Greenland: The Play

The Play

        John Henry and I were the first ones awake. I made the both of us a plate of cold leftovers and rekindled the fire. Outside, the village was already bustling despite the early hour. I wouldn’t make my entrance just yet. Once I did, that would be it till bedtime. John Henry and I finished eating, I washed, and took him out to a secluded area beyond the village to serve as my bathroom. He had fun playing with the ice and his cheeks grew rosy as he slid around. My hut was situated on the far edge of the boundaries. There was no need for our – my hut to occupy prime real estate. 

Back inside he played with his toy car as I dressed. I braided my hair tight and took one of my last few deep breaths of the day. I shook Catherine’s shoulder. “Catie, I fed John Henry. He’s been great. I have to go out now. I’ll see you all later.” The girl rubbed her eyes and sat up. I wished I could let her sleep but I had to get to work and John Henry kept roaming too close to the fire for my own personal comfort. I put my helmet on and left the small structure. 

A cadre of elders and the handpicked village girl from yesterday met me just outside the door and began the traditional tour of the town and the families. This tradition started from Maui and I assessing what the people needed, if there were any worrying signs of disease or issues procreating, if the crops were thriving, if the hunting was productive. It had morphed into a parade through the village and displays of their arts and talents and children. My favorite moment was watching the village boys perform the remnants of what their forefathers had once learned as a haka and had morphed through the generations into a new sort of display of unity and power more suited to their conditions and language here. 

The girls had their chance next. They danced and sang as I looked on. A young girl, couldn’t be more than three, cried at my fierce appearance. The mother looked terrified over her daughter’s perfectly logical response. I signed to the elders, asking where the child’s father was. The man was brought forth and I instructed that he take the screaming girl away. The child did not need to confront her fears today. I invited the mother to walk with us. She likely needed a break. All the children who had performed, and who wanted to, came forward. I bowed to them with a sign of thanks and clasped their hands in mine. Children are important.

Our procession wound through the living structures, through the dugout food storage houses, and down to the shore where I took pleasure in examining their ships. The whalers displayed an impressive set of bones, harpoons, ambergris, and dried and preserved meat. I was also shown some of their latest fashion wear, waterproof parkas made entirely from intestine. An offering of a coat was made to me but I made it clear to them I appreciated the gift but wished the item to remain among them. I accepted other offerings as we moved through the village: artwork, cups, jewelry if it didn’t look too sentimental to the owner, carvings, baskets. The handpicked village woman and the mother carried my gifts and would bring them to my hut at the conclusion of the procession. 

We returned to the village center and I saw they had carried forth the gigantic stone and bone thrones Maui and I occupied during our days here. The thrones remained alongside our hut until we arrived and then were moved with great effort by the young men of the community to the center of town by the fire. The feast and other ceremonies would be outside today since the weather was cooperating. Maui and I did these days inside one of the larger structures if we arrived out of season. Ice typically prevented us from arriving in the deep of winter. Throughout our first years delivering people to this place we had wintered here to help set them up for success. The Pacific Islands they’d fled were a far cry from the demands of life here in the arctic. Maui had often lamented that more family groups didn’t take us up on our offer to leave. I understood though, it’s difficult to say goodbye to your homeland even when it’s growing too fast and becoming a land foreign to you under your own toes. I raised a hand in greeting to Izzy as she exited the hut. 

I sat on my throne and motioned that my box be brought forward. And with that the “blessings” began. The sick, elderly, and very young processed up. If they needed medicine I could provide, I gave it to them. If they were beyond hope I wished them well on their passage to the next life. This tradition had started when Maui and I found symptoms of poxes or viruses and needed to explain that individuals needed to be quarantined. I still examined the people for these symptoms. They all looked in good shape, only a few colds, daily life-type of wounds, baby fevers, and barren mothers. The elderly received pain medication and lotion…hopefully Izzy wouldn’t notice I’d taken liberty with a few of her things. 

The sun passed midday as I finished up the line of supplicants. The smells of the coming feast permeated the air and I felt giddy and drunk from the aromas alone. My stomach growled but this feast wasn’t for me. It was for them. Maui and I never ate from their precious stores when we first brought their ancestors, we didn’t want to use up what they needed. Now it was stricture that I didn’t eat in front of anyone, though a small offering would be placed for me in my hut for later. 

