The big surprise this year came on the second day toward the end of the unloading, when the supply of new snowmobiles came ashore. In Desolation even children had skidoos, as they were called, and it was not uncommon for a single family to have three of the noisy and dangerous machines. But after some dozen had been brought ashore, several watching boys whistled, for two deckhands came onto the ramp with a radically improved red-and-blue SnowGo-7, with wide treads, a molded plastic windshield and racing type handlebars, four thousand dollars even.
'Who ordered that?' the boys cried in great excitement, and in response to many such queries, a handsome young fellow, graduated from school two years ago, stepped forward to claim the prize. A woman told Kendra: 'Jonathan Borodin. His father and uncle worked at Prudhoe. Earned a fortune.' Kendra recognized the name of a family she had not met, the proud Borodiris who kept to the old ways, as opposed to Vladimir Afanasi, who accepted many aspects of the new. She wondered how the traditional Borodins had agreed to allow their son a snowmobile; it was a contradiction. But here the wondrous machine was, and as Kendra watched young Borodin push it proudly away she realized that it was going to monopolize both his imagination and his life. Turning to the woman, she asked: 'Did he do well in school?' and the answer came: 'Very well.
He could have made it in college.'
'Why would his family waste so much money on a snowmobile? Instead of college?' and the woman replied: 'Oh, he went. Last year. To a fine college in Oregon. But after three weeks he got homesick. Missed "the smokin' and the jokin' "on our village streets at night. So back he came.'
Toward evening, after everything was carted away, the citizens of Desolation gathered at the shore to watch the barge weigh anchor and head north to Barrow, where it would unload the remaining cargo. How mournful it was to see the huge craft move off, to be absent for a whole year, the lifeline of the area, the big solid reminder that there was another world down toward Seattle. But especially-meaningful was the moment when the barge sounded its foghorn in parting salute, for with this echoing sound the people of Desolation said to one another: 'Well, now winter begins.'
Kendra spent the rest of August and the first week of September continuing to familiarize herself with the village: the wind-beaten houses, the long, dark runways that served as protective entryways, the pits dug into the permafrost where meats were stored, the lake beyond the southern end of town from which fresh-water ice would be cut and melted later for drinking water wherever she looked she found evidence that these Eskimos had been wrestling through the centuries with their arctic environment and had found acceptable solutions. So as she sat in the evenings playing Bingo with the women of the village, she studied them with admiration and never a shred of condescension.
They, in return, took it upon themselves to indoctrinate her properly, warning: 'You must have someone help you make clothes for winter.' As they said this they pointed back over their shoulders toward the Chukchi Sea, whose ice-free waves came to within a few yards of the village: 'Come December when the wind howls in off the ice, you got to be warm,' but Kendra was astonished at the prices she would have to pay for her gear. 'It starts with mukluks,' they said. 'Keep your feet warm, you win the battle.'
She learned that she could go two routes: 'You a beginning teacher, not much money, store sells cheap Sorrel Packs, made by machine, rubber, felt insoles and liners, pretty good. You want to be like Eskimo, you get mukluk, oogruk sealskin for soles, caribou for tops coming to the knee, mouton socks, total cost maybe two hundred fifty dollars.'
Kendra reflected only a moment: 'If I'm in Eskimo land because I wanted to be, let's go whole hog. Real mukluks.'
Her parka, the soul of the visible Eskimo costume, presented the same options: 'J.C.
Penney makes a good commercial one, three hundred dollars, and lots of Eskimos wear them, because real ones too much.'
'How much?' and the answer made her head swim: 'Skins, sewing, trim to protect face...' On and on the list of strange items continued: 'Total about eight hundred dollars.'
The figure staggered Kendra, who had never been allowed to spend over forty-five dollars for a dress, so after a deep breathing pause, she asked: 'Would I look silly wearing real mukluks and a store-bought parka?' The women consulted among themselves on this significant problem, then gave a unanimous answer: 'Yes.' Without further hesitation Kendra said almost happily: 'Then I'll go for the Eskimo parka.'
