The Erratics
Page 15
Just off Highway 7, 10 kilometres southwest of Okotoks, my mother’s spirit sits on the edge of the huge V-shaped boulder cracked down the middle, known as the Okotoks Erratic, and dangles her feet above the 9-metre drop. She is wearing her ankle-length black mink coat and matching hat, and French high-heeled pumps. She looks up at the flawless sky, the millions of stars, the tiniest sliver of a moon, all that blackness.
Napi the Trickster, the spirit Wise Man of the Blackfoot people, swoops in like a snowboarder, his buffalo-skin cloak flying, and sits next to her, showering her with ice crystals.
Nice hat, he says. She nods, looking at her shoes which, she is just realising with horror, are made of calfskin.
The hat’s mink, she says. Farmed mink. Sorry.
Nobody’s perfect, he says. And you did choose a really cold night for it. It’s brass monkeys out here. You need something warm to wear.
And as the northern lights begin to drift across the sky, mauve and aqua and leaf-green, he tells her the story of his cloak.
One hot day, he stopped to rest on this very rock. He spread his cloak out and lay down. When he was refreshed, he left his cloak as a token of thanks to the rock for its hospitality. But he hadn’t gone many miles before the rain set in and he returned to the Okatok, which is what the rock is called in the Blackfoot language, to take his cloak back.
The Okatok was furious, and as Napi ran across the foothills, clutching his cloak, the rock chased him, rolling faster and faster, picking up tremendous speed. All Napi’s friends – the elk, the deer, the bear, the coyotes and the prairie dogs – tried to help by running between him and the rampaging rock to slow it down, but they were crushed by its huge weight.
The Okatok was gaining on Napi. His friends the bats were his last chance. They saw a fault line in the rock from above. They took turns diving and diving, hitting the fault line, their little faces getting flatter after every hit, to remain that way forever, until a thunderous crack echoed in the sky as the rock broke in two and came to a halt where it lies to this day.
So, he concludes, watching the curtains of colour sweep across the sky, don’t apologise for the mink. We do what we can. You protected the animals on your property. You didn’t let the white guys come there and kill for fun. And remember that first day, when you went for a drive around your new place and you found that badger on the side of the road, its back broken, hit by a car, just lying there panting? I saw you go to the nearest house and get the rancher to come with his rifle to put it out of its misery. You had to insist. You did good.
My mother’s spirit is pleased, but then he adds, You might not know, but your daughters try to do good too.
I don’t have children, she says.
Can’t trick the Trickster, he says. And were you even listening to the story about my cloak? It’s about not taking back what you have given.
Your daughters, he continues, holding up a finger to silence her, should you have had any, try too. One of them raises money for the Pacific Whale Foundation. The other one signs things. Don’t cull the sharks. Stop live animal exports. It doesn’t do much good, but it’s something.
The aurora borealis are fading. Well, he says, show’s over. Gotta see a man about a dog. You should move on too. You’ll have more scope now, for the good stuff.
He waves his arm. Wider view, he says. Farther reach. But only for the good stuff. See ya, he says, and dissolves into the frosty air.
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to:
•
Varuna, the Writers’ House, that oasis outside time where you magically just get on with it, however scary the cliff-edge you’re on, however unequal you feel to the task;
•
Patti Miller and Carol Major, for their warm support at opposite ends of a long process;
•
my writing friends, Varuna poets and memoir writers, and to the steadfast and amazing Seize the Day group: you heard it all first;
•
and most of all, to the family and friends who believe in me even when I don’t. I won’t embarrass you by naming names. You know who you are and you know I hold you all in my heart.
Reading notes: If you enjoyed this book and wish to make it part of your bookclub, be sure to download the reading notes available from www.harpercollins.com.au
About the Author
VICKI LAVEAU-HARVIE was born in Canada, but lived for many years in France before settling in Australia. She has three passports and treasures the unique perspective this quirk of fate aff ords her. In France, she worked as a translator and a business editor, despite being a specialist in 18th century French literature. In Sydney, she lectured in French Studies at Macquarie University. After retiring, she taught ethics in a primary school.
Vicki Laveau-Harvie is passionate about writing, education and communication. Her memoir, The Erratics, won the 2018 Finch Memoir Prize and was longlisted for the Stella Prize. She has won prizes for short fiction and poetry.