The Moon of Letting Go

by Richard Van Camp

  She swept and used the dustpan to collect everything. Strange, she thought. In the dust, she saw three glass beads, all black, and a small earring. Her heart froze. There. In the corner: a finger.

  A child’s finger. Black. Gnarled. Twisted.

  She knelt, made sure Robby couldn’t see. Got closer.

  No.

  A root. Ratroot?

  She wasn’t sure.

  She left it.

  She didn’t know what to do with the beads and the earring, and she didn’t want to touch them, so she walked outside and showed them to the old man. “Na,” she said. “Wyndah.”

  The old man looked at them and shook his head. “Dowdee.” He motioned for her to dump it all. She walked to the bushes and dumped everything. She looked up. There was the moon. The beautiful full moon. She could see what seemed to be a wolf sitting on the moon. She studied it and took a big breath. She turned and saw Robby was looking at the old man. The old man said something to him and Robby was smiling. She walked quickly back. “Robby,” she said. “Zunchlei.”

  Robby followed her back in.

  “Celestine,” the old man said and she stopped. “Keep the boy away from that box.”

  She nodded. She made her way towards her son and ran the water so the old man wouldn’t hear them. “What did he say

  to you?”

  “Nothing,” he said. But she could tell.

  “Robby,” she said. “Tell me.”

  Robby swallowed. “He wanted to know when we were leaving.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Tomorrow. After breakfast.”

  Was this bad? Was this bad that he knew?

  She shook her head. “Stick close to me. You wanted to stay with me and I let you. Don’t speak to him. And do not go into the old chest in his room, okay? Do not even go near it.”

  “I promise,” Robby sighed. He was getting bored. She could see. There was nothing for him to do.

  “Go find us some music,” she said.

  He looked at her.

  Celestine pointed with her lips to the little radio and Robby pounced on it. He fiddled with the dials and soon turned on CBC. Norbert Poitras was on: the Trail’s End. Straight country.

  The kitchen. There were hardly any dishes, so she ran the water and filled the sink with soap to bring a lemon scent throughout the house. She filled it with hot water and began to wipe the counters. Again, she swept and Robby leaned against the counters.

  “Are you excited to go back to Smith?”

  Robby shrugged.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “He’s lonesome,” Robby said and she paused. He was right. The old man was tired. Lonely. She looked around. What was his life like? What did he think about at night? Who and what haunted his memories? How long could you work black medicine for? How long could you plot? What was promised for a life lived like this? Who did he serve? No kids. No family. No friends. Who?

  She cleaned and lost herself in thought. After, the bathroom. Oh it was filthy.

  “Wait in the kitchen,” she said and gagged. Even though she’d poured Mr. Clean into the sink, toilet and tub, the stench of piss and offal was too much. She turned the fan on and her eyes watered. Oh it was pitiful. Pitiful. She cleaned. She used bleach and a toilet brush, bleach in the tub, bleach in the sink. She cleaned fast and worked hard. Strangely, there were no fingernail clippings or strands of hair anywhere to be found. The medicine man had cleaned his home in his own way for anything of his that could be used against him in a medicine war.

  After that, his room. In the middle of the room was a large wooden box. It looked like an old-fashioned grub box, one you’d see in dog sleds. One that was supposed to be filled with pots, pans, grub. It looked beat up. But it sat alone in the middle of the room and she made the sign of the cross and kissed the cross around her neck. She cleaned around it and said Hail Mary over and over. In the closet hung his clothes: two shirts. Two pants. Two pairs of socks. They were all filthy. She threw them in the washer and got to work. In the closet, his parka. No moose hide, no beaded gloves. Pitiful.

  But that was it. That was all he had.

  She got to work and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. Robby helped her wipe the walls. They listened to country and, because it was a small place for one person, they were done. She placed the man’s clothes in the dryer and put it on a timed dry that she was sure would be perfect.

  She was done.

  Celestine kept her gloves on in case there was more to do.

  “Nehko honti a tsee lah,” she announced to the old man.

  He looked ahead and she studied his profile. He’d gotten skinny over the years. Not frail. Not yet. But skinny.

  “Mahsi,” he said and looked to her. “You’ve always taken care of the people.”

  She nodded.

  “Zunchlei,” he said and waved her towards him.

  She walked slowly, aware that Robby was behind her. She could hear him taking his gloves off with a snap. He waved her closer. “Zunchlei.”

  Soon she was standing close. His pipe was gone and he stood to face her. Celestine grew shy.

  He looked into her eyes. “Someone is trying to kill you.”

  She backed up, reaching for Robby. “What?”

  He nodded. “This was medicine from long time ago.”

  “Robby,” she said over her shoulder. “Go inside and wait. Ho.”

  “Roger that,” Robby said and went into the kitchen where it was clean, where nothing could hurt him, where he could listen to music.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “This better not be a trick.”

  “No trick,” the man shook his head. “It was a woman who called this for you.”

  And she knew. Celestine knew who it was. She knew: Therese.