Not wishing to offend the Eskimo women with a question about money, she waited till she was alone with the Hookers:
'How can these poor women afford such prices? And the money they throw around at Bingo?'
Mrs. Hooker broke into laughter: 'Miss Scott, these women are loaded! Their husbands make enormous salaries when they work in the oil fields at Prudhoe. And of course, they all get that yearly bonus from the government.'
'What bonus?'
'We don't pay taxes in Alaska. The oil money flows so fast, the government pays us.
I hear it'll be close to seven hundred dollars this year.'
Kasm broke in: 'Haven't you noticed that most Eskimo houses this far north have two or three abandoned snowmobiles in the front yard?'
'I was going to ask about that,' and Kasm explained: 'With the easy money it's cheaper to buy a new one than to have an old one repaired. So they cannibalize them. Steal parts from one machine to repair another.'
When the seamstresses decked Kendra in her new winter gear, with the fringe of the hood covering her face and her voluminous clothing masking the outlines of her body, she became one more Eskimo woman, a round, waddling, well protected bundle, and she began to perspire. But the women assured her: 'In December it may not be warm enough,' and again they pointed ominously at the sea: 'The winds from Siberia. You'll see.'
And now one of them said solemnly: 'Your name now Kunik. Means snowflake.
She, me, all, we call you Kunik,' and as Kunik, the new teacher continued her campaign to understand Eskimo ways and be accepted in the community.
On opening day of her school, Kendra received a series of surprises, some pleasant, some not so. When she came into the cavernous room which could have supported forty high school students, she found on her desk a bouquet made from seaweed and a kind of heather from the tundra, and never had she received any flowers that carried more emotional impact. Her breath caught as she tried to guess who had made this gesture of friendship, but she could reach no conclusion.
When a ship's bell on the schoolhouse roof rang and the sixteen students filed into the school, thirteen turned left for Mr. Hooker's elementary classes, while only three, a girl and two boys, came toward her section. When these three were seated at the front of the room, the place looked positively vacant, and she realized that it would be her job to fill it with activity and meaning. She was the schoolroom, not the books or the huge structure which had cost half of nine million dollars.
Only she could make this inanimate place vital, and she was determined to do so.
These young people, round-faced, dark-haired, black-eyed and obviously eager, were prepared to help her breathe life into this cavern, but although she had come to know each of the three during the summer, she had not then appreciated how Asian they were in appearance when placed in a school situation. They were Eskimos and she was proud to be their teacher.
It was customary in many Eskimo schools for the teacher to address her collected students as 'You guys,' words which had a fine sense of familiarity, and from the beginning Kendra used the phrase freely. When she wanted to instill a feeling of comradeship she addressed her class as 'Hey, you guys, let's get on with the math problems.' But when she felt it necessary to establish discipline, she used 'Now listen here, you guys, knock off the horseplay,' and then they knew she meant business and order was restored.
Intuitively she liked her students, and after the first tentative questions and answers, she concluded that she had three above-average pupils, but before she could begin her serious teaching, there was
an interruption which modified the whole day and indeed the entire year.
Vladimir Afanasi came into the room leading by the hand a frightened little Eskimo girl, fourteen years old, and before he had shown the terrified child where to sit, he took Kendra out onto the porch and said: 'Her name is Amy Ekseavik, last name in four syllables. Her parents are the pariahs of our village. They fish upriver six months at a time. Live in a hovel down at the far point. Amy's been in school at best seven, eight weeks a year.'
'Why is such a thing allowed?' and Afanasi said: 'It isn't. I put the Barrow police on them. She must go to school, so her parents have brought her here to live through the winter with Mrs. Pelowook.' Coming back into the classroom, he went over to the child and said: 'These are your classmates, Amy, and this is your teacher, Miss Scott.'
With that he kissed the trembling child and indicated to Kendra that she, Kendra, must now take over.
But the teacher did not hear him, for at the moment when Amy first entered her room, Kendra had been struck by an overwhelming sensation: That's the little girl on the magazine cover! and the similarity between the child of six or seven and this maturing girl of fourteen was so striking that Kendra put her left hand to her face and bit her forefinger. It was a miracle, nothing less, that a replica of the child whose photograph had lured Kendra to this remote spot should now be entering her classroom.
