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Public Information about our Companies and trading platforms:. Please note that to get accurate financial information on the Borealis Family of Companies please visit our various web sites listed below. This is an interesting Copyrighted article about our friends at Cleveland Cliffs. Really, it is. It beat earnings forecasts. It's cut costs. It's suspended an expansion of Bloom Lake. I don't think we'll lose anything by going to the settlement council. And you really think that in one or two meetings we can instill in the locals a sense of history and heritage?
Probably not. But a council meeting is worth a try, Phyll. I was planning to go into town anyway this afternoon, do some shopping for groceries, and work on my paper. While I'm there I'll ask to appear at the meeting, and find out if Enoki Amarok will translate for us. She nodded, Fine, go into town, Naomi. Lord knows you deserve a break, and enjoy yourself. No you don't.
You work too hard. Hell, we both work too hard. She ran a hand through her hair. And we both take all of this too damn seriously. I wondered if Phyll would even have believed me if I had told her who I was really working for that summer. For my first three weeks in the Arctic I had had trouble believing it myself. I reminded myself, yet again, that I hadn't actually volunteered to join the CIA. It had not been my idea. It had all started innocently enough. As acutely embarrassing as it is to many of my colleagues, I have an almost absolute devotion to the ideals of a free society.
I believe in things like democracy and human rights, and I think the United States of America is a great place. And so I decided to devote two or three years of my life to serving my country. I thought they might offer me a three year posting doing drudge work in some obscure and preferably dangerous embassy. As it happened, he State Department wanted me only as a long term career bureaucrat, and I had no intention of becoming a career bureaucrat.
So they sent me off to "this other place. Naive as I was, it took me several days to figure out that this other place was the CIA. I had never even imagined myself in the CIA. Not surprisingly I was not quite what the CIA had expected.
The CIA, in turn, was not at all what I had expected. The earnest young men interviewing me at Langley seemed curiously innocent. They seemed like nothing so much as adolescent boys playing computer games. Did I really want to work for these people? And what sort of work could they want me for? I certainly wasn't comfortable with them, and they weren't comfortable with me. We were from different worlds— different universes of the mind. There was nothing that I could relate to in those cubicle-like offices at the CIA — no reality. I would have taken the next train back to Brooklyn except that David Greenberg was getting married the second Sunday in June — in Baltimore.
My parents were in Israel with my pregnant sister and at least one of the Solomons had to be there for David's wedding. The Greenbergs were the closest thing to an extended family that a child of survivors is likely to have. And, as long as I could remember, I had been going to marry David's older brother Sam. Sunday morning, I took the bus from Washington into Baltimore and found my way to the big modern reform temple the bride's family belonged to.
I had a great deal of faith in God's ability to find the true believer in unlikely places, but for me, at least, God didn't seem much in evidence in Temple Beth Israel. The temple and its congregation were almost as sanitized and as sterile as the people I had left behind in Langley. They were Jews who seemed to have successfully shucked off the burdens of their Jewishness. And I, who have always been weighed down by those same burdens resented them their freedom, and envied them their weightlessness. I didn't want them to be a part of David's wedding, and so I, quite literally, blanked them out.
We can take off our glasses and the rest of the world dissolves into a pleasant blur. With my glasses tucked away, it wasn't difficult to ignore them. And our strength was as the strength of ten. In spirit at least, we had them outnumbered — we knew what it was to be joyful. We knew what it was to celebrate a marriage. To those cool outsiders studying us and nursing their cocktails, we must have seemed almost frenzied.
And we were in truth, in a sort of frenzy. Unlike the congregants of Temple Beth Israel, the Greenbergs and the Solomons knew that at any minute the SS was going to come through the door with their machine guns blasting, or, if not the SS, then at least a horde of murdering Cossacks.
Each of us knew, in the very pith and marrow of our bones, that the Angel of Death was waiting in the wings to play one of his colossal jokes on the Jewish people. And we knew our names were on his list. And still we were commanded to be joyful — even when there was no occasion for joy.
And how much more wonderful to be joyful when there is an occasion for joy. A wedding is an occasion for great joy. Despite the bittersweet memories of Sam, I did enjoy myself. It was the first time in weeks that I could just relax and be myself — Naomi Solomon. I returned to Langley on Monday rejuvenated. Even the CIA seemed rejuvenated — they had finally reached a decision. I, on the other hand, was not at all certain I wanted to be chosen. I asked the CIA what they had chosen me to do, and, by way of an answer I was referred to a more senior member of the Agency.
