Totem

by Jennifer Maruno

  Jonny followed him up the ramp. They passed paintings of fish skeletons, deer with their heads and forelegs held high, and many outlines of turtles.

  At the top, a stream fell from the mountain, filling a depression in the granite surface before flowing over the edge. Kalaku cut flat sprays of branches from the trees that grew by the waterfall. “The hemlock will purify you,” Kalaku said as they bathed in the icy water and dried their bodies with the feathery, flat needles. “For four days and four nights you are not to eat or drink,” Kalaku instructed.

  “You’re going to leave me here all alone?” Jonny asked him in amazement. “Aren’t there all kinds of wild animals in the mountains?”

  “You have nothing to fear,” Kalaku replied. He patted Jonny on the head and left.

  Jonny walked across the smooth plateau. The amazing space of sky above and the liquid silver of the ocean below filled him with a sense of awe. At the very edge was a rainbow painted in a complete circle. A light breeze rippled through his hair as he watched the old man leave. Jonny decided, as he watched the magnificent sunset, to keep track of the time. He picked up a pine needle and made a short scratch on his upper arm. He memorized the exact position of the sun. This time tomorrow, he told himself, I’ll do it again.

  He lay down on the warm stone surface and slept.

  The next day, from his rocky ridge, Jonny watched a pair of bear cubs play near the shore. They climbed a slim pine and rocked it back and forth, bending it half-way to the ground. He threw down a stone.

  The small bears cocked their black furry heads in curiosity as it bounced into the water.

  Jonny lay on his belly, called out to them, and waved.

  The cubs lifted their noses to the air, as their bright beady eyes searched the cliff. Their looks of curiosity changed to alarm. They clambered down and scrambled along the shore.

  Jonny spent his time wandering and waiting for something to happen. On the fourth day he sat in the sweet-smelling air listening to bird song and the creaking of the branches over his head wondering when something would happen and what it might be He had examined every tree, watched every bird, and studied every track. He had picked berries and tossed them one by one, over the side, but had not eaten or quenched his thirst. As his eyelids grew heavy in the mid-day sun, Jonny decided to climb a tree, like the cubs, to get cool.

  He sat in the fork of a great oak, closed his eyes, and let the fragrances of leaf and bark tease his nose. Jonny had waited alone without food or water and nothing had happened. For the first time in his life he hadn’t dreamed. Jonny feared that when Kalaku came back, he would have nothing to tell him.

  Finally, desperate for a drink, he climbed down the tree and kneeled beside the small rock pool. His reflection startled him. Who is this boy with the darkly tanned skin and shoulder-length hair? He dipped his cupped hands into the cool, clear water. But before the water reached his lips, the unmistakable odour of animal filled his nostrils. Jonny looked up, directly into the eyes of a black timber wolf. The animal was so close Jonny could have stroked its muzzle. Instead he offered his cupped hands.

  The wolf lapped the water, his rough tongue tugging at Jonny’s palm.

  “My brother,” Jonny said to the wolf as he drank. “They say we have the same eyes.” The timber wolf looked up. His unflinching blue gaze locked on to Jonny’s eyes. “One of your people brought me to a place where I was fed, clothed, and given a bed.” The wolf continued to stare. “I thank you for this,” Jonny said, lowering his hands with care. “But I must ask for another kindness.” He widened his eyes and looked deeply into the wolf’s eyes. “If you give me your spirit power, I promise to always help your people.”

  Jonny lowered his forehead to the ground in a gesture of submission. When he lifted his head, the wolf had disappeared into the shadows. The next sound Jonny heard was a drum.

  He glanced at the four scratches on his arm, and then walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Kalaku waited by his canoe on the beach.

  Jonny raced down the ramp and danced at the old man’s feet. “Kalaku,” he said. “I have spoken with a wolf.”

  The old man smiled. “What did you say to him?” he asked.

  “I thanked his people for saving my life when I was a baby.”

  “That is good,” Kalaku replied as he pushed the canoe away from the rocky beach.

  “I asked him for his spirit power,” Jonny said.

  “That is also good,” Kalaku said.

  “And then I heard the sound of your drum.”

  Kalaku put down his paddle. “What did you say?”

  “I heard the sound of your hand drum,” Jonny repeated.

  “But, my drum is not with me, my son,” Kalaku said, pursing his lips in thought.

  14

  The Steamer

  Each night when Jonny dreamed, the face of the wolf grew clearer. He examined his paddle and then drew a long snout, sharp teeth, and pointed ears with his charcoal. The shaft would be the tail, he decided as he sketched the lines. But will I be able to carve it?

