“Really? How does it do that?”
“You will just have to wait and see.”
I sat waiting for breakfast, my feet swinging under the table, my mind filled with huge lakes filling and emptying at the behest of a living moon.
After breakfast, we cleaned up and I showed her I had, in fact, made my bed. Then we closed up the house and sat on the front porch with our bags, waiting. My mother had scrubbed me the night before in the galvanized tub, heating the water on the cookstove. My Moshom, my grandfather, was to take us to the train and we didn’t wait long before his ancient pickup truck turned into our approach. He stopped about twenty feet from the house to avoid sending a fine layer of dust over us and our best clothes. Moshom loaded up our bags in the back and we headed to town. I knelt on the seat, looking out the back window. For a moment my stomach knotted, and I wanted to stop the truck and go back. Maybe something in me knew that I might never see that house again.
I had never seen a mountain before and hid my face in my mom’s neck when the train ran alongside steep cliffs, the raging waters below us. The dense forests left me short of breath and the craggy peaks seemed to be closing in on us. I sat, fascinated, unable to take my eyes off this strange world for very long as it sped by.
Auntie Mae met us when we arrived, the hissing and rollicking sound of the station punctuated by tearful laughter as my mom and Mae hugged each other. Mae cooed over how big I was as we walked through the small town to Mae’s house.
The wonders of that train trip fell away as I explored Auntie Mae’s house. Running water in her kitchen, electric lights and flush toilets. It was like a strange and exciting new world. She even had a TV. No one at Red Pheasant had a TV.
“Sagastis, he’s flushing the toilet again.” Auntie Mae laughed at my fascination with the swirling water. If I wasn’t flushing the toilet, I was switching the lights on and off.
“My goodness, napaysis!” My mother gently pulled my hand from the switch.
“Is it magic?”
My mother laughed, shaking her head. “No, son, it’s electricity.”
“What’s electricity?”
“Like lightning, but in wires.”
My eyes widened, imagining lightning flashing in the wires behind Auntie Mae’s walls. I sat down at the kitchen table, stunned. “Can I have a drink of water?”
“Howie,” my auntie laughed, “you are not thirsty!” She knew. I just wanted to see the water pouring inside the kitchen. No outside water barrel here; no kerosene lamp. Better still, no trips to the outhouse in the middle of the night. At home those trips weren’t so bad with the windbreak of caragana and black poplar around our house. Nothing like the huge, swaying cedars circling Mae’s house. Their branches, like black wings and claws dancing on my walls at night, scared me as I lay there, certain some wīhtikōw was coming to get me.
The warm days of that long summer passed one into the other, and an air of easy satisfaction rolled over us like the tidewaters that were so close to Mae’s house, we could see them through the kitchen window. Some part of almost every day was spent at the beach digging for clams and swimming, Mae and my mother chatting up a storm in Cree, me fascinated by exotic seaweeds, hermit crabs and the seagulls dropping molluscs on the rocks to get at the rich morsels within. I finally understood about the ocean when I saw my first high tide roll in under a rising full moon. Risking bears and bobcats, we hiked into dense bush for the reward of tart huckleberries, blueberries and salmonberries. As foreign as the sea and rainforest were, compared to rolling plains and arboreal forests, these were peaceful days. It didn’t even bother me that the neighbour kids would have nothing to do with me. Mae told me their parents wouldn’t have anything to do with her either, and somehow that just brought all three of us even closer.
The evenings were starting to cool off when my mother told me I only had four days to wait for my birthday. There was no one to invite to my birthday, so Mae and my mother went a little wild and made it into an extravaganza. They bought balloons and colourful banners all blue and green: Happy Birthday Six-Year-Old! and It’s Your Day, Birthday Boy! The whole front of the house was covered in banners and ribbons. The living room was strung with yards and yards of crepe paper streamers, some scalloped around the windows and some criss-crossing the ceiling. Every vantage point boasted balloons, and the icing on the cake was the icing on the cake. I thought I might faint when Mae came out of the bedroom with a store-bought birthday cake. Never in my life had I tasted such a thing, much less had one myself.
