Irniaruat Part 1
Aggie is coming home! What kind of welcome can a child raised in diaspora expect at the edge of the ocean? Part 2 coming to you December 25!
It is said there is nothing like the love of family. They hold you in their arms and give hope and sustenance to your mind, your heart, and your body. And the opposite is true. Without family the pain of loss is acute. Without family the pain of loss is cutting. Family is everything and even more to those without. That is our teaching. Uplift the widows and orphans for no one must face loss alone. —Tolida Greenwood, 38??—3937, venerated community Elder, Neeviiqaa circa 3904
Such an innocuous word. Dolls. Pretend people. Those dolls. Irniaruat. Plural. More than one. A Yup’ik word born on the windswept flatlands of the tundra. Obscure, in
and of itself but so terrifying in the right set of circumstances.
High above the tundra plains, a half Yup’ik, half black woman. Tall and slender, with Shirley Temple curly black hair just past her shoulders, sat in the front seat of a small Cessna B206 plane. Her honeyed with a dash of mocha skin gave her an exotic look - outside of Alaska.
Inside Alaska, I'm just… just a salmon cruncher. An Eskimo. Not Yugcetun. A not person. Except in Neeviiqaa. In Neeviiqaa she was Aggie John.
Maybe. At 28, Aggie was coming home.
When she was seven, Aggie was taken from her mom. The Department of Family and Children Services of Alaska, together with BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) sent her away from her village, Neeviiqaa, Alaska. She ended up in Chicago with a woman she was told was her relation on her Father’s side, Grandma Dean. Aggie didn’t really know who Grandma Dean was but she kept Aggie fed and clothed.
Alive.
Throughout her adolescence, Aggie, of course, pined after her village. Neeviiqaa was - is - on the western coast of Alaska.
Not the western most place in the United States but damn close. With 42 houses, it sits on the edge of a lonely ocean.
I'll be home. Home. Everyone will come to the airport and we'll all sing Hallelujah or maybe Celebration. The drums will come out and seal, salmon and akutaq will be passed around. Aggie gave a small smile.
Everyone will eat and laugh. It'll be good.
Aggie fiddled with Squishy, the yellow stress ball her therapist had given her a month ago. It was the fifth in a series. Her therapist suggested she start shopping for her own to
Her luggage. Correction. Her duffel bag, masquerading as a luggage, was stuffed in the back seat with an old woman. The woman was silent for the whole 45 minute ride from Bethel. Indeed, no one could speak, let alone be heard, over the roar of the engine.
“I guess sound proofing would be out of the question. Unavailable at this time. Just like first class. Here it’s all class.”
The pilot looked at her from the seat beside her. He gestured to her questioning and then to his headset covered ears and mouthed the word “sorry.” Aggie didn’t think he was sorry he couldn't hear her.
She glanced back at the woman who was scanning the area directly down from her window. The woman made the sign of the cross and kissed her fingers.
“Maybe there’s game or something down there,” Aggie said out loud. Irritated, the pilot glanced at her again.
Aggie turned to rest her forehead on the cool window. She, too, gazed out across the miles and miles of tundra. There was an occasional copse of small wild trees dotted across that landscape but mostly wide open spaces. She squeezed Squishy. And again. Her hand ached around the yellow ball.
Her mom had been tired and worn out when Aggie had ‘left.’ Her mom’s then current boyfriend had beat her mom for days, making Aggie watch. After a horrible four days that were burned into her brain, Aggie escaped to the Village Police.
A lot of good that did. They took her away that day. Biting the lady from DFYS didn’t make them let her stay. Kicking the policeperson didn't. Nothing did. Her last memories of Neeviiqaa was of her mom all bruised up, sobbing, the DFYS lady placing tape on Aggie’ mouth and the ‘nice’ police person handcuffing Aggie’s hands behind her back. It put her off police persons.
And social workers. And moms. Now, Aggie wondered if her mom could have even done anything. They had said that she was a bad mom and couldn't keep Aggie safe. Those days Indigenous kids were taken away for much less.
Her mom passed soon after Aggie turned 20. Aggie didn’t know the details but after getting that news there wasn’t any reason to come back until cousin Mandy called her.
Now, Mandy was moving out of the village and the house needed someone to occupy it. The house had been in the family for four generations. Mandy thought Aggie could make use of it or something. Aggie nervously squeezed Squishy, again. She glanced down at her hand as it squeezed the ball several more times.
