“Bjarni...?”
“Yes, Anunya.”
Anunya hesitated for a few minutes, forcing mud into cracks with a bare hand and shaking her freezing fingers against the extreme cold, eager to replace them into her warm gloves again. She tried to phrase the words without seeming to pry.
“Why do you live alone out here?”
The sudden words took him off guard and knocked the wind from his sails, the long hanging silence alerting Anunya she was treading on dangerous ground.
Eventually Bjarni decided to play down her question. “Because I like it.”
His answer seemed to cause her pain, feeling she wasn’t worthy of his trust and her chatter stopped. A downcast expression crossed her face, but she kept working. Bjarni glanced across at her sombre expression and it cut him to the heart. He turned to face the young woman, hesitating and measuring his thoughts.
“Anunya... it’s complicated. It’s hard enough trying to explain it to myself, let alone put words to it for someone else to understand.”
Anunya rubbed the ends of her fingers and quickly thrust her hand back into her glove. In an instant, a sudden, shocking thought crossed her mind and she slowly turned to face him.
“You’re wanted by the law, aren’t you?”
He turned back to his work, painstakingly plastering large blobs of mud against the wall and his stiff silence answered her question.
Staring in disbelief, Anunya sidled up to the old man and touched his arm. “We’re fugitives together, Bjarni. I understand, really I do,” she whispered.
Bjarni’s gaze riveted on the wooden wall in front of him but his demeanour spoke of a distant storm and then he whispered, “I’m not sure anyone could understand. I don’t understand it myself.”
*~*~*~*
Bjarni threw open the stove front and fed the languishing flames with another two pieces of seal blubber while the fire sizzled and caught the new fuel with enthusiasm, filling the inside of the hut with an oily smell. The hut was warm compared to the chill outside. In the meantime, he examined the walls and their work they had just completed, nodding his head with approval.
Anunya was sitting on her bed, examining her hand with a painful expression on her face. Bjarni’s scanning gaze settled on her distraught appearance with concern.
“What’s up?”
“My hand is sore and I think I have lots of wood splinters.”
The old man walked over to her position and gently drew her hand up to within inches of his face, then without speaking, he shuffled over to the stove and heated the blade of his knife in the flames of the fire.
Anunya watched him with trepidation as he approached her with the knife and gently took her small hand again. She swallowed hard, closed her eyes and turned away, not wanting to watch the operation about to take place. She whimpered a couple of times at a sudden stab of pain but generally, the old man was very gentle as he worked. Then with a reassuring, ”All done,” she examined his handiwork, pleased at the result.
The respect for the old man was growing in the young woman’s mind and she followed his arthritic movements around the hut, watching him prepare a meal on the stove.
“I usually eat raw caribou, but I figure that won’t be to your liking,” Bjarni jested, cutting two steaks from a frozen carcass and placing them into a hot pan.
The smell of sizzling meat filled the hut and Anunya’s stomach growled with hunger. She screwed her face into a disdainful gesture at the thought of raw meat and offered a halfhearted whisper, hoping he wouldn’t hear it and resort to his usual dining habits.
“I can give raw meat a go.”
With breakfast out of the way, Bjarni grabbed up his rifle and summoned Anunya outside. On his way out the door, he searched around the room until his eyes settled on a rusty tin plate.
At the old man’s instruction Anunya stopped a short distance from the hut, and watched Bjarni amble some distance away to an outcrop of boulders and set the plate up facing her, atop one large rock. Shuffling back to where she stood, he pumped the breech of his rifle, turned to face the plate and took aim.
In an ear piercing crack that made Anunya cover her ears in a sudden guarded move, the rifle discharged and the plate disappeared off the rock.
Bjarni sauntered back to the boulder, searched for the plate and retrieved it for Anunya to see the result of his shot. Then setting it up again, he walked back and then handed her the rifle. With a series of instructions, he warned her ardently not to lift the rifle butt from her shoulder when the rifle discharged. He pushed and prodded her into a correct stance and the correct grip until she became incensed with his teaching and impulsively discharged the gun.
