Northern Lights - Southern Comfort

 

NORTHERN LIGHTS - SOUTHERN COMFORT 

 

 

The sun was just rising over the island as the tall native skipped lightly from hull to outrigger and bounded ashore to land his catch, flipping, flapping in the silver light of a tropical dawn; reflections uncoloured as yet by the rosy glow emanating from the rising red band on the horizon. He was warm and comfortably unclad as he lifted panniers of squirming fish to carry to the village. Comfortably unaware too of the native of harsher climes who waited by a hole in the ice, still, spear poised ready to strike on the instant at the seal that might or might not become his only prey for the week. No sun here, not for months. The pallid face peering out of the rimed fur edging the recesses of his Inuit hood was rapt in concentration. Starlight was the only illumination on a long, long night.

 

Islander slept in the sunshine of the morning, a hemisphere away. Grilled fish and milk from a conveniently fallen coconut made a good repast before he strolled home to his woman, lithe, refreshed and ready for anything.  

 

Inuit knew nothing of the waving palm, the yielding sand and the warmth of a fronded hut. Islander knew nothing of the ice and darkness and the woman sitting in the snow-house awaiting her man, who stood flensing the body of the seal that had at last given itself to the spear, and had received the respect which the Inuit accord to their prey. The death of the seal is an honourable transaction not appreciated anywhere else in the world.

 

Islander, sated, came slowly and not too steadily to the door for 'man time', the sitting under the palms recounting the lore of his people as handed from father to son under this very strip of greenery before the village. Surely I have made a son today, he mused. 

 

In the oily smoke of the fish oil lamp, Inuit gnawed on a strip of hide containing a generous portion of new fat, and prepared for the ceremonial eating of the liver, which was shared with neighbours from nearby dwellings as they would share with him had they met their seal today. 

 

Far away a canoe put out upon the waters, a light was lit and in the lucence of the water, myriad fish darted and flashed beneath as Islander stood, spear in hand, silhouetted against the night, waiting for the big one. 

 

The ice hole had frozen over and had to be broken up and kept ice free throughout the next period. Not seal tonight. A seal-bone hook, carved with care and threaded on precious line, dangled into the hole as one by one, fish were brought to the surface where they froze in minutes. The time of his woman must soon come. She must be fed well to feed his son who would be a great hunter. It was good that he would be born at the start of the great light. 

 

Tomorrow, pig, thought Islander. After his woman time, he would spear a wild pig in the scrub and the village would feast with him. No fishing tonight. Chuva has yielded in abundance. If she gives him a pig today, there will be food aplenty. Woman must dig a pit and create fire in readiness. Time was spent with Woman.   In the scrub, a piglet was speared, ground roasted to succulent tenderness. That night the village feasted. The rare luxury of a night in his own bed, the full stomach and Woman for the whole night sent him eventually into a deep sleep. 

 

Traces of light streaked the roof of the world and fire danced, coloured and sparkling across the heavens as Inuit's son came into the world. Woman, plump and comely gave out her boy-child easily and there was rejoicing throughout the encampment. Trading Post spirit caused ribald comment and much laughter among these usually impassive people but soon Inuit was back at the fishing hole knowing there was another mouth to feed.

 

Next night, Islander went back to his fishing, sore of head, glad of solitude and waited, for in the morning he would return to Woman and make a son.

Reviews

[Lily1111]

"Inuit knew nothing of the waving palm, the yielding sand and the warmth of a fronded hut. Islander knew nothing of the ice and darkness and the woman sitting in the snow-house awaiting her man, who stood flensing the body of the seal that had at last given itself to the spear, and had received the respect which the Inuit accord to their prey. "

How cleverly you have interwoven the contrasts between these two people who couldn't be more different to illustrate that we are really all the same. You write so descriptively and with such detail that we come to know both the Islander and Inuit and their lives so completely.

You write of these places and people in such a way that it appears to the reader that you knew them well and have visited their villages, eaten the fish of both oceans. You are so well traveled that I wouldn't be surprised to learn that was true, but I believe this came from your incredible imagination.

Extremely well written and truly enjoyed. Your talent shines brightly in this wonderful piece with its veiled message for those with eyes to see.

[Donald Meikle]

great play on contrast and sameness and natural man. I've enjoyed your work and must thank Jill for pointing you out. What part of Liverpool spawned you?

[emmajoy]

This reminds me of Jack London's books = which used to be my father's favourites. I grew up with them..

it has a mythical touch, as if someone's telling the tale by a fireside or, more so, a camp fire.. the language has a very special tongue of its own.. very clearly in the last two lines: ' Next night, Islander went back to his fishing, sore of head, glad of solitude and waited, for in the morning he would return to Woman and make a son.

The two gently fascinating characters are interwoven of course but, stand as clear individuals, it's as if this is two stories somehow melded.

This tale is written in a wonderfully relaxed style and yet gives such a true picture of what you've seen either for real or in your incredible imagination.

I love it

[Craig Bates]

John, I really don't know where to start with this. The prose feels somehow both bouncy and restrained. There's just enough description so that it feels lively and relaxed - I suppose much like the lives of the people you describe. Much time has to be used in feeding themselves but there is also a lot of joy and contentment.

And I suppose that leads me onto what I think this might be about. These people live their lives in a comparatively 'simple' way to how many of us view the world. Yet they live for the same reasons and are just as happy, if not more so. Each life mirrors the other, despite the distance between them, affirming that we are all essentially the same in our needs and desires.

I can't help but feel like I've only scratched the surface but the top and bottom of it is that I think it's a very well-written piece. I like that you don't leave it on some profound statement. You leave it for us to figure out for ourselves.

As usual, thanks for the read =)