It was also a command: she had been called here to serve this child.
'You'll check her out,' Afanasi said as he prepared to leave. 'She can read and write some, but it's been a long time since the few weeks she was in school last year.'
And with that, he was gone. When Kendra, too startled to react promptly, left her standing there, the girl in the class rose, went to Amy, and led her to a chair which one of the boys dragged into the circle; by that thoughtful gesture the strange child, reared alone at the edge of the world, was made welcome.
On Kendra's third day on the job she happened to find in one of her desk drawers a pamphlet which stated that the North Slope school district, of which her school was a part, contained 88,281 square miles with a total population of 7,600. Feeling already a sense of pride in what she called 'my northern turf,' she waited till school ended, then went next door to see if she could borrow Mr. Hooker's hand-held calculator, and he said almost gruffly: 'The school's supposed to supply you with one,' and he rummaged about in his desk until he came up with the fine one which had been intended for her. When she thanked him, he said: 'I probably got some more junk around here that's yours. I'll sort it out.'
The gift of the calculator surprised her, but the more she saw of this remarkable school, the more impressed she was with its generosity. Each child was given a free toothbrush, toothpaste, pencils, ballpoint pen, notebook, all reading material, a breakfast snack, a hot lunch and full health services. Teachers participated in the bonanza too: fully paid hospitalization, a life insurance policy of twice the yearly salary, no rent on housing, heating or electricity, plus the famous Thrift Plan, which Afanasi explained: 'You're invited to deposit six percent of your salary with us. Twenty-six hundred and forty dollars a year in your case. We add fifty percent to it, and on the total we pay you eleven percent each year. We don't want our teachers to go hungry.'
To test her Calculator, she engaged in the kind of silly game that academic people find pleasure in pursuing: What state is about the same size as our school district; and how many of our smaller states would have to combine to be as big as we are?
Using the almanac supplied by the school, she found to her intense delight that the state nearest in size was her own: 88,281 square miles for North Slope, 84,916 for good old Utah! and the thought that she was involved in a school district bigger than all of Utah staggered her.
She then proceeded to a second calculation, and found that North Slope was bigger than the ten smallest states combined, starting with Rhode Island and ending with West Virginia, but before gloating she did have the courtesy to question: Yes, but what about the population? and she found that these ten states had a combined population of more than 26,000,000 while North Slope had fewer than 8,000. Only then did she grasp the enormousness of her part of Alaska, and its emptiness.
Chubby-faced Amy Ekseavik, the newcomer, was proving to be a tough little customer; during her first two weeks in school she rebuffed any attempt to break down her reserve, and in her rugged self-determination she repelled students and teacher alike. As an only child living far from the village, she had never had friends, and the concept of being congenial with people or trusting them was alien; she had the gravest suspicions about her fellow students, and since her father and mother had treated her harshly, she could not imagine that Miss Scott was going to be much different, so for some time the atmosphere in the classroom was tense.
At this point Kendra consulted with her principal, and she discovered that where school matters were concerned, Mr. Hooker was a cautious, battle-scarred veteran who approached every problem from the point of view of 'How could this hurt me? And if there's potential trouble, how can it be defused?' With that strategy dominating, he was not at all happy to learn that the new teacher was having trouble with her new pupil, because he had reason to believe that Amy Ekseavik was for some reason or other the special concern of Vladimir Afanasi, a member of the North Slope school board, and therefore she was a child to be handled carefully.
'You say she's intractable?' Kendra was often surprised at Mr. Hooker's vocabulary, for although he had acquired an M.A. in education from Greeley, in Colorado, one of the best schools of its kind, he really was a boob, but one with latent possibilities, so she shared her apprehensions with him.
'Amy's like a wild creature, Kasm. I wonder if she was abused at home?'
'Not even a remote possibility. Afanasi doesn't like her parents, but he says they're not brutes. Eskimos never maltreat their children.'
