Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George

where Amy’s house stood, each brick in the wall around the garden, and each tall blowing tree. She also knew the curls in the wrought-iron gate, and how many steps led up to the big front door; she could almost see the black-and-white tile on the floor of the foyer. If she closed her eyes she could imagine the arched doorway, the Persian rug on the living-room floor, the yellow chairs and the huge window that looked over the bay. Radios, lamps, coffee tables—all these she could see. And if she shut her eyes tight, she could feel Amy’s hand in her hand and hear Amy’s big feet tap the sidewalk.
    The second floor was always fun to dream about. At the top of the winding stairs four doors opened upon rooms lit with sunshine. And one was the pink room, the one that would be hers when she got to San Francisco.
    D URING THE WINTER J ULIE CAME TO UNDERSTAND Naka. At first she thought he had a very important job, for he would be gone for days, often weeks, and be very tired and angry when he came home. He slept sometimes for two days. But when the subzero weather set in, Naka stayed home, and Julie realized that he did not work at all. He drank. The more he drank the angrier he became. Sometimes he struck Nusan; more often he picked a fight with his neighbor. Finally, numbness would overcome him and he would drop on the bed like a huge limp seal and sleep for days.
    When he awoke he would be pleasant again, sitting in the fur- and scrap-filled room, making moosehide masks for the summer tourist trade. He would sing the old songs of seal camp, and tell Julie about the animals that he and Kapugen had known. On those occasions, she would understand why Kapugen had loved him.
    One night he struck Nusan over and over again. When she screamed and hit back, Julie ran to the quonset to look for Pearl. She was not there, but in a corner sat Russell, the young man who had been campaigning around the village, begging the Eskimos to vote “No” on requests for liquor licenses by the local restaurants.
    Julie sat down. “Naka is evil again,” she said. “His spirit has fled.”
    Russell nodded. “He, like many others, cannot tolerate alcohol. There’s a man from San Francisco who does lots of business in Alaska. He has been able to help people like Naka. He helped my father. And me,” Russell added. “Now we all join together and help each other not to drink. But Naka must agree to see him. If he does I’ll try to get in touch with—”
    Julie leaned forward, knowing exactly what Russell was going to say. “Mr. Pollock,” she whispered.
    “Ee-lie. How did you know?”
    The pink room in San Francisco had a new dimension.
    January twenty-fourth was a day of celebration. Beginning about the twenty-first, the top of the world began to glow like an eclipse as the sun circled just below the horizon. The Americans began to smile and the Eskimos put away their winter games of yoyo and darts. Excitement mounted higher and higher each day.
    The morning of the twenty-fourth Julie and Pearl ran all the way to school, for this was the most beautiful day of the year, the day of the sunrise.
    Just before noon Julie and her classmates put on their parkas and mittens and skipped out the school door in awesome silence. The gussak principal was already outside watching the southeastern sky anxiously. His face seemed to say he really did not believe the miracle would happen.
    “There it is!” a little boy shouted, as a brilliant light, first green then red, exploded on the horizon. Slowly the life-giving star arose until it was round and burning red in the sky. The Eskimos lifted their arms and turned their palms to the source of all life. Slowly, without any self-consciousness, every gussak raised his arms, too. Not one person snickered at the old Eskimo tradition.
    For an hour and a half the sun moved above the horizon, reminding the Eskimos that the birds and mammals would come back, that the snow would melt, and that the great ice pack that