Okiok, expecting Rooney to reply, looked at him, but a spirit of silence seemed to have come over the stranger, for he made no reply, but shut his eyes, as if he had dropped asleep.
“He is a Kablunet,” said Okiok.
“I could see that, even if I had not the double sight of the angekok,” replied the other, with a touch of sarcasm, for Eskimos, although by no means addicted to quarrelling, are very fond of satire. They are also prone to go straight to the point in conversation, and although fond of similes and figurative language, they seldom indulge in bombast.
With much solemnity Okiok rejoined that he had no doubt of Ujarak’s being aware that the man was a Kablunet.
“And I am glad you have come,” he added, “for of course you can also tell me where the Kablunet has come from, and whither he is going?”
The angekok glanced at his host quickly, for he knew—at least he strongly suspected—that he was one of that uncomfortable class of sceptics who refuse to swallow without question all that self-constituted “wise men” choose to tell them. Okiok was gazing at him, however, with an air of the most infantine simplicity and deference.
“I cannot tell you that,” replied the wizard, “because I have not consulted my torngak about him.”
It must be explained here that each angekok has a private spirit, or familiar, whose business it is to enlighten him on all points, and conduct him on his occasional visits to the land of spirits. This familiar is styled his “torngak.”
“Did your torngak tell you that he was a Kablunet?” asked Okiok simply—so simply that there was no room for Ujarak to take offence.
“No; my eyes told me that.”