One Story About Oscar That Didn't Make It Into Rick's Book
I didn't freeze to death nor was I killed by vibration, but the wooden box that my Yup’ik Eskimo teammates called a sled had done its best to do both. We snow machined down the Kwethluk River to the Kongiganak River and from there to Bethel, Alaska, and we did so on New Year's Eve.
Now New Year's Eve is in January, in case you've forgotten. January in Alaska is not for wimps. A guy from 10th Street and 1st Avenue, New York City (pronounced "Siddy" if you're from my block), has no business whatsoever going outside in Alaska in January at night. Our village basketball team had come in second in a tournament in Kwethluk that we should have won easily. But it was only a few hours from Kwethluk to Bethel by snowmobile (and sled). And Bethel had bootleggers whereas the rest of the villages were dry. So off to Bethel we went. Riding in the back of that sled, I smiled bitterly at my foolish decision to come along with the team for a little partying, especially when I felt my teeth freeze.
When we arrived on the outskirts of Bethel, we stopped at the Andrews' place where two of my friends lifted me out of the sled and waited for my legs to work again. They seemed to know that it might take a minute or two, and they were very patient. I felt like a giraffe getting up from the watering hole--and about as vulnerable.
The Andrews were home. They wished us a Happy New Year and told us to come back after we got settled at the inn.
"Oh, we're not staying at the Kuskokwim Inn," said Oscar. "We'll go to my brother's place."
I had a sinking feeling. I had hoped I could crash in a hotel room and just hide out and wait for the rest of my body to arrive from Kwethluk. No such luck.
Oscar's brother was starting to get a little drunk when we arrived. The TV was on in his place with a kung fu movie playing at volume setting 10. Conversation went something like this:
Oscar (screaming): We'll stay here for the night.
Oscar's brother: What?
Oscar (screaming): We'll go out and party a while and then crash here.
Oscar's brother: What?
Oscar (screaming): That's no problem, right?
Oscar's brother: What?
Oscar turned to me. "See? I told you it would be fine. We're going to go buy some booze from a bootlegger I know. Want to come?"
"No, Oscar. I haven't seen this movie, and I want to stay here and catch the end," I lied with no shame whatsoever.
"OK, we'll be right back."
In an hour, one of the Andrews brothers came for me. "We're going to my brother's. Oscar will meet us there." We headed out into the cold to the Andrews' place.
The Andrews brother was not starting to get a little drunk; he was over the border of drunk and deep into enemy territory. He was out of his head, raving, screaming, and he was threatening to kill anything that came into focus long enough. I tried to keep moving.
"I think we should get out of here," said my teammate. "You pretend to go to the bathroom, grab your boots and get out."
"Are you serious," I asked. He nodded, slowly and intently. Little beads of perspiration were on his face.
I was putting my boots on in the snow outside when the door flew open and someone yelling and waving a knife in my general direction convinced me that I should take up jogging down Akiak Drive. With one boot on and one clutched in my arms, I didn't stop until I was back at Oscar's brother's place. I bolted the door and put a chair under the doorknob.
Oscar's brother, now starting to get a little sleepy, didn't seem to think anything was odd about that. "Wanna watch a movie?" he asked.
"You pick it. I'll watch it," I said. His brother put a video in the vcr and passed out. No matter. I intended to spend the rest of the evening camped on the sofa. No more adventures for Mr. Big City Kid, nossir.
Sometime after midnight, (I mumbled “Happy New Year” to the comatose and absent) with the evening already full of shouts and screams and gunshots (hopefully just celebratory), my team came back. One of them had a piece of skin missing from his face and blood pouring out of the hole. Another was limping. Oscar himself looked disheveled and bruised.
"We got into a fight with some drunks," he tersely reported.
"Did you have a good time?" I asked.
"Yah. Pretty good. Nobody was killed," he replied. "How about you?"
"Me, too. Pretty good. Nobody was killed. Wanna watch a movie, Oscar?"
[If you want to read something really well-written, try Raven’s Children by Richard Adams Carey. It’s about Oscar and being a Yup’ik and it’s the best book about Alaska I’ve yet to read.]