There were kids making snowmen though. One shook a tree, dousing himself with snow. The headlights of a car pulled into the driveway. The white palm of the light when it turned the corner caught the houses across the street, grabbed each house and pushed it down. The door opened. Someone sprinted towards the building. Pizza boy: probably Jessie Chaplin, the Chief’s son. Third biggest dealer in town. Now that I was gonna be in TEP, now that I had Aleaha waiting for me, he could keep the tip. I pulled out my twenty and opened the door. All I heard was yelling, “Three little pigmies! Three little pigmies! Disconnect! Disconnect!”
“What?” I asked. I didn’t understand. The music was too loud. It wasn’t Jessie. It was Mister Chang! He slapped me hard across the face, “Turn it off! Turn it off! Turn off the computer! Stop the tape! Stop the tape!”
I was stunned. He flew to the monitor and turned it on. I couldn’t believe what I saw. My heart twisted and my stomach sucked it down. Through the smoke. On the monitor. On the monitor that Fort Smith, Hay River, Fort Simpson and Yellowknife were watching, a naked Nurse Nora was chasing three studs with piggy masks on. The men squealed like pigs and I’d never realized until now what a cheap set they’d used. My least favourite ’70s porno!
Three Little Piggies.
My ears were ringing louder than they were this morning. The communities were seeing a porno. My porno. How? I couldn’t believe it. I’d been playing a porno! My porno. For how long? The nasty-ass porno I thought I lost forever. How the—?
Nurse Nora bellows, “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blowwwwww your house down!”
Wasp was still blaring, “I WANNA BE SOMEBODY! BE SOMEBODY NOW!!”
There was my porno! I had watched this porno a hundred times at the Love Shack. Ron Jeremy was still skinny in this one. He cracked a few good jokes before going to town. “I WANNA BE SOMEBODY! BE SOME—” Mister Chang banged the ghetto blaster off, ripped at the cables, pulled them right out of the console. He’s swearing in Chinese at me. At me! His hood slid off his head. He looked at me. His face was red. “Ho Cha! Hockey game ended after you made your little speech! I’ve been calling here for you but you didn’t answer!”
My mind was a whirlwind of rate-limiting-steps that began to eat themselves as they swirled and died together. Had I turned the record button off by accident?
My right eye watered as my cheek started to sting and my hands were set ablaze.
“Get out!” he yelled. Spit landed on his wolverine hood. He was waiting for me to respond. I looked at the little red hand of his that slapped me and then to his purple, puckered lips.
Sandy. God. He was watching the game right now, watching it all. Mister Chang ejected the tape and grabbed the twenty from my palm, holding it in front of his face. “Out!” he says. “Get out! I’m gonna lose my license, you sunovabitch!”
The label on the porno he ejected was switched with a blank label. This was the one. I was supposed to tape WWF Raw over this one on Saturday.
My head fell back. I felt the cold winter air bathe me from the open door behind, and I used up fifteen minutes of air in the next two seconds. Tomorrow, Black Fonzy—The Fist of God—was gonna be looking for me for calling his old lady Skull Face. Tomorrow the community would be talking about me at the coffee shop. Everyone was gonna know my name. Everyone! I was dead. I was so dead. I felt my rib cage rise and fall as I released a death sigh to the ceiling.
Grandma, you lied. Anything and anyone can get you in
the snow….
Who wanted me now—with my horrible night? I had an ounce on the street and a bag in my pack. My name was Kevin Garner. I wanted to be a teacher. I turned and I went, dizzy through the snow as it popped and crunched under my feet. To the women’s residence. Aleaha. Tower. Stan. Constable Morris. Bury me deep, somebody, under this snow of deceit….
Sandy—
Lona—
Anyone—
The Moon of Letting Go
Her life was about her son now.