“Stand next to Auntie and blow out those candles.”
Poised with her Brownie, my mother snapped a picture.
“Mae, take one of us.”
Those pictures survived for many years. One with my mother, her arms tight around me, smiling into the camera, me wide-eyed, pointing at the cake. Another with Mae standing behind me, hands on my shoulders, leaning over to put her cheek next to mine, both of us smiling, the wisps of smoke captured as they rose from the candles.
Mae gave me a squeeze. “Did you make a wish?”
I didn’t tell her my wish, of course. I wanted it to come true, after all. But I wished that we three could stay like this forever, an endless summer of feeling so close and safe, playing at whatever struck us as a good idea. My birthday gifts might have been school clothes, but they were clothes for a schoolboy now. I was not a little kid anymore. I could see myself walking into school back home looking just like the big kids. Auntie Mae gave me some tiny cars in all different colours. We had a hot dog roast in the backyard for my birthday supper, and by the time we got to that cake, I was stuffed with hot dogs, candy, chips, even pop, which my mother never allowed. I was drunk with food and celebration.
As we were putting our little fire out, a priest ambled by down the laneway behind Mae’s house. His black robes looked like a man’s dress to me, and I tried not to laugh. I remembered passing the church on our walk from the train station and seeing him on the steps, chatting with a man who was fixing the screen door. Auntie Mae genuflected and bowed her head. My mother looked away.
“Hello, Father.” Auntie Mae smiled, wrapping up the leftover marshmallows.
“Hello, Mae. And who is the birthday boy?” I was a little surprised when he tousled my hair.
“Oh, this is my sister’s boy. You remember I told you they were coming to visit this summer.”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, how old are you today, son?”
“Six,” I said, proud, but half hiding behind my mother.
“Quite the young man now.” He turned to Auntie Mae and my mother. “Good evening, ladies.”
“Good night, Father.” My auntie Mae smiled. My mother shivered a little. We were not church people.
That spectacular birthday party stayed with me for days, partly thanks to the one piece of cake I was allowed daily from the copious leftovers of the slab Mae had splurged on. I was oblivious to everything but playing and being doted on by Auntie and my mother. That fleet of tiny cars kept me busy the rest of the summer, making networks of sand roads and obstacles at the beach or in the front yard, Auntie’s rock garden improvising as precarious mountain roads.
Mae cried as she helped my mother pack our things the night before we were to return home.
“Don’t cry, Mae. Ki sagahitin, niseem.” Mother hugged her sister.
“I love you too, sister. Sagastis, I will miss you two so much.”
“I’ll make tea.”
“Yes, tea always helps.” Mae wiped her tears on her apron.
“Tapwe chi. It’s true.” My mother stood and put the kettle on.
“I’ll make a good supper for you two to remember me by. Oh, I will miss you.” She hugged me hard.
I fought back tears, unable to imagine our days without Auntie Mae. That evening I stood on a chair beside her at the kitchen sink and helped her wash the dishes while my mom was in the bedroom packing. She showed me how to rinse the glasses properly, so the water wouldn’t taste soap
y. I was just putting the last plate away when a loud knock on the door made us all jump. Auntie Mae looked at me with a question in her eyes and a shrug. Wiping her hands on her apron, she went to the front door. It was that same priest who had walked by my party. This time he was not alone. Beside him was an RCMP, who towered over my auntie.
My mother came down the hallway. “What’s going on?”
“Mae,” the priest said, “we’re here to take the boy to school. He’s six. It’s the law.”
“Father, the boy doesn’t live here. He’s going home with his mother tomorrow.”
My mother stepped up, pressing my shoulder, signalling me to stand behind her. “We are going home tomorrow. He will go to school at Red Pheasant.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” The Mountie stepped forward. “He’s here now, and how do I know you are going to take him to school? He’s coming with us.”
