My Name Is Not Easy by Debby Dahl Edwardson Read Free Book Online Page B

Would’ve gone professional if he hadn’t been promised to the priesthood.”
    I think of that old priest with the mashed-up face and feel the sting of his ruler running up my arm. So our brother Isaac was kidnapped by a boxer. A boxer priest. I look over at Bunna, nervous, but Bunna is not thinking about these things. I can tell.
    “And old Sister Sarah, why she can make anything grow—
    even up here in the frozen north land,” the priest continues.
    “What about the other one?” Bunna says.
    Th
    e priest looks down at Bunna, surprised.
    “Th
    e other one?” he says.
    Bunna rolls his eyes upward. His eyes say iñukpasuk loud and clear, so clear even the priest understands.
    “Oh,” he laughs. “Th
    e tall one—that’s Sister Mary Kate.”
    Bunna looks up, curious, like he really really wants to know about Sister Mary Kate’s special talent.
    “Well, let me see. Sister Mary Kate is very”—he taps the wheel—“she’s so very eager and so very . . . ah, big,” he says.
    “And I’m sure that must be useful, don’t you think?”
    He’s still smiling. I swallow a smile, too.
    “So what about the hunting?” I ask, surprised to hear myself talking so easy all of a sudden.
    “Ah. I was just coming to that. You see the thing is, we want to eat, now don’t we?”
    Bunna nods.
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    H O W H U N T E R S S U R V I V E / L u k e
    “Well, so that’s where the hunting comes in. Everything we get here comes through donation or hard work. We need you boys to work for us by hunting.”
    Bunna looks down at his lap. He’s still holding that dumb toy gun, fi ngering it nervously, like he’s forgotten he has it.
    “Do you hunt horses?” he says, his voice doubtful.
    Th
    e priest looks puzzled. “Hunt horses?”
    Th
    en he looks down at Bunna’s gun. Bunna shoves it into his pocket, embarrassed, but it’s too late. Th
    e priest is laugh-
    ing.
    “Ah, yes. I had forgotten. Cowboys, eh?”
    Bunna scowls. He don’t like to be laughed at.
    “Well, I’m sorry, boys, but we haven’t any horses.”
    He pats the steering wheel like it’s a dog.
    “Guess we’ll just have to make do with this old buggy.”
    Th
    en he leans down toward Bunna like he’s sharing a big secret. “And you know, I don’t think cowboys hunt horses as a rule. Th
    ink about it. How would they get around if they
    started eating all their horses?”
    Bunna glares at me real quick.
    “Yeah,” he says. “How would they?”
    We drive on in silence, the priest smiling and still tapping the steering wheel real soft, like maybe it helps him think to tap it that way.
    “So you’re the Aaluk boys,” he says at last.
    Th
    e way he says it is like he already knows, so we don’t say anything.
    “And which one are you?” he asks Bunna.
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    M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y
    “Bunna,” Bunna says.
    Th
    en he looks at me. “And?”
    “Luke,” Bunna says.
    “You’re the oldest, aren’t you?” Still looking at me.
    I raise my eyebrows. Yes.
    “Well, there’s no point in trying to run off , you know. It’s about 300 miles to Fairbanks, and I doubt you boys could make it that far. And besides, if you try this again, Father Mullen will be the one to come after you.” He gives us a look.
    “And believe me, Father Mullen cannot abide a runaway.”
    Abide is one of those church words. I’m not quite sure what it means, and I don’t want to fi nd out, either.
    “You’d rather help us hunt, now, wouldn’t you?”
    I nod. My mouth is suddenly dry as dust.
    “All right then, here’s the deal: You don’t run away anymore. Instead you work hard in school and earn your way by hunting. Th
    at’s easy enough now, Luke, isn’t it?”
    I nod, and he smiles. He thinks he’s solved everything, thinks everything is easy all of a sudden. He doesn’t know about my name, my Iñupiaq name. My real name is not