As they lay together, her back against his chest, he breathed into the nape of her neck. He pulled her close in his strong arms.
“What was his name again?” he whispered.
She closed her eyes. “What?”
“Tell me his name.”
“Whose name?”
“The soccer ball.”
She smiled and let out a long sigh. “Nelson Crummy.”
She felt him grin against her back. He hugged her lovingly, pulling her into him. Her nipples ached, ready for attention, as the tips of her ears and the heels of her feet were burning from his massage. He’d gone deep and she’d surrendered to the pampering, pushing the worry and grief away. She was thrilled with his hunger to please her again but worried he was still too tender to make love to.
But he was so hungry for her today. “I see you. I see you growing up. Keep going. What was his name?”
She giggled. “Nelson Crummy.” And she said it as if it was exhausting her.
“I see you. You’re growing up and you’ve got big hair, and then short hair, and then a great perm and then a bad one.” She laughed. “What was his name?”
“Baby,” she said as if she was too fatigued.
He kissed her neck and feathered his thumb across her nipple. “Please, baby, just tell me. I can see you when you tell that story.”
He ground himself into her from behind and he started kissing her neck, where he knew it drove her crazy. She turned and rolled into him. They were naked and it felt so good to touch tummy-to-tummy, nipple to nipple. Lance smelled of coconut. She licked the taste of herself off his lips and felt the hot bloom of blood beneath her throat spread like a sunset under her skin. Her breasts began to ache for touch, nuzzling and kiss—in only the way he could adore them. Each time for them was like the first time for him. He trembled and shivered every time they made love, and she enjoyed seducing him with her power, her strength.
“Want me to say it again?” she whispered and placed her leg over his hip so she could feel his heat brush her sex with
a whisper.
He placed his hand there, in that magic spot. “Please.”
“Whose name?”
“The angel at your table.”
She smiled and took her time, whispering into his ear. “Nelson Crummy. Nelson Crummy. Nelson Crummy.”
He could hear her little sharp breaths at the end of every time she said it and he became weak. “Oh, baby,” he said. He kissed her and gently brushed himself against her. She carefully used her leg to pull him closer. She could feel his body heat caress her sex and she curled her toes. “Say it again. Say it over and over.”
“I’m healing you and it’s Nelson Crummy.”
“Oh,” he started to shiver and groan. “Oh, baby.” He gripped her hips harder.
“His name was Nelson Crummy. Can you see me?”
She started to kiss Lance’s face and his eyes were closed in complete trust.
“Baby, I can.”
She could feel him against her. “Be careful, sweetie. Don’t hurt yourself. What do you see?”
“I see you. Growing up. Laughing and trusting. I see you, baby. I see you.” And suddenly Lance was inside her, gently. Just the head of him and she was wet and ready. She was surprised that she was soaked and Lance was inside her now. “Tell me,” he said. “Baby, tell me his name.”
She took him inside her and was amazed to feel how hot and hard he was. They hadn’t made love in months and here they were. She took him, and they were together, and she needed this. She needed Lance inside her. Lance started to kiss her neck and he glided inside her, carefully, slowly.
He gripped her ankle, his favourite thing to do when he was close and she said, “Baby, I love you and his name was Nelson Crummy,” and that was when Lance burst inside of her. He came in such a rush that neither of them was prepared, and he filled her with himself. She cried out in both surprise and delight as she took all of him. She took all of him and felt something inside her she’d never felt before. She felt a blue searing light spread sweetly from her thighs into her tummy, and she suddenly felt a light fill her womb. Her eyes opened in shock. My womb, she thought. She’d never said those words before. A light filled her womb and her body heaved to catch all of it and gather it inside her, into herself, into her life, into her future, and it was everything she’d asked for, everything they deserved.
“Baby,” he pulled her close. “Oh, baby. Did you feel us?”
She took his hands and pulled them towards her heart as she backed into him. She smiled. We have fallen back into ourselves, she thought. As heat and light found them both, Shari suddenly burst into tears. “Yes.”
afterwords
While individual stories are dedicated to those who inspired them, I’d like to dedicate the spirit of this collection to my family, my elders, my teachers, my students, and all my dear friends who are the family of my heart. You know who you are. Mahsi cho for believing in me and for all your inspiration. You are good medicine to me, and I am grateful to all of you.
I’d like to thank my editor, Maurice Mierau, my publisher, Gregg Shilliday, my dear friend, Anita Daher, and Catharina de Bakker at Enfield & Wizenty for believing in this collection so strongly right from the beginning. Mahsi cho!
“Show Me Yours” first appeared in The Walrus (November, 2007). This story is dedicated to northerners everywhere—especially in Yellowknife and Fort Smith, NWT. I’d like to say a huge mahsi cho to Jennifer Knowlan for being there when the story found me. Jennifer and I were walking out of the Wildcat Café in Yellowknife and I asked, “Hey, what if everyone started wearing their baby pictures around their necks? Wouldn’t that be magic?” As well, I’d like to say a huge mahsi cho to Jim Northrup for his writing and storytelling. His story “Goose Goose” in Walking the Rez Road is one of my all time favourites and that same spirit of community and humor definitely inspired me to write this story. Mahsi cho, Jim!
“NDNs” was originally published in the Fall 2009 issue of the Canadian Journal of Native Studies. I’d like to dedicate “NDNs” to my brother, Jamie, and to the memory of my grandmother, Melanie Wah-shee, and especially to my mother, Rosa.
“Dogrib Midnight Runners” was published in Up Here Magazine in 2006. This story was inspired by the life of Paul Grundy and I’d like to dedicate this to his memory, his family, his friends, to everyone in Fort Smith and to streakers everywhere!
