Chapter 22
Imnak And I Hunt Sleen; We Consider The Nature Of The World

“Over there,” said Imnak, indicating the place in the water.

“Yes,” I said.

I laid the two-headed paddle on the leather of the kayak behind me. I pulled off the mitten on my right hand and held it in my teeth. I picked up the beaded throwing board and the light harpoon, and fitted the harpoon shaft into the notch on the throwing board. The harpoon had a foreshaft of bone, with a bone .liead and point. A light rawhide line, of twisted tabuk sinew, ran to the head. In a flat. rounded tray directly before me, on the leather, there were coiled several feet of this line. At my right, alongside the outer edge of the circular wooden frame, bound with sinew, within which I sat, lay the long lance.

“There,” whispered Imnak, in his own kayak, a few feet from that which I was using, which belonged to Akko.

The head of a sleen, glistening, smooth, emerged from the water. It was a medium-sized, adult sea sleen, some eight feet in length, some three to four hundred pounds in weight.

I had missed four sleen in a row and I was not too pleased with my performance.

I looped some of the line loosely over the palm of the mitten on my left hand.

I tried to keep the stem of the kayak pointing roughly toward the beast in the water. One does this, when not using the paddle, by moving one’s legs and body inside the frame.

The head of the sleen disappeared beneath the water. I put down the harpoon and throwing board; I took the mitten which I had held between my teeth and pulled it back on. It had two thumbs, like the one on my left hand. They were paddle mittens. When they are worn on one side they may be turned to the other.

“You are too slow, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak.

“Last time,” I said, “I was too hasty.”

“Yes,” Imnak agreed, “last time you were too hasty.”

“The kayak moved,” I said.

“You should keep it steady,” said Imnak.

“Thank you, Imnak,” I said. “That would not have occurred to me.”

“What are friends for?” asked Imnak.

“Imnak!” I cried. His kayak had suddenly flipped over and was bottom side up in the chilled water. In an instant, however, it was right side up again. Water was running from the kayak and Imnak’s gutskin jacket. “It is too dark to see under the water,” he said.

“You did that on purpose,” I said.

“Yes, someone is a big show-off,” he said, grinning. He was in a good mood. He had taken two sleen which now lay near us in the water. With a tube he had blown air under the skin of the sleen and, with wooden plugs, closed their wounds. This served to keep the animals afloat. When he returned to shore he would tow them behind his kayak.

“It is difficult to throw from a sitting position;” I said, “and I am not used to the throwing board.”

“It is lucky for the sleen that you are here,” said Imnak. “Otherwise it might be dangerous for them.”

“With encouragement such as you afford,” I said, “doubtless I shall soon become a great hunter of sea sleen.”

“Perhaps you are not friendly enough to the sea sleen,” said Imnak. “Perhaps they think you do not like them.”

It had not hitherto occurred to me that one might like sea sleen.

“Perhaps that is the trouble,” I admitted.

“Talk to them, be friendly,” said. Imnak. “Coax them. They like to be coaxed.”

“They would cheerfully permit themselves to be harpooned by someone who is friendly to them?” I asked.

“Would you like to be harpooned by someone who was an enemy?” asked Imnak.

“No,” I said, “but I would not like to be harpooned by someone who was a friend either.”

“But you are not a sea sleen,” said Imnak.

“That is true,” I admitted.

“Come now,” said Imnak, “would you not prefer to be harpooned by a friend rather than an enemy?”

“I suppose so,” I said, “if I had my choice.”

“There you are!” said Imnak triumphantly.

“But I would not like to be harpooned by either,” I reminded him.

“But,” Imnak reminded me, “you are not a sea sleen, are you?”

“No,” I granted him. That seemed incontestable. It was sometimes difficult to enter into disputation with Imnak.

“Be friendly,” said Imnak. “Do not be a sour fellow. Do not be morose. Be outgoing!”

“Hello, Sleen!” I called.

“Good,” said Imnak. “That is a start.”

“How do you do this?” I asked.

“Listen,” said Imnak. He spoke out, over the icy waters. “Tal,” said he, “my lovely brothers, my dangerous brethren. How beautiful and strong you are. How fast you swim. And your meat is so good in soups. I am Imnak, only a poor hunter. I would like very much to harpoon you. I have a little harpoon here who would like to see you. I would take it as a great honor if you would let me harpoon you. I would be very grateful.”

“That is the silliest thing I have ever heard,” I told Imnak.

“How many sleen have you harpooned today?” asked Imnak.

“I have harpooned no sleen today,” I said.