The priest gestured to the cop and he reached around Mom for me.
“No! No!” My mother backed me into a corner, shielding me with her body. “This is a mistake. He is going to school in Saskatchewan. Our school already has a place for him.”
The cop stepped toward my mother. “Ma’am, just step out of the way.”
“No. You can’t take him!” My mother grabbed me and made a run for the back door, but then he was on her, pushing her away from me. She screamed as she fell. I ran for the back door, but he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder and walked with me out the door, my mother chasing him and screaming in Cree, my auntie pleading with the priest as he walked away toward the car. I watched my mother pounding at the cop. Her hands, capable and strong, looked so small against his huge back. He put me in the back seat of the car and the priest slid in alongside me, a wall between me and my mother.
The cop turned on her. “Do you want to go to jail? It’s the law. I’m here to enforce the law. Now get in the house.”
“Just let me hold him. Let me kiss him.” My mother was sobbing, choking out the words.
“Get in the house or I’ll arrest you.” He slid behind the steering wheel, gunned the engine and drove away.
I wheeled around and watched out the rear window as my mother crumpled into a heap in the middle of the road, her face in her hands. Auntie was running after the car, yelling, “Where are you taking him? Where?”
The cop dropped the priest off at his church and carried on with me, his prisoner, in the back seat. I felt sick to my stomach from the crazy curving road. I had no idea where I was going or why the cop wouldn’t listen to my mom.
“Where are we going?” The whirring of the tires on the pavement filled the void in the car. “Where is my mother?” The back seat smelled vaguely of puke. I kicked the back of his seat and yelled, “Take me back to my auntie’s house! I want my mother!” I kicked the seat again and again. “I want my mom!”
The cop hit the brakes and pulled the car sharply to the side of the road, threw his door open and then mine. He leaned in, grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “Do you want something to cry about, you little shit? ’Cause I’ll give it to you for sure. Now shut up. And if you kick that seat again, I will really give you something to cry about. You hear?”
“Yes.” His holster at eye level, I thought I better quit. I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip so I wouldn’t cry.
The car finally came to a stop after what seemed like forever. The sun was closing in on the horizon and dusk was not far off. The cop stepped out of the car and walked me down to the dock, where a boat was tethered. When we got there, the cop lifted me onto the boat and a man dressed like the priest but in brown, not black, took me from the cop’s hands and sat me on a seat in the middle of the boat along with the fifteen or so other kids who were sitting huddled together. Some were crying, most were just staring at the horizon. They all looked to be my age, girls sitting on one side of the boat, boys on the other.
After sitting me down, the Brother turned to the cop. “Is that it?”
“Yep, that’s the last one. Good luck.” The cop turned and headed back to his cruiser and the boat engine roared to life.
I turned to the Brother. “Where are we going? I want to go home.” This seemed to set the others off, and in a moment or two all of the children in the boat were crying.
“Now look what you’ve done. Sit down and mind your business.” Brother gave me a shove and I sat back down hard on my seat.
By the time we reached our destination, the sun had set. Two nuns were waiting at the dock and Brother handed us over the side to them. One of them clapped her hands together. “Now children, form a line and stand still.” She counted us by tapping each of us on the head and then stood facing the line. “All right, let’s go.”
We walked up the slope of a winding path. As we rounded the bend, a huge red-brick building with a massive steeple at the centre of its roof stood in front of us. Once again, the nun clapped her hands and we all stopped walking. “Children, this is your home now and you will obey like we are your parents.”
Frightening as it all was, I felt strangely calm. I knew my mother and I knew she would not stand for this. She would come and get me. So I did as I was told. I was careful to never be first or last, never to speak out, never to cry no matter what. At night I would imagine a calendar in my head, just like the one at home, and counted imaginary days, waiting for my mom.
Fall slipped into winter and winter into spring, and as the months fell away, I began to think something must have happened to my mother. Maybe that cop went back and did put her in jail. There had to be some reason. By the time fall came around again, I was still turning pages in my imaginary calendar, but I wasn’t sure why.