“Love Walked In” is dedicated to Trevor Evans, Chris Labonte, Bob Tyrrell, Luke Oskirko and Garth Prosper and to the women in my life who keep me strong: Chantal Rondeau, Katrina Chappell, Julie Lees, Stephanie Winch, Karen V. Bowers, Erin Macdonald, Tracy D. Smith, Loretta Seto, Christina Piovesan, Anita Doron, Renate Eigenbrod, Leigh-Anne Mercier, Leanne Padgett, Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm, Renee K. Abram, Jennifer Duncan, Jamie Therrien, Kym Gouchie, Jenny Simpson, Janice Forsey, Judith Drinnan, Barbie Everett, Zoe Ballentyne, Amy Reiswig, Trika Macdonald, Helena Krobath, Kelly Kitchen, and Keavy Martin.
“The Last Snow of the Virgin Mary” was published in Moccasin Thunder, edited by Lori Mari Carlson (HarperCollins, 2005). I’d like to dedicate this story to my brothers Roger Wah-shee and Johnny Van Camp as well as Mike Mahussier, Jon Liv Jaque, James Croizier, Dusty Kamps, Trevor Evans, Junior Mercredi, Sean Muir, and Trevor Cameron.
I’d like to dedicate “The Moon of Letting Go” to the memory of Snowbird Martin, the late great Melvin Greybear, and to my late grandfather, Pierre Wah-shee.
“I Count Myself Among Them” was published in the Summer 2009 issue of Prairie Fire. I want to acknowledge Andris Taskans and Heidi Harms at Prairie Fire for publishing two of the stories in this collection. I’ve always admired Prairie Fire for its commitment to publishing brilliant Canadian literature and it is an honour to be included in their magnificence. I would like to dedicate this story to all the artists I adore who welcomed me into th
e full grace of the blood in men: my dad, Roger Brunt, my father, Jack Van Camp, Craig Lesley, Sherman Alexie, Robert Arthur Alexie, Harold Hoefle, Michael Bryson, Barry Lopez, Sarain Stump, Adrian C. Louis, N. Scott Momaday, Richard Wagamese, Geary Hobson, Daniel Heath Justice, Warren Cariou, Bill Valgardson, Patrick Lane, Pat Conroy, Daniel Woodrell, James Welch, Alootook Ippellie, The Mission, The Cure, The Sisters of Mercy, The Ministry, CircleSquare, Placebo, Fields of the Nephilim, A Perfect Circle, She Wants Revenge, Dead Can Dance, Nick Tosches, Steve Sanderson, Steven “Jesse” Bernstein, Garry Gottfriedson, Joseph Dandurand, Gregory Scofield, Chris Bose, Billeh Nickerson, Joseph Boyden, Drew Hayden Taylor, Kent Williams, George Littlechild, Francois Paulette, Thomas King, Niigonwedom James Sinclair, Chris Paul and Marty Ballentyne who gave me the title for this dream without even knowing it. As well, I’d like to acknowledge Stan Bourke and his family for this story.
“Don’t Forget This” was published in the anthology Stories from Moccasin Avenue (Totem Pole Books). This story was inspired by a time in my life when I lived in Penticton attending the En’owkin International School of Writing and I’d like to dedicate this story to my En’owkin family. I’d also like to acknowledge the master storytellers in my life who have inspired me in everything that I do: Ivan Coyote, Lee Maracle, Jeannette Armstrong, Glen Douglas, Henry Jenson, Irene Sanderson, Maria Brown, Roberta Kennedy, Seraphine Evans, Edna Beaver, Nora Doig, Sharon Shorty, Earl and Marlene Evans, George Blondin, Winston Wuttunee, Norman Hall, Dr. Lee Brown, and everyone else I have had the honour of listening to and learning from.
“The Power of Secrets” was published in the UBC Alumni Trek Magazine (Spring, 2008). I’d like to dedicate this story to everyone in Bella Bella/ Waglisla and to Trevor Evans.
I’d like to dedicate “Wolf Medicine: A Ceremony of You” to Gudrun Will and Mark Mushet from the Vancouver Review for honouring the wish and spirit of this story so wonderfully in their Winter 2007 issue with a pictorial by Mark Mushet featuring models Helen Haig-Brown and D’Arcy O’Connor. This song was hand sculpted to one song on repeat hundreds of times: “Spiders” by System of a Down. I saw this story through this song. Mahsi cho, System of a Down!
“Idioglossia” was originally published as “Dypthia” in Prairie Fire (Autumn, 2001), edited by Thomas King, whom I’d like to thank for believing in me right from the get-go. I’d like to dedicate this story to John Beder who told me about the secret, birdlike and haunting language of two brother twins he knew.
I’d like to dedicate “A Darling Story” to Anna Swanson who told me about Nelson Crummy and sent me on my way with a dare and a deadline. I’d also like to dedicate this story to every couple out there facing fertility issues. Be strong and gentle together. I’d also like to thank Dana Claxton for commissioning this story for the Good Medicine Project with the Grunt Gallery. As well, I’d like to thank Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm for editing the story and Annelies Pool for being such a great first reader and dear friend.
“Dogrib Midnight Runners,” “Show Me Yours,” “NDNs,” and “The Power of Secrets” were narrated and broadcast on CBC Radio One when I was North by Northwest’s Writer in Residence in
2007. You can hear them on the Enfield & Wizenty website at
www.enfieldandwizenty.ca and on mine at www.richardvancamp.org. I’d like to thank Sheryl MacKay for being such a great producer and editor during this golden time of creation and narration.
Mahsi cho! Thank you for reading these stories. They have taken me many lifetimes in this one to dream and share.
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