"It is dead," said Imnak.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"The nature of your stroke, and its depth," said Imnak. "You have penetrated to the heart."

"Its heart is centered," I said.

"Consider the blood on your lance," he said.

I noted it. New blood was splashed more than twenty-eight inches along the shaft.

"You have great strength," said Imnak.

He took his kayak to the side of the beast. With wooden plugs he began to stop up the wounds. He did not wish to lose what blood might be left in the animal. Frozen blood is nutritious.

"Will you blow air under its skin?" I asked.

"Not unless it becomes heavy in the water," said Imnak. "We are going in now."

"It is going to sink," I said.

"Here," said Imnak, "support it between the kayaks. We will use them as floats."

We tied the great beast between the two kayaks and then. one vessel on each side of the huge sea mammal, began to paddle toward camp. There is an ivory ring below each place where the paddle is gripped, between the hand and the paddle blade. Thus, when the paddle is lifted the water, falling from its blade, does not run back down the lever and into one's sleeve.

"I told you earlier I thought the sleen was really a good fellow," I said.

"I was not sure of it for a time," said Imnak.

"You doubted him," I said.

"It was wrong of me," granted Imnak. "But he is good at pretending. He had me fooled for a time."

"That is the way sleen are," I said.

"They are playful fellows," admitted Imnak.

"You are the one who first noted that he liked me," I said.

Imnak looked at me, and grinned. "You see," he said, "I was right."

"I was not sure of it for a while," I said.

"When you are longer in the north," said Imnak, "these things will become clearer to you."

"Perhaps," I admitted.

"You should thank the sleen for letting himself be harpooned by you," said Imnak. "Not every sleen will do that."

"Thank you, Sleen," I said.

"Good," said Imnak. "That is a simple courtesy. You surely cannot expect sleen to come over to be harpooned if you are not even going to be civil to them."

"I guess you are right, Imnak," I said.

"Of course I am right," said Imnak. "Sleen have their pride."

We had then arrived at the two sleen he had left floating in the water, beneath whose hides he had blown air. He deferentially thanked the two sleen for having permitted themselves to be slain by him. Then he tied them behind his kayak and, together, paddling, we headed back toward the pebbled shore.

"When the sleen are dead, how can you expect them to know they are thanked?" I asked.

"That is an interesting and difficult question," said Imnak. "I do not really know how the sleen manage it."

"It seems it would be hard to do," I said.

"It is a belief of the People," said Imnak, "that the sleen does not really die but, after a time, will be reborn again."

"The sleen is immortal?" I asked.

"Yes," said Imnak. "And when he comes again he will hopefully be more willing to let himself be harpooned again if he has been well treated."

"Are men. too, thought to be immortal?" I asked.

"Yes," said Imnak.

"I know a place," I said, "where some people would think that men are immortal but animals are not."

"They do not like animals?" asked Imnak.

"I do not know," I said. "Perhaps they think they are immortal because they are smart and sleen are not."

"Some sleen are pretty smart," said Imnak. He thought for a bit. "If sleen were to talk these things over," he said, "they would probably say that they were immortal and men were not, because they were better at swimming."

"Perhaps," I said.

"Who knows what life is all about?" asked Imnak.

"I do not know," I said. "Perhaps it is not about anything."

"That is interesting," said Imnak. "But then the world would be lonely."

"Perhaps the world is lonely," I said.

"No," said Imnak.

"You do not think so?" I asked.

"No," said Imnak, drawing his kayak up on the shore, "the world cannot be lonely where there are two people who are friends."

I looked up at the stars. "You are right, Imnak," I said. "Where there is beauty and friendship what more could one ask of a world. How grand and significant is such a place. What more justification could it require?"

"Help me pull the meat up on shore," said Imnak.

I helped him. Others came down to the shore and helped, too.

I did not know what, sort of place the world was, but sometimes it seemed to me to be very wonderful.

"Night has fallen," I said to Imnak. "I do not think Karjuk is coming."

"Perhaps not," said Imnak.

Snow had fallen several times, though lightly. Temperatures had dropped considerably.

Some three weeks ago, more than twenty sleeps past, Imnak and I had taken three sleen in kayak fishing. But then kayak fishing had been over for the year. The very night of our catch the sea had begun to freeze. It had first taken on a slick greasy appearance. In time tiny columns of crystals had formed within it, and then tiny pieces of ice. Then the water, in a few hours, had become slushy and heavy, and had contained, here and there, larger chunks of ice. Then, a few hours later, these reaches of ice, forming and extending themselves, had touched, and struck one another, and ground against one another, and slid some upon the others, forming irregular plates and surfaces, and then the sea, still and frozen, was locked in white, bleak serenity.

"There are other villages," I said. "Let us travel to them, to see if Karjuk has been there."

"There are many villages," said Imnak. 'The farthest is many sleeps away."

"I wish to visit them all," I said. 'Then, if we cannot find news of Karjuk, I must go out on the ice in search of him."

"You might as well look for one sleen in all the sea," said Imnak. "It is hopeless."

"I have waited long enough," I said. "I must try."

"I will put ice on the runners," said Imnak. "Akko has a snow sleen, Naartok another."

"Good," I said. A running snow sleen can draw a sled far faster than a human being. They are very dangerous but useful animals.

"Listen," said Imnak.

I was quiet and listened. Far off, in the clear, cold air I heard the squeal of a sleen.

"Perhaps Karjuk is coming!" I cried.

"No, it is not Karjuk," said Imnak. "It is coming from the south."

"Imnak! Imnak!" called Poalu, from outside, running up to the door of the hut. "Someone is coming!" She had been dressing skins, with the other girls, and other women, in the feasting house.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"I do not know," she said.

"Well, climb up on the meat rack and look, lazy girl," he said.

"Yes, Imnak," she cried.

Imnak and I drew on our mittens and parkas and emerged from the lamp-warmed, half-underground hut. It was clear and still outside, and sounds, even slight ones, were very obvious. The snow was loud beneath our boots, crackling. Moonlight bathed the village and the snow on the tundra, and the ice on the sea. I could hear other villagers, quite clearly, as they conversed with one another. Everyone in the village seemed now to be outside of their dwellings. Several were on the meat racks, in the moonlight, trying to see out across the snow. It was not cold for the arctic night, though this sort of thing is relative. It was very calm. I suspect the temperature would have been objectively something like forty below zero. One was not really aware of the cold until one's face became numb. There was no wind.

"What do you see?" asked Imnak.

"It is one sled and one man!" called down Poalu.