"MacLeod, Ian R - Tirkiluk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Macleod Ian R)

freezing beach. I assume this must be my Eskimo-thief. Once I'd seen him,
somehow didn't feel afraid.

Went down along the beach afterward. I made out a gray lump in the darkness that
the waves were pushing up the shore. It was the body of a long-dead seal -- not
something that I would ever like to consider eating, although from the fresh
rents and the stinking spillage over the rocks this was obviously exactly what
the figure had been doing.

Was he that desperate, or, in view of the rotting caribou I saw at the
campground, am I still stuck in the irrelevant values of a distant civilization?
Was always impressed by the story of those Victorian polar explorers like
Franklin, who ended up eating each other and dying in a landscape that the
Eskimos lived off and regarded as home.

But still, I feel sorry for my Eskimo-thief, and am even tempted to put
something outside the hut and see what happens, although I'm probably just going
to attract the white wolves or foxes, or the bears. It might seem like an act of
foolishness, but more likely it stems from gratitude toward my Eskimo-thief, and
for the fact that I don't feel quite as afraid or alone any longer.

October 22

My Eskimo-thief is squatting in the hut with me now. Eating, I have to say, like
a dog. There's a gale howling, and alarming drifts of snow. Easily the worst
weather so far. He was hauling himself across the beach on hands and knees,
crusted in ice, trying to grab a broken-winged tern. He still hasn't spoken. His
clothes are filthy, moulting caribou hair all over the hut, and he looks almost
a child. Very young.

I think he was probably the figure I saw roped to the whalebone stake, which I
suppose means that he must be some kind of criminal or scapegoat. The tribe has
obviously moved south and left him behind. I recall the stories of how the
Eskimo are supposed to leave their ill, elderly, and unwanted outside in winter
for the cold and the wolves to finish off.

He wants more. If he can devour unheated pemmican like this, he must be very
hungry.

But he can't be too ill.

Evening

I've made a stupid assumption. My Eskimo-thief is a woman.

October 24

The storm has died down. The twilight is deepening but I still get the sun for a
few hours around noon and the bay as yet hasn't iced over.