Five Little Indians

by Michelle Good

  “Yep. You going to Vancouver?”

  “Yes.” Lucy nodded, wondering what it mattered to him.

  “Well, go down to East Hastings. Lots of your kind there.”

  “Thanks for the ride.” Lucy turned from the boat and walked toward the small depot. The smells of the village made her hungry and nauseous at the same time. The ripe smell of the boatman choked her. The aroma from the fish and chip stand at the end of the wharf wafted past her and she wondered how good it would taste. Even the brackish water under the dock seemed beautiful to Lucy with its rainbow circles of leaked diesel fuel.

  She opened the door to the depot. A blue cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, combining with the stale smell of old magazines and dirty ashtrays. The bored-looking woman in the wicket put down her True Crime paperback, took Lucy’s voucher and replaced it with a ticket.

  “Will this get me onto the ferry?”

  “Well, it says so, doesn’t it?” The clerk spat her words at Lucy like sunflower seed hulls.

  “Thank you.” Lucy averted her eyes, an Indian School habit, turned and went back outside. The listing wooden bench in front of the depot was grey with years of erosion by the sea air. She wrapped her thin cotton sweater around herself and gazed out across Arrowhead Bay. The girls would be cleaning the dorm right now. She looked at the parked bus and marvelled at the size of it. She could hardly wait to write a letter to Edna to tell her about this boat on wheels. She crossed her ankles, sat back and realized that she had not counted a single thing all morning.

  “Tickets, tickets,” the bus driver called out as he opened the bus door. A middle-aged couple and a large man in a red-checkered woollen jacket were the only other passengers boarding the bus.

  Lucy handed over her ticket. “What time will it be when we get to Vancouver?”

  “Ten thirty tonight.”

  Lucy climbed the narrow, ridged steps to the seating area on the bus. The bus driver directed her with a turn of his head to the back of the bus. The dock was still visible but not the Mission. It was as though it no longer existed. Lucy gripped the seat as the engines roared to life. Panic overtook her as the bus pulled out and headed toward the highway. Gripping the seat tighter, she desperately looked for something in the landscape to focus on. She counted the fence posts. The rhythm of the counting soothed her and she relaxed back into her seat.

  The windows of the bus were so dirty, all Lucy could see clearly in the window was her own reflection. She considered herself. The image gazing back at her seemed so small—brown and plain but for her thick, luxuriant black hair in its regulation style. Lucy touched her hair, curled and sprayed so as not to look like Indian hair, but not teased so as to be stylish.

  She reached into her purse for her comb, her hand brushing up against the envelope Sister Mary had given her. Alone in the back of the bus, Lucy opened it and pulled out the card. A muscular Saint Christopher carrying the Christ child looked back at her, the prayer embossed underneath the image: O Lord, we humbly ask You to give Your Almighty protection to all travellers. Accept our fervent and sincere prayers that through Your great power and unfaltering spirit, those who travel may reach their destination safe and sound. Behind the card she found five well-worn five-dollar bills. Lucy tucked the bills back into the envelope and carefully placed it in her new purse. An impermeable darkness filled her in the face of this appalling kindness. She ran her hand through her hair, her fingers outlining the raised and rugged scars from Sister’s favourite punishment. Punishment for what? For nothing. For being a little kid. Lucy wept as her mind turned to the second time she lost her hair to Sister Mary. She could still feel Sister’s hard fingers gripping her shoulder even though many years had passed since then.

  Sister hadn’t believed her when she tried to tell her about what happened with Father. Instead, Sister dragged her down the hallway to the girls’ bathroom. Beyond the tub room was another room that all the girls saw at least once. It was here they lost their hair, emerging under a cloud of green powder when they first arrived at the school. It was here that Sister wielded her favourite weapon.

  “Sit.”

  Lucy sat on the stool and closed her eyes as the buzz of the electric shaver hummed against her ears and grated along her scalp. She winced, gritting her teeth, willing herself not to cry, but Sister caught the tear.

  “Do you think I want to do this? You give me no choice.”

