As far as they knew, we were heading for the fishing grounds just north of the Isle of Edge, a Norwegian possession well within the Arctic Circle. By the second day out there were murmurings among these experienced seamen about the change in our course which they had detected. They knew it had something to do with Olga's and my being aboard as passengers. They hadn't guessed any more than that. But by the third day our destination had become obvious to most of them. By then we had crossed into the Arctic Ocean and the only thing between us and the North Pole was Franz Josef Land.
The crew was both angry and frightened when they realized this, and with justification. Franz Josef Land is an arctic archipelago located well beyond the point where the Barents Sea turns into the Arctic Ocean. It is ringed with icebergs and frequently the ocean access to it is frozen over solid. While our ship had some ice-cutting equipment, it wasn't fully fitted out as an ice-cutter, and venturing into such waters was dangerous. That was one reason for the crew's resentment. The second reason was that Franz Josef Land is Russian territory.
The Russians use it for weather observation and other scientific surveys. The suspicion is that they may be using it as a secret atomic testing ground, but this is unproven. On occasion they have fired on Norwegian fishing vessels which have strayed in sight of their shore settlement. This has happened perhaps half a dozen times over the years since the end of World War Two, when they threw out the score of Norse trappers in Franz Josef Land and set up an official government outpost.
Our ship, however, wasn't fired upon. We gave a wide berth to the official Russian settlement and approached the archipelago from the northwest. A boat was lowered, and Olga and I and the package containing the jeweled phallus were rowed ashore. Watching it row away, I had the feeling we had been abandoned on a deserted iceberg.
But such wasn't the case. Behind us there was movement under what looked like a pile of snow, and a man appeared. As he came up to greet us, I saw that he was an Eskimo. Odd! Franz Josef Land has no native population. That much I knew about it both from casual reading and from my conversations with the crew aboard the boat. The nomadic drift of the Eskimos across the centuries had never taken them this far east.
He and Olga spoke in a language I couldn't understand. Then we followed him back toward the snowbank from which he'd emerged. There was a snow-covered wooden trapdoor in it, and he led the way underground. Here we found a fairly comfortable setup with walls of wood and utilitarian furnishings. It was as far advanced over the typical Eskimo igloo as a palace is over a stable. I wondered at that, too.
Once inside, he said something to Olga and she turned to translate it for me. 'He says that he was told to expect only one person,' she explained. 'And he apologizes for the meagerness of his hospitality. If he had known you were coming, he would have tried to arrange a more sumptuous welcome.'
I grinned at the Eskimo. 'Tell him it's all right and I appreciate his accepting me as a guest at all,' I instructed Olga.
After she'd translated, he returned my grin and came directly in front of me. 'Ungilak.' He pointed at his chest and repeated it: 'Ungilak.'
I caught on and pointed at my own chest. 'Steve,' I told him. 'Steve.'
'Steve.' He leveled his finger at me and his grin widened. 'Steve.' Then he turned back to Olga and spoke for a few moments in his native tongue.
'He says we should wait until morning to start for the S.M.U.T. settlement,' she told me, taking it for granted that I knew all about the settlement. 'He thinks we should eat and sleep first.'
As I was nodding agreement to this, an Eskimo girl appeared. She was quite lovely, with exotic features and one of the most genuine and pleasant smiles I've ever seen. There was more finger-pointing, and I gathered her name was Poli. Olga explained that she was Ungilak's wife.
Dinner, it seemed, was to be a special treat. Ungilak had slain a polar bear in preparation for Olga's arrival, and now we were to have polar bear steaks. Poli went to prepare them. Note that I say 'prepare,' and not 'cook.' What she did was season the meat with some sort of fish oil, and then serve it to us raw. But polar bear meat is kind of tough, and it's Eskimo etiquette for the Eskimo wife to pre- chew it for her husband and guests. Politely, Poli served me first.
