The Silence

by Karen Lee White

  “Husband Jimmy, meet him first at uncle’s house, I am thirteen. Came lo-o-o-ong way – Alaska. Re-e-eal handsome. I like he smile but not look at him, feel that smile on me. Not too long he ask Father to marry me. I glad, already thinking to marry but girl can’t ask.

  “We stay there with Father, look after small kids yet ’til grown, no girls to do it, gotta hunt and dry meat and fish. When the kids grown enough we build log house, him and I happy by lake over a ways… but he die. I got eighteen kids that time.

  “Brothers came help me for food all time. Good family help like that old time. Kids die too, get sick; we cook our medicine, but I don’t know medicine for that new sickness and some die. Lots die before ever get old enough for name. I got ole, me.

  “Hard lose babies, kids. Over next life we got big family, lots kids. One day be all together. Even young die these days. Lots leave too early. Make big family for them there, small for us here. Used to be other way. Hard life for them now, all weather warm and no old signs to go by to live old way.”

  l

  WAITING FOR THE GRACE TO FALL, Verse Two

  Can you not see it’s all in you?

  My words will only distract, confuse you

  It’s all within and that’s the truth

  No one can find for you but you

  I’m watching without watching

  Like the Old Ones do, watching

  Just watching for the grace to fall

  Just watching for the grace to fall

  l

  Leah finally sleeps. She is home. The road walks ahead, an old friend with gravel feet. She follows. Her blood, skin, bones, walk through timeless scape. She knows this place, she is unafraid.

  Snow spiral-dances. She raises her face to a deep, deep dark sky that touches down to the earth. The silence. She has forgotten about this deep silence. Between her feet the road snow creaks, a call and response.

  Lightning flashes the land from black to day, from black to day, from black to day. Mountains crouch, leap, vanish again, leap forward, hide back, leap forward, hide back. Snow-dusted spruce trees appear, disappear, appear, disappear again. Something, something…creeps, spider-walks from within her bones out to skin. She will not allow fear to creep, to leer, to taunt, to clown. The spider walking on her scalp drums the silence away with hard beats. She speaks her name aloud – first softly, then a desperate cry. She calls out in the only three words of the language of this land she knows. “Lightning Medicine Woman, Lightning Medicine Woman, Lightning Medicine Woman.” The mountains toss her name back – echo, echo, echo. “Medicine Woman …Medicine Woman…Medicine Woman.” In this way she prays. There is something, someone, just beyond. As the land is lit yet again, the Other Side people; she knows their names. She wills spider to spirit-dance, lightning held in its jaws, from her skin into the marrow of her bones.

  She is within the next flash of light. Falls to her knees, blood to stone. Failing light shrouds, lulls. She surrenders into a tranquil black.

  She wakes. Jangling in her ears, heart thundering. Shaken to the deep. Stupefied. Hunted. It feels as though she has been fighting for her life, death near, waiting in the shadows. Breath catching. This dream shadows, stalks. From dawn she sits watching out the window until the sun crosses the sky and sets, and darkness blankets. Still, she sits. Knowing, like the words to a forgotten song, dances just outside of the grasp of her understanding.

  l

  Far away up North, Coyote sniffs the air. Jogs through the meadows. Nothing is moving today. The ground is hard, frozen. A rabbit. Frozen to the spot. He pretends not to see it and lifts his leg on a tree. Rabbit lowers its head to feed. Coyote leaps, wheels, rebounds, lands. Teeth plunge into neck. Coyote plays with this easy kill. Release. Rabbit, heart racing, head down, ears back, hops frenetically, zagging this way, zigging that, feigning left, turning right.

  Coyote leaps again and lands the animal. Stands motionless on it for a moment. The rabbit squirms and fights, back paws beating a rapid staccato. Coyote lifts his paw. Free! He catches and releases until she drops from exhaustion.