He was a slight man of less than medium height and he seemed almost anonymous. I had finally been passed through the ranks of the CIA to someone of substance. He said they needed a pair of ears on Inungilak Island, and they knew I had some acquaintance with the local language. I had done a bachelor's thesis on Inuit Kinship patterns. I was known to have an unusual facility with languages. I might, with a great deal of help, be able to understand a conversation here and there, but I am not fluent in the language.
You are fluent enough for our purposes. We have arranged to have you working as an assistant at an established dig. Will that give you a plausible reason to spend time in the settlement itself? I thought about it for a moment. More curious than interested I replied, No. Archaeologists don't as a rule spend a great deal of time in native communities. They don't have good press with indigenous peoples.
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I still don't think I'm the person for you, Mr. Lockely, but it's not unusual for anthropologists to work at digs and also to research papers on the local culture. For example, I could do a paper on the philosophy of anthropology using theories about Inuit child-rearing as models. But people have accepted anthropologists as a necessary evil. Anthropologists have never had the option of hiding away in ruins. It makes sense. We'll set you up with a grant — a generous grant that will cover the cost of hiring native interpreters. From a professional point of view, of course, it's a wonderful opportunity.
I would spend my summer working at a dig in the Arctic and writing a paper in my field. But I still have to know what this is all about. I can't help wondering just what the CIA expects to get out of my being in Inungilak. Why Inungilak? He sat back and thought about that for a moment or two.
There are tests in progress at the DEW Line. Tests on a critical component of the Strategic Defense Initiative. ARTHUR will enable us to pinpoint the location of incoming missiles well before they reenter the atmosphere. It's being tested by the Research Facility at Foxe Five. He was, I noticed, in professor mode. I wondered how many times he had given this particular lecture before. Hopefully, no use at all, Miss Solomon. He leaned back in his chair. Yes, I suppose it does. But ninety percent of our work involves taking routine precautions.
The CIA is populated by thousands of people whose sole function is to provide some slight added increment of safety or knowledge. It is a cylinder only about two feet high and a foot in diameter. But it is too large to put in your pocket. You couldn't mail it out inconspicuously; air access is limited; roads don't exist; and sea travel over any distance is monitored by Canada Ice Control.
He looked down at his hands for a moment and then fixed me with eyes suddenly gone hard. Desperately important. I looked into his eyes and I believed him. And so I found myself agreeing. Then he smiled, instantly lightening the atmosphere. Your job is to be a listening post. The man in charge on the inside likes to work on his own.
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Hopefully, all any of us will get out of your summer's work on Inungilak Island is some progress at the dig, and a paper. I'm hoping he'll make contact with you within a few days of your arrival. The agent in charge is one of our best men, but his methods are not entirely orthodox.
He may not contact you at all. He is not a team player; but — in his way — he's a genius, and we let him manage things the way he wants to. You won't. Not unless he identifies himself with the passwords. He'll probably introduce the passwords into an otherwise normal conversation. Paul Lockely grinned, You won't have any trouble remembering them. He'll say ' Would you care for a cigarette? The agent in place may be eccentric, but he's damn good. He was very reluctant to have you stationed on Inungilak, but he did check you out quite thoroughly, and he's agreed that, if he needs you, he'll contact you.
In the meanwhile, all you have to do is keep your ear to the ground, work at the dig, and produce a plausible anthropology paper. In the three weeks I had been on Inungilak Island I had helped Phyll at the dig, and I had listened to all the gossip in the town, I had discovered that a fellow anthropologist, Martin Welche, was a drug dealer with a clientele at the DEW Line base — and I had waited in vain for some homosexual with a nicotine habit to identify himself as my superior.
My superior hadn't chosen to make himself manifest to me. Neither one of us would have been able to operate it. The visiting archaeologists at Kiniktok had never been entrusted with anything more dangerous than a three-wheel drive all-terrain Honda. Phyll could handle the Honda — I couldn't. Not very well. At home in Cambridge she drove something called a Jaguar Vanden Plas.
At home in Brooklyn I used public transportation. Like many New Yorkers I had never bothered to get a driver's license. The world of gears, fan belts, and punctured tires was foreign to me. So, as a rule, I just walked to the settlement unless I was planning on bringing back groceries. That Monday afternoon the Honda trike started easily and chose to cooperate. The image of Captain Hudson trapped in the forming ice of the Bay named for him was fixed in mind. It was as if the cold and the ice in themselves were the enemy of all human activity. In the South, and by South Inuit mean anything below the tree line, we assume that travel during the Arctic winter is virtually impossible.
