Seventeen hundred people
In a town that size everyone knows everyone. Benjamin's mother, Siku, worked as a nursing assistant at the health center. His father James repaired snowmobiles. James died on the sea ice when Benjamin was six. What was left was his uncle Thomas, James's brother, also a mechanic, the one who took charge of teaching him almost everything practical he knows.
Thomas wasn't one for speeches. He'd put a wrench in Benjamin's hand and point at the bolt. Benjamin learned to diagnose engines by ear before knowing that had a name. To disassemble a snowmobile engine without losing parts. To fish for arctic char in silence. Thomas taught him that learning doesn't require long explanations: it requires the tool in front of you and the problem next to it.
Benjamin walked across the tundra with his cousin David. The walks were quiet. Sometimes hours without saying a word. He learned to read the sky and the wind not as a special skill but as a habit: look up, look far, take note. In winter, when night lasts for weeks, that becomes almost necessary.