“I have harpooned two,” said Imnak. “Try it.”

“Very well,” I said. I wondered if I had been on the water too long. Sometimes there is an affliction which affects those in kayaks though it is usually the case when it is clearly daylight and the rocking, the endless waiting, the reflections off the water, make one suddenly lose all sense of time and place, and one seems lost in nothingness, and then one must sing or scream, and strike the water with the paddle, or go mad and die, sometimes cutting one’s own kayak to pieces.

I.   looked out over the water. “Greetings, lovely sleen,” I said. “I have been out here a long time waiting for you. I would certainly like to harpoon one of you. If you could see your way clear to coming over and being harpooned, I would certainly appreciate it.”

“Not bad,” said Imnak.

“Arlene would like to have something for a soup,” I said. “Do you think you could help me out?”

“Now you are catching on,” said Imnak.

“I admire you very much, you long, sleek swimmers,” I said. “You are very beautiful and strong, and you swim like lightning.” I looked at Imnak. “How was that?” I asked.

“Splendid,” said Iinnak. “Look out!” he cried.

The sleen had risen up under the kayak and It lifted a yard from the water and tumbled from the surfacing back of the glistening, wet mammal. I and the craft, one functional unit, slipped from the animal’s back and fell sideways into the water. I wrenched myself to the side and righted the light, narrow vessel. The sleen shook itself in the water and then snapped away some yards from the kayak. My face felt frozen from the sea water freezing on it. I jerked a mitteu off and rubbed my eyes. I still held the paddle but the harpoon and lance were in the water.

“You see,” said Imnak, “you are catching on.”

I spat out some water.

“There is the sleen,” said Imnak, pointing.

I looked out across the icy water, where he had pointed. To be sure, there was the head of the sleen, about a quarter emerged, the eyes and nose flat with the water. What I could see of the head seemed very large. It was eighteen inches or more in breadth. I pulled the mitten back on. My hand was cold.

“I think he likes you,” said Imnak.

I drew the harpoon toward me by the line fastened to the kayak.

“Do not move too swiftly,” said Imnak, “lest he charge and kill you.”

“It is well he does not dislike me,” I said. “Otherwise I might he in real danger.”

“Oh, oh,” said Imnak.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“Perhaps you should not have talked to that sleen,” said Imnak.

“Why not?” I asked.

“That, I think, is a rogue sleen,” said Imnak. “It is a broad-head, and they are rare in these waters in the fall. Too, see the gray on the muzzle and the scarring on the right side of the head, where the fur is gone?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I think it is a rogue,” he said. “Also, see the way he is watching you.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I think it has been hunted before,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said. Generally a sleen watches you warily and then, as you approach, submerges. Normally, though it is swift to attack an object moving about in the water, like a swimmer, it will not attack a vessel. Its attack instincts are apparently not triggered by that configuration, or perhaps there is no stimulating smell or familiar pressure patterns, such as it would commonly associate with its prey or a vulnerable object, in the water, from the passage of the craft and the stroke of the paddle. This sleen, however, did not seem to be watching us warily. Rather there was something rather menacing in its attitude.

“Hello, Sleen,” I said.

“Do not be silly,” said Imnak. ‘That is a very dangerous animal.”

“Am I not supposed to talk to it?” I asked. I thought I might give Imnak back a bit of his own medicine.

“One must be careful what sleen one talks to,” said Imnak. ‘There is a time to talk and coax, and a time to be quiet.”

“I see.” I said, smiling.

“You may talk to it if you wish,” said Imnak, “but I would not do so if I were you.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“It might listen,” he said.

“Is that not the point?” I asked, chuckling.

“That is one sleen you would just as soon not have listen to you,” said Imnak. “That is a rogue broad-head, and I think he has been hunted before.”

“One must be careful what sleen one takes up with,” I said.

“Precisely,” said Imnak.

I fished the lance out of the water. I now had both. the lance and the harpoon beside me.

“Arlene would like something for a soup,” I said to the sleen. “Can you help me out?”

“Be silent.” whispered Imnak, horrified.

“I thought you said he liked me,” I said.

“He may be only pretending,” said Imnak.

“I think he is really a good fellow,” I said.

“Let us not take the chance,” said Imnak. “Do not turn your back on him. We will wait quietly until he goes away, and then we will go back to camp.”

“No,” I said.

“We have two sleen,” said Imnak.

“You have two sleen.” I said.

“Do not be foolish, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak.

“I am sure he is really a nice sleen,” I said.

“Look out!” cried Imnak. “He is coming!”