In fact, the ice is not a threat, but a great facilitator of Arctic travel. In the winter an enterprising person could theoretically walk from Inungilak Island west across Foxe Basin, and from there west over the Northwest Passage to the Aleutians. People do regularly sled east over the northern part of Baffin Island and from there over the top of Lancaster Sound to Greenland. In the summer, transport is very much more complicated. The limestone shale areas are fairly easy to walk across. Neither dog sleds nor snow mobiles were designed to handle raw rock, or shale, or sedge meadow.
The driver of the truck Enoki and his friends were trying to extricate had miscalculated the road conditions — which, even for an experienced man, is remarkably easy to do. The truck had sunk into the muck up to its axles. When that sort of thing happens, other Inuit start showing up almost instinctively, and Enoki Amarok was one of the men who had come to the aid of the truck's owner.
I noticed that I was not the only southerner there. Martin Welche had come to record their efforts for posterity. Martin Welche was a tallish man, almost bald, with deep soulful eyes and a narrow slit of a mouth. He had the look of a weasel, not so much in his face which showed an almost total lack of cunning, but in his body.
The curvature of the spine and the spavined shoulders were accentuated because he went everywhere encumbered by video equipment, still cameras, and photographic paraphernalia. From the first, I had been a careful observer of Martin Welche. Since my paper was supposed to be about people like Martin, I took a genuine interest in the way he did his work. It was this interest in Martin, as an anthropologist, if nothing else, that led me to discover his other source of livelihood. Ten days earlier I happened to notice that he was excessively protective of one of the brown leather bags he sometimes carried.
I managed a quick look inside that bag to confirm that it was not filled with photographic supplies, but with a wide assortment of drugs. Even Martin couldn't be expected to consume that many chemicals in the course of a single summer. It had taken a week of very careful observation before I became reasonably certain that Welche was smuggling those drugs in to the military personnel at Foxe Five. I thought I now knew who his contact at the base was. I could understand Welche's wanting a little income on the side. Perpetual dissertations are expensive.
And so that afternoon, Martin Welche was my primary target. I watched as with seemingly endless patience Martin continued to photograph the Inuit, and, all the while, they ignored him. I knew that within a quarter of an hour he would come to talk to me. He always did. One of the psychological perils of the social sciences is the desire, by anthropologists in particular, to be loved and appreciated by their subjects. Both with respect to his professional life as an anthropologist, and his love life as a man, Martin Welche needed constant approval and reassurance, and since neither the Inuit nor Phyll offered these reassurances he came to me for comfort.
Ten minutes after I arrived, Welche walked over to where I was.
Chana Cox - The Chronicle Magazine - Lewis & Clark
He sat down on the ground beside me, and together we watched the men work on extricating the truck. Both Welche and I were familiar with Inuit work habits. We knew, or we thought we knew, what to expect. It was our interpretations that would differ. For Welche the Inuit represented some sort of ideal of classless society. For me, they represented just another method of social organization. What I always noticed first was the silence. People seemed to arrive as if summoned up telepathically, and then someone would stop to make tea.
Inuit are never without the necessaries for making tea — a. This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue? Upload Sign In Join. Save For Later. Create a List. Inungilak by Chana Cox. Summary Inungilak is set in the s. She was also an undercover C. Inungilak is her story. Read on the Scribd mobile app Download the free Scribd mobile app to read anytime, anywhere. Book Preview Inungilak - Chana Cox.
Basin Epilogue June 4th, The invitation had arrived six months ago and I had accepted. One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; And the earth abideth forever.
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The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof I looked out over the sea. It's very beautiful out there isn't it, Phyll? She sighed and nodded, Only if you are bred to it. And neither of us was.
There was a great deal to photograph at Kiniktok. And, in the end, of course, the Dorset had not in fact survived. I had answered. No you're not spitting, Naomi. Like most very good archaeologists, Phyll had a literal and precise understanding of things. We have a problem, Naomi. What are you planning, Phyll? And you don't care. I always enjoy myself, Phyll. But then Sam Greenberg had been killed, and it was David who was getting married. Sam's death.
David's marriage. That was reality. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance. Overnight — or so it seemed to me — I had become one of their chosen. He smiled, Well then, how do we get you into the settlement itself? It was not an entirely pleasant smile. I waited. What use would I be in the town itself?
And you expect them to work from the outside? They may. They probably won't.