The savage recoil sent her spinning backwards and deposited her gruffly into the snow, while the gun cartwheeled past her and ended up some distance away, smoke still rising from the offended barrel.
Bjarni stared at the moaning figure in the snow and rushed over to her prostrated form. Once he was sure she wasn’t badly hurt, he broke into a belly laugh.
Anunya’s shocked, dark glaring eyes stared at the old man in frustration, rubbing her injured shoulder. Then after realising what she had done, disregarding his instruction, she began to laugh at her own folly, too. She decided she had to be patient and listen to the fastidious ways of her teacher, gleaning from his time-proven experience if she was going to survive out in the tundra.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 35
After her altercation with Bjarni’s gun, Anunya wasn’t keen for another round of abuse at the hands of the angry firearm. Her shoulder still hurt and Bjarni’s belly laugh had only added insult to injury. She pouted and vigorously shook her head at the old man’s continual encouragement to have another go. Her guarded expression seemed to relax when he promised if she followed his instructions properly, it wouldn’t recoil and hurt her and she would be guaranteed of hitting her target. The dark eyes followed his animated promises with uncertainty, and it was only his constant exhortation to trust him that won her over.
She anxiously stood at the same place and this time, Bjarni left the breech open so she couldn’t pull the trigger until he was ready.
“Now, let’s go through this again: Feet apart about the same distance as your knee to your ankle; bring your left foot forward, and then lean over until you look down directly over your big toe; now, raise the rifle and place the butt into the fleshy part of your shoulder and just to the left of your armpit; place your right hand over the pistol grip, then wrap your fingers around the grip, thumb up one side of the trigger, and forefinger rests on the trigger itself; now, with your left hand, reach along the barrel until your elbow is just bent and guide the barrel in between the thumb and forefinger, resting the bottom of the barrel in your palm; now grasp the barrel tightly with the remaining fingers. No, don’t close your forefinger and thumb over the barrel, you won’t be able to sight it. Okay, that’s better; looks good so far. Now, lean into the gun and wrap your shoulders tightly around the butt and bend your knees slightly.”
Bjarni carefully checked his student’s progress. “Okay. Now, close one eye, press your cheek against the cheek piece and sight along the barrel. That will give you a good cheekweld. See the marker at the end of the barrel?”
Anunya nodded.
“Line up the marker in the bottom of the ‘V’ and when they come into focus, whatever they point at, you will hit. Okay. Pump the breech.”
Anunya followed his instructions and a bullet clicked into the firing chamber.
“Now, slip your forefinger onto the trigger and gently squeeze it, keeping the tin in focus with your two markers.”
The tension was building as Anunya dreaded another painful recoil. She squeezed the trigger tighter and tighter, wondering whether the gun was ever going to discharge.
Suddenly, a loud crack erupted near her right ear and the rusty tin plate disappeared from the granite boulder while the recoil was absorbed painlessly by her forward stance and her bent knees.
When Anunya realised she had survived and without the recoil, and that her target had been destroyed, she dropped the gun, squealed with delight and hugged the old man.
“Wow, that was easy!” her excitement was effervescing.
“Just goes to show what you can do when you put your mind to it and listen to me.”
Bjarni stiffly strode up to the boulder to locate the rusty tin plate and after searching around for a while, found it lying in the snow with two neat bullet holes close to the centre and only millimetres apart. One was his and one was Anunya’s.
When he handed the tin to Anunya, she couldn’t believe she had hit the target so close to the centre, let alone hitting the plate at all.
“Okay. Now what should you do with your gun when you have finished shooting?”
Anunya lifted the rifle for him to inspect and he found the breech open and the firing chamber empty.
“Well done, Miss Annie Oakley.”
