They trundled along the high street. The hills cut right through Cape Dorset, dividing it into hamlets. In addition to the main hamlet of Kinngait, there was Itjurittuq in the north-east, Kuugalaaq in the west and Muliujaq in the south. Kuugalaaq had been their home. Akesuk, his mother's brother, had lived in Kinngait.

Anawak wondered whether he still lived there.

They seemed to be driving through the entire town and his uncle commented on almost every building. Suddenly it dawned on Anawak that Akesuk was giving him a tour. 'Uncle Iji, I know all these places,' he protested.

'Rubbish! You've been away for nineteen years. All kinds of things have changed. Do you remember that supermarket?'

'No.'

'You see? It wasn't there back then. It's new. There's an even bigger one now. We always used to go to the Polar Supply Store – you can't have forgotten that, surely. That's our new school. Well, I guess it's been there a while now, but it's new to you. See that, on the right? The Tiktaliktaq community hall. You wouldn't believe all the important people who've come here to hear the throat singing and drum dancing. Bill Clinton, Jacques Chirac, Helmut Kohl. Kohl was a giant- he made us look like dwarfs. Now when was that? Let me see…'

And so it went on. They drove past the Anglican church and the cemetery where his father was to be buried. Anawak saw an Inuk woman crouching outside her house, working on a sculpture. The enormous stone bird reminded him of Nootka art. A two-storey blue-grey building with a futuristic lobby turned out to be the hamlet office. Nunavut's decentralised administration meant that any decent-sized community had its own council office. Anawak resigned himself to his fate, not least because he realised that the Cape Dorset of his childhood was nothing-like the place before him.

Suddenly he heard himself say, 'Let's go to the harbour, Uncle Iji.'

Akesuk turned the wheel briskly. They sped down a steep road in the direction of the sea. Timber houses in all sizes and colours were dotted in no apparent order over the dark brown landscape. A few patches of hardy tundra grass were scattered here and there, with the occasional stretch of snow. Cape Dorset's harbour consisted of little more than a wharf and some loading cranes where, once or twice a year, the supply ship would dock with its vital cargo of goods. Not far from there you could walk across the tidal flats of Tellik Inlet at low tide to get to the neighbouring island, Mallikjuaq, the territorial park with its burial sites, and the kayak-stand, and the lake where they used to pitch camp.

They stopped. Anawak got out, walked along the wharf and stared out across the blue polar water. Akesuk followed him a little way, then let him go on alone.

The view of the wharf had been Anawak's last glimpse of Cape Dorset before he left – not on the plane but on the supply ship. He'd been twelve. The ship had carried him away with his new family, who were leaving the country full of hope and excitement about the new world ahead of them, while mourning the paradise in the ice that had long since been lost.

After five minutes he walked slowly back to the truck and climbed in without a word.

'Yes, the old harbour,' Akesuk said softly. 'Our harbour. I'll never forget it. The way you left, Leon. It broke our hearts…'

Anawak looked at him sharply. 'Whose hearts?' he asked.

'Well, your-'

'My father's? Yours? The people down the street?'

Akesuk started the engine. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's go home.'

AKESUK STILL LIVED in the same little house in the settlement. With its light blue walls and dark blue roof, it was attractive and well tended. The hills rose behind it, stretching for several kilometres until they reached their apex in Kinngait, the 'high mountain', whose rock was scarred with veins of snow. It looked more like a landscape of sculpted marble than a high mountain. In Anawak's memory the Kinngait range towered into the sky, but the comb of rock in the distance invited competent hikers to explore it on foot.

Akesuk went to the back of the truck and hauled down the rucksack. Although he was slight, he didn't seem to notice the weight. He held it in one hand and opened the door with the other. 'Mary-Ann,' he called, 'he's here!'

A puppy made its way unsteadily to the door. Akesuk stepped over it and disappeared into the house, returning seconds later with a plump woman, whose friendly face was propped on an imposing double chin. She hugged Anawak and greeted him in Inuktitut.

