The Last Polar Bear

Chapter 10

Tap – loss

The past carries secrets. It hides from you, laughing at your attempts to remember what is real and what is not. Although I look back and see many things that still hold truth for me – sights, sounds, tastes, smells – these are the small memories. The larger, more important memories are the secrets. When you finally understand their importance, they evade you like falling snowflakes. You try to hold them, but they melt away to become other memories. So they taunt you. Always. Until you learn not to catch them any more.

Before the arrival of Spring, the tundâr greets Solen with a majestic welcome. He lumbers from his rest, slowly bringing light to his mother, Verden. Colours play across the horizon, pushing the long night away. Our first winter had seemed an age for young björn and we greeted him with favour, for it meant new life. We knew that soon the snub-nose would meet to provide badly needed food. Their pups were weak and vulnerable and would be a rich source of nourishment, even for inexperienced björn.

Our journey had still not found us back on land. We roamed the manalaq longing to find elusive flesh. I felt tired and this only made my mood worse – I still dragged the omen of Öben's lights with me. But we were all quiet. I wondered if Nanna and Tórbjörn were angry with me after all this time and I watched every moment between them through jealous eyes, unsure if they knew the misery I felt, or if they wanted to provoke me to leave. When they slept, I tried to stay awake, convinced that when I awoke I would be alone. My rest became troubled and inconstant.

I heard the two-tusk before I could sight them. Their long guttural groans almost shook the ice, such was their size. They sounded like stern warnings of great monsters from the deep. They were few in number but their sheer bulk made them more imposing. The contrast of their thick brown skin against the white of the ice gave them an unnatural presence. They lay as though they had slopped from the sky and landed with such force that their rolls of flesh had sprawled from their bones. Even from a distance, I could tell the bull of the group was almost twice the size of Nanna with long, intimidating tusks. I wondered how he could even move in the water, let alone on the ice. Though unhurried in their movements, two-tusk are still formidable opponents – a fact Nanna knew only too well. 'I would not attack them if we had another source of food, but I have no other choice. They look slow and clumsy, but they are quick enough when they need to be. Do not be fooled,' she warned. We had circled and approached downwind so they were still unaware of our presence. 'For that reason, Mika, I want you to stay here. Tórbjörn and I will go.'

'What?' I said in disbelief. 'Why can I not help too?'

'I know you want to, Mika, but you are small and they are too big and strong for you. I do not want you to be hurt.'

'That is not fair! I can hunt just as well as he can,' I complained. However, even as I heard my own words I did not believe them. I knew Tórbjörn was better than I, but it hurt to think Nanna knew that too. My brother flashed a look at me to be quiet, far less patient with my childishness than my mother.

'Listen to what I tell you. Tórbjörn is larger and stronger than you. This is no time for pride. We need to eat.'

I did not hear her words – the sense of injustice burnt inside me. She preferred Tórbjörn to me. Instead of telling her where the real reason for my frustration lay, I tried to argue. I wanted to make her see I was not useless. 'I may be smaller, but I am quicker. I can do it! Nanna, please let me!'

'Ssshh, Mika! You're wasting time...'

'Shut up Tórbjörn – it has nothing to do with you!' I growled.

'That is enough! Do not argue, Mika. You will do as you are told,' she chided. With that, she turned and motioned for my brother to follow.

As they moved away, she whispered something to Tórbjörn. He nodded and then looked back at me with a glowering stare. I felt the blood rush to my ears with anger – I hated the fact they were talking about me. Foolish pride blinded me: I only saw her favouritism towards Tórbjörn. She did not need or want me.