Chapter 4

But when the bear was ready to set out, the old foster-mother, weeping very much, dipped her hands in oil and smeared them with soot, and stroked the bear's side as it took leave of her, but in such manner that it could not see what she was doing. The bear sniffed at her and went away. But the old foster-mother wept all through that day, and her fellows in the place mourned also for the loss of their bear.

But men say that far to the north, when many bears are abroad, there will sometimes come a bear as big as an iceberg, with a black spot on its side.

Here ends this story.

ÍMARASUGSSUAQ, WHO ATE HIS WIVES

It is said that the great Ímarasugssuaq was wont to eat his wives. He fattened them up, giving them nothing but salmon to eat, and nothing at all to drink. Once when he had just lost his wife in the usual way, he took to wife the sister of many brothers, and her name was Misána. And after having taken her to wife, he began fattening her up as usual.

One day her husband was out in his kayak. And she had grown so fat that she could hardly move, but now she managed with difficulty to tumble down from the bench to the floor, crawled to the entrance, dropped down into the passage way, and began licking the snow which had drifted in. She licked and licked at it, and at last she began to feel herself lighter, and better able to move. And in this way she afterwards went out and licked up snow whenever her husband was out in his kayak, and at last she was once more quite able to move about.

One day when her husband was out in his kayak as usual, she took her breeches and tunic, and stuffed them out until the thing looked like a real human being, and then she said to them:

"When my husband comes and tells you to come out, answer him with these words: I cannot move because I am grown so fat. And when he then comes in and harpoons you, remember then to shriek as if in pain."

And after she had said these words, she began digging a hole at the back of the house, and when it was big enough, she crept in.

"Bring up the birds I have caught!"

But the dummy answered:

"I can no longer move, for I am grown so fat."

Now the dummy was sitting behind the lamp. And the husband coming in, harpooned that dummy wife with his great bird-spear. And the thing shrieked as if with pain and fell down. But when he looked closer, there was no blood to be seen, nothing but some stuffed-out clothes. And where was his wife?

And now he began to search for her, and as soon as he had gone out, she crept forth from her hiding-place, and took to flight. And while she was thus making her escape, her husband came after her, and seeing that he came nearer and nearer, at last she said:

"Now I remember, my amulet is a piece of wood."

And hardly had she said these words, when she was changed into a piece of wood, and her husband could not find her. He looked about as hard as ever he could, but could see nothing beyond a piece of wood anywhere. And he stabbed at that once or twice with his knife, but she felt no more than a little stinging pain. Then he went back home to fetch his axe, and then, as soon as he was out of sight, she changed back into a woman again and fled away to her brothers.

When she came to their house, she hid herself behind the skin hangings, and after she had placed herself there, her husband was heard approaching, weeping because he had lost his wife. He stayed there with them, and in the evening, the brothers began singing songs in mockery of him, and turning towards him also, they said:

"Men say that Ímarasugssuaq eats his wives."

"Who has said that?"

"Misána has said that."

"I said it, and I ran away because you tried to kill me," said she from behind the hangings.

And then the many brothers fell upon Ímarasugssuaq and held him fast that his wife might kill him; she took her knife, but each time she tried to strike, the knife only grazed his skin, for her fingers lost their power.

And she was still standing there trying in vain to stab him, when they saw that he was already dead.

Here ends this story.

QALAGÁNGUASÊ, WHO PASSED TO THE LAND OF GHOSTS

There was once a boy whose name was Qalagánguasê; his parents lived at a place where the tides were strong. And one day they ate seaweed, and died of it. Then there was only one sister to look after Qalagánguasê, but it was not long before she also died, and then there were only strangers to look after him.

Qalagánguasê was without strength, the lower part of his body was dead, and one day when the others had gone out hunting, he was left alone in the house. He was sitting there quite alone, when suddenly he heard a sound. Now he was afraid, and with great pains he managed to drag himself out of the house into the one beside it, and here he found a hiding-place behind the skin hangings. And while he was in hiding there, he heard a noise again, and in walked a ghost.