She thought about this after the funeral as she and Robby made their way to the car with groceries. Healthy food for her parents before she drove back to Smith in the morning. She was in Rae, Behcho Ko, an hour and ten minutes out of Yellowknife, ten hours away from Fort Smith. This afternoon a funeral for a boy who never woke up. A distant cousin’s son. The coffin was tiny. The community was lost in grief.
Robby had been at her side and had been quiet throughout the day.
“How are you?” she asked.
He shrugged. But then smiled. “Happy to be with you, Mom.”
He was becoming his father. His smile and charming eyes were the same. He would be tall. Her father had remarked on his feet and hands. Like a pup who’d one day lead. You could tell in the lope and hands.
Behcho Ko was still dusty. The town quiet but with graffiti all over the houses. Tonight a quiet feast with family. Tomorrow the ten-hour drive. It would be good to head back. Since arriving, she’d noticed that nothing but the names had changed: even though they called Rae Behcho Ko, and even though the Dogribs were calling themselves Tlicho, there was still too much gambling, there were still too many new trucks and empty cupboards. Children played late, late into the evening. There was non-stop bingo. Steady commutes to Yellowknife for bingo. And the drinking. Would it ever end? Where were the parents? “We have a problem with our youth.” She’d kept hearing that since she’d returned. She knew it wasn’t our youth; it was our parents. But she kept that to herself.
Running her tongue along her chipped bottom tooth, she thought about these things as she put the groceries into the trunk of the car and made her way inside. She got in first. Robby second. She took a big breath and squinted through the spider-webbed window, the dust, when Robby said quickly, “There’s an old man in our car.”
She looked up and, in the rearview mirror, saw the devil sitting in the back seat. That was what they’d called him all her life. The most dangerous medicine man in the communities. The rattlesnake. “Oh,” she said quickly. “Hello, Uncle.”
She cursed herself for calling him family but she did it for the boy. She did it for her son. She didn’t want him to be scared.
The old man nodded. He’d gotten skinny, she’d noticed. Sitting there in his suit and cap, you’d think he was like any other elder, but you’d know he wasn’t. You’d have to. How could you not feel the blackness bleeding out of him.
“Uncle,” she said. “I think you are sitting in the wrong car.”
“Ee-le,” he said. “I’m sitting in your car.”
Celestine glanced at her son and turned her body, placed herself between them, so Robby couldn’t fully turn to see him. Nor could they touch. They mustn’t touch, she panicked.
They can’t.
“How can we help you? Do you need a ride?” Again, she cursed herself for speaking quickly without thinking. But it was for the boy, for her son. He mustn’t know that within reach, within a quick pluck of a strand of hair, sat the man who could be paid to kill, cripple, or curse someone. Even as a girl, she’d seen half the town—including the priest—cross the street when he approached.
“I want you to drive me around,” he said. “Now.”
“Oh,” she said, looking around, looking for one truck or car she could hand him off to. But who would take him? She already knew. No one. It was a Sunday. The town was quiet, mourning. She glanced towards the lake and saw curtains close from a kitchen window. Who lived there and what had they seen?
“I have to take my son and the groceries home to my parents,” she said.
“Neezee,” he nodded. “Then we’ll go.”
“I’m staying with you,” Robby said and touched her arm.
“Robby,” she said but knew not to argue with him. Not in front of the old man. “Robby,” she said and reached in her purse for a five dollar bill. “Please go get us a drink. What would you li
ke, Uncle?”
She did this to stall for time. She had to make it clear. She had to say what she needed to say before they went anywhere.
“Orange Crush,” he said. This surprised her.
“Huh uh,” she nodded. “Robby, get yourself a drink, okay? Ho.”
“What would you like, Mama?” Robby asked. He never called her Mama anymore until now. He must have known. He must have known she was in trouble or in terror.
“Coke,” she said. “In a can. Ice cold.”
It was going to be a hot day. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a Coke but she’d need something now, an edge.
