“I know my own weight,” he said. “I've weighed the same for fifteen years.”
As he neared the end of the weight placing, many of the customers stood, trying to see how much he'd put on. Finn lifted two hundred and five pounds onto the scale, then looking at his clothes and the chair he placed another ten-pound sack on top of it.
“If I'm wrong it's the lifting of these sacks that's caused it,” he said.
A ballerina offered Finn another pint glass but he waved it away and sat back easily.
“Lift away then,” he said. “When you're ready.”
When the owner moved to the back of the scale the silence broke, the crowd began yelling instructions.
“You're heavier than that, bud â¦.”
“You're lighter by ten.”
Finn stared calmly down off the chair at them. And, though the customers argued hotly, they stepped back and pulled their chairs and tables with them, making room. Outside people stepped onto the paths to watch. Though it was past midnight the streets were still busy. Finn saw the forms of dozens of people in the gray night.
The owner turned the crank at the back of the scale, slowly lifting the two sides of it off the ground. Everyone watched the space between the scale and the platform increase. The sides of the scale lifted unevenly and the needle swayed, first toward Finn, next toward the sacks of sand. The scale was lifted high and when it stopped moving the needle settled on the center, or perhaps half a pound in the direction of Finn.
“He's a winner!” bellowed the owner, coming out from behind the scale and pointing at the needle. “It's almost exact!”
The ballerinas and the customers cheered. Finn watched them jumping about below him. Even outside the tent he could see some of the ghost figures leaping into the night. The owner took hold of the chain that supported the sacks of sand and pulled it toward the back of the stage so that the scale became a swing, sending Finn out over the people in the bar and out through the rolled-up canvas wall and into the street. Finn glided above the sandy paths, then back into the Gold Belt and over the customers once again. Round and round, the owner kept him moving, faster and faster.
Finn could see the shadows of people standing in front of their tents far off toward the beach. He could see Ellen, standing back by the New York Kitchen, and from one place he could see the sea itself. Finn heard the shouts of the people and the slight crash of the waves from the beach. In a moment one of the sacks of sand slipped off the other side of the swing, and Finn dipped slightly down. The audience got louder. Four or five of the costumed ballerinas kicked their legs in unison, leading the customers in their applause. Finn spun on, outside and in, the scale a replica of the one down through the town, heavy on the counter of the assayer's office.
Ellen woke Henriette with the news that it was time they got going, that Finn would accompany them, that the Eskimo village was a good two hours away. They were traveling out of Nome to buy fish for the New York Kitchen, and Ellen saw the strong back of Finn's new mule as the help they needed. Also, Finn knew the Eskimo village and could make introductions, help them with the bargaining.
Ellen stepped into a dress then out of it again and into her first pair of trousers. They hung from her in wrinkles but were warm and followed the action of her legs, surrounded them at whatever pace she chose. If her father could see her now he'd hold his breath, she thought, or scowl and call her his son. It made her laugh. Here was Henriette in trousers too, happy to be leaving the city for a day.
The two women left the Kitchen loosely clothed, tucking in the corners of their shirts and looking about for strangers. Finn's mule stood blank-eyed near their tent and the man himself was ready, the blear of the previous night's drinking washed from his eyes, his mood expanding for them like the fellow countryman that he was, like an older brother taking charge. When they started up the beach the waves were high and it was overcast and gray and raining. The mule pushed his stub legs into the sand and in a while the tents sank behind them, only the tops visible, even the largest blending with the landscape. They walked past the outskirts of town to the mouth of the Snake, where the water touched the powerful sea. There was a raft on their side of the river and a rope stretched across it and was tied in the secure mist of the far bank. The mule sat back eying the situation.
“This is the site they've chosen for the Army post,” said Finn, putting his arms around the mule's neck and tugging. “There'll be American soldiers here before winter.” He strapped a piece of canvas around the mule's eyes and rode him onto the raft. Ellen and Henriette stood beside the animal, holding its head. It was easy crossing the river, the current taking them from one side and tossing them toward the other. The river washed the sand from their feet and matted the hair around the mule's hard hooves. Finn held on to the thick rope, pulling. The only danger was in letting go, or in letting his feet slip from the slick wet planks. All three imagined the raft bobbing out to sea. Finn saw himself hanging from the cross rope, watching it go. He imagined the women waving their hands and the confident mule staring peacefully into the dark folds of its blindfold.