"Ai! There are people here!"

The ghost went over to the water tub and drank, emptying the dipper twice.

"Thanks for the drink which I thirsty one received," said the ghost. "Thus I was wont to drink when I lived on earth." And then it went out.

Now the boy heard his fellow-villagers coming up and gathering outside the house, and then they began to crawl in through the passage way.

"Qalagánguasê is not here," they said, when they came inside.

"Yes, he is," said the boy. "I hid in here because a ghost came in. It drank from the water tub there."

And when they went to look at the water tub, they saw that something had been drinking from it.

Then some time after, it happened again that the people were all out hunting, and Qalagánguasê alone in the place. And there he sat in the house all alone, when suddenly the walls and frame of the house began to shake, and next moment a crowd of ghosts came tumbling into the house, one after the other, and the last was one whom he knew, for it was his sister, who had died but a little time before.

And now the ghosts sat about on the floor and began playing; they wrestled, and told stories, and laughed all the time.

At first Qalagánguasê was afraid of them, but at last he found it a pleasant thing to make the night pass. And not until the villagers could be heard returning did they hasten away.

"Now mind you do not tell tales," said the ghost, "for if you do as we say, then you will gain strength again, and there will be nothing you cannot do." And one by one they tumbled out of the passage way. Only Qalagánguasê's sister could hardly get out, and that was because her brother had been minding her little child, and his touch stayed her. And the hunters were coming back, and quite close, when she slipped out. One could just see the shadow of a pair of feet.

"What was that," said one. "It looked like a pair of feet vanishing away."

"Listen, and I will tell you," said Qalagánguasê, who already felt his strength returning. "The house has been full of people, and they made the night pass pleasantly for me, and now, they say, I am to grow strong again."

But hardly had the boy said these words, when the strength slowly began to leave him.

"Qalagánguasê is to be challenged to a singing contest," he heard them say, as he lay there. And then they tied the boy to the frame post and let him swing backwards and forwards, as he tried to beat the drum. After that, they all made ready, and set out for their singing contest, and left the lame boy behind in the house all alone. And there he lay all alone, when his mother, who had died long since, came in with his father.

"Why are you here alone?" they asked.

"I am lame," said the boy, "and when the others went off to a singing contest, they left me behind."

"Come away with us," said his father and mother.

"It is better so, perhaps," said the boy.

And so they led him out, and bore him away to the land of ghosts, and so Qalagánguasê became a ghost.

And it is said that Qalagánguasê became a woman when they changed him to a ghost. But his fellow-villagers never saw him again.

ISIGÂLIGÂRSSIK

Isigâligârssik was a wifeless man, and he was very strong. One of the other men in his village was a wizard.

Isigâligârssik was taken to live in a house with many brothers, and they were very fond of him.

When the wizard was about to call upon his spirits, it was his custom to call in through the window: "Only the married men may come and hear." And when they who were to hear the spirit calling went out, a little widow and her daughter and Isigâligârssik always stayed behind together in the house. Once, when all had gone out to hear the wizard, as was their custom, these three were thus left alone together. Isigâligârssik sat by the little lamp on the side bench, at work.

Suddenly he heard the widow's daughter saying something in her mother's ear, and then her mother turned towards him and said:

"This little girl would like to have you."

Isigâligârssik would also like to have her, and before the others of the house had come back, they were man and wife. Thus when the others of the house had finished and came back, Isigâligârssik had found a wife, and his house-fellows were very glad of this.

Next day, as soon as it was dark, one called, as was the custom: "Let only those who have wives come and hear." And Isigâligârssik, who had before had no wife, felt now a great desire to go and hear this. But as soon as he had come in, the great wizard said to Isigâligârssik's wife:

"Come here; here."

When she had sat down, he told her to take off her shoes, and then he put them up on the drying frame. Then they made a spirit calling, and when that was ended, the wizard said to Isigâligârssik:

"Go away now; you will never have this dear little wife of yours again."