  It was John’s lover. The whole time they were together, Celestine knew a woman loved John. It was an ex who John never quite got over. Celestine liked the competition. In fact, it was the ex who made the hunt for John so exciting. It was a game. Because of her, Celestine became a better wife, mother, lover and friend. Celestine did her best every day for her and her man and her family to show John that he’d chosen well. And on her wedding day, she remembered thinking as she walked into the church, “I’ve won.”

  She also remembered the quick fear when the priest asked if there was anyone who wanted to challenge the ceremony. She wondered for a second if Therese was going to come forward and say something and, to her shame, she could see it in John’s eyes, too.

  Therese was the one who never got over John—at least that is what John said. Celestine learned a year after they were married that it was the other way around. Therese also came from a family from Wekweti who had a lot of medicine and she made Celestine’s life miserable. There were late night calls to the house with no one on the other line. There were calls to John’s pager in the middle of the night. There was always a reminder that he was a wanted man.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “This medicine couldn’t touch you when you were in Smith. The second you came back here … it’s been waiting.” He then lifted his hand and pointed over the trees facing south. “The woman who set this up hired a pipe man from Alberta. I can see him and his family. He’s young. Strong. I can’t touch him but I can kill someone he loves if you want.”

  Celestine heard herself take a huge breath. “What? No. No….”

  He nodded. “I can kill her for you if you want.”

  “No,” she said and moved closer to him. “No killing.”

  He thought about this. “I could—”

  When she looked at him, she saw him as weak. This was all he had. This was all he could offer. She was struck with the image of the father earlier this morning carrying the coffin of his son, how his shoulders shook as he wept, the sound that pie
rced them all as he started to moan as he cried.

  She became furious. “You will not kill anyone. No killing. No cursing or killing anyone. Do you hear me?” And she thought about it. She was free. Her lips were quivering but she was free. They were all free now. “She can have him.”

  “It’s too late,” he said. “It’s too late for that.”

  Her heart froze. “What?”

  “The medicine,” he pointed again to the south, “is coming. It’s on its way. You leave tomorrow back to Smith. It will come for you then.”

  She closed her eyes. This was a nightmare. To return home to a funeral and for the threat of open medicine hunting her. Robby, she thought. We have to head home. A new job. A new chapter. She had to be there. She could not be late.

  “Na,” the old man said. “Look.” And his voice changed. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a necklace made of moose hide with a little pouch at the base. “I made this for you.”

  She stared at it. It looked ancient as if it had been worn by many people over hundreds of years. The moose hide was stained with what looked like grease, sweat, oil from hands and earth. She could smell it. It smelled strong, ancient. Yarrow?

  “This will take the hit for you,” he said. “When it comes. Do not look inside the bag or your son will go blind.”

  Celestine winced at the thought of that kind of power. She was shaking.

  He went to put it over her head. Her skin suddenly came to life in fear. She rose her hands to stop it. “Don’t touch me,” she said.

  He looked at her and his eyes softened. “My girl, I am protecting you. Your son is your life. Na.”

  She felt her hands fall gently to her sides and he placed the necklace over her head and around her shoulders. She could hear him praying, chanting. It was soft and beautiful what he sang. It was the same phrase over and over. She felt safe. She could feel her mother’s rosary under the medicine bag and she could feel the old man’s hands touch both of her shoulders and then the top of her head.

  My hair, she thought briefly, and then it was over.

  “My girl,” he said.

  She had a quick flash of the man who was half bear looking into her eyes and saying something so low she couldn’t hear but could feel. The man who was a bear had blessed her in the old way.

  She opened her eyes. What he’d placed in the pouch at the base of the necklace smelled of yarrow, yes, boiled yarrow, bear grease and something thick and deep: caribou tongue?

  “This will take the hit for you. It knows what to do. After it’s done, after it comes for you, burn it.”

  The old man looked at her and nodded, and then he looked past her shoulders and his eyes widened.

  Robby!

  Celestine turned around to see that Robby standing wearing the old man’s moccasins, the old man’s moccasin rubbers, his moose hide vest so old the beadwork looked like dull plastic, his gloves and his hat. “I don’t understand what all the fuss is, Mom,” Robby shrugged. “These clothes feel just like Grandpa’s.”

  “Robby!” Celestine yelled out of fear. The old man had just touched her. She’d trusted him. And now Robby had broken the most sacred promise of not touching a medicine man’s things. “Robby, you take them off right now!”

  Robby looked at his mom and pointed at the old man. “But you said he had power. I have power, too. I keep waiting to feel something but it’s just cheap, boy. Wah! I don’t feel nothing.”

  Celestine was furious. Where did he get these clothes from—the trunk? The trunk where the old man kept his medicine? She raced toward her son. She was enraged. When she heard it: laughter.

  Laughter from behind her.

  Laughter from the old man.

  The old man started to cackle.

  She stopped and looked at him and the old man started to slap his knees. It was a belly laugh and the old man laughed and laughed and laughed. Robby started laughing, too, and Celestine watched it all. She realized that she was still wearing her yellow cleaning gloves. She watched it all with her mother’s rosary around her neck and the old man’s medicine pouch on top. She was protected, wasn’t she? But soon she found herself laughing along with Robby and the old man. It was relief and release and each round of laughter started a new one and they laughed and laughed and laughed. Celestine thought for a second that if anyone walked in, they would think: “Oh what a lovely family: a grandpa with his daughter and grandson.”

