Page 24

If I hadn’t needed a shower so badly, I’d have rushed out in five minutes, but thankfully the water drowned the sound of whatever they were doing, and I was able to relax for the first time in a while as I prepared to meet with Ila and pick her brain.

When I arrived, she was alone and welcomed me into the tiny space she called her office. Pleasant music played in the background as I took the only seat on the opposite side of her desk, which was cluttered with pieces of paper, half-carved dolls, and pictures.

“So you want to know about mythology?” she asked, leaning forward, using her elbows as support. Her hair was braided today, and the lines of her tattoos gave her an air of some sort of ancient knowledge.

“Yes,” I said, setting down a cup of coffee for each of us. I’d grabbed them on my way over, knowing I definitely needed some. Opening my notebook, I readied my pen. “Mostly, but I have a lot of questions. I hope you don’t mind.”

Ila smiled. “I’m an open book, Rosi.”

“Let’s start with the shaman you mentioned yesterday. The one your husband talks to.”

“Ah, the angakukk. He’s old. I don’t know if he really communicates with spirits like he claims he does. I think it’s the mushrooms he discovered.”

“Is that what angakukk usually use to go into a trance?” I asked, leaning in.

She laughed and took a sip of the coffee I’d brought along as a good will offering. I figured I might as well if I was going to get myself some. “No. He’s special.”

I nodded. “Do you believe in the myths of your people?”

Ila sighed and twisted the cup in her hands. “I think some are stories passed down to teach us lessons, like not wandering off when we’re kids.”

My encounter in the woods as a child surfaced in my head, but I stayed silent.

“Some were based on fact, but likely embellished over time. The truth is most of my family take the stories for granted, assuming they’re as real as seals and polar bears. My mother wholeheartedly believes in Sedna, the queen of the ocean and underworld, for example. She’s like a deity who gets pissed when her hair isn’t combed.”

I smiled. “She can’t comb it herself?”

Ila squinted with mischief. “Her father cut off her fingers to get her to stop hanging onto the boat in the legend. He figured their attackers were after her and would leave him alone. Asshole.”

We both took a sip of coffee.

“The shaman has to go comb her hair out so she’ll bless us with animals to hunt in the water. Or so they say.”

I’d read about the myth in my research, but it was interesting to hear her take on it. “What about some of the creatures people say they’ve spotted out in the wild?” I asked, leaning forward.

Ila shrugged. “Hard to know. Do I think there are qallupilluk out there pulling kids beneath the water? I hope not.”

“You seem to dismiss the angakukk in your village, but do you think there is something to them in general?”

For the first time since we’d started our interview, Ila stiffened, averting her eyes.

“You’ve seen something?” I pressed.

Ila sighed and sat back in her chair. “My uncle was an angakukk. It runs in my mother’s family. I never saw anything I couldn’t reconcile, but there were moments when he seemed to truly change. And according to my mother, who is otherwise a pretty down-to-earth woman, my grandfather often talked with spirits and even chased shapeshifters away from the outlying families of the village she came from.”

“You seem conflicted about that,” I said, hoping she’d open up further.

She met my stare. “I don’t want you writing something that will have people stereotyping my people as backwards or silly.”

“Never. But honestly, I don’t think any of what you said is backwards or silly. I think it’s amazing.” I reached out and patted her hand.

“Thank you. It’s not the biggest part of our lives anyway, even if it’s a great story. I saw you looking at my tattoos the other day. They’re called kakiniit and are traditionally exclusive to women. We get them to mark important moments in our lives. These are for the first time I got my period.” She gestured to her chin. “I have more on my arms and thighs. They were forbidden for a while because of white settlers.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, meaning it.

She nodded. “I know. It was an ugly part of history, but it’s important not to forget those sorts of things.”

“That’s why I’m glad you decided to talk to me,” I said twirling my pen between my fingers. “I want to help set the record straight.” I stood to leave, realizing it was nearly noon already. But as I closed my notebook, I recalled the creepy statue in the glass case outside the office. “Ila?”