And then Isigâligârssik had to go home without a wife. And Isigâligârssik had to live without a wife. And every time there was a spirit calling, and he went in, the wizard would say:

"Ho, what are you doing here, you who have no wife?"

But now anger grew up slowly in him at this, and once when he came home, he said:

"That wizard in there has mocked me well, but next time he asks me, I shall know what to answer."

But the others of the village warned him, and said:

"No, no; you must not answer him. For if you answer him, then he will kill you."

But one evening when the bad wizard mocked him as usual Isigâligârssik said:

"Ho, and what of you who took my wife away?"

Now the wizard stood up at once, and when Isigâligârssik bent down towards the entrance to creep out, the wizard took a knife, and stabbed him with a great wound.

Isigâligârssik ran quickly home to his house, and said to his wife's mother:

"Go quickly now and take the dress I wore when I was little. [4] It is in the chest there."

And when she took it out, it was so small that it did not look like a dress at all, but it was very pretty. And he ordered her then to dip it in the water bucket. When it was wet, he was able to put it on, and when the lacing thong at the bottom touched the wound, it was healed.

Now when his house-fellows came out after the spirit-calling they thought to find him lying dead outside the entrance. They followed the blood spoor, and at last he had gone into the house. When they came in, he had not a single wound, and all were very glad for that he was healed again. And now he said:

"To-morrow I will go bow-shooting with him."

Then they slept, and awakened, and Isigâligârssik opened his little chest and searched it, and took out a bow that was so small it could hardly be seen in his hands. He strung that bow, and went out, and said:

"Come out now and see." Then they went out, and he went down to the wizard's house, and called through the window:

"Big man in there; come out now and let us shoot with the bow!" And when he had said this, he went and stood by a little river. When he turned to look round, the wizard was already by the passage of his house, aiming with his bow.

He said: "Come here." And then Isigâligârssik drew up spittle in his mouth and spat straight down beside his feet.

"Come here," he said then, to the great wizard. Then he went over to him, and came nearer and nearer, and stopped just before him. Now the wizard aimed with his bow towards him, and when he did this, the house-fellows cried to Isigâligârssik: "Make yourself small!" And he made himself so small that only his head could be seen moving backwards and forwards. The wizard shot and missed. And a second time he shot and missed.

Then Isigâligârssik stood up, and took the arrow, and broke it across and said:

"Go home; you cannot hit." And then the wizard went off, turning many times to look round. At last, when he bent down to get into his house through the passage way, Isigâligârssik aimed and shot at him. And they heard only the sound of his fall. The arrow was very little, and yet for all that it sent him all doubled up through the entrance, so that he fell down in the passage.

In this way Isigâligârssik won his wife again, and he lived with her afterwards until death.

THE INSECTS THAT WOOED A WIFELESS MAN

There was once a wifeless man.

Yes, that is the way a story always begins.

And it was his custom to run down to the girls whenever he saw them out playing. And the young girls always ran away from him into their houses.

And when the time of great hunting set in, and the kayak men lived in plenty, it always happened that he shamefully overslept himself every time he had made up his mind to go out hunting. He did not wake until the sun had gone down, and the hunters began to come in with their catch in tow.

One day when he awoke as usual about sunset, he got into his kayak all the same, and rowed off. Hardly had he passed out of sight of the houses, when he heard a man crying:

"My kayak has upset, help me."

And he rowed over and righted him again, and then he saw that it was one of the Noseless Ones, the people from beneath the earth.

"Now I will give you all my hide thongs with ornaments of walrus tusk," said the man who had upset.

"No," said the wifeless man; "such things I am not fit to receive; the only thing I cannot overcome is my miserable sleepiness."

"First come in with me to land," said the Fire Man. And they went in together.

When they reached the place, the Noseless One said:

"This is the man who saved my life when I was near to death."

