But she does not waste time with worries. “Come inside.” She says to Aukaneck. “I will fix your coat.” Once she has Auka safely inside she comes out to me. She doesn’t notice him watching us, hidden behind the walls of the igloo. “They were being mean to him, mama.” I say softly. “I knew they would.” “He is different.” I remind her. “I know he is.” “He cannot play with them.” I push. “I know he can’t.” “You cannot let him.” I say finally. “Yes I can.” Chapter 3 Saileet When I saw my daughter come stomping home with her brother close at hand, I knew something had gone wrong. Auka would always want to play ball with the normal boys, and almost every time Keelut or one of his friends would somehow hurt my son. I knew that Sinaaq was about to snap that day, with all the stress of a brother like Auka, and with no support from any of her friends. I needed to get her calm and under control when she came home with him, or she was sure to have an outburst. I knew that Auka was sadly different from the start. As a baby, he would never cry, just slump and stare. Kaiya, our healer, read the signs of his disabilities and told me that for the rest of his life, Auka was likely to be teased and tortured by his fellow peers, and that I would have to comfort him. She told me that, although Auka could not talk or move well, he was not brain dead. His thoughts were trapped inside his head by an evil demon that wanted Auka’s extraordinarily valuable soul within himself. To believe other wise would have been foolish, for Kaiya is old and wise, the spiritual leader of our clan. “Auka.” I whisper to my son. “Are you alright?” He looks up at me sleepily, blinking his pale, watery eyes. Sinaaq’s eyes took after my own, a deep velvet brown. Auka’s were a washed out version of this, a seal skin splotched with age and worn with sunning rocks and stinging waves. “Mooommmmmu…” He groans, waving his twisted hands in my face. “Huuuuuungggggrrr.” “Don’t worry, I have food for you.” I say softly, and get up to head to the meat pile that is placed outside our tent in sympathy for the failure of a boy in our family. I pick out a bulky piece of venison, and cook it on our spit outside the tent. The tan deerskin cover of the tent is stiff with cold, and it hangs tightly around the supporting branches. Auka staggers out of the tent, sneezing and snorting when the thick smoke reaches his mouth and nose. Sinaaq follows not long after, a sour expression on her face, which doesn’t falter a bit in the face of the overwhelming smoke. She helps me remove the meat from the spit, and mashes it slightly for Auka. We then begin eating ourselves, feeling the air cool as the clear sky darkens from light periwinkle to a dark navy blue. Just as we finish, the camp messenger jogs up to us, gasping. “Oh.” He sighs, gulping in fresh air. “You won’t believe what I have to say.” |