I had never once peed the bed at home, but on the first night at the Mission and every night thereafter, I wet the bed. I tried everything. I wouldn’t drink all day after breakfast, until I was so parched I thought I would faint. I peed every night before I went to bed. I tried everything, but still, without fail, I would wake up to a cold, wet sheet. And each time, Sister Mary would strip the pissy sheet from my bed and wrap it around my head like a turban. She would walk me through the dorm that way, pointing me and the other offenders down to the laundry room, where we would be given a clean sheet. I always smelled slightly of piss and the kids teased me, called me Peepants and Pissy Face. And there were worse things. Things in the night that I tried never to think of, wiping things from my mind altogether. I just tried to stay out from under foot, to keep to myself, hoping to get through another day, day after day, month after month, year after year.
Kenny slept in the cot next to mine in the dorm and gave the kids hell if they teased me. I don’t think I would have survived without him. I used to go hide in the thicket just off the school grounds, just to get a break from the constant fear. I was so hungry, I would eat grass. One time, Kenny startled me there. I thought it was Brother. He scared the shit out of me. I was so embarrassed, wiping the grass from my mouth.
“I thought you were Brother.”
Kenny smiled. “Naw, it’s just me. Don’t eat the grass.” He wiped the rest of the bits of grass off my face. “I know you’re hungry, but there’s something better. Come on. I’ll show you.”
That afternoon, we filled our bellies on the plants Kenny knew so well. “This is fireweed. Strip the outside. It’s tender inside and you can really fill up on it. These curly fiddleheads are really good too. Wilfred and I save them up for when we can sneak away long enough for a fire.”
“Kenny, I want my mother. I don’t even know where she is. I’m gonna be nine this year. Why doesn’t she come get me?”
“Even if she did, they would send her away, maybe even put her in jail.”
I tried not to think of my mother in jail. Kenny and I ate and ate and filled our pockets with fiddleheads. Our bellies full for once, we wandered back to the school, long stalks of fireweed hanging from our lips.
The next day, I woke up in the hospital. I had no memory of being taken out of the dorm or the boat ride t
o the hospital at Orca Bay. The last thing I remembered was Brother coming for me again, lifting me out of my bed and taking me to his room. This time he beat me too. So hard the last thing I remember was falling to the floor in his room. My face was swollen and sore and my bum burned with pain. I pinched my split lip so the pain would make me forget other pains and things.
It felt strange to be away from the school and out from under the watch of Sister. The nurse was nice. She gave me candy, but all I could think of was home and my mom. The piney hills of Red Pheasant were starting to fade from my memory. I even wondered if I would remember my mother if I saw her. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t stop myself. I curled up in the bed, the pillowcase soon damp. The hospital room was warm compared with the drafty dorms at the school. So warm it overtook me, and I fell asleep.
I was roused by that nice nurse. “How are you feeling, Howie? A little better?”
I rubbed my puffy eyes, winced and nodded.
“There is someone here to see you. Are you up for a little visit?”
I nodded again, wondering who it might be. She must have seen the fear rise in my eyes, because she reached out and stroked my hand.
“I think you will enjoy this visit.” She turned to leave the room, her crisp white uniform sounding a lot like Sister’s habit, rustling as she moved.
I heard muffled voices just outside the door of my room and sat up in the bed, barely breathing, waiting. I heard the nurse’s voice now.
“Be careful not to upset him, and you may only stay a short while. He needs to rest and heal.”
I closed my eyes and waited until the voices were gone. When I opened them again, Auntie Mae was standing in the doorway. I tried to climb over the bed railings to get to her. She raised her hands to prevent me and ran to the bed, carefully putting her arms around me, holding me as close as she dared. I sobbed against her chest.
“Don’t cry,” she said, “it’s almost over.” She let go of me for a minute to look into my face, then wrapped her arms around me again. “Oh, Howie.”
Five Little Indians Page 22