  Coyote tears into her fur. She spasms uncontrollably. He devours until there is nothing but the bloody pelt. He lies in the weak-tea sun, warming and cleaning himself. Grouse. Eyes on the target, the bird eats and ducks its head as it moves. He creeps forward, catlike. Follows, stomach driving him on. He knows this prey will fly, so injures the wings on the first pounce. The grouse, wings splayed, desperately tries to escape. Coyote takes his time again, chasing, pouncing, chasing, pouncing. Bored now, he rips off the head with a tearing sound. With his paws he holds the bloodied neck, rips off feathers to get to meat. He opens the animal. Pale yellow innards steam in frigid air. He licks and eats, leaving the variegated feathers in a pile where they fall.

  l

  In a dream, Leah follows the road to Gramma Maisey’s house. Raises her hand to knock at the familiar door. She hears voices. Instead, she listens. An unfamiliar voice. She knows, as one does in dreams, it belongs to Great Gramma Sophie.

  “When I get buried, Carcross, big potlatch. Can’t believe got 102 years; they say that time. Big party. I been there. They cry at grave, laugh at party. Party for my good husband. Me, too. He been there, too. Eat that plate they burn up. My, they send over lo-o-o-ots wild game. Sweets, too. Moose guts, beaver, porcupine. All kind things they send over. Good to eat, that food.

  “My elders come, too. Eat with us. See people stop cry. Smile again. Those family smile know they see me one day again, too. I only sad that Leah did not know us.”

  Leah stands outside the cabin. She is dirty. Too ashamed to enter. Slowly, head hanging, heart heavy as mountain rock in her chest, she walks back down the road away from the voices. The heaviness does not lift when she opens her eyes.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Leah’s heart fires staccato-like rifles on a range. Deep breath. The second-last diary entry. She cannot look yet cannot turn away. Afraid to read the last of the journal for some days, at last she has found her courage. No date. She has to read it time and time again; she cannot grasp the truth that lies naked and bleeding and alone on that page.

  l

  I was putting the rope around my neck. Doris came home. She yelled, ran to me. She is different toward me now. She has never been kind, and now she has been taking care of me.

  Doris rushed out when Haywire arrived home from camp. She intercepted him before he came in. I know she told him about the rope, and, somehow, she knew about Coyote. How?

  They were outside still. I saw Coyote above her head, so I knew she was talking about him. Haywire cried in her arms for a long time. Doris cried with him.

  I watched from the window and wanted to cry. There is ice inside me. I know my heart is broken, yet I feel nothing.

  l

  WAITING FOR THE GRACE TO FALL, Verse Four

  I’m waiting without waiting

  And I’m listening without listening

  And I’m watching without watching

  And I’m standing with the angels

  And I’m being without being

  And I’m knowing without knowing

  And my eyes are on the heavens

  And my feet are on the ground

  And I’m hoping without hoping

  And I’m knowing without knowing

  And I’m waiting for the grace to fall

  l

  So much trouble. I sleep all the time. So tired. Haywire drinks a lot more. He goes out of the truck a lot when we are down the lake. I caught him this time, he had a bottle in the back of the truck. After that, he started drinking openly. What do I do now? After Dad, I swore I would never get with a guy who has a drinking problem. This guy has a problem. And I love him. Terribly much.

  l

  She drops the diary, filled with dread. With shaking hands, she dials the phone. No answer. The outgoing message.

  “Haywire, I need to talk to you.” She breaks down. “Haywire, please, it’s important.”

&n
bsp; With her heart in her mouth, choking her so she has to cough, her breath coming fast, she reads the very last entry in the old diary. Fear clangs a cacophony in her ears like a metal alarm, grips her with cruel claws.

  More treasure. But we won’t have to bury it this time. Haywire says he will look after it for me. I have to go to the hospital in Vancouver. I don’t want to, but they say I have to.

  Leah is violently ill. Feebly cleaning it up when the phone rings, she runs to get it.

  “Leah, what’s wrong?”

  “God, Haywire, what the hell took you so long to call back?” She hears the tone of hysteria in her own voice. She is more frightened by the tone of his. Her heartbeat comes harder, faster, rattles in her ribs.

  “I was up the river. Chaos, what the hell is wrong?”

