To tell the truth I think I would rather study tae kwon do, but I said, ‘Yes.’
Sibylla said, ‘It does not solve everything but at least it solves one thing. You will meet other children your age in a structured and moral environment and strive to achieve satori. It would not be actually wrong for me to teach you at home.’
She walked up and down. I could see something was bothering her.
I said, ‘I promise not to ask any questions.’
Sibylla kept walking up and down.
I said, ‘I think it solves everything.’
iv
If we fought with real swords I would kill you
1
Trying to feel sorry for Lord Leighton
The man was almost dead.
He should not have been moved after the accident, but they were short of supplies. They had been travelling now for ten days, stopping only to rest the dogs and to snatch a quick mouthful of pemmican.
Now they were down to their last dog. They had eaten Wolf two days before. Soon it would be Dixie’s turn. But without a dog …
The boy put the thought out of his mind. Cross that bridge when we come to it. At least the wind had died down. The only sounds were the squeak of the runners on the snow, the loud panting of Dixie as she struggled with the unaccustomed load, his own quick breath and the groans of the injured man.
The air was clear as crystal. Was that an igloo in the distance? It must be an Inuit encampment. Only the Inuit stayed so far north so late in the season.
Two hours later they staggered into the settlement.
‘Where are we?’ muttered the man.
‘It’s an Inuit camp,’ the boy replied.
‘Will they speak English?’
‘I speak Inuit,’ said the boy.
‘Good thing I brought you,’ said the man with a ghastly grin.
Two fur-clad figures approached. The boy struggled to remember a few phrases picked up from The Eskimo Book of Knowledge months before.
Taimaimat Kanimajut âniasiortauningine maligaksat sivorlerpângat imaipoK: ANIASIORTIB PERKOJANGIT NALETSIARLUGIT.
The two men turned without a word and returned to their igloos. The only sound was the fine snow drifting through the encampment.
The boy tried again:
Ilapse ilangat killerpat aggangminik âniasiortib mangipserpâ ajoKertorpâselo killeK mangipsertautsainartuksaungmat. Ilanganele killertub mangiptaK pêjarpâ, kingornganelo tataminiarpoK killeK âKivalialugane piungilivaliatuinarmat. Nerriukkisê âniasiortib mangiptaK najumitsainarniarmago uvlut magguk pingasullônêt nâvlugit killeK mamitsiarKârtinagô?
Silence was the only reply.
Desperately he summoned up a few words of greeting from that half-remembered book:
Sorlo inôKatigêksoaKarjmat unuktunik adsigêngitunik taimaktauK ataneKarpoK unuktunik adsigêngitunik, anginerpaujorle tamainit, idluartomik ataniortoK inungnik KaKortanik Kernângajuniglo Kernertaniglo, tagva atanek George, ataniojok Britishit atanioviksoanganut. Tâmna atanerivase.
Suddenly a shot rang out, and the boy fell lifeless to the snow.
As far as I can see, The Eskimo Book of Knowledge is completely useless. ‘The first rule in curing sickness or injury is TO OBEY THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE WHITE MAN.’ When am I ever going to use that? They should have called it A Hundred and One Things Not to Say Where the Inuit Can Hear You.
When one of your people cuts his hand, the Trader covers the wound with a bandage and instructs the man to keep the wound covered. Often the man throws away the bandage and wonders why the wound grows worse instead of better. Do you expect the Trader to hold the bandage round the man’s hand for two or three days until the wound is healed?
That’s going to make us popular.
As there are many different races, so there are many different rulers, but the greatest ruler of all, who governs with justice White Men, Brown Men and Black Men in very many countries, is KING GEORGE the ruler of the British Empire. He is your King.
Another winner. Unfortunately it was the only thing on Inuit I could find. Of course, he may not be going where they speak Inuit. I could work out some of the words and grammar if I knew I was going to need it, but Sibylla still won’t say. It would help if she would just tell me something about him. I can’t believe I’m almost 11 and the only thing I know is that he’s not Thor Heyerdahl.
Not only is King George a man of great prudence and a hard worker; he is also a great hunter. Whether it be in the hunting of fierce animals like the bear, or in the crafty stalking of the deer or in the shooting of partridges while they fly, no man in the British Empire takes surer aim than our King.
AtaneK George silatudlartuinalungilaK angijomiglo suliaKarpaklune, ômajoKsiorteogivorletauK—
OK, that’s an exaggeration. That’s not the only thing I know. I also know he’s not Egon Larsen. He’s not Chatwin. She likes Thubron, so he’s out. I think I’ve narrowed it down to 8 or 9. For a while I thought it was Red Devlin: she always laughs at the gap-toothed urchins, and since he was captured five years ago his wife’s been campaigning for his release, so Sibylla might have thought it was safer not to tell me. But then last week James Hatton got back from the Arctic Circle and wrote an article for the Independent Magazine that used the phrase ‘veritable cathedral of ice’. VERITABLE CATHEDRAL OF ICE shouted Sibylla and she walked up and down saying veritable cathedral of ice and reading out other priceless phrases and suddenly I had a hunch that it was Hatton. So I got The Eskimo Book of Knowledge and started to work on Inuit.
Before returning to London to take pen in hand Hatton walked solo to the North Pole and back without telling anyone where he was going. At one point he was attacked by a walrus. It was so cold the action on his gun wouldn’t work, so he had to throw a knife at it. He got it in one eye (Hatton: ‘Bull’s-eye!’), and then was able to harpoon it. He had to eat some of the meat raw and then trek on another 15 miles, even though he’d been going for 20 hours, because he knew the smell of the blood would attract other predators. At one point the frostbite in one toe was so bad he had to cut it off.
If it is Hatton I’ve wasted years learning Xhosa, Swahili, Zulu, Hausa, Quechua, Faroese and Mongolian. If it isn’t I’m wasting my time on The Eskimo Book of Knowledge. I think I may be wasting my time anyway.
If you hunters used half the CARE of the White Men in setting your traps skilfully and in keeping your furs free from dirt, every Innuit family would gain greater possessions from the Company’s Trader.
If I get us both lynched my long lost father will probably tell his long lost son to get lost and stay lost.
Sibylla is supposed to be typing and is reading the paper. I’ve got the Kanji dictionary on one arm of my chair, and the little Kodansha Romaji on the other. If she asks what I’m reading I’ll tell her, but she probably won’t ask when she sees the Japanese dictionaries; she knows I’ve got a new book on judo. I don’t want to hear about how pay for schoolchildren, the right to death, homosexual marriage and all the other basic requirements of a culture not irredeemably sunk in barbarism will be commonplace by the year 2065.
No wonder your beautiful damsels prefer to marry a good hunter, a man who is an honour to his camp and can provide for his family comforts and new possessions! In all parts of the world such men are favoured by fair damsels—