  She laughed and walked towards her son. She pulled her gloves off and ordered Robby to take off the old man’s things properly, with respect. She touched the old man’s moose hide vest and looked to him. “I am sorry, Uncle. Forgive my son.”

  The old man wiped his eyes and shook his head. “Your son is going to be a great leader,” he said. “He will bring you three sons and one daughter.”

  Robby gulped loudly with his throat. “Sick.”

  Celestine beamed at the thought of this. “Mahsi. Robby, let’s put this all back for our uncle, okay?”

  “Okay,” Robby nodded. “Sorry everybody.”

  Celestine looked at the old man who made his way out to his porch to have another puff on his pipe. He was shaking his head and laughing. “Robby,” she said but shook her head as well. “Let’s go home.”

  As Celestine put everything back, she looked around: the place was spotless, his clothes would be dry in minutes. She was happy.

  “Am I allowed to shake his hand?” Robby asked.

  Celestine thought about it and nodded. “Well, you already wore his clothes. Why not? Show respect and be polite.”

  She watched Robby approach the old man, the most dangerous man in the north. Robby was growing. He’d filled out this summer but now it was gone. He had longer legs, arms. His skin was getting darker and she was proud of him.

  She looked at the old man and thought, “I have seen your life, old man, and it is lonely. I have. I have. I have seen where you keep your medicine. If anything touches my son, I will know where to go and I will know what to do.”

  Robby made his way outside and held his hand out. “Mahsi cho, Uncle.”

  The old man smiled and put his pipe down. “Mahsi cho, nephew.” The old man chuckled and pointed at Robby with his free hand. “You will be a great leader for the people. Lots of trouble for your mom. But you will be a great man. Take care of your mom. She is also a great woman.”

  Celestine blushed at the generosity.

  Robby looked to her and smiled. Oh her heart ached. She would never forget this. Robby shook the man’s hand and bowed and made his way to the car. He started swaying his head like a hippopotamus as he got in and buckled up.

  Celestine held her hand out and the old man stood. “Mahsi cho, Celestine. Travel safe. Remember: do not look into this bag. It will take the hit. It knows what to do.”

  “What do I look for?”

  “You will know,” he said. “It will show you.”

  Celestine nodded. “Mahsi.”

  “Are you sure?” the old man asked and his voice went low.

  “I am sure,” Celestine said. “No killing.” She knew what he was talking about.

  He nodded. “What about this woman? This one who sent it your way?”

  She thought of the beatings she took, the phone book, the telephone cord, holding snow to her face to stop the swelling. “She can have my ex,” she said. “They deserve each other.”

  He nodded. “Travel safe.”

  She nodded and shook his hand. It was ice cold. She started but shook it once, gently. “Mahsi.”

  Celestine made her way to the car and got in. Buckling up, she looked at her son who was fiddling with the radio dials. She was suddenly tired. “Let’s go home,” she said. And then she remembered the box. “Robby, did you go near that wooden box in his room?”

  “No way,” he said. “It was spooky.”
<
br />   She knew he was telling the truth.

  “So where did you get his vest and gloves?”

  “In his dresser.”

  “Dresser?” she asked. “I cleaned that whole house. There was no dresser.”

  Robby began munching on his chips. “Mom, there was a dresser in the room with that chest. That’s where his vest was.”

  Celestine thought about it. She could not remember a dresser. She was puzzled. She shook her head. Perhaps this was a trick the old man had played on her. She did not know. She would think about this later, but, in her heart, she knew there was no dresser.

  They drove home and, as they did, Celestine could see people standing on the road, standing on their porches, standing in their yards. They were all watching her and her son. Celestine stared straight ahead and drove home to where supper was waiting: caribou stew and hot bannock with lots of tea and jam. Coffee. Ice cream and apple pie for dessert. The TV was on. How she hated to eat with the TV on. But she was too tired to say anything. After, a hot shower for her, scrubbing herself raw and a bath for Robby. She hugged him and sang to him and he fell asleep like that and she beside him. She woke in the middle of the night to Robby turning over.

  She got up, made her way to her room and her father waiting for her. He’d been waiting. He stood and hugged her and told her they’d prayed all day. “Did he touch you?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “No.”

  “Your mother was worried,” he said.

  “I know, Dad.”

  “Get some sleep, my girl,” he said. “You have a long drive. Thank you for coming home.”

  She nodded and wiped tears from her eyes and undressed in her room, climbed into fresh sheets. A Bible fell on the floor. She’d missed it coming in. She picked it up and placed it on the dresser, showed it respect and slept with a dream.

  • • •

  In it, she stood in the old man’s room, at the base of the old chest. A voice told her, “His medicine is not here. It is behind the eagle fan in the living room.”

  She flashed awake. Whose voice? She wondered. Her father’s? Or was it her grandfather’s—or Robby’s?

  She fell asleep after listening to the house, the house she grew up in, her family dreaming together.