I dropped the harpoon for it would be an extremely difficult cast to strike the animal head on. The bone point of the harpoon, thrown, would probably not penetrate the skull and it would be difficult to strike the submerged, narrow forepart of the body knifing toward the kayak. I thrust the lance point into the rushing, extended, double-fanged jaws and it penetrated through the side of the mouth, tearing, the animal’s face a yard up the shaft. It reared six feet out of the water vertically beside the slender hide vessel. With two hands on the shaft I forced the twisting body to fall away from the craft. One of the large flippers struck me, buffeting me, spinning me and the vessel about, the animal then slipping free of the shaft of the lance. It circled the craft its mouth hot with blood flowing into the cold water. It was then I retrieved the harpoon again from the water by its line, for it had been once more struck away from me. I set the light harpoon into the notch on the throwing board and, even mittened, an instant before the beast turned toward me, grunted, snapping the throwing board forward and downward, speeding the shaft toward the enraged animal. The bone head, vanishing, sunk into its withers and it snapped downward, diving, bubbles breaking up to the surface, and swift blood. The line snapped out from its tray darting under the water. In moments the harpoon shaft and foreshaft bobbed to the surface, but the bone harpoon head, its line taut, turning the head in the wound, held fast. I played the line as I could. The animal was an adult, large-sized broad-head. It was some eighteen to twenty feet in length and perhaps a thousand pounds in weight. At the length of the line I feared the kayak and myself would be drawn under the water. Imnak, too, came to the line, and, straining, together we held it. The two kayaks dipped, stems downward. “He is running,” said Imnak. He released the line. The kayak spun and then nosed forward. I held the line being towed by the beast somewhere below the water. “Loose the line!” called Imnak. “He is running to the ice!” I saw a pan of ice ahead. “Loose the line!” called Imnak. But I did not loose the line. I was determined not to lose the beast. I held the line in my left hand, wrapped about my wrist. With the lance in my right hand I thrust against the pan of ice. Then the lance slipped on the ice and the line slipped to the side and I in the kayak was dragged up on the ice skidding across it and then slipped loose of it and slid into the water to the side. “It is running to the sea!” called Imnak. following me as he could in his own vessel. Then the line went slack. “It is turning,” said Imnak. “Beware!” But in a few moments I saw the body of the sleen rise to the surface, rolling, buoyant. It was some sixty feet from the kayak. “It is not dead,” said Imnak. “I know,” I said. It was easy to see the breath from its nostrils, like a spreading fog on the cold water. The water had a glistening, greasy appearance, for it bad begun to freeze. It was dark about the animal, from the blood. We brought our kayaks in close, to finish the animal with our lances. “Beware,” said Imnak. “It is not dead.” “It has lost much blood,” I said. “It is still alive,” he said. “Beware.”

We nosed our kayaks on each side of the beast, approaching it from the rear.

“It is not breathing now,” I said.

“It has been hunted before,” said Imnak, “and lived.”

“It is dead,” I said. “It is not breathing.”

“It has been hunted before, and lived,” said Imnak. “Let us wait.”

We waited for a time. “Let us tow it home,” I said. “It is dead.”

I poked the beast with the tip of my lance. It did not respond, but moved inertly in the water.

“It is dead,” I said. “Let us draw it home now behind us.”

“I would not be eager to turn my back on him,” said Imnak.

“Why not?” I asked.

“He is not dead,” said Imnak.

“How can you be sure?” I asked.

“He is still bleeding,” said Imnak.

The hair rose on the back of my neck. Somewhere in that great body, apparently lifeless in the water, there still beat its heart.

“It is a broad-head.” said Imnak. “It is pretending.”

“It is losing blood,” I said. “Too, it must soon breathe.”

“Yes,” said Imnak. “It will soon make its move. Be ready.”

“We could go in with lances now,” I said.

“It is waiting for our closer approach,” said Imnak. “Do not think its senses are not keen.”

“We shall wait?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Imnak. “Of course. It is bleeding. Time is on our side.”

We waited in the polar dusk.

After a time Imnak said, “Be ready. I have been counting. It must soon breathe.”