Anunya beamed. She had won the old man’s praise and she was extremely proud of her achievement. She chattered nonstop as they walked back to the hut together. Her first lesson was over and she was looking forward to her next one.
*~*~*~*
The warmth inside the hut seemed to have increased, but the fire’s intensity was the same. Their insulating work had paid dividends against the cold, and the warmth remained trapped inside as the fire spat and crackled and the seal blubber burned intently. Outside, the sun had gone down and the temperature was dropping dramatically while the wind began to kick up a ruckus and whistle through the roofing tin.
Just before sundown, Anunya attended to the sled dogs housed outside in the kennels. They were fed and watered; their security checked for the night; and some rough housing and play before the darkness finally settled, was essential. Then she made her way back to the warmth of the hut and fed both Akiak and Shtiya. The two dogs had to be fed separately and some distance apart; Akiak was not intent on sharing her food with the big Siberian and would growl protectively if he came within a few feet of her while she was eating.
Anunya settled on a crude wooden chair around a small, roughly hewn wooden table and watched the old man go about his nightly routine.
“Are you hungry?”
Anunya nodded. “Starving.”
The old man set down an enamel plate in the middle of the table and waited for her reaction.
Not speaking, but her eyes orating an epistle of dread, she stared at the salver in front of her as several whole sun-dried fish stared lifelessly back at her and she felt the hunger pangs subside rapidly.
“What’s the matter?” he prodded, a knowing smile erupting across his face.
“This is another lesson isn’t it?” she whispered, glancing back at him.
“Anunya, the wilderness is a place of survival and death, wisdom and foolishness. The wise man respects her and learns her ways, and she will let him live. The fool, however, she hates and although she offers him the same chances as the wise, the fool cannot see beyond himself and his foolish ways, and he will quickly perish. Food is a privilege out here and not a right, so what she gives you, you accept and after a while, your tastes accustom to her ways. On trapping trips, because you are on the move all the time, you don’t have the luxury of large fires to cook food. As you know, your people are nomadic and have been for generations, so borne out of necessity, most of them have eaten their food raw.”
Anunya fell silent for a long time, just staring at the plate of fish and thinking about his speech.
Bjarni leaned over the table, selected a whole dried salmon and began tearing the tough, dry skin away from the fish flesh with his teeth and then chewing the exposed salty food vigorously.
In a moment of surrender, Anunya anxiously reached over and selected a small fish while a concentrated look of disdain crossed her face and she swallowed hard. Then lifting the dubious smelling fish to her mouth, she cautiously tore at the tough skin with her teeth, exposing the soft, oily texture of sundried flesh. She stopped the torturous process for a few seconds and glanced up at Bjarni; he had nearly finished his first fish and was eyeing another one. Noticing her apprehensive gaze, he burst out laughing and that’s when Anunya’s resolve set hard and she bit down tenaciously into her meal. No longer feeling the desire to gag, the taste almost became enjoyable and she hungrily finished her first, with a second on her mind.
*~*~*~*
Bjarni settled uncomfortably back into the wooden rocker by the stove and reaching for the muskox pelt, pulled it over his stiff frame. Akiak settled by his feet again with her head on her paws, still glaring at the Siberian who was sprawled out on the floor next to Anunya’s form, tucked up in Bjarni’s single bed.
“I can take the rocker, Bjarni, and you can have your bed back again.”
Anunya was hoping he wouldn’t take her up on her suggestion; the bed was extremely comfortable.
“No, Anunya, it will be yours. We are going on a hunting trip tomorrow to stock up on food for the winter and maybe the wilderness will give us a bear or a muskox. Then we can skin it and I will use the pelt on the floor and that will be just as comfortable as your bed.”
Anunya felt a little nervous about leaving the safety of her new home but she had full trust in her teacher and the lessons he had to teach her. She rolled over and pulled the comfortable bearskin under her chin, listening to the stove crackling and sizzling while replaying the great strides she had taken today.