When they bumped on the far bank of the river the mule bolted, running off the raft and down the beach a ways. Ellen saw its sightless head turning to her out of the grayness, so she walked over and held it, waiting while her companions secured the wet raft to a tree. The mule, nostrils deep, dipped its head toward her and she covered its ears as she'd seen her father do. “Whoa,” she said, “calm yourself, donkey.” She waited until Finn took hold of the loose reins before she stepped forward and led them along the narrow beach. She walked just ahead of the animal, letting it see her wide back and lose itself in the plaid pattern of her jacket.
In two hours they came out of the gray morning and saw the Eskimo village, circles of wooden lean-tos pushed into the melting ground. Around the village poles were placed in the earth with rows of drying fish stretched on lines between them. Eskimo children ran toward them on the sand and Finn reached down and hoisted them, one and then the others, high up over his head. There were open bags of salt, kayaks and canoes pulled high up the beach.
A man approached them extending his hand. He was Finn's age, but looked to Ellen like Kaneda, the older of the two Japanese. The man's name was Phil and he was the head of the fishermen's group, the one that did all of the dealings with the people from Nome. He said, “You've come just ahead of a storm.” He pointed up the beach to a large lean-to and told them that there was another group, visiting Eskimos from Port Clarence, and that there would be plenty of fish to buy. He asked them to follow him and they turned and threaded their way up to the lean-to, walking between the sacks of salt, followed by the children.
When they entered the lean-to they found the group of visitors sitting in a circle talking to a white man, Reverend Raymond, a teacher and the pastor of the village mission. The group from Port Clarence stuck their fingers into bowls of meal, spoke softly, and munched on dried fish.
“You should plan on spending the night,” said Phil, once the Port Clarence group had spread out, making room for them all to sit down. “Soon it will be too dark and stormy for you to make your way back.”
The Reverend Raymond sat forward smiling and trying to shake their hands. “There are plenty of places to sleep,” he said, his mouth still half full of food.
Few of the Eskimos in the group spoke English, but one of them, sitting next to Ellen, asked her questions and got answers, which were translated by the reverend.
“Have you come for the beginning of Nanoon's womanhood?” the man asked. The reverend answered without waiting for a response.
“They have come to buy fish,” he said.
“We have come for Nanoon's womanhood,” the man told the reverend to tell Ellen. “Everyone is excited about it.”
“Today is the day that one of Phil's sisters begins her passage into womanhood,” said the reverend. “Everyone is feeling rather festive. We'd be happy if you'd join in the celebration.”
Ellen looked from one to the other of her traveling companions. She could see a lengthy row of lean-tos opposite her and a smaller, newly built hut in the exact center of the village. There were no tents here and all of the buildings had one open side facing away from the sea, away from most of the wind and the rain. On each lean-to a heavy skin tarp covered the entire front and could be rolled up or down depending on the weather. The inside walls of the lean-to where they sat were covered with insulating furs. The reverend told Ellen that each of the structures had to be rebuilt each summer. He said that as soon as the support poles were placed in the ground they began to sink down toward the permafrost causing the entire village to slowly sag.
At a suggestion from the reverend, Ellen got up and left with him to take a tour of the village. The reverend was a tall man, and seemed a happy one. He was a Protestant and told her that he'd been in the village for four years and had built his own home and taken over the duties at the school from his predecessor, who'd given the villagers their Christian names. He was from Wisconsin and had gone to seminary in Minneapolis. He had a brother in Alaska someplace, panning for gold.
“This is one of the few villages on the peninsula,” he told Ellen. “Most Eskimo families simply travel about looking for good fishing ground and a place to sleep. I mean during the winter, of course.”