  “I tried to kill myself.”

  Silence. She hears the fear and love in his voice.

  “Again? Leah is there someone that can get to you?”

  “No. I mean, at Little Annie. I read it in the diary. Geesuz, Haywire, what the hell happened? Why would I try to take my life? (I didn’t remember until I read it). Your mom saved me!”

  “Chaos listen to me. Things happened. You weren’t yourself. We can’t talk about this on the phone. Come back North. We’ll talk in person. But we’ll need some time.”

  “Okay, Haywire, maybe I’m not ready to know what happened, yet. I just couldn’t believe it when I read it.”

  “Leah, you are one of the toughest women I know. You made Mom look like Tinkerbell.”

  Leah feels inner laughter through tears at the thought of a chubby brown Tinkerbell, in a kerchief with a plaid jacket and Elmer Fudd boots.

  “I know, Haywire, but I don’t remember anything about coming back to Vancouver.”

  “Don’t worry about it for now. It’s just a story. And I will tell you when I see you. You gonna be okay?”

  “After a big glass of Fireball, maybe!”

  “Oh, geez – I don’t drink anymore. I had a big argument with booze one night and lost.”

  She laughs, she can’t help it.

  “God, Haywire, even now, you can make me feel better.”

  “Okay, woman, just go easy on the firewater.”

  “I won’t.” It’s his turn to laugh.

  When she puts down her phone, Leah is horrified to find that she has wet herself.

  l

  Dawn is spreading its fingers across the sky. Her stomach is queasy.

  Coffee. Campfire coffee. A can on the stove? No. It was spring water and the fire that made that magic. And the long-gone hands of Uncle Angus.

  The telephone officiously interrupts. Something. The ring is different, hopeful. Fear, love battle within her. Love wins. She must answer this time. She snatches it up just before it stops.

  “Leah? It’s time, girl, Indian up!”

  “Oh, my God – Lorna!”

  “Yup, and you are coming home!”

  “I am?”

  “Headstone potlatch in four weeks, kid; we need you there. Uncle’s last party.”

  Without hesitation, Leah hears herself say, “I’ll book a flight.”

  l

  BACK TO THE RIVER

  I’ve got the mud of the Cowichan River on my shoes

  And one good way to lose these livin’ blues

  I got to run back to the river; got to run down to the water

  Got to move to the sound of the rhythm;

  Got to lose myself, I got to soothe my demons

  Got to run

  For a long, long time I haven’t listened to the voices in my head

  But these days I’m trying to remember what it is they said

  I got to run back to the river, got to go down listen to the water

  Got to move to the rhythm of its dancing

  Got to lose myself in the sound of its chanting

  Got to run

  l

  A dark shadow drapes like sheets over furniture. The fog has been hanging that way all winter. Leah is gripped by anxiety. An enormous, taunting animal roars in her ears. Terrified and paralyzed.

  Five times she calls to cancel her flight but stops herself. She knows going will give her what she needs. She also knows the trip will not give her all the answers.

  l

  NAVAJO RIVER

  I can see you sitting here, the most beautiful man

  I’d ever seen

  Like a dream smiling at me

  Like something slowly coming

  Out of the misty rain

  Like fire burning in the night

  Turning the black sky to gold

  That spirit shining in you

  Turned my blood into a river

  l

  SOMEONE ELSE IS DRIVING, Verse Two

  It’s not what you don’t have, it’s what you’ve got

  Why wait to be happy if you’re not

  Joy is only a choice we make

  And happiness is shy when you are afraid

  When someone else is driving you can close your eyes

  If the sun is shining, you can see your own designs

  Pinwheels dancing in a fire-orange sky

  When someone else is driving and you close your eyes

  Someone else is driving, may as well close your eyes

  l

  The snow has come. Coyote leaves his den with quick bounds. Following the human scent into the meadows, it comes and it goes. He picks it up, loses it, picks it up stronger, loses it.

  He hates this smell, but there is an alluring something else. Fat.

