STORY OF AN OIL-STAINED BIBLE 65 



calling ; so it is that by sheer skill and mastery of the 

 elements he wrests his food from the sea. 



And so I pictured old Friedrik at his hunting. 



I pictured the old man turning homewards, tired 

 with the day's toil in boat or kajak. He drags the 

 day's catch up the rocks to his home. It may be a 

 bundle of codfish : he flings them on the floor. It 

 may be a seal : and the children's eyes glisten as 

 they watch the sleek carcass flop over the doorstep 

 into the room ; their mouths water as they think of 

 the juicy meat and blubber they will so soon be tast- 

 ing. Friedrik throws his workaday smock into a corner 

 and sits down ; the others quickly group themselves 

 on the floor around what he has brought old folks 

 and young folks, squatting on their heels, and each 

 ready with a knife. The baby peers over its 

 mother's shoulder, and kicks its chubby legs in the 

 depths of her hood, crowing and stretching its arms 

 for a morsel. With good appetite and enjoyment 

 the people take their food, cutting the raw, red meat 

 from the half-warm carcass, or pulling strips of raw 

 fish from the heads of the cod. It is a true Eskimo 

 supper-table, and the food is the food which the 

 people love. No delicacy, served with all the art of 

 a city chef, could compete, in Eskimo opinion, with 

 the raw flesh of a plump young seal, and no sauce 

 could better the flavour of a raw fish-head fresh 

 from the sea. 



As the meal proceeds, the old man is telling of his 

 day's adventures ; he describes the sheltered spot 

 where he found the codfish ; he shows, with graphic 



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