As she put her questions Chris was annoyed to find that her voice emerged somewhat high pitched and that it cracked a little, almost ludicrously, and she laughed a little, and Angeline Asakluk joined her, politely, but Bridie and Ross did not laugh. “I must have caught a little cold on the plane, it was freezing. Tell me, I’m so interested in what you’re doing, I know it isn’t the same—we were watching Ross’s cousin Joan cutting up a seal—and Mrs.—uh—cutting up the whale—–” That sounds absolutely crazy, she told herself—“but what’s a seal poke? I know what a gold poke is, but a seal—–”

“It’s the Eskimo deep freeze,” Ross said. “Tell Chris how you do it, Angie.”

“I’m taking out the insides, you see. Then I’ll cut out the meat and the fat.”

“You mean you’ll open it and slice down the blubber and the meat the way Joan—–”

“Oh, no. This is going to be a poke. I just reach through this hole where the head used to be and I cut everything away, very carefully and take it out, you have to be careful not to cut the skin. And then we turn the whole skin inside out by reaching in right through from the head to the tail, and we clean it and we blow it up for drying and we rub it with ashes so that it will dry better. And when it’s dry we fill it with meats or berries or green leaf plants in it for storing all through the winter, it makes the best deep freeze you ever saw.”

“Now,” Bridie observed, “I’ve seen everything.”

“Angeline can do anything,” Ross announced, cheerfully. “What a girl! She isn’t really my aunt, you know. Frank’s my uncle, Angeline’s his second wife. Angeline used to teach at the Native Service school, that’s how she happens to talk so pretty, eh Angie? Frank’s English isn’t so hot.” Beneath the casual cheerfulness of his tone there was defiance and a kind of exhibitionistic bravado. “Where’s Lorena?”

“She’s away, she’s taking the business and steno course in Fairbanks. The business school. She’s going to be a secretary.”

“That’s great!” He glanced across the yard at the open door of the house, he looked up and down the road. “Where’s Rolf? I thought he’d be here.”

“He was here a minute ago.” Her smile became mischievous. “Rolf! Rolf!” she called, but not loudly.

“Rolf!” Ross shouted.

Angeline laughed aloud, then, and pointed with one encarmined hand to where her husband stood, busy with his boat. Over the rim of the trestled boat’s edge a red sombrero rose above a pair of black eyes.

“Hi, Rolf!” Ross shouted again. “Come here.”

Over the boat’s side there clambered a boy of perhaps six, he dropped agilely to the ground and ran toward Ross. A handsome compact child, the olive of his cheeks was tinted with pink, he was in full movie-cowboy regalia—sombrero, plaid shirt, chaps, high-heeled boots. He carried two toy guns in a holster that was studded with large red, green and yellow stones and as he ran toward the group he pulled out the guns.