Robby was gone but not before touching her arm softly. She nodded without looking at him because she knew if she looked she’d start to shake. To have something so dangerous and close to her son again was something she swore would never happen to them. And here it was.
Robby closed the door behind him and made his way to the Northern, swaying his head this way and that. He sometimes pretended he was a hippopotamus when he was alone. She’d asked him about it one day after they’d snuggled and watched a documentary on cable. That’s all they’d done that one blue day: snuggled, watched a show on hippopotamuses and eaten bowl after bowl of popcorn. Her son had brought her so much joy and she never forgot how hot and smooth the back of his neck was, at a week old, even now at eight. She loved to kiss the perfect warmth of his neck and her heart ached when she thought about how the love she knew transformed into everything good when she gave birth to her sons. A love she knew for the very first time. What else did you need in this life, she wondered, but a child who pretended to be a hippopotamus because he thought they dreamed with their eyes open underwater.
The old man was waiting in her backseat and she looked at him directly. “Why are you here?”
“I want to see the town. You will drive me.” His lips curled around his teeth and they were a yellow she’d only seen on tusks. He wasn’t asking. The bottom row was black, probably from snuff. Probably from grinding them down in his hatred
for everything.
She started to shake. “I want you to know,” she said. “My son is my life. If you do anything to him...” She pressed her tongue into the sharpest part of her chipped tooth. She didn’t care if it drew blood. She wanted him to see this. It wasn’t trembling in her. It was outrage. “If you touch him or do anything to us, I will kill you.”
The old man looked at her and grinned. It was an ugly grin. His eyes were dead, she noticed. No life and for a second she wondered if he was blind, if all these years the way he’d look through you or at you was a bluff. But he closed his mouth quickly and he said, “Your son looks like his father. He is safe…” and his voice trailed off.
“I will drive you around after we drop off the groceries. I can’t have anything else happen to him bad in this life. He’s been through enough.”
In his heart, he had to know what a son meant to a mother. And then she remembered the coffin at the funeral. It was so small. The boy’s father had carried it by himself as the pall bearers walked behind him with their heads bowed. His handsome face down and his shoulders shaking as the tears fell on the pine box. White shirts now at a funeral, she noticed. No more black suits. White shirts, for hope, she guessed. Life everlasting.
Robby came back to the car and jumped in with a smile. He’d grabbed everything he’d been asked to, plus a ring with a sweet jewel he could suck on. The jewel on the top was as big as a rock and she narrowed his eyes at him. Even in a time like this, he’d sneak something sweet. But she let it go. Today was about getting home safe and clean from medicine.
“Here you go,” Robby went to hand the old man his drink. Celestine snatched the can from him, placed herself once again between her son and the old man and handed the elder his drink, careful not to let her fingers touch his.
The old man nodded and she saw his fingernails. They were long, yellow. Filthy.
“Mahsi,” he said.
She looked at him and looked at her son and turned her back. She popped her can open and was about to drink when Robby said, “Cheers everybody.”
She quickly touched his can to his. She could tell Robby was going to ask the old man for a cheers, too, not to actually cheers the old man but to study him.
“Wyndah,” she said quickly. Look.
Robby’s bottom lip darted out quickly and he did.
Celestine started the car and looked around before pulling forward. She drove slowly, drove carefully. She wondered if this is what a police officer felt like with a killer in the backseat or the bomb squad felt like with a bomb that could go off anytime in their hands, in their faces.
They made their way home and the old man would sneeze after each sip of his pop. “Neezee,” he’d say and Robby started to giggle. He glanced sheepishly at his mother with a grin that he saved only for her when something happened he found funny and wanted to see if she found it funny, too. She didn’t smile. She focused on the road and her heart, she realized, was cold with fear.
Celestine could see her whole family standing at the window when she pulled up. Word had travelled. Word had traveled fast that she was driving the devil around.
“Robby, come inside. Ho!”
“I’m staying with you,” he said.
