"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.

23.

One Comes To The Feasting House

"Night has fallen," I said to Imnak. "I do not think Karjuk is coming."

"Perhaps not," said Imnak.

Snow had fallen several times, though lightly. Temperatures had dropped considerably.

Some three weeks ago, more than twenty sleeps past, Imnak and I had taken three sleen in kayak fishing. But then kayak fishing had been over for the year. The very night of our catch the sea had begun to freeze. It had first taken on a slick greasy appearance. In time tiny columns of crystals had formed within it, and then tiny pieces of ice. Then the water, in a few hours, had become slushy and heavy, and had contained, here and there, larger chunks of ice. Then, a few hours later, these reaches of ice, forming and extending themselves, had touched, and struck one another, and ground against one another, and slid some upon the others, forming irregular plates and surfaces, and then the sea, still and frozen, was locked in white, bleak serenity.

"There are other villages," I said. "Let us travel to them, to see if Karjuk has been there."

"There are many villages," said Imnak. 'The farthest is many sleeps away."