Night-time and the bitter wind howled about the snow house that stood alone on the bleak plain. Inside, Inuits sat in a huddle in their sealskin coats. A simple oil lamp cast a shadowy light on the igloo walls. On a slab of rock in the centre lay the carcass of a seal. Each in turn cut a slice and chewed in silence.
The meal over, the Shaman rose and donned a strange mask. His coal-black hair fell loosely to his shoulders. A necklace of blanched white walrus teeth hung round his chest. In his left hand a thin, caribou skin drum. Flicking his wrist, he struck each side with a short stick, the beat unvarying, ceaseless, insistent. Round and round he danced, peering about with his frightful face. Sometimes he bent forward or leant to the side but the hypnotic rhythm never ceased. The onlookers watched impassively, eyes glistening.
A squat old woman with a round and wrinkled face broke into song. The others joined in the low-pitched dirge that seemed bereft of any melody. Hour after hour this hypnotic concert continued. Suddenly, the drumming and the singing ceased. The Shaman screamed out. The sound reverberating around and around the igloo turned to words:
“HEAR ME. I AM THE SPIRIT OF THE WILD. THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. THE SPIRIT OF BEING. I SEEK YOUR HELP. I SEEK YOUR HELP. I....seek......your....help. I seek your ......
The words slowly died away, like an echoing voice lost in a tunnel. The Shaman staggered forward and collapsed on the floor. No one moved or said a word. Then the old woman got up and, with the help of the others, lifted the Shaman onto a bed of skins. Dipping her hands in the open kettle of water that hung on a rod above the lamp, she gently removed the mask. From outside, there was an eruption of howling and barking. No word was uttered. Each looked from one to the other. The frenzied barking continued.
The two young hunters, Tariquan and Netochiq, donned their hoods and reached for their rifles, but the old woman stayed their hands. Bending, the two men went out into the night.
The snow swirled about them. The dogs were some distance away from the snow house, barking and snarling. Tariquan pointed and, peering into the relentless snow, Netochiq could now see the bear. It looked like some kind of white phantom, charging towards the dogs, scattering them, then galloping away, before turning and growling defiantly. The pattern repeated itself again and again, with the dogs being drawn farther and farther away from the snow house, until suddenly the bear vanished in a cloud of snow.
Puzzled, Tariquan and Netochiq looked at each other, then made their way forward to retrieve the dogs, which were barking madly and circling around one spot. Unsure of what was happening, they ran amidst them, shouting and pulling them back. A hump in the snow. It didn’t move. The bear! Netochiq bent forward warily. A hood at one end! He brushed away the snow. A….face... a boy.....a stranger.
Followed by the whelping dogs, they carried the body into the shelter of the snow house and laid him down close to the lamp. Everyone gazed at the figure lying on the floor. The boy’s eyes flickered. As they did so, the Shaman sat up.
This is a confidently realised scene - I could almost taste the blubber. It wasnt quite what I was looking for since the first person passages were in dialogue, and dialogue is always in the first person. First person would have been if the entire thing was narrated in the voice of the shaman, or of Netochiq, or the old woman. I would recommend perhaps taking a scene with Ned and recounting it through Ned's voice. But I enjoyed it anyway!
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