The Middle of Everywhere Read Online Free PDF Page A

time. “Tonight,” he says in a voice that is surprisingly strong for such an old guy, “I’m going to tell you a legend my ataata and his ataata told me.” He stops to take a rest. If this is how the guy tells stories, stopping for a nap after every sentence, it’s gonna be one long night.
    â€œThis legend is about a couple of kids, a spirit and a dog team.”
    My back stiffens. I’ve had enough of dogs for one day, thank you very much. I consider getting up and going to the bathroom so I can skip this part of the legend, but Rhoda pats my hand. It’s just a story, I tell myself, and with the lights so dim, maybe I’ll be able to catch a few z ’s. Isn’t that what Inuit legends are for?
    People have been talking, but now that Charlie has started, the room is quiet, except for a black-haired baby wailing in the front row. The baby is sitting inside a pouch on the back of his mom’s parka, but now she lifts him out and settles him on her lap. I’ve never seen so much hair on a baby. Charlie grins. Let me guess: that kid must be another member of the Etok clan.
    I fidget in my chair. The guy hasn’t even started telling his grampa’s legend, and already I’m restless. I cross and uncross my legs, but it doesn’t help.
    â€œWe didn’t always live in towns like this one,” Charlie says. He lifts his chin to the big windows. Not only does he talk really slowly, but his voice doesn’t go up and down the way I’m used to.
    â€œNo, we Inuit never used to stay in one place too long,” Charlie continues. From the way he says it, I can tell he thinks moving around like that was a good thing. I remember what my mom said about Dad having a restless soul. No wonder he gets along so well with the Inuit. But when I think about how cold it is outside, I’m glad not to be some nomad spending the night in an igloo. Charlie must be a pretty tough old guy.
    â€œThe Qallunaat —the white men—made us settle in one town,” Charlie says. For a second, his eyes land on me. I scan the room. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before, but I’m the only white person here. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
    Part of me wants to call out, “Hey, don’t go blaming me for what some white guys did before I was even born.” On the other hand, what Charlie just said is pretty interesting. It helps explain why so many of the buildings in George River—the community center, the houses, the medical clinic and the school—look new. The Inuit were nomads until white men showed up here. And even if I wasn’t born when all that happened, there’s no denying I am a white man.
    Charlie’s droning on again. I sure wish he’d hurry up and get the legend over with. “We used to follow the caribou and hunt for seal, setting up camp along the way.”
    Charlie closes his eyes and smiles. I figure he’s remembering those days. I sure hope he was wearing a warm parka. “Tonight,” he says, “I’m going to tell you the legend of Kajutaijug.”
    Kajutaijug? What kind of weird name is that?
    There is a low moan from the people sitting at the front. They seem to know the legend. Judging from their reaction, I figure it’s a scary story. On the other hand, what do these people know? They don’t even have a movie theater in George River. I bet most of them have never even seen the first Halloween movie. Still, with any luck, maybe the old guy’s story will take my mind off Tarksalik and the rest of my troubles.
    Charlie takes a deep breath. “One time, a long, long time ago, our people were preparing to move to a new camp. It was the end of winter so the days were getting longer. We had to pack everything up, and of course, in those days, we traveled everywhere by dogsled. Let me tell you,” Charlie says, looking up at us, “our sled dogs were something. Even