Swept along by Inuitive communication

Jerome dropped by on Wednesday evening with the video of Map of The Human Heart (1992). He said he wanted to brush up on his knowledge of Inuit culture - save me, please!

It all began last Saturday morning with a phone call from Jerome telling me that our game of handball had to be postponed as his aunt's husband, Uncle Mick, had just died. Jerome explained that they aren't a very close family so the least he could do was to turn up at the rosary.

But as if that wasn't bad enough, the phone rang again. It was a guy by the name of Enuk Tukavik. Enuk, a native Inuit from Labrador in Canada, was touring Ireland and, following a brief stopover in Belfast to cam-record the murals, he would be travelling on to Cork. Enuk who?

I hadn't a clue who this Enuk Tukavik fella was. Seemingly, we had met back in 1981 when we shared a shift in a fish factory somewhere on the Avalon peninsula in Newfoundland. The facts tallied: at that time I was attending Memorial University in St John's and I have a vague recollection of doing a shift or two gutting and trimming cod one summer. But God in heaven, if Enuk and I were friends, the most it could have been for was three short months. I mean, that was 20 years ago - it's not like we were blood brothers or anything. He said he still had the Moose Head beer-mat on which I had written my name and address. "Drop in any time!" it said.

So, duty-bound, I turned up at Cork Airport to meet Enuk last Monday afternoon. I knew I'd recognise him, as you could bet your bottom seal-skin that there wouldn't be too many Inuit getting off an internal flight from Belfast. When Enuk saw me, his emotions got the better of him; he just crumpled into a heap and broke down in a fit of sobbing. I propped him up against the bronze sculpture of Jack Charlton in the hope that the cool breeze from the water feature might help him regain his composure. It took some time.

So there we were, two hours later in the funeral parlour, standing over Jerome's Uncle Mick's coffin and I was introducing this total stranger to Jerome's extended dysfunctional family. Jerome and Enuk hit it off immediately, but then again they would - Jerome is always attracted by the exotic.

Enuk took it upon himself to sing a rendition of what I think was an Inuit spirit song, self-accompanied on a bodhran-like percussion instrument played with a walrus tusk. He then went on to describe how every autumn in his community, they had to anticipate how many people would die that winter and dig the graves in advance as the arrival of the Arctic cold would freeze the ground like concrete to a depth of two metres. Jerome's crowd lapped him up. And following the formalities, they insisted we go back to Aunt Maggie's house for the hoolie, where "my friend" Enuk was the guest of honour.

Next morning, following the funeral Mass and burial, a convoy of mourners drove to the airport to see Enuk off. I had never seen such wailing and caterwauling in my life. Our noses were red raw from kissing Inuit-style, and, following a short rattle on the walrus tusk, 14.32 became 14.33 and flight €404 was gone. Enuk was heading to Oporto in Portugal, where he was hoping to meet another ex-fish factory "friend", Jacco Bello (I'd never heard of him either).

The film Map of the Human Heart and Enuk Tukavik have a lot in common. Not only does it burrow under your skin and win you over, but it is the story of an unstoppable human adventure of the purest kind, based on an amazing personal journey fuelled by chance. The saga begins somewhere out in the Arctic waste when a young Inuit boy, Avik (played by Robert Joamie and Jason Scott Lee) encounters a visiting British cartographer, Russell (Patrick Bergin). Avik is fascinated by the great white explorer who came from the sky, and when Russell realises that Avik is suffering from tuberculosis, he brings him to Montreal for treatment. In the hospital, Avik meets a native American girl, Albertine, and a lifelong friendship is born as two displaced native children come together against the backdrop of a mystifying alien culture. Watch out for the magical scene played in a tent made of bed sheets, in which they exchange their deepest secrets.

In truth, the storyline of the film is a bit far-fetched, but then again, that's life. And as with many of life's adventures, the destination is secondary to the journey. This one throws up some of the most unforgettable scenes I've ever seen in a movie: an old woman's matter-of-fact suicide, a magical episode in which Avik and Albertine make love on top of a barrage balloon, a romantic encounter inside the ceiling of London's Albert Hall, and an extraordinary vision of the fire-bombing of Dresden.

Vincent Ward's Map of the Human Heart manages to avoid being categorised as a love story, war story or life story, but instead brings these three strong narrative sources together into a superb visual experience. It is a fantasy adventure delivered in incredible visual bytes.

By the way, I received a card from Enuk Tukavik this morning. He arrived safely in Oporto and is staying with our old "friend", Jacco Bello. He says Jacco was asking for me and, now that the contact has been made after all these years, Jacco and his family are planning a trip to Cork next summer. I dread to think what might happen if all the boozy beer-mats I have ever signed come home to roost - but maybe that's all part of life's adventure. Getting back to Map of the Human Heart, don't wait for an Inuit to call, get it out now!