At this rate I'll have man hands before too long.
The airport was a dirt strip on the beach and the landing was bumpy.
Lonely.
As the small Cessna plane took off, a woman bundled up in a purple parka drove up on an old 1990’s Honda all terrain vehicle (ATV) four wheeler to the end of the beach. She was watchful, her parka coat, unzipped, the wolf ruff flapping in the wind as she scanned the beach. Across the front of her lay another parka and on top of that her .44 Rutger rifle.
There wasn’t any fanfare or balloons and cake. There may have been a concerted, yet short lived, sigh of relief as most children taken out of the village don’t make it back.
Aggie would.
Did.
Is.
Finally, Aggie approached her. Well, someone came to meet her at least.
Maybe there will be cake at the house?
“Are you Mandy?”
Mandy tersely nodded her head continually watching the beach and the tall grass she had just come from. Mandy gestured for her to put the parka on. When Aggie finally had the parka on and situated, she gestured for Aggie to climb on behind and to hold on. Aggie whipped her duffel bag across her back and did so.
Mandy drove like a crazy woman. It was all Aggie could to hang on. It wasn’t until she was on the boardwalk that passed for a road into the middle of the village, that she slowed down and relaxed.
Maybe it is a good thing I have Squishy.
The buildings were haphazardly placed along the boardwalk as it wound through the town like a lazy river. Some of its panels were of metal grates and some of wood. It looked hodgepodge but as a functional road, it was alright.
Not many people out at this time of day.
Aggie thought, Hunting while it is kinda daylight out, I guess. A face would show in a window as they passed before pulling the curtains shut and once a door opened but it closed faster than she could turn her head.
“Not much of a welcome,” Aggie said.
“What? Yeah. Your mom was thought to be… cursed,” Mandy yelled over her shoulder back at Aggie.
When they arrived at the house there weren't any balloons or cake.
I am only mildly disappointed. Really. I don't need cake. Or balloons.
That evening Mandy made caribou stew. Aggie couldn’t believe how good it tasted.
I don't need cake. The caribou was succulent and tender and tasted like wild meat should - sharp and full. There were no sounds except the slurping and the clicking and clacking of the spoons on the miss matched ceramic bowls. She imagined that as she ate the wild meat that she was feeding not only her body but her soul as well.
Mandy chuckled.
“Well. You can eat. Can you do anything else?” Aggie looked at her, puzzled.
“We can go berry picking with Ati’tluk and Mary.
Aggie, of course, didn’t know any of these people. She politely looked at Mandy for any forthcoming information but Mandy was done talking. Instead, she pointed at her dishes and the sink which was filled with warm water.
“Wash,” was all she said before she left for the single chair in front of the woodstove. Aggie thought it was a little gruff but she complied.
Mandy would soften up as she got to know me. I'm good people. She brandished a large smile at the window above the dishes. 'I is as I does.' Grandma Dean used to tell her that often. And I'll fake it 'til I make it.
As Aggie washed the dishes, she looked out the kitchen window. The expanse of tundra seemed desolate. In the failing light, she saw the tussocks undulating gently until a moderate sized hill rose above the tundra in the far distance. The dark patches might be trees. Or caves. Aggie didn’t know. She daydreamed that she could stride right over the tundra to the top of the hill until she almost dropped a cup.
Mandy glanced over at her and grumbled. I am as I do. So just do. Aggie put her mind to the task to finish and thankfully, didn’t break anything in the end.
The living room was small but packed. It was, what you could call, an ‘open floor plan’ but the papers, knick knacks, hides and horns made it a hoarder’s paradise. Flicking on the radio, Mandy sat in the only seating, a faded yellow chair with duct tape holding the stuffing in. Pulling out her needles, knitting quietly. The radio announcing: ‘The Great Golden Age of Radio Storytelling.’ The narrator spoke with authority.
“From the dark recess of the mind, from the depths of the deepest cave, from the darkest reaches of space, we give you ‘The Gargoyle’s Folly!’” A sinister piano riff sang out through the speaker.
Aggie laughed out loud at that and Mandy swirled her head to look at her, uncertainty flashing across her face as she glanced down the hallway.
“Oh, is someone sleeping?” a concerned Aggie asked.