There was a small break as the space was prepared for the weddings. I saw Catherine and Izzy, Bessie and John Henry, moving around the village, attempting to communicate, trying different meal preparations, playing with other babies. I sat on my cold throne and watched. I wasn’t here to interfere. I was here to provide tools and gifts and blessings for luck. 

The marriage ceremonies were next. There were ten couples today who sought me to conduct their union. Maui had goaded me into this when the villagers asked. "You are a sea captain, Heeny. Just do it. I’ll be the flower girl. I’ll be amazing.” The next time we arrived there were lines of couples who wanted me to perform this rite. They believed their marriage would be blessed with luck. Many young men and women likely proposed the moment my sails broke the horizon. 

My handpicked attendant was among the waiting couples. Her intended stood by her, besotted, and touched her with gentleness and reverence. It was a simple ceremony. I signed for them to love and care for each other till their time on this earth fades. I joined their hands and put my forehead to each of theirs. They signaled their desire to be partners and kissed. There were times a couple would come before me and the woman would be skittish or the man aggressive or other signs that the marriage proposal was in question. I would defer to the elders for confirmation of my fears. These I would not perform. If the man became outraged and threatening, I had my answer. If they came to me the next day to plead their case I would reconsider. That was the exception though, not the rule. This was a peaceful village. They were so far remote and seldom plagued with a need to defend themselves or specialize in weaponry beyond what was needed to hunt. In many ways it reminded me of my home in Bermuda. The people were healthy and well fed and lacked little in their life besides outside stories and gossip. 

The next part of the evening (because it was now well into evening and the steaming dishes were set along the tables) was a show. After the show they would all eat and celebrate. The performance always followed the same plot but each generation put its own spin on it, sometimes a director got a wild hair to try a new style, sometimes the actors went to dramatic lengths, chewing the scenery throughout the play. It was always fun. 

I shifted in the hard stone chair and tried to distract myself from my hunger and exhaustion. Izzy had been keeping me on such a strict schedule of eating, sleeping, and medication that, now I was without it, I found myself struggling. The past few weeks I’d felt stronger than I had in a long time, especially while sailing. Only once in the past week had I woken up scared shitless that there were passengers on my ship. It was progress.

        The play was ready to start. The stage was set and all eyes turned to me. I waited for complete quiet, then gestured with both hands to begin. Since my arrival the village had operated with a sense of hushed reverence. That ended now. 

The narrator began the story with a projected call to their gods; the sun, the moon, the sea, the ice, the whales, the ocean, the good spirit, and the stars. Personifications of each deity arrived on stage, swinging a bullroarer till the entire surrounding land reverberated with the otherworldly noise. The roar from the instruments wiped any thought from your head, dispelled the noisy demons, and raised to dust any responses but the ones that told you to wait and see what was about to happen. Just when the cacophony became too much to bear, the instruments were silenced and you were left with the same silence in your brain.  

A group of stalwart actors appeared on stage as if from nowhere, silhouetted by the fire. They were dressed in the remainder of what these descendants knew of their Pacific Islander heritage, braided grass skirts, wide leaf ferns…they must have been freezing but they played their part. Trusted youths sat framing the group with some of the village’s most treasured artifacts: tropical flowers, dried and preserved in resin. The sun deity, the good spirit deity, and the whale deity watched fondly over the islanders as they danced and chanted. And then there was a cry of pain from the ocean deity. An actor dressed in a pure white robe, reminiscent of the square sails of European ships, had jumped on the back of the ocean spirit and beat it with a switch as he was carried along to the islanders. 

“Where are they, Heeny? The history books said they should be here by now.”

“They’ll come. They always come. We’ll take them down here just like the last island.”

“We lost the last island.”

“Not by much. We made good progress. Let’s build on that.”

“I’m ready to fight.” He stomped and kicked the sand. 