  Lucy swallowed her tears and sat, numb, watching her hair, like raven feathers, falling to the floor. Sister stepped back and looked at her handiwork. She put the razor away and crossed her arms.

  “Now, clean up this mess.”

  Lucy looked around for a broom, but there was none.

  “Come on, I haven’t got all day, clean this up.”

  Lucy lowered herself to her hands and knees and gathered her hair into a pile. Sister kicked the wastebasket toward her, rosary beads clicking. Lucy placed handful after handful of her hair in the basket. Finally done, she stood in front of Sister, who directed her out of the bathroom and toward the staircase. Sister reached into her pocket and produced a toothbrush, a damp rag and a bar of soap. “Clean them. I will be back in half an hour, and if these are not gleaming, you will go without dinner.”

  Sister’s echoing footsteps faded as Lucy sat on the top stair, running her fingers over her head, the scrapes and abrasions leaving pink impressions on her fingers. Wiping the blood on the inside of her dress so no one would see, she leaned into her job. The day’s grit lifted from the metal grips at the edge of each stair and she swept it up with her cloth. She scrubbed and wiped, her shaved head throbbing. There was a rhythm in the movements of her work and she started counting each movement until the rhythm possessed her, obliterating all else. It was almost peaceful.

  The echoes announced Sister’s return. She looked at Lucy’s work and shook her head.

  “Stand up.”

  Lucy stood and looked at the grass stains on her shoes, afraid she would cry again. Sister lowered the cardboard sign over her head. I am a liar. She pointed her toward the dining hall. They walked, Lucy’s head throbbing again. Sister stopped her in the entrance to the dining hall. Lucy’s face burned in embarrassment as she stood in front of the whole school, thinking of her naked head and red-lettered sign.

  Sister blew three loud blasts on her whistle and the room, crowded with whispering children, fell silent. All eyes turned to Lucy. Sister’s face was a grim mask of satisfaction as she directed Lucy to her seat among the junior girls. Lucy looked up briefly and caught Kenny’s eye for a split second before he turned away. She looked again, but he was talking to Wilfred as if nothing was wrong, as if his own red-lettered sign, I am a runaway, was not hanging around his neck, resting on his purple-flowered dress.

  The scream of air brakes roused Lucy from her reverie as the bus stopped for a roadside passenger. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and returned the envelope to her purse. I was nine. Where was your kindness then? The new passenger staggered to his seat as the bus pulled back onto the highway. The rocking of the bus lulled her to sleep as she clutched her suitcase.

  When she awoke, Lucy found herself alone on the dark bus. She had slept the whole trip. Rubbing her eyes, she strained to look out the window and saw that the bus was parked with a lot of other cars. The rocking told her they must be on the ferry. She checked in her purse again to make sure her money was safe, hesitated for a second and then tossed the prayer card on the bus floor. The ferry whistle blew and the captain’s voice boomed, “All drivers and bus passengers please return to the car deck. We will be docking at Horseshoe Bay in ten minutes.”

  Lucy wondered if this was Vancouver. The other passengers boarded, and before long the bus engine rumbled to life. Wide awake now, Lucy pressed her face against the window, astounded by the lights, the endless flow of traffic, stores and malls and gas stations, things entirely new to her. Her life in the outside world ended abruptly when she was five years old.

  Finally,
the bus slowed. The air brakes howled and the bus slid into its bay at the terminal. The passengers collected their items and moved to the front door. Lucy approached the bus driver.

  “Is this Vancouver?”

  He looked at her like she was some kind of alien. “Uh, yeah.”

  Lucy pulled the pink envelope from her purse and showed the return address to the bus driver. “Do you know how I can get to this place?”

  “Catch the number 47 bus.”

  “Okay, where do I get a ticket? And where do I get on that bus?”

  The bus driver looked down at her, weary and indifferent. “You have to go through the terminal. Right across the street is a sign and a bench. Wait there. You pay the driver when you get on the bus.”