Ellen walked next to the man, feeling quickly as if she were being courted. The reverend didn't take her arm, but that was the feeling she had, nevertheless. They walked all along the clean village paths and down to where the canoes were kept and back toward the tundra, where there were several trees standing tall and surrounding the reverend's closed and lonely house.
“I've worked hard on this place,” he said. “May I show you where you and Miss Henriette will be sleeping?”
Ellen smiled slightly and followed the man up onto the small wooden porch, where a hide swing hung from ropes. The door to the house opened wide and as she entered Ellen saw that the woodwork inside was darkly stained and polished, that the two rooms were divided only by hanging pelt curtains, and that one contained a porcelain washbasin with wildflowers in a stone jar. There was a ladder leading to a loft, where the reverend had a large desk and where there was a real glass window looking out over the village and out to sea. There were two slim leather chairs. Ellen sat in one while the reverend ran down the ladder again to make some tea.
Ellen could see that it was raining now and she could hear the reverend whistling with his tea kettle below. She felt at ease here, and looked forward to spending the night in this house, away from the oppression of Nome. The reverend moved like a man half his size. He was back up the ladder with teacups, then quickly down again, and back with the steaming pot and a bowl of sugar.
“It's English tea,” he said proudly. “I've been thinking of brewing a cup for weeks now.”
“This is the first place in Alaska that has given me the feeling of a home,” she told him. “You have a beautiful view.”
“I can really go home if I request it, you know,” he said, sitting down across from her. “But if I don't I might be here forever. It's a nice place after you get used to it.”
Ellen nodded and blew across the surface of her tea. She pictured herself sitting straight, having tea with a stranger. Her grandmother had taught her how to have tea with gentlemen. Ellen could feel the fire from the kitchen below, and when she looked up she noticed the reverend holding his teacup high and looking at her over the top of it.
“Well then, here's to a happy stay for you and all your friends. I hope it will be profitable, both spiritually and in other ways.” He winked at her so she inclined her head and took a sip. The reverend had more tea ready and poured for her before she had quite finished what was in her cup. When he spoke to her she looked him directly in the eyes but when she spoke she looked at his forehead. It was one of her grandmother's tricks and she was sure he hadn't noticed. The reverend made it easy for her by taking whatever subject she did and making it his own. She mentioned the fish that they had come to buy and he talked for five minutes on what a thrill it was to catch a salmon from a canoe. He invited her to try it the next morning if the storm was gone, and she accepted. They were getting on well. Below them through the window they could see the open end of the lean-to where the party was taking place. Ellen saw Finn sitting cross-legged on the floor. She saw Henriette, crouched on a low stool, slightly above the others, leaning into the conversation.
Finn, lifting his head from the circle of Eskimos, could see the two still figures framed in the window. First he noticed the trees, then the house, then the two figures in the window. They seemed pasted on the glass. He was talking to Phil and watching the Eskimos from Port Clarence, who sat across the circle. It was nearly time to begin the ceremony for Phil's sister Nanoon, so they all looked about, hoping to get a glimpse of her walking toward them. Phil looked at Finn. “Today's my sister's day,” he said. “She begins her weeks alone. You couldn't have come at a better time.”
Finn's legs ached from sitting in one position for so long and he stood and stretched. He'd been watching the preparations but hadn't known whether to ask Phil about them or not. Phil's sister was reaching puberty and Finn knew it was an important time. He imagined Phil needed to be alone for a while, so he borrowed a sealskin jacket and stood in the increasing rain looking for a place to relieve himself. He'd already had several bowls of the food, several glasses of wine. Phil directed him toward a creek bed from where he could still see the house of the reverend, but not the window. Rain struck his face and neck so he struggled to pull up the tough hood of the jacket and was immediately too warm inside it. He wondered where the boy had taken his mule, and at that same moment decided to keep the mule, not to try to sell it as previously he'd thought he would. Finn watched the rain hitting the quiet water of the stream. It was odd that the Eskimos had chosen this little stream as the village toilet. If he hadn't known he'd have thought it as clean as any, for it was as clear.