'Then you think it's just the result of her being raised alone?'
'Possibly, and it might also be that she finds herself the youngest of your students.
Maybe she would be happier, all around, if she dropped back to elementary school.
I've been able to thaw out such children.'
Automatically, and with force she would not have used had she thought about how it might be taken, Kendra cried: 'Oh, no! She's where she should be. Her peers'll help her along, and I certainly aim to make her feel comfortable ...'
Suddenly realizing she was treading in a sensitive area, she backed out, saying 'help her learn,' at which Principal Hooker smiled with a depth of understanding that surprised Kendra: 'You mustn't identify with her too strongly, Miss Scott.'
'Please call me Kendra that is, if you want me to call you Kasm.'
'Agreed. So you want to keep her? But is she learning anything?'
'She's very bright, Kasm. She shows a great capacity to learn.'
'Then stay with her. Congratulate her when she does something well, and don't be afraid to rebuke her when she stumbles.'
So during those haunting autumn days when the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, as if to warn the people of Desolation: 'Soon I shall be gone, soon night falls upon you,' Kendra worked to break down the reserve of this aloof, almost wild child who had been thrust into her life, and she was fortified in this difficult task by the fact that over her desk at home she had tacked that National Geographic cover showing the other Amy as a six-year-old, and the determination of that fur-bound little girl heading into the blizzard consoled her: Any child raised like that would have to be tough at age fourteen. My Amy's just the way she should be now, and it's my job to show her how much better she can be at twenty.
So the difficult educational process that all young animals must undergo if they are to be first-class polar bears or eagles continued, with Kendra applying constant love and pressure and tough little Amy resisting with all her might. The other three students, children of normal upbringing whose individual peculiarities had been knocked into conformity by conta
ct with other children as opinionated as they, progressed rapidly under Kendra's guidance, so that Desolation High was functioning at a rate that had to be classified as far more than satisfactory.
At a church supper that marked in an accidental way the end of autumn and the beginning of the long night of winter, several parents told Kendra: 'We hear only good things about you. It was God's will that sent you to us,' but the people with whom Amy Ekseavik was boarding said: 'She never mentions school. Is she doing all right?' and Kendra said honestly: 'She seems to be coming along.'
IN SEPTEMBER, OCTOBER AND EARLY NOVEMBER THE citizens of Desolation often referred ominously to 'the coming of winter,' and Kendra supposed they were referring to the problems of perpetual night, but one day in early November she learned the real meaning. Since the weather had grown cold, down to two degrees below zero with a light snow covering the ground, she had begun to wear her Eskimo garb, and very comfortable it was. But on this morning when she hurried from the Teacherage to the school building, she was struck by a wind of such cruel force that she gasped and puckered her face, and when her students came in swathed in protective clothing, they asked: 'How do you like real winter?'
The thermometer stood at minus-forty-two, but the howling wind roaring across the Chukchi from the wastelands of Siberia was so powerful that Barrow radio reported the wind-chill factor as 'minus-ninety-one and dropping.' It was a cold that Kendra had never imagined, let alone experienced: 'Hey, you guys. How long does this continue?' and they reassured her: 'Not many days,' and they were right, for after three bone-shattering days the wind subsided and she found that minus-twenty-two without a gale was quite bearable.
Now, in the depth of a real arctic winter when people had to draw together for survival, she learned what a superior educator Kasm Hooker was and what a superb citizen Vladimir Afanasi was, for now the gymnasium, which had accounted for more than half what it cost to build the school, became the focal point of the community. There were feasts at Thanksgiving and Christmas to which all the villagers except the parents of Amy Ekseavik brought frozen whale meat, smelts, torn cod and wonderful stews made of duck, goose or caribou. But above all, there were basketball games. Indeed, Kendra sometimes felt that the soul of Desolation Point, at least in winter, resided in the basketball games which attracted almost everyone in the community. But it was basketball as she had never seen it before, because Desolation High had only those two boys, and although they were quite good at dribbling and shooting, they did require at least three other players to make a five-man team.