  Kalaku watched. “This image is good,” he said. “Your eye and your hand are one. Continue.”

  Jonny’s hand shook knowing he was working under the eye of a true artist.

  “When smoke circles the moon,” Kalaku said, “you must dance before the fire.”

  “Why must I dance?’ Jonny asked.

  “Dancing in honour of your guiding spirit will awaken its power in you,” Kalaku said. “You must do this,” he said, taking a seat on a log by the fire, “before they come.”

  “Before who will come?” Jonny asked, putting down the charcoal.

  Kalaku didn’t say any more. Usually his silence wrapped Jonny like a warm blanket, but this time it made him anxious. Jonny wouldn’t think to question him further. He knew the old man would speak again when he was ready.

  “The stars tell me,” Kalaku finally said.

  Jonny knew the old man watched the stars when most people slept. He showed Jonny how to find the ladle, the archer with his bow drawn, the great grizzly bear, and the home star. He told Jonny that wherever he went, the stars would always guide his way.

  “The Black Robes will come,” Kalaku said one evening. The image of a long white room with polished wood floors, grey-blanketed beds, and barred windows came to Jonny in a rush. His throat tightened and his heart pounded with dread. He could almost smell the walls that reeked of bleach.

  Jonny looked at the small mound where they slept next to the ring of smooth stones that held their fire. The moose hides stretched across the ceiling gave the hut the smell of cooking meat. Each morning, at the light of dawn, Jonny emerged from their little warren to hunt, eat, and carve. He desperately hoped that the old man had read the stars wrong.

  “Then, others will come,” Kalaku told him, looking to the south. “They will cut trees, leaving none to house the animals or seed the ground. They will take the best from the ocean and the fish will no longer swim in great numbers.” With a great sigh he rose and said, “and once again our land will be destroyed.”

  Silver Cloud approached. “It is time for me to return to the village,” she said. “There is much to do to prepare for summer camp.”

  The old man gave her a nod and motioned for Jonny to go along with her.

  Jonny packed his carving tools and placed them in the hut. Then he hoisted some of the baskets Silver Cloud had filled with herbs, roots, and flowers. Weighty loads were a regular part of her life, he realized, watching her lift baskets much heavier than his. Before he followed Silver Cloud out of the clearing, he turned to Kalaku and said, “Kloshe nanitch.”

  Kalaku nodded and raised a hand goodbye.

  Silver Cloud did not speak until they reached the beach. Here, she put down her bundles and walked out to the shore. “The tide is out,” she said, “our table can be set.” With a pointed stick, she pried a meal of oysters from the warm, damp sand.

  Jonny watched her pluck handfuls of eel grass
from the marsh while he built a fire. He knew she would burn it and use the salty ashes for seasoning. He also knew she would only take what was needed. She once explained to him that eelgrass was an important shelter for small fish, crabs, and turtles.

  “All things come from the water,” Silver Cloud said, as she pulled at golden strands of rubbery seaweed attached to the rocks on the beach. The tiny egg-shaped ends made a popping noise when crushed. “Long ago some creatures stayed in the water and some left to live on land,” she said.

  Jonny looked out into the waves. He thought of the turtle on the rocky wall. “Some creatures live in the water and on the land,” he said, “like the turtle.”

  Silver Cloud smiled and nodded.

  They moved along the beach toward the village.

  “How do you know so much?” Jonny asked.

  “The First People knew everything,” she told him. “They taught each of our villages one special thing.”

  “What did your village learn?” asked Jonny.

  “We learned how to carry fire,” she said.

  “What did the other villages learn?”

  “Canoe making, carving, and cooking,” she said.

  Jonny put the baskets down and stopped to think. “Was learning how to fish one of the things taught?”

  “One village learned how to trap fish,” Silver Cloud said, nodding in approval, “and what else do you think?”

  Jonny thought about all that went on in the village. “Weaving,” he suggested.

  Silver Cloud shook her head.

  “Drawing,” Jonny suggested.

  Silver Cloud shook her head.

  “I give up,” Jonny said. “You have to tell me.”

  “Weapons,” she said. “One village learned how to make weapons.”

  Jonny drew back in surprise. That, he would have never guessed. Seeing the visitors from other villages treat each other with such respect, he couldn’t imagine a need for weapons.

  “Each village shared their gift of knowledge,” Silver Cloud said as they entered the village, “making us all one great nation.”

  Along the shore, villagers removed planks from their houses and piