Ilana Eytan managed to disentangle herself and joined us and I made the necessary introductions.
Jack isnt here at the moment, I told her. I think that under the circumstances Id better go looking for him. You can wait on the Stella.
Why cant I come with you?
I wouldnt if I were you. Apparently, hes finally caught up with that bear hes been chasing. No place for a woman, believe me.
Fair enough, she said calmly. Ive never been exactly a devotee of Jacks great outdoors cult.
The deckhand was already transferring the stores from the Otter to the whaleboat and I turned to Sørensen. Ill go out to the Stella with you and Ill take the whaleboat after youve unloaded her.
He nodded and went to help with the stores. Ilana Eytan chuckled. Rather you than me.
And whats that supposed to mean?
When Jack Desforge starts beating his chest wig its time to run for cover. Id remember that if I were you, she said and went down to the boat.
I thought about that for a while, then climbed inside the Otter, opened a compartment beneath the pilots seat and pulled out a gun case. It contained a Winchester hunting rifle, a beautiful weapon which Desforge had loaned me the previous week. There was a box of cartridges in the map compartment and I loaded the magazine with infinite care. After all, theres nothing like being prepared for all eventualities and the girl was certainly right about one thing. Around Jack Desforge anything might happen and usually did.
The diesel engine gave the whaleboat a top speed of six or seven knots and I made good time after leaving the Stella, but a couple of miles further on the pack ice became more of a problem and every so often I had to cut the engines and stand on the stern seat to sort out a clear route through the maze of channels.
It was hard going for a while and reasonably hazardous because the ice kept lifting with the movement of the water, broken edges snapping together like the jaws of a steel trap. Twice I was almost caught and each time got clear only by boosting power at exactly the right moment. When I finally broke through into comparatively clear water and cut the engine, I was sweating and my hands trembled slightly and yet Id enjoyed every minute of it. I lit a fresh cigarette and sat down in the stern for a short rest.
The wind that lifted off the water was cold, but the sun shone brightly in that eternal blue sky and the coastal scenery with the mountains and the ice-cap in the distance was incredibly beautiful as spectacular as Id seen anywhere.
Suddenly everything seemed to come together, the sea and the wind, the sun, the sky, the mountains and the ice-cap, fusing into a breathless moment of perfection in which the world seemed to stop. I floated there, hardly daring to breathe, waiting for a sign, if you like, but of what, I hadnt the remotest idea and then gradually it all came flooding back, the touch of the wind on my face, the pack ice grinding upon itself, the harsh taste of the cigarette as the smoke caught at the back of my throat. One thing at least I had learned, perhaps hadnt faced up to before. There were other reasons for my presence on this wild and lovely coast than those I had given Ilana Eytan.
I started the engine again and moved on, and ten minutes later saw a tracer of blue smoke drifting into the air above a spine of rock that walled off the beach. I found the hunting party on the other side crouched round a fire of blazing driftwood, their kayaks drawn up on the beach. Desforge squatted with his back to me, a tin cup in one hand, a bottle in the other. At the sound of the whaleboats engine he turned and, recognising me, let out a great roar of delight.
Joe, baby, whats the good news?
He came down the beach as I ran the whaleboat in through the broken ice and as always when we met, there was a slight edge of unreality to the whole thing for me; a sort of surprise to find that he actually existed in real life. The immense figure, the mane of brown hair and the face that wonderful, craggy, used-up face that looked as if it had experienced everything life had to offer and had not been defeated. The face known the world over to millions of people even in the present version which included an untidy fringe of iron-grey beard and gave him perhaps intentionally an uncanny resemblance to Ernest Hemingway who I knew had always been a personal idol of his.
But how was one supposed to feel when confronted by a living legend? Hed made his first film at the age of sixteen in 1930, the year I was born. By 1939 he was almost rivalling Gable in popularity and a tour as a rear gunner in a B.17 bomber when America entered the second world war made him a bigger draw than ever when he returned to make films during the forties and fifties.