  Lucy picked up her suitcase and her purse and walked into the terminal. She sat for a moment on one of the hard plastic chairs and wondered why they were all attached to each other. People swarmed around the crowded depot as though they were a solid mass, undulating up and down the length of the room. A vague smell of urine permeated the air, blending with cigarette smoke and diesel fumes. She had never seen so many strangers in one place—men and women, girls and boys all together, sipping soda at the diner or standing in line together. The tension rose in her, a certainty rising in the back of her mind that Sister would swoop in, meting out punishment left and right. She was fascinated by the ease with which boys spoke to girls, without fear, without sneaking. A light-headed feeling propelled her from the fetid room and to the empty bench at the bus stop. She was thankful for the street light that cast a bluish halo around the bench. A familiar panic rose in her as the darkness deepened and the strange noises of the city hummed around her. She thought to count the cars whizzing by, but they were moving so fast it agitated her further.

  Finally, a trolley bus hissed to a stop in front of her. She jumped as the folding doors slapped open, grasped the rail and stepped up into the bus. She fished in her purse and pulled out one of the flaccid bills and handed it to the driver, who peevishly pointed to the sign on his cash box.

  “Exact change only, kid.”

  “But this is all I have.”

  “Well, you’ll have to get off, get some change and wait for the next one.”

  “Hold on, hold on.” A man at the back of the bus stood and made his way toward Lucy and the driver. “Young lady, I happen to have an extra quarter in my pocket. Here you go, driver.”

  Lucy watched, fascinated, as the coin worked its way through the cogs of the fare box. She looked up to the man. The bus lurched forward, throwing her off balance. Grasping for the pole, she steadied herself and looked up to the man. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that. I have money.”

  “No problem, honey. We all need a little help sometimes. My name’s Walt. What’s yours?”

  “Lucy.”

  “Well, Juicy Lucy, you can come and sit with me. Where are you headed?”

  Blushing, Lucy sat on the green vinyl bench seat beside Walt and pulled Maisie’s pink envelope from her purse. Pointing to the address, she asked Walt, “Do you know where this is?”

  “Why, sure I do. It’s not too far from my place. Do you want me to take you there?”

  “Sure!” Lucy wondered if the Saint Christopher prayer card had anything to do with this and thought how horrified Sister would be to see her talking to a man. Shyness overtook her and she turned to face the window, watching the strange sights of the city go by.

  The bus moved past homes and the occasional store and into the downtown core. Cresting the small incline at Main and Hastings, Lucy was dumbstruck by the cascading neon signs flashing and blinking. Two Indian men swaggered down the sidewalk, their arms around a woman who walked between them. A woman in a zebra-print skirt swatted her male companion with her clutch purse. A group of young men passed a bottle between them at the entrance to an alley. A pair of policemen held a man in a huge cowboy hat against a wall, one of them running his hands over his clothing. Exhausted by the strange sights and the long trip, Lucy turned to Walt.

  “Are we almost there?”

  “We get off at the next stop.” Walt winked at her as he pulled the bell string. The two exited the bus from the front.

  The bus driver touched Lucy’s elbow, his eyes never leaving Walt. “You be careful down here, girl.”

  “Mind your own business, man.” Walt took Lucy by the hand and gently pulled her off the bus. “Let’s go, kid.”

  Lucy stepped down from the bus and immediately placed her hand over her nose and mouth. The pavement along the storefronts and alleyways released its unique and acrid smell, a stupefying fog of urine, vomit and car exhaust. “Why does it smell so bad?”

  “That’s the city for you.” Walt laughed and took Lucy by the elbow. “Come on. That address you’re looking for is down this way.” They walked another block. “Let me see that envelope again.”

  Lucy fished the envelope out of her purse and showed it once again to Walt. “You see the number?” Lucy pointed to the corner of the envelope. “1617 is the number.”

  “Yeah, should be right here. Here we are.” They stood in front of a pawnshop displaying used toasters, guitars and baseball cards in the window. Next to the door was a panel of four buzzers with the numbers for the suites upstairs.

  Lucy looked at the buttons. “What are these for?”

  “They ring a bell in the apartments upstairs.” Walt looked again at the envelope.