"I happened to save you because my course lay athwart your own," said the wifeless man. "It is the first time for many days that I have been out at all in my kayak."

"One beast and one only you may choose when you are on your homeward way. And be careful never to tell what you have seen, or it will go ill with your hunting hereafter."

Those were the Fire Man's words. And then the wifeless man rowed home.

But when the time for his expected return had come, he was nowhere to be seen, and the young girls began to rejoice at the misfortune which must have befallen him. For they could not bear the sight of that man.

But then suddenly he came in sight round the point, and at once all cried:

"Here comes one who looks like the wifeless man."

And then all the young unmarried girls ran into their houses.

"And the wifeless man has made a catch," one cried.

And hardly had the evening begun to fall when the wifeless man went to rest, and hardly had the light appeared when the wifeless man went out hunting, long before his fellows. Hardly had the sun appeared in the sky, when the wifeless man came home with three seals. And his fellow-hunters were then but just preparing to set out.

Thus the days passed for that wifeless man. Early in the morning he would go out, and when the sun had only just begun to climb the sky, he would come home with his catch.

Then the unmarried girls began talking together.

"What has come to our wifeless man," they said, and began to vie with one another in seeking his favour.

"Let me, let me," they cried all together.

And the wifeless man turned towards them, and laughingly chose out the best in the flock.

And now they lived together, the wifeless man and the girl, and every day there was freshly caught seal meat to be cut up. At last she grew weary, and cried:

"Why ever do you catch such a terrible lot?"

"H'm," said he. "The seals come of themselves, and I catch them--that is all."

But she kept on asking him, and so he said at last:

"It was in this way. Once...." But having said thus much, he ceased, and went to rest. But it was long before he could sleep. And the sun was just over the houses of the village before he awoke and set out next day.

That day he caught but one seal.

In the evening, his wife began again asking and asking, and seeing that she would not desist, at last he said:

"It was in this way. Once ... well, I woke up in the evening, and rowed out, and heard a man crying for help, because his kayak had upset. And I rowed up to him and righted him again, and when I looked at him, it was one of the Noseless Ones."

"'It was a good thing you were not idling about by the houses,' said the Noseless One to me.

"'I had but just got into my kayak,'" said I.

And thus he told all that had happened to him that day, and from that time forward he lost his power of hunting, for now his old sleepiness came over him once more, and he lost all.

At last he had not even skins enough to give his wife for her clothes, and so she ran away and left him. He set off in chase, but she escaped through a crevice in the rocks, a narrow place whereby he could just pass.

Now he lay in wait there, and soon he heard a whispering inside:

"You go out to him."

And out crawled a blowfly, and said:

"Take me."

"I will not take you," said the wifeless man, "for you pick your food from the muck-heaps."

The blowfly laughed and crawled back again, and he could hear it say:

"He will not take me, because I pick my food from the muck-heaps."

Then there was more whispering inside.

"Now you go out."

And out came a fly.

"You may have me," it said.

"Thanks," said the wifeless man, "but I do not care for you at all. You lay your eggs about anyhow, and your eyes are quite abominably big."

At this the fly laughed, and went inside with the same message as before.

Again there was a whispering inside.

"Take me," said the cranefly.

"No, your legs are too long," said the wifeless man. And the cranefly went in again, laughing.

Then out came a centipede.

"Take me."

"I will not take you," said the wifeless man, "for you have far too many legs. Your body clings to the ground with all those legs, and your eyes are simply nasty."

And the centipede laughed a cackling laugh and went in again.

They whispered together again in there, and out came a gnat.

"Take me," said the gnat.

"No thanks, you bite," said the wifeless man. And the gnat went in again, laughing.

And then at last his wife bade him come in to her, since he would have none of the others, and at last he just managed to squeeze his body in through the crack, and then he took her to wife again.

"Comb my hair," said the wifeless man, now very happy once more.

And his wife began, and said words above him thus:

"Do not wake until the fulmar begins to cry: sleep until we hear a sound of young birds."