'Mary-Ann can't speak English,' Akesuk said apologetically. 'I hope you haven't forgotten your language.'

'My language is English,' said Anawak.

'Well, yes, it is now, of course.'

'I still understand a fair bit, though – enough to know what she's saying.'

Mary-Ann was asking if he was hungry.

He answered in Inuktitut, and she smiled, then picked up the dog, which was sniffing at Anawak's boots, and made signs for him to follow. There was a line of footwear in the hall. Anawak bent down automatically to remove his.

'I see you've still got your manners,' his uncle joked. "They haven't turned you into a qallunaaq.'

Anawak glanced down at himself, then followed Mary-Ann into the kitchen. He saw a modern electric cooker and gadgets of the kind used in any well-equipped household in Vancouver. It was worlds away from the impoverished state of his family's old home. Next to the window was a circular dining-table, then a door leading out on to the balcony. Akesuk exchanged a few words with his wife, then pushed Anawak into a cosily furnished lounge. A cluster of heavy armchairs were grouped round a stack of equipment, including a TV set, video recorder, radio and CB transmitter. The kitchen was visible through a hatch. Akesuk showed him the bathroom, then the laundry and the larder at the back, the bedroom and a little room with a single bed and a vase of fresh flowers on the bedside table. Arctic poppies, saxifrage and heather.

'Mary-Ann picked them,' said Akesuk. It sounded like an invitation for him to make himself at home.

'Thank you, but I… I think it would be better if I stayed at the hotel.'

He expected his uncle to be hurt, but Akesuk regarded him thoughtfully. 'Would you like a drink?' he said.

'I don't drink.'

'Nor do I. We usually have fruit juice with our meal. Would that suit?'

'Yes, please.'

Akesuk poured two glasses, and they took their drinks to the balcony.

His uncle lit a cigarette. Mary-Ann had announced that the dinner wouldn't be ready for at least another quarter of an hour.

I'm not allowed to smoke in the house,' said Akesuk. 'That's what happens when you marry. I'd smoked in the house all my life. But I guess it's better this way. Smoking isn't good for you, but it's hard to give up…' He laughed and drew the smoke into his lungs with obvious pleasure. 'Let me guess. You don't smoke, boy, do you?'

'No.'

'And you don't drink. That's good.'

For a while they gazed out at the mountain ridge with its gullies of snow. Wisps of cloud shimmered high above, while ivory gulls soared in the sky then swooped down.

'How did he die?' Anawak asked.

'Dropped dead,' said Akesuk. 'We were on the land. He saw a hare and started to chase it. He just collapsed.'

'You brought him back?'

'His body.'

'Did he drink himself to death?' Even Anawak was shocked by the bitterness in his voice. Akesuk gazed past him towards the mountains and wreathed himself in smoke.

'He had a heart-attack. That's what the doctor said in Iqaluit. He didn't do enough exercise and he smoked too much. He hadn't touched a drop in ten years.'

THE CARIBOU STEW WAS DELICIOUS. It tasted of his childhood. Seal soup, on the other hand, had never appealed to him, but he took a large helping. Mary-Ann watched in satisfaction. Anawak did his best to revive his Inuktitut, but the result was embarrassing: he kept stumbling over the words, so they talked mainly in English, discussing the events of the past few weeks, the rampaging whales, the catastrophe in Europe, and all the other news that had penetrated as far as Nunavut. Akesuk assumed the role of interpreter. He tried to steer the conversation to Anawak's father, but Anawak refused to be drawn. The burial would take place in the late afternoon at the little Anglican cemetery. The dead were buried quickly at this time of year, but in winter they were stored in a hut near the graveyard until the ground was soft enough to dig. The bodies kept for a surprisingly long time in the natural chill of the Arctic, but the hut had to be guarded with a gun. The lands of Nunavut were wild: wolves and polar bears had no qualms about eating humans, dead or alive, especially when they were hungry.