We readied our lances, one of us on each side of the beast. Suddenly with a great, exploding noise, expelling air, the sleen leaped upward. At the height of its leap we struck it with our lances. It pulled free of the lances and, sucking in air, spun and dove. Again the harpoon line darted downward. “We struck it fairly!” said Imnak. “Watch out!” he cried. The line had grown slack. I peered downward into the water. Then I felt the swell of the water beneath me, clearly through the taut hide of the kayak. I thrust downward with the lance and was half pulled from the kayak, myself and the vessel lifted upward, as the sleen’s impaled body reared up almost beneath the craft. Imnak struck again at it from the side. It fell back in the water and I, jerking free the lance, thrust it again into the wet, bloody pelt. It attacked again, laterally in the water, fangs snapping, and I pressed it away with the lance. Imnak struck it again. It thrashed; bloody in the icy water. It turned on Imnak and I thrust my lance deeply into its side, behind the right foreflipper, seeking, hunting, the great, dark heart. It expelled air again. I pulled the lance free to drive it in again. The beast regarded me. Then it rolled in the water.

“It is dead,” said Imnak.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“The nature of your stroke, and its depth,” said Imnak. “You have penetrated to the heart.”

“Its heart is centered,” I said.

“Consider the blood on your lance,” he said.

I noted it. New blood was splashed more than twenty-eight inches along the shaft.

“You have great strength,” said Imnak.

He took his kayak to the side of the beast. With wooden plugs he began to stop up the wounds. He did not wish to lose what blood might be left in the animal. Frozen blood is nutritious.

“Will you blow air under its skin?” I asked.

“Not unless it becomes heavy in the water,” said Imnak. “We are going in now.”

“It is going to sink,” I said.

“Here,” said Imnak, “support it between the kayaks. We will use them as floats.”

We tied the great beast between the two kayaks and then. one vessel on each side of the huge sea mammal, began to paddle toward camp. There is an ivory ring below each place where the paddle is gripped, between the hand and the paddle blade. Thus, when the paddle is lifted the water, falling from its blade, does not run back down the lever and into one’s sleeve.

“I told you earlier I thought the sleen was really a good fellow,” I said.

“I was not sure of it for a time,” said Imnak.

“You doubted him,” I said.

“It was wrong of me,” granted Imnak. “But he is good at pretending. He had me fooled for a time.”

“That is the way sleen are,” I said.

“They are playful fellows,” admitted Imnak.

“You are the one who first noted that he liked me,” I said.

Imnak looked at me, and grinned. “You see,” he said, “I was right.”

“I was not sure of it for a while,” I said.

“When you are longer in the north,” said Imnak, “these things will become clearer to you.”

“Perhaps,” I admitted.

“You should thank the sleen for letting himself be harpooned by you,” said Imnak. “Not every sleen will do that.”

“Thank you, Sleen,” I said.

“Good,” said Imnak. “That is a simple courtesy. You surely cannot expect sleen to come over to be harpooned if you are not even going to be civil to them.”

“I guess you are right, Imnak,” I said.

“Of course I am right,” said Imnak. “Sleen have their pride.”

We had then arrived at the two sleen he had left floating in the water, beneath whose hides he had blown air. He deferentially thanked the two sleen for having permitted themselves to be slain by him. Then he tied them behind his kayak and, together, paddling, we headed back toward the pebbled shore.

“When the sleen are dead, how can you expect them to know they are thanked?” I asked.

“That is an interesting and difficult question,” said Imnak. “I do not really know how the sleen manage it.”

“It seems it would be hard to do,” I said.

“It is a belief of the People,” said Imnak, “that the sleen does not really die but, after a time, will be reborn again.”

“The sleen is immortal?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Imnak. “And when he comes again he will hopefully be more willing to let himself be harpooned again if he has been well treated.”

“Are men. too, thought to be immortal?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Imnak.

“I know a place,” I said, “where some people would think that men are immortal but animals are not.”

“They do not like animals?” asked Imnak.

“I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps they think they are immortal because they are smart and sleen are not.”

“Some sleen are pretty smart,” said Imnak. He thought for a bit. “If sleen were to talk these things over,” he said, “they would probably say that they were immortal and men were not, because they were better at swimming.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Who knows what life is all about?” asked Imnak.

“I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps it is not about anything.”

“That is interesting,” said Imnak. “But then the world would be lonely.”

“Perhaps the world is lonely,” I said.

“No,” said Imnak.

“You do not think so?” I asked.

“No,” said Imnak, drawing his kayak up on the shore, “the world cannot be lonely where there are two people who are friends.”

I looked up at the stars. “You are right, Imnak,” I said. “Where there is beauty and friendship what more could one ask of a world. How grand and significant is such a place. What more justification could it require?”

“Help me pull the meat up on shore,” said Imnak.

I helped him. Others came down to the shore and helped, too.

I did not know what, sort of place the world was, but sometimes it seemed to me to be very wonderful.