By the time she got through softening it up for me, I'd hate to tell you what that polar bear steak looked like. Somehow, I managed to keep from gagging, swallowed some of it, and nodded my head that it was good. Then Poli masticated Ungilak's meat and passed it to him. He tore into it with gusto. Being a woman, Olga was served last, but being a guest, she too had her meat pre-chewed by Poli. She evidently had some prior knowledge of what was coming, for she didn't flinch and managed to get a good part of her steak down. When Poli had finished her own piece, she hospitably offered us seconds. But we both declined.
Then it was time to turn in. The underground hut was partitioned off, and Olga and I were each given cubicles to ourselves. But I wasn't by myself for long.
Just after I turned in, Ungilak appeared in the entryway to my cubicle. He was holding an oil-lamp – another jarring note beyond the Eskimo culture – and leading Poli by the hand. There was a polar bearskin loosely draped around Poli, and from the glimpses of flesh I caught, I guessed she wasn't wearing anything underneath it. Those glimpses also told me that she'd anointed her flesh with seal oil, the Chanel Number 5 of Eskimo women which to a non-Eskimo nose smells as rancid and erotically unstimulating as it sounds. She giggled as Ungilak pushed her into the room.
I knew enough about Eskimos to realize what was afoot. It's an integral part of their concept of hospitality to offer their wives to a visitor for the night. The visitor's carnal use of the wife is tacitly understood. And to refuse such an offer is a great insult to the host, an insult so great indeed that the Eskimo is quite likely to kill the guest who spurns such an offer.
It would have been easy not to spurn Poli if it hadn't been for my fear that Olga might find out about my sleeping with the Eskimo girl. I had my reputation as a sex-forsaking member of S.M.U.T. to think of, after all. I couldn't have Olga thinking that I fell prey to lust so easily. I knew there was no chance that Poli might in turn lend Ungilak to Olga for the night. Eskimos strictly observe a double standard all their own in such matters.
Despite my concern about Olga, I decided to chance it. I liked Ungilak too much to risk insulting him. So I smiled up at the pair of them and spread the skins upon which I was sleeping to indicate that I was prepared to accept their hospitality. Ungilak rubbed noses fondly with Poli then – an Eskimo kiss – and left us alone, handing the lantern to her as he departed.
She set it down and came closer to me. The bearskin dropped from her shoulders, and she stood naked in the flickering lamplight. Her body was good, slender and full-breasted, with ample hips and sturdy legs. It glistened with the seal oil and seemed to quiver with the anticipation of extending the hospitality of her husband's home.
Now she knelt beside me and gently began to rub her nose against mine. To be honest, it didn't do a thing for me. But from her sighs, there could be no doubt that it was erotically meaningful to her. So I rubbed back, and this prompted her to take my hand and place it against the fullness of her swaying breast. I reached around her with my other hand and started to tug at her long black hair gently to draw her down beside me.
My hand skidded off her tresses before I could get a grip. They were thick with bear grease – another Eskimo custom the woman observes in preparing for love- making. Talk about that greasy kid stuff!
But I didn't let it throw me. I kept right on rubbing noses and trying to hold onto her breast, which was almost as slippery from the seal oil as her hair was from the bear grease. She giggled each time I lost my grip. By her standards, I guess I was somewhat inept as a lover.
Eskimo love-making was turning out to be a slippery business, but with Poli to inspire me, I lost none of my enthusiasm to learn. She slid down beside me under the skins, and while her naked body may have been hard to hold onto, it was still exciting, and very, very warm. Despite their customary climate, Eskimo women are anything but cold. Indeed, if Poli was any example, they more than overcompensate for the freezing temperatures with the warmth of their flesh and the heat of their passions.
'Oggledywoggledyglup.'
Well, that's what it sounded like, anyway. I looked at Poli questioningly.
'Oggledywoggledyglup.' She repeated it, a hint of annoyance in her voice at my obtusity.
I spread my hands to show her that I didn't dig. She took my hands, pressed the lower part of her body against mine, and pulled them around her so that each palm rested on one of her plump rear checks. Of course they promptly slid off. With a sigh that said she was losing patience, Poli reached around to my backside to demonstrate. She parted the cheeks and deftly slipped her small hand around. And how!
'Oggledywoggledyglup,' she explained.