And he fell asleep.

And when at last he awoke, he was all alone. The earth was blue with summer, and the fulmar cried noisily on the bird cliff. And it had been winter when he crawled in through the crack.

When he came down to his kayak, the skin was rotted through with age.

And then I suppose he reached home as usual, and now sits scratching himself at ease.

THE VERY OBSTINATE MAN

There was once an Obstinate Man--no one in the world could be as obstinate as he. And no one dared come near him, so obstinate was he, and he would always have his own way in everything.

Once it came about that his wife was in mourning. Her little child had died, and therefore she was obliged to remain idle at home; this is the custom of the ignorant, and this we also had to do when we were as ignorant as they.

And while she sat thus idle and in mourning, her husband, that Obstinate One, came in one day and said:

"You must sew the skin of my kayak."

"You know that I am not permitted to touch any kind of work," said his wife.

"You must sew the skin of my kayak," he said again. "Bring it down to the shore and sew it there."

And so the woman, for all her mourning, was forced to go down to the shore and sew the skin of her husband's kayak. But when she had been sewing a little, suddenly her thread began to make a little sound, and the little sound grew to a muttering, and louder and louder. And at last a monster came up out of the sea; a monster in the shape of a dog, and said:

"Why are you sewing, you who are still in mourning?"

"My husband will not listen to me, for he is so obstinate," she said.

And then the mighty dog sprang ashore and fell upon that husband.

But that Obstinate One was not abashed; as usual, he thought he would get his own way, and his way now was to kill the dog. And they fought together, and the dog was killed.

But now the owner of the dog appeared, and he turned out to be the Moon Man.

And he fell upon that Obstinate One, but the Obstinate One would as usual not give way, but fell upon him in turn. He caught the Moon Man by the throat, and had nearly strangled him. He clenched and clenched, and the Moon Man was nearly strangled to death.

"There will be no more ebb-tide or flood if you strangle me," said the Moon Man.

But the Obstinate One cared little for that; he only clutched the tighter.

"The seal will never breed again if you strangle me," cried the Moon Man.

But the Obstinate One did not care at all, though the Moon Man threatened more and more.

"There will never be dawn or daylight again if you kill me," said the Moon Man at last.

And at this the Obstinate One began to hesitate; he did not like the thought of living in the dark for ever. And he let the Moon Man go.

Then the Moon Man called his dog to life again, and made ready to leave that place. And he took his team and cast the dogs up into the air one by one, and they never came down again, and at last there was the whole team of sledge dogs hovering in the air.

"May I come and visit you in the Moon?" asked the Obstinate One. For he suddenly felt a great desire to do so.

"Yes, come if you please," said the Moon Man. "But when you see a great rock in your way, take great care to drive round behind it. Do not pass it on the sunny side, for if you do, your heart will be torn out of you."

And then the Moon Man cracked his whip, and drove off through the naked air.

Now the Obstinate One began making ready for his journey to the moon. It had been his custom to keep his dogs inside the house, and therefore they had a thick layer of ingrown dirt in their coats. Now he took them and cast them out into the sea, that they might become clean again. The dogs, little used to going out at all, were nearly frozen to death by that cold water; they ran about, shivering with the cold.

Then the Obstinate One took a dog, and cast it up in the air, but it fell down heavily to earth again. He took another and did so, and then a third, but they all fell down again. They were still too dirty.

But the Obstinate One would not give in, and now he cast them out into the sea once more.

And when he then a second time tried casting them up in the air, they stayed there. And now he made himself a sledge, threw his team up in the air, and drove off.

But when he came to the rock he was to drive round, this Obstinate One said to himself:

"Why should I drive round a rock at all? I will go by the sunny side."

When he came up alongside, he heard a woman singing drum songs, and whetting her knife; she kept on singing, and he could hear how the steel hummed as she worked.

Now he tried to overpower that old woman, but lost his senses. And when he came to himself, his heart was gone.