The words of Sarhbub
It has been ten days since the whiteness took my son. With our son gone, my mate left, too. It has been very quiet in my hut. It is always quiet when the whiteness is here, but this year the silence seems to scream at me. The coldness in the air seems to be deepening the coldness in my heart. Just as it makes it hard for me to move my joints, the coldness in my heart is making it hard to care about anyone else.
One of the boys in camp, well almost a man, was struggling with a rabbit skin. He was trying to tan it, but the brine kept freezing. I thought about going over and helping him – telling him to take his bucket inside his hut, but I didn’t. Instead I sat in front of my hut thinking about how my son will never learn how to tan leather or hunt deer.
No one taught my son the hard lessons that he had to learn on his own. No one stopped him from playing under the white covered trees. So why should I help this boy. He was learning on this own, and if he doesn’t learn he will just die like my son. It seems that is just the way things work.
But still, maybe I should have helped him. I’m alone now and can use all the friends I can find. If I see him tomorrow I’ll see if I can help.
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