“Zunchlei,” she said and gave him the look.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to the rearview mirror and it was his eyes that gave him away. He was tired, lonely. His face was so foul, dark and bony, with those ancient teeth but his black eyes gave him away. Who else did he have?
She made sure to take Robby’s can of pop with her, and her own when she made her way to the house. She left nothing he could touch that was hers, but could he plant something? Could he slip something into the fabric of the seat that could hurt them?
“What’s going on?” her mother asked.
“How come you’re driving him, you?” her eldest brother asked.
“Celestine, what’s happening?” her father asked.
She explained that the old man wanted a ride.
Then they’d gone after Robby. “You’re staying here. We can’t talk sense into your mother. Did he touch you? Did he touch your hair?”
“No,” he’d said and walked to his mother’s side, no longer sucking on the ring. “I’m going with Mom. I won’t stay here.” His sticky hand had found his way into hers and the ring stuck to her hand, and she was suddenly strong.
“Tell him,” her father said from his chair. “If he wants to be a man today, tell him.”
The family grew quiet.
“Robby,” she said as she crouched to his level. She swept his bangs out of his eyes. “Robby, this is a dangerous old man. This man has power but he uses it for bad.”
Robby nodded. She looked into the eyes that were his father’s and her heart warmed with what she needed to say. “You,” she said. “You have power. You knew before any of us that Grandpa passed away, remember? Remember how he woke you up to kiss you goodbye?”
She could see the family make the sign of the cross and nod. Her mother leaned against the counter. Her apron was covered in white flour, a jam streak across the front.
“You have always had power, inkwo. But you use it for
good, right?”
Robby smiled. “I have power?”
“You have power,” she said. “So we have to be careful. If you’re going to come with me, you have to do exactly what I say, okay? No arguing, no being cheeky, okay?” Robby nodded and went back to sucking his ring. “I promise.”
Celestine turned to her family. “Robby promised.”
They shook their heads.
“Groceries,” she pointed with her lips, a Cree thing, she thought. I live with the Crees in Smith and it shows. “We have to go.”
“We’ll pray,” her mother said. “We’ll pray for you
when you’re with him.”
She nodded, touched.
“Take this,” her mother said. A rosary. Her mother’s rosary. The one she was never allowed to touch. It was there. Warm and covered in flour. She placed it over her daughter’s neck and she was kissed on both cheeks. Her mother squeezed her hands. “My girl,” her mom said. “Be safe.”
Celestine took a big breath, ran her tongue over her chipped tooth and glanced at the wall where her wedding photos used to hang. Years after she’d left, the family had kept them up, despite her taking them down. As if to punish her for leaving. Finally, she burned them. It was never talked about. In the place of her wedding photos were the pictures of her two sons who weren’t with her: Francis and Jordan. She prayed that one day they’d return. They’d stopped wanting to talk with her on the phone, even on her birthday, even on theirs. Letters, parcels, presents—she’d lost count of how many she’d sent through the mail and she knew, instinctively, that they’d never be delivered by John.
• • •
Again, she ran her tongue along her chipped bottom tooth: a reminder of a savage hit when she least expected it one night in the truck on the way home as the boys slept only inches away. She’d bled quietly into her hands, in complete shock. A jealous rage from John after a night of dancing. One chief came up to ask how her father was. Her father had fallen through the ice on his machine and had climbed to safety and walked back to Rae before anyone knew he was in trouble. She’d answered quickly that he was good. But she caught the furious eyes of John watching from the kitchen, his coffee cup mid-chest. The hatred in his eyes. She held snow up to her face, in her mouth, over her eyes as John woke the boys. She’d stood outside for what seemed like hours as he put them to bed and she felt the chip in her tooth and did not want the sun to rise in the morning or ever again. She could not believe this was her life and was suddenly filled with shame. She had become one of the women she swore she never would become with a man she’d loved, had a family with, cooked and cleaned for. Adored.
The Moon of Letting Go Page 9