But over the past few years one seemed to hear more and more about his personal life. As his film appearances decreased, he seemed to spend most of his time roaming the world in the Stella and the scandals increased by a sort of inverse ratio that still kept his name constantly before the public. A saloon brawl in London, a punch-up with Italian police in Rome, an unsavoury court case in the States involving a fifteen-year-old whose mother said hed promised to marry the girl and still wanted him to.
These and a score of similar affairs had given him a sort of legendary notoriety that still made him an object of public veneration wherever he went and yet I knew from the things he had told me usually after a bout of heavy drinking that his career was virtually in ruins and that except for a part in a low budget French film, he hadnt worked in two years.
Youre just in time for the kill, he said. These boys have finally managed to find a bear for me.
I slung the Winchester over my shoulder and jumped to the sand. A small one I hope.
He frowned and nodded at the Winchester. What in the hell do you want with that thing?
Protection, I said. With you and your damned bear around Im going to need all I can get.
There was a clump of harpoons standing in the wet sand beside the kayaks and he pulled one loose and brandished it fiercely.
This is all you need; all any man needs. Its the only way the only way with any truth or meaning.
Any minute now he was going to tell me just how noble death was and I cut in on him quickly and patted the Winchester.
Well this is my way the Joe Martin way. Any bear who comes within a hundred yards of me gets the whole magazine. Im allergic to the smell of their fur.
He roared with laughter and slapped me on the back. Joe, baby, youre the greatest thing since air-conditioning. Come and have a drink.
Not for me, thanks, I said.
He had a head start anyway, that much was obvious, but I followed him to the fire and squatted beside him as he uncorked a nearly empty bottle and poured a generous measure into a tin cup. The hunters from Narquassit watched us impassively, a scattering of dogs crouched at their feet. Desforge shook his head in disgust.
Look at them what a bloody crew. I had to bribe them to get them this far. He swallowed some of his whisky. But what can you expect? Look at their clothes all store bought. Not a pair of sealskin pants among them.
He emptied the dregs of the bottle into his cup and I said, Ive brought a visitor to see you a girl called Eytan.
He emptied the dregs of the bottle into his cup and I said, Ive brought a visitor to see you a girl called Eytan.
He turned sharply, bewilderment on his face. Ilana here? Youre kidding.
I shook my head. She flew into Søndre from Copenhagen last night.
Did she say what she wanted?
I shook my head. Maybe shes come to take you home.
Not a chance. He laughed shortly. I owe too many people too damned much on the outside. Greenland suits me just fine for the time being. He leaned across, full of drunken gravity. Ill tell you something in confidence confidence, mind you? Theres a lulu coming up thatll put me right back there on top of the heap and take care of my old age. Milt Gold of Horizon should be in touch with me any day now.
Maybe this Eytan girl has a message for you, I suggested.
His face brightened. Heh, you could have a point there.
There was a faint cry from along the beach and we turned to see an Eskimo trotting towards us waving excitedly. Everything else was forgotten as Desforge got to his feet and picked up a harpoon.
This is it, he said. Lets get moving.
He didnt even look to see if he was being followed and I shouldered the Winchester and went after him, the hunters from Narquassit following. You can tell when an Eskimo is happy because sometimes hell actually smile, but more often than not its impossible to know how hes feeling at any given moment. Allowing for that I still got a definite impression that the men from Narquassit were something less than enthusiastic about the whole thing and I didnt blame them one little bit.
We reached the end of a long strip of shingle beach and started across a much rougher section that was a jumble of great boulders and broken ice when one of the hunters cried out sharply. They all came to a halt and there was a sudden frenzied outburst of voices as everyone seemed to start talking at once.
And then I saw it a great shaggy mountain of dirty yellow fur ambling along the shoreline and as the first dog gave tongue, he paused and looked over his shoulder in a sort of amiable curiosity.
You dont need to be a great white hunter to shoot a polar bear. One thousand pounds of bone and muscle makes quite a target and it takes a lot to goad it into action, but when he moves, its at anything up to twenty-five miles an hour and a sidelong swipe from one of those great paws is guaranteed to remove a mans face.