In a sleepy tone she whispered, “Goodnight, Bjarni, and thank you.”
“Goodnight, Anunya. You’re welcome.”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 36
Doctor Allan Brooks perched uncomfortably around a conference table in the lobby of the University Hospital’s main teaching hall. The cavernous teaching theatre was flanked by hundreds of tiered student seats radiating to the back wall and surrounding the small lectern at the front of the room. The lecture room was empty at the moment and the lobby remained silent and uninterrupted, except for the hospital chairman and three highly respected specialists around the table, listening to Brook’s explanation.
“I am sure she is exhibiting the symptoms for myalgic encephalomyelitis but none of the tests give any indications of the disease,” Brooks offered the specialists.
The chairman began to laugh. “The imaginary disease that kooks get – people who don’t want to face their responsibilities in society.”
The four doctors glanced at the chairman before an elderly man spoke.
“The disease is quite real and the reason you have no results in your blood tests is the disease attacks the cell motors and rewrites the DNA repair mechanism, causing a slow deterioration of the immune system.”
“What?!” the chairman spat. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that! The DBD has specific guidelines on how to deal with these phony people. If you have any sense you will follow their guidelines, or risk being thrown out of the medical fraternity and being sued into the bargain for inciting a run on the world’s medical insurance system by all these frauds.”
The four doctors shifted uneasily in their seats at the threat while their eyes bored into the chairman.
“It’s a ridiculous guideline,” one of the specialists continued courageously. “Among a growing list, polio was treated with the same uninformed ridicule until a pandemic erupted, sending researchers hustling to find a cure. This disease has the same–if not greater–capacity to kill and maim if it’s not stopped. Early researchers believe it has already affected millions around the world.”
“Well, that isn’t any concern of mine,“ the chairman stared back. “My job is to run this hospital efficiently, and treating patients with imaginary diseases is not part of the guidelines. If we continue on with this, the medical insurers will not pay and we will be out of pocket. Eventually we would have to close down the hospital.”
The specialist’s eyes thinned in a developing plan. “We need to isolate the patient and study her and how the disease affe
cts her. We can use the facility at Bairnsworth as a laboratory ruse, while satisfying the requirements of the DBD,” the specialist smugly replied.
“That sounds like a sensible plan where everyone wins. We get paid for her care and you get a guinea pig,” the chairman espoused, delighted with the specialist’s proposal.
Brook’s mouth dropped open. “How do we manage to get this little girl over to Bairnsworth? Her grandfather won’t just sign her over to us.”
“That, dear Doctor Brooks, is the easy part,” the chairman advocated. “She is in need of extreme psychiatric care and she could be a risk to herself and the general populace. With the help of child welfare, we simply make her a ward of the state, take over all parental responsibilities and bar the relatives from any contact with her. Nobody will know what we do with her and I guess, wouldn’t care anyway. Now, gentlemen, I suggest you cooperate with the state’s plan and return to your work. This hospital is not paying you to sit around discussing fantasies!”
*~*~*~*
Shayden Glenn’s temperature had been hovering around 38 degrees all morning and the nurses were getting worried. Today marked the end of the third week since she had been admitted to University Children’s Hospital, delivered unconscious by ambulance. Although there had been a concerted effort on the part of the doctors to get Shayden mobile again, it seemed the more they tried, the further down she slipped. If she stayed immobilised and lying flat in her bed, she appeared to normalise but still had no energy and her cognitive functions were waning with every new day.
Ruth had just been in to check Shayden’s temperature again from her vital sign monitor. A worried frown crossed her face and she placed a glass thermometer under Shayden’s tongue just to confirm the accuracy of the machine connected to Shayden’s arm and then recorded it on her chart. Shayden smiled at Ruth and tried to move into a comfortable place in her bed, but she was aching so bad that comfort wasn’t anywhere to be found.
“How are you doing, honey,” Ruth tried to sooth her pain with a cool cloth wiped across her brow.