Hannah Ross - The Last Outpost - An Antarctic Dystopia

Finally, it seemed as if the whole village was present. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott noticed Ne Tarveg, standing very straight in his festive clothes and looking ahead with a deadpan expression. For a brief second, their eyes met, and even in the dim light, it was easy to see how Ne Tarveg’s jaw tightened. Scott averted his eyes, feeling uneasy. He most certainly did not seek the enmity of this man.

Tahan strode to the center of the fires, raised her arms, and called out: “O Spirits! We thank you for another plentiful season of light, for the game, the fish and the harvest, for the waters of the river and the growing grasses, for all the children born to the Anai!”

Scott was working hard to follow the words of the Anai, but he was fairly certain he understood the gist. Tahan went on:

“We thank you for what had been, and offer our hopes for what will be. Accept our celebration as a token of faith in the sunrise yet to come.”

Just as Tahan finished speaking, the last lingering ray of the sun touched the top of her head, and the sun set behind the walls of the valley. It would not be seen again for the next four months.

The Anai cheered, some of them clapped. Musical instruments were being pulled out, flutes and drums and grain shakers made of hollow bone that made a pleasant rustling sound. The Anai refused to give in to the gloom naturally produced by the prospect of such a long, sunless, cold season. Skins of drink were being poured out, and Scott found a cup of the grassy brew placed in his hands by Omrek. He drank. This, it appeared, was a different kind of brew, stronger than what he had been accustomed to. It was more like wine than beer, and Scott made a mental note to be careful.

“Good drinking, huh?” Omrek smiled. Then, almost without looking, he stretched out his arm and pulled over his little nephew, who nearly got into one of the fires.

Tahan had shaken off her parka and was busy tending to the food. Whale steaks were suspended above the fire on a long wooden spit, and she was seasoning them with salt and dried herbs. A clay pot of penguin stew, carefully tied with a grass rope, was now untied and placed near the fire to heat up. Meanwhile, lighter dishes were being arranged by the Anai on platters and in serving baskets, and carried round for all to taste. There were little round rolls made of the ground grain the Anai cultivated, heaps of grass berries, little dried fish and chunks of dried penguin meat, salted and pickled penguin eggs. While Scott was sampling these Anai-style canapés, the dancing began, and he found himself pulled by Omrek into the circle of men. Hesitating for a moment, he bent down and lifted Egan up on his shoulders, to the boy’s delight.

The winter dance of the Anai appeared to have its own order and figures, following the rhythm of the flutes and drums, and Scott felt like a clumsy giraffe, with his legs buckling and twisting in all directions, which was not too different from the last few dances he had participated in, way back in college. Some of the Anai guffawed, but he was not offended. There was good-nature all around, and the friendly grins, and the delighted squeals of Egan, who gripped his shoulders and bounced up and down, made him feel as if he belonged here, among these people who were no longer strangers.

The dance brought the circle of men to intermingle with that of the women, so that it was possible for men and women to pair off. Omrek, his chest puffed up and his eyes sparkling, stood in front of the pretty girl he had tried to woo on the riverbank, and Scott found himself face to face with Tahan. She smiled, took Egan off his shoulders, and sent him to play.

“Let’s give you some rest,” she said. “Egan can go for a while and dance with the children.”

The men were supposed to go round the women with a swaying step, and Scott did his best to emulate this. He still felt extremely clumsy, but Tahan’s expression was approving. “Your dancing is much better than you said,” she remarked.

“You think so? Maybe it’s because I’ve drunk more.” The strong brew, drunk on an empty stomach, went to Scott’s head, and he felt as though he floated off the ground as Tahan took both his hands and spun him around, similarly to how all the women did with their partners. For a minute, with the dance going off in complicated chains and spirals, they found themselves alone, face to face, in the middle of a circle, with everybody around clapping to the rhythm of the music. Then the circles of men and women broke apart again, and Tahan was carried off by the chain of women.

Later there was a pause in the dancing, and Scott pulled up Egan on his shoulders again, while Tahan, flushed and breathless, rearranged her messy hair and stuck the pin through it. Omrek was long gone into the shadows, taking his girl by the hand.

It was the Anai custom for everyone to go around everybody’s fires, sampling food and complimenting the cooks. As he ate succulent whale steak and roast penguin and seal stew, Scott realized with a pang of guilt that he was growing fond of this kind of fare, so much more hearty and satisfying than whatever they had at the galley at McMurdo. There were also the funny plump domestic fowl the Anai raised, roasted whole, with their cavities stuffed with grain and herbs.

Tahan brought another cup of the brew for them to drink apiece. Its grassy, yeasty taste was refreshing, and it was good to sit like this by the fire, in the midst of a valley that was unlike any place on earth.

“Here are wishes to a good winter,” she said, raising her cup. “May it pass swiftly, with plenty of food, and nobody getting cold or sick.”

Egan, worn out with the food and the dancing, had fallen asleep, bundled up in the warm folds of his mother’s parka — it was hot near the cooking fires, and Tahan had taken it off. “Scott, will you take Egan home? You can put him in bed so he will be more comfortable. Then come back, just don’t forget to bring back my parka.”

“Won’t he wake and wonder where everybody is?” Scott asked.

“No, no, I know Egan. He will sleep soundly until morning, or what is supposed to be morning. In the dark season, it’s sometimes difficult to notice time.”

Scott complied, and walked back to Tahan’s house with the little boy snugly wrapped up in his arms. Egan’s head rested against his shoulder, and his breathing was slow and even. Scott placed him in the middle of the big bed and tucked the furs all around him, and stood watching the sleeping child for a few moments. Then he gently smoothed back Egan’s hair and went out of the stone hut.

He was about halfway back to the feast area, when he collided with someone who had stepped out of the dark. With uneasiness, he realized that it was Ne Tarveg, glowering and towering above him. “Stranger,” Ne Tarveg’s voice was low and gravelly, as if he were not usually a great talker. “Strangers do not belong at winter feast.”

Scott felt his ire raising and, despite this man being a head taller and much wider in the shoulders, he refused to be afraid of him.” Tahan invited me,” he said in Anai.

“I see how you look at Tahan,” Ne Tarveg took another step closer, his fists clenched. His breath smelled as if he had rather too much to drink. “You wear the clothes she had made for her man, and some that she made for you. You eat at her hearth and sleep under her roof. But you had better watch your step. This woman belongs to me.”

“She would disagree,” Scott said coldly.

“Who are you,” Ne Tarveg raised his voice a notch, “to come here, stranger, and wear clothes of the Anai, and go to hunt and feast with the Anai? We did not want you. We do not need you. It is better,” he raised one mighty fist, “if you take yourself away.”