“No. Not as such. We’re quiet out here. It doesn't pay to…be loud.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes slid from Aggie to the hallway again. Mandy’s lips grew thin as she pressed them together and she didn’t a speak word more but she was clearly agitated.
So. Capable Mandy is afraid of something.
Expectantly and a little smugly, Aggie waited. But Mandy went back to the needles in her hands. Aggie gave up a moment later grabbed her duffle bag. Mandy finally spoke.
“Your bedroom is on the left just after mine. Bathroom at the end of the hall.” Aggie stopped. Waiting for Mandy to say something else but she didn't.
Aggie walk down the hall with her duffel bag. A door on the right was shut tight with dust around the edges. Definitely not inviting. The other bedroom doors, by contrast, were open and inviting. The light spilled from both.
Aggie whipped around at the sound of a small footstep. Mandy stood right behind her, giving a tight smile.
“There’s blankets on the chair if you get cold in the night and tomorrow, depending on the fauna and the weather, we’ll pick blueberries.”
“Right-o,” Aggie answered back. “No time like sleep time. What’s in that room?” Aggie gestured back to the dusty door that seemed perpetually in the dark.
“Just stuff. I need to clean it out one of these days but since you mum passed, I haven’t been able to. We’ll see about it tomorrow. Maybe.” Mandy's eyes looked suspiciously shifty to Aggie.
Aggie slept like a log but woke before the sun was up. She thought a noise may have wakened her but as she lay in her bed, no sound came. Turning her head she looked at her stress ball on the side table along with her lighter and old keys from her last two apartments.
I don't even know why I keep them. Maybe by the time I am 70, I'll have a collection of old keys from all the places I lived. I could sell it on eBay. If I can even get internet in this unforgiving place, she thought.
Do I have to pee? She did a body check. I could go to the bathroom. Not urgent but could be by the time I need to get up. Maybe that was what woke her.
Throwing off the covers and throwing a bathrobe on her long t-shirt, she picked the lighter just in case she couldn't find the light switches in this unfamiliar place. With a squeeze of her squishy she left her room for the bathroom.
She flicked the lighter on in the hallway and turned toward the bathroom. It was quiet and dark. She tried to look past the lighter's flickering flame but she couldn't see much. When she got to the bathroom she pushed the flame into the room first but it went out from the movement.
SHWICK. SHWICK. SHWICK. Her thumb hurt.
I need to get the wheel oiled again. And maybe replace the flint. Why would I keep this ratty old thing? But she knew why. It was the first thing she bought with her own money. It was her independence.
Later, coming out of the bathroom, she thought she had heard another sound. From that dusty door. There it was again. A slight bump of something.
Aggie shivered a bit as she tied her bathrobe tightly around her waist and leaned her ear against the door. There was no sound.
Perhaps some scurrying? Do they have rats in Alaska? They must have rats. Her hand trembled as she turned the door knob and pushed the door open. She looked around the quiet dark room. The dust on the window was thick. Three small chairs thick with spider webs married to dust bunnies lived around a children's table.
Aggie stepped farther into the room. It was chilly.
Gawd! Why do I always do this. I could come back in the daytime - with Mandy. But no, Aggie's eyes adjusted to the darkness and the shelves came into focus and she stopped. There! On the second shelf, eyes stared back at her. Suddenly the darkness became oppressive, thick and pressing on her. Aggie tried to step back, as most rational people would do.
When she couldn't she told herself: It's nothing. It can't be anything. I am a rational person and TV isn't real. Church baddies are not real. I am rational. My therapist is right. There is nothing out here that will hurt me anymore. I am a grown adult. I'm rational. I think. Gawd, I hope so.
A set of three dolls perched on the second shelf. Above were books and below, more toys. They were traditional dolls. Irniaruat. Traditional in that they were made of many materials - furs, sinew, leather and old, old cloth but they all had wooden heads limbs. Their faces were…they should have had no faces. The eyes stared at her. Judging. Almost malevolent.
It's all in my head. It's all in my head.
Aggie took a deep shuddering breath and, pushing through her fear, stepped closer. She dug into her bathrobe pocket and pulled out her lighter. SHWICK. The flame lit up the room. The dust was thicker than she thought and she stifled a cough. She moved closer still to the dolls.
Stay tuned for Irniaruat Part 2 - coming to you sooner rather than later! Look for it in your inbox on December 25, 2022!