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My face is twisted with disgust when an older Alaska Native woman wearing an oversized New York Knicks sweatshirt and a navy-and-orange floral pink headscarf over short, gray hair sidles her cart up to Jonah. She settles a hand on his forearm. “I could hear Tulukaruq’s laugh from a mile away.”
What did she just call him?
Her face reminds me of Agnes’s, though age and weight has made her cheeks heavy and her wrinkles much more prominent. She’s also short like Agnes. I’d put her at five foot one, which makes the height difference between her and Jonah almost comical.
Jonah peers down at her, and even that beard can’t hide his genuine smile. “What are you doing down the river, Ethel?”
“Gathering supplies.” She waves a weathered hand at her sparsely filled cart of rice, pancake mix, and a can of Coke.
“How’s Josephine and the baby?”
Mention of a baby cracks the old lady’s face into a wide grin. “He’s getting nice and fat, finally. And Josephine’s strong.”
“All you villagers are strong.”
Ethel grunts, shrugging off what I sense is a high compliment from Jonah, her dark eyes shifting to me. “Who’s she?”
“Wren’s daughter. She’s visiting.”
She nods as she studies me intently, her wise gaze impossible to read.
I squirm under the scrutiny, offering a soft “hi.”
“She’s pretty,” Ethel finally states with a nod, as if passing her approval of me. As if I’m not standing right here.
“Albert bring you down?” Jonah asks, quickly changing topics.
“Yeah. He’s at the hospital, getting his hand looked at.”
“What’s wrong with his hand?”
“Cut himself at the fish camp back in June.”
Jonah frowns. “Must be bad, for him to come all the way down to see a doctor.”
“It’s festering,” she admits solemnly. “The healer said it will get worse without medicine.” Then she lets out a bark of laughter. “I told him I would cut his hand off at the wrist while he was sleeping before the infection spread. I guess he believed me.”
“That’s because he knows you,” Jonah says, shaking his head. He’s smiling, but I get the sense that he believes the old woman might carry out her threat.
“When are you going to come to the village again?”
“We’ll see.” He shrugs noncommittally.
“Make it soon. We’ll have meat for you.” She turns her eyes on me again. “Jonah saved my Josephine and her baby’s lives. She went into labor too early and he flew in to get them when it was dangerous. When no one else would. The baby was blue when he came out and Josephine lost a lot of blood—”
“Just doing my job,” Jonah mutters, cutting her off suddenly, as if uncomfortable. “Tell Albert I said hi and to learn how to gut a fish.”
Ethel chuckles, patting his arm affectionately. “See you up the river.”
I watch her shuffle away. “Is that true? That you went and got them when no one else would?”
“It was a bit of snow. She’s exaggerating,” he mumbles, turning away from me to search the aisles, for Kayley perhaps, or just to close off a conversation he clearly doesn’t want to have.
Is it that he’s modest? Because something tells me that old woman doesn’t exaggerate much, and that when she labels conditions as “dangerous,” they’re apocalyptic by other people’s standards.
Kayley appears at the counter again, distracting my thoughts. She holds up a carton of soy milk that I’ve had once before. “You said ‘large,’ right?”
“Yeah, but . . .” I hesitate. “You wouldn’t happen to carry the Silk brand?” It’s the only one I’ve had that doesn’t taste like liquid chalk.
