An incessant jerk from the fishing line jolts Tulok out of his momentary trance, once again sickening him from the heat of the sun and the ache of the air that is all set to endanger his existence as an Inuit. Hoping to have captured a massive whitefish, he leans forward from his kayak. With a peering eye focused on the line and the water’s surface, he pulls as hard as he can. He feels the resistance of his prey, which makes him wonder whether it’s the giant Midgard snake. The writhing of the being whips up a gale in the sea, while sweat rivulets trickle down his forehead.
Tulok realized it wasn’t a perfect day for him, and perhaps his last catch in the sea, since morning, when he and his wife received an intimation from the local authorities of their Southwest Alaskan village to relocate at the earliest. The layer of permafrost beneath the village has begun to thaw, with the ground caving in under their houses. From the drawing room window at the right side of their tilting house, all they can see are the bony shanks of the passersby, while from the kitchen on the left, only the heads and torsos of the pedestrian traffic are visible.
The sweet, creamy aroma of cloudberry pie wafted from the oven when he left home for the sea for the very last time. Henceforth everything seems to be turning mushy, including the weather of his mind, whenever his thoughts return to what is about to pass and will be counted as one among many losses—his house, his village, his indigenous ways of life, his food—specially whitefish, salmon, wild berries, muskoxen, seals, and moose—accompanied with the tension of adjusting in a new place he knows not where like a straggler, along with his wife and five children. He wishes to cast away his apprehensions into the sea to Nerrivik, the ruler of the marine creatures, who’ll send a seal or fish to him in return before he leaves his homeland forever.
The spume rises high up, the kayak near turning over, and he braces his feet strongly against the bottom, holding on fiercely to the boat’s frame, unknowingly letting go of the fishing line. Within seconds, the sea calms down. But for all that will be gone, he has uncongenial peace.
01/07/2026
11:06:08 AM