  “Okay. Apartment 104.” He turned his back to Lucy, blocking the buzzer panel as he pressed one.

  A woman’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Yes?”

  Lucy jumped forward, putting her face close to the speaker. “Maisie? It’s me, Lucy.”

  Irritated, the voice replied, “Wrong apartment. No Maisie here.”

  Lucy stood dumbstruck. She had not for a moment thought she would not be able to find Maisie. She looked at Walt. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  “Yeah, it’s the right place. She must have moved.”

  “What am I going to do now?” Lucy felt the panic rising.

  “Stay with me and my old lady. You can look for your friend tomorrow.”

  “You live with your mother?”

  Walt laughed and put his arm around her shoulder. “No, Lucy. It’s just a nickname for my girlfriend. Come on. Let’s get you to my place. You must be starved.”

  “Are you sure your girlfriend won’t mind?”

  “Na, she does what I say.”

  Lucy and Walt walked the six blocks to his building and climbed the three flights of stairs to his apartment. Walt unlocked the door and the pair walked into the dark silence.

  “Wait here for a minute, Lucy. Nope, she’s not here. Must be working late again. Come on in, Lucy. You want a sandwich?”

  Her grumbling stomach answered for her. She sat at the table while Walt mined the fridge for something to eat, looking around with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. There were clothes, bottles and glasses scattered around the apartment. Ashtrays overflowed onto the coffee table and dirty dishes were stacked next to the sink. It looked as though the floor hadn’t been washed in months. Lucy shuddered a little, wondering what Sister Mary would think of a place like this.

  “Here you go.” Walt put a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of water in front of Lucy and joined her at the table. “So, Lucy, you ever been on a date?”

  Lucy blushed and put down her sandwich, thinking of the Harlequin romance Edna had brought back to the Mission when she came back from summer holidays. “No. I just got out of the Indian School.”

  Walt smiled. “Well, would you like to go on a date? I know a guy who would just love you.”

  Lucy blushed. “But it’s so late.”

  Walt put his hand on hers. “How about you just meet him tonight, and then maybe tomorrow, after you find your friend, you can go on a date. I’ll call him and he can come over here for a little visit.”

  “Well, okay.”

  “W
hy don’t you go freshen up. Bathroom is down the hall.”

  Lucy practically ran for the bathroom, afraid she’d pee her pants, her embarrassment having stood in the way of telling him she had to go. The relief bordered on pleasure as she emptied her bursting bladder. She wondered who Walt was talking to and then realized he must be on the phone. At the Indian School the only phone was in Father’s office. She tried not to listen, but Walt’s voice trickled through the thin walls.

  “Absolutely, she is as fresh as they come. Yes, yes. Thirty bucks. Take it or leave it.”

  Lucy wondered what he was talking about. She washed her hands and was startled by her reflection in the mirror. She patted her well-sprayed hair back into place and returned to her half-eaten sandwich. Walt made a weak effort at tidying the cluttered living room but stopped short of any real cleaning. He picked up Lucy’s suitcase.

  “You can sleep in our room tonight. You must be tired.”

  “But won’t your girlfriend mind?”

  Walt threw a clean sheet over the bed and grabbed a blanket from the closet and smiled at Lucy. “Don’t worry about it.” A heavy knock on the door caught Walt’s attention. “Come on, that must be your date.”

  Lucy sat on the couch, on edge and confused. Walt opened the door and the man who entered the room was at least twice her age. His pot-belly stuck out beneath his too-small T-shirt and what he lacked for hair on his head was made up for on that swath of pale belly. She could have sworn she saw money pass between the two men when they shook hands.

  “Lucy, this is my friend Pete. Pete, Lucy.” Pete stared at Lucy and smiled.

  “Why don’t you two go on down to the bedroom. You can have a little privacy there. Get to know each other a bit.” Walt took Lucy by the hand and pointed down the hall. Pete followed her.

  Panic rose in her as she felt him so close behind her. She entered the bedroom and before she could turn around, she heard the door close and felt one of his arms wrapped around her, the other groping between her legs. She turned and pushed him away. “What are you doing?”