  He searches, ears twitching, eyes alert, head down, until the scent is stronger and there are two sets of tracks in the snow. His eyes catch a glint of steel in a pile of grass and sticks. A frozen rabbit is waiting. He does not sense danger. The sweet, sickening human stench overwhelms him; he gags and sneezes, shaking his head.

  The rabbit will fill his tight, hungry stomach. He takes hold of the rabbit and pulls, hears a strange “clink” and drops the animal. The trap has come out from its hiding spot. He looks at this metal thing from all sides. He pulls with more force on the rabbit. Then, setting one paw on a part of the metal chain, with the power of his jaws he manages to pull the rabbit free.

  He carries his prize to his den and goes back, he has smelled more. He pulls the prey from each trap – rabbits, squirrels. The first squirrel does not come easily; one foot tears off and stays clamped in the steel teeth.

  Coyote likes this kind of hunting in the morning. There is no effort. He will come back here each dawn to take this food.

  He moves all the frozen animals into his den, where they will soften slowly with the heat of his body. He does not wait but grasps a rabbit. He rips away the fur, leaving the remains where they fall.

  After a few days, this ripens; but, to Coyote, the smell is delicious. A coyote can never have enough.

  l

  Leah woke in the dark. Something had disturbed her sleep. All her senses were straining. The cabin was completely dark.

  She caught a familiar skunky scent. Her scalp prickled.

  She heard snorting now, and something rubbing up against the logs right by her head. She willed herself not to move. She lay perfectly still.

  She could hear and feel movement from her side of the cabin, to the front, and now to the side where the door was. A bear could come in, bolted door or not. She lay waiting. There was nothing to be done.

  She wanted to yell out, but knew she must remain soundless. Finally, silence. She breathed easier. She sat up. The cot springs squealed.

  She rose, stretched, carefully crossed to the door for a drink of water, lay back down.

  She woke gently with the delicious feeling of her body coming awake naturally, without an alarm. She liked the rare times she woke up when her body was ready. She lay still, her eyes closed. Buried herself further into the covers, away from the chilled air. She lay as long as she could.

  She rose to make fire. There was the beloved old coffeep
ot of Uncle’s on the shelf above the old stove. How many times had his old hands poured her a cup from the pot? She imagined his fine hands preparing that wonderful coffee he used to share with anyone who dropped in.

  She took a long drink from the water dipper, poured water into the pot. Foraged for coffee in the box by the door, and the small container of cream.

  She looked out the window to the lake. It was perfectly still. The mountains, snow dusted, were perfectly mirrored. They spoke to a place deep within her. Reminded her that she had history here. Her DNA was still all over this land. For the first time in months, the inner blood-and-guts whorl finally slowed, stilled. Her mind was as clear as the panorama before her. She allowed herself to fall deeply into the peace. She hoped she could stay there.

  l

  DANCE AWAY, Verse Six

  We have been witnesses to these sacred days, these fleeting rainbow moments

  These tearful voicings, the stories of hearts and their longing for reunion

  And we will be there alone and yet together to see all the people’s children rise up

  To dance away

  And now these petal pearls lay at our feet, behind us, beside us,

  On our right, on our left, below our feet

  His chosen petal pearls gathered by the winds of His grace

  You made me promise never to say goodbye, so I’ll just dance away

  You made me promise never to say goodbye, so I’ll just dance away

  Yeah, we don’t have to say goodbye, we can just dance away

  We can dance away, dance away, dance away.

  l

  The night before the potlatch she lapsed into a heavy sleep. Found herself within one of those dreams where she thought she was awake. She heard footsteps outside the cabin, heard the door open. She knew those footsteps. She sat bolt upright.

  “UNCLE”! she yelled, filled with joy.

  He was smiling, sat down on the end of the cot. It gave an agonized protest.

  “Leah. Last time I saw you was in a dream. I was just so happy to see you – it jumped up in me like a fish. From my feet to my head. Moved in me like how the creek looks when the fish are running. When you drop a gaff in there you get five at once. That was the one only time I saw you without Arthur. It didn’t matter. You still hugged me, crying and smiling, same time. Good to see you smile.