Ilatsiak - 15

Getting Ilatisak to talk about the old days was never easy, but Patsy kept trying. Old stores of the area between the MacKenzie delta and Victoria Island where he had grown up in were always fascinating and Patsy was old enough to know that life was rapidly changing for everyone. Talking with old people was the only way to learn about the past and Ilatisak seemed to have lots of stories to tell if he could be coaxed.
“Were there many stories about white men when you were young, old man?” Patsy had assumed that because none of these people had actually seen white men, they would naturally not have stories to tell about them.
“Oh yes, many stories were told in the old days.” claimed Ilatsiak. “But not for a long time now. I had thought that white men had died off entirely because we had not heard stories or seen them for so long. I was very surprised to hear about you and your father coming here. In the past, it was thought by most people that white people lived in the east or maybe in the far north. Most of our stories told about them dying once they got to our land because they were not real people and could not live like real men.”
“Well, we came from the west, and we won’t be dying for a while yet, old man!”
“Well, it’s because your Mother is an Inuk. Your Father was wise to have married her. Now he will be able to live here like me.” Ilatsiak laughed at his own cleverness. “Perhaps white men from the east are not so smart, eh?”
“Maybe not,” said Patsy, “Maybe not...”
He offered the old man some chewing tobacco he had lifted out of his father’s trade goods, not usually with the idea of sharing it, but because he liked to chew a little himself. It made him feel just a little bit older, more mature. Ilatsiak smelled it and put some in his mouth, but didn’t chew it. “Chew it!” Patsy insisted, but the old man was gone again, into his dreamy state. This time however he didn’t talk or look at him. Then suddenly Ilatsiak came to, spit out the tobacco and struggled to get up. “You should go now.” he abruptly told Patsy. He looked the other way seeming to re-enter his dream world as if Patsy had already left.
“What a strange old man...” Patsy thought to himself as he rose from the caribou skin they had both been sitting on. “Bye, old man!” he murmured as he headed back along the beach towards the trader’s house, but he didn’t get an answer.
* * *
Patsy looked at his father’s old hands as they hugged his tea mug. They were a deep mahogany brown, weathered like the driftwood found on arctic beaches, but polished a deeper, richer brown. The hands that carried me as a baby, he thought. Those hands, so knarled and full of life could warm a tea mug, sail a ship and cuddle a baby.
“Where there lots of ships here in the old days, Papa?”
The old man seemed to be quiet a long time before he suddenly answered him. It was as if he was silently visiting each ship and inquiring after its captain for permisson to come aboard and count the crew.
“No, very few... Maybe only one or two. Collinson, way back in 1855 is the only one I know of, that I have heard about. I think he went to Cambridge Bay. Oh, and there was McClure in 1854 or so, but he went over to Banks Island and may not have been here.”
“The old man, Ilatsiak. His words keep running around in my head. He is a strange one.”
Patsy got up and rinsed his mug at the sink, using the scoop from the water barrel.
“Can you talk to the scientists? You said you would. They’re laughing at me again.” Patsy suddenly changed the subject.
“Your name again? Why not just call yourself Pat. That’d make everything easier.”
“No. I’ve always been Patsy. I’m staying Patsy, even if they make jokes about it. One of them asked me out on a date. Can you believe it! What jokers!”
“Well, I’ll mention it to them again. Patsy was your mother’s idea. Guess I just sort of went along with it.” the Captain looked at his tea cup, now half empty and cold. He opened the door and tossed the remains alongside the house. “That’ll help the lawn grow next summer!” he laughed.