The white clad actor leapt off the shoulders of the ocean spirit to gasps from the audience and stabbed an islander through the belly with a harpoon. The slain actor took his time with his death scene, finally collapsing with a gurgle to the cold ground. Next, the ocean spirit was brought to the ground, the villain with his foot on the actor’s neck. More white clad actors arrived and one by one killed the islanders. With each death the deities grieved and mourned and tried to reach their people only to be spun away by the offenders. The audience was enraptured, even knowing the next part of the tale. This was a much better performance than usual. I was enjoying the acrobatics.

Just as the final islander looked like she’d be destroyed, the star deity raised a flute to her lips and blew a sharp and demanding whistle. The action on stage froze and two new characters appeared out of nowhere. This crew was good at misdirection. The audience cheered. The Anne and Maui actors wore decent recreations of our cloaks and robes and helmets. They cast the tallest, broadest male villager as Maui. My facsimile was smaller, more slender, perhaps female, perhaps not. The two actors flew after the star spirit as she danced and fluted in a winding path across the stage, eventually leading to the paused battle scene. Maui spun the woman out of harm’s way as “I” brandished a wicked looking spear at the white clad demon. One by one the demons whirled away as Anne and Maui defeated them. It was the one fallacy in the story so far.

“We are losing!” He hollered as we sailed away from yet another island.  “We are losing and they keep on coming.”

“We knew this was going to be hard. I torched the ships. We must have killed –”

“And the pox gets them anyway. We have to stop them at the source. You go back. Find them in their beds. Kill them.”

“Maui, I don’t –”

“You said you were going to help.” 

“I am –”

“Then do what you do best. Sail and kill. That’s what you keep telling me, right? Do what you can with what you have? Well, I have you. Drop me off in Guam. You can take a ship from there.”

Anne and Maui freed the ocean spirit allowing the spirit to extend a hand out to the islander. I was pleased to see this was the newlywed couple. The besotted young man played the ocean and my attendant played the first islander. The group traveled across the stage, guarded by the whale spirit, sun spirit to the east, and the flute playing stars. The spirit of ice held out her arms and embraced the islander eventually letting her go and gifting her a parka. 

What came next was an interactive portion of the play. White clad demons showed up and tried to kill or abduct various audience members. The stars would flute a warning and "Anne" or "Maui" would show up and scare the demon off. The villager would then go onstage, escorted by a spirit, to the ice deity. Even Izzy, Catherine, Bessie, and John Henry were invited onstage after being “attacked”. The girls played along, seemingly delighted, if a bit startled, to be included. Eventually I was the only one left in the audience. We were almost at the climax. Just when Anne and Maui were about to bid the villagers farewell, the original white clad demon scaled Maui’s back and killed him. All the white clad demons swarmed Maui’s dead body and ferried him away as all of the villagers and actors and “Anne” reached out. The drums started.

“I’m done, Heeny.” High masts and square sails moved our way in the distance.

“We’ll try again.”

“No. I’m tired. I’m done. Heeny, I can’t even look at you.”  

“So rest. Let’s take a vacation or something.”  

“I’ve rested enough. I know you tried, Heeny. I know you tried. I love you for it. You did great. I’m done.”

I hated him for leaving me. I missed my friend.

A little girl appeared on one side of my throne with an oil lamp. A little boy appeared on my other side with a pot of chalk. I stood and let them escort me to the bonfire where I selected a burning twig and touched it to the wick of the lamp. The boy and girl walked slowly to Maui’s empty throne and placed the lamp on the seat. That was it. The show was done. 

An eerie song of mourning began to emanate from the gathered crowd. It was a bracing noise; the sound of shared grief spread across many shoulders. It was easier to think about my lost friend here. The actor who played Maui came out and bowed his head to the throne, placed his hand in the chalk, and marked a handprint on the stone. “Anne” came up next and performed the same motions. The elders followed. Each member of the village took a turn bowing their head to their fallen guide and placing a hand on the throne. My passengers joined the line up and participated in the ritual. I wondered what Bessie and Catherine thought of this whole evening. They’d never known Maui. Izzy though, she was crying and put her handprint right where Maui’s heart would have been. I watched her through the small openings in my helmet and wondered what she had made of this little reenactment. I turned my head away and figured it was likely more fuel for the fire, yet another detail of my life I’d hidden from her. 

I motioned for the feast to begin.