Desforge saw only the quarry hed been seeking for so long and he gave a howl of triumph and started to run, harpoon at the trail, showing quite a turn of speed considering his age.
The dogs were well out in front, but the Eskimo hunters from Narquassit looked considerably more reluctant and I knew why. In their mythology and folklore the polar bear holds roughly the same position as does the wolf for the North American Indian, a creature of mystery and magic with apparently all the cunning of Man: on the other hand, they werent keen on losing their dogs and went after them fast and I brought up the rear.
The bear loped across the strand and skidded on to the pack ice, making for the nearest water, a dark hole that was perhaps ten or twelve feet in diameter. He plunged in and disappeared from view as the dogs went after him closely followed by Desforge, the hunters some little way behind.
I shouted a warning, but Desforge took no notice and started across the ice to where the dogs ringed the hole howling furiously. A moment later it happened one of the oldest tricks in the book. The bear sounded, striking out furiously with both paws, erupting from the water and falling across the thin ice with his whole weight. A spiders web of cracks appeared that widened into deep channels as he struck again.
The hunters had paused on the shore, calling to the dogs to come back. Most of them managed it safely, yelping like puppies, tails between their legs, but three or four tumbled into the water to be smashed into bloody pulp within seconds as the bear surged forward again.
Desforge was no more than ten or twelve feet away and he hurled the harpoon, losing his balance at the same moment and slipping to one knee. It caught the bear high up in the right side and he gave a roar like distant thunder and reared up out of the broken ice, smashing the haft of the harpoon with a single blow.
Desforge turned and started back, but he was too late. Already a dark line was widening between him and the shore and a moment later he was waist-deep and floundering desperately in the soft slush. The bear went after him like an express train.
Desforge was no more than four or five yards away from the shore as I burst through the line of hunters and raised the Winchester. There was time for just one shot and as the bear reared up above him I squeezed the trigger and the heavy bullet blew off the top of its head. It went down like a tower falling, blood and brains scattering across the ice and Desforge fell on to his hands and knees on the shore.
He lay there for a moment as the hunters rushed forward to catch the carcase before it went under the ice. When I dropped to one knee beside him he grinned up at me, the teeth very white in the iron-grey beard as he wiped blood from his forehead with the back of one hand.
I always did like to do my own stuntwork.
A great script, I said. What are you going to call the film Spawn of the North?
We could have got some good footage there, he said seriously as I pulled him to his feet.
They hauled the bear on to the shore and the headman pulled out the broken shaft of Desforges harpoon and came towards us. He spoke to me quickly in Eskimo and I translated for Desforge.
He says that by rights the bear is yours.
And how in the hell does he make that out?
The harpoon pierced a lung. Hed have died for sure.
Well thats certainly good news. Presumably wed have gone to the great hereafter together.
They want to know if youd like the skin.
What would be the point? Some careless bastard seems to have ruined the head. Tell them they can have it.
I nodded to the headman who smiled with all the delight of a child and called to his friends. They formed a circle and shuffled round, arms linked, wailing in chorus.
Now what? Desforge demanded.
Theyre apologising to the bear for having killed him.
His head went back and he laughed heartily, the sound of it echoing flatly across the water. If that dont beat all. Come on, lets get out of here before I go nuts or freeze to death or something, and he turned and led the way back along the shore.
When we reached the whaleboat he got in and rummaged for a blanket in the stern locker while I pushed off. By the time Id clambered in after him and got the engine started, he had the blanket round his shoulders and was extracting the cork from a half-bottle of whisky with his teeth.
Looks as if they carry this with the iron rations, he said and held it out. What about you?
I shook my head. Weve been through all this before, Jack. I never use the stuff, remember?
I had no way of knowing exactly how much whisky he had put away by then, but it was obvious that he was fast reaching a state where he would have difficulty in remembering where he was and why, never mind make any kind of sense out of past events. I knew the feeling well. There had been a time when I spent too many mornings in a grey fog wondering where I was who I was. At that point its a long fast drop down unless you have enough sense to turn before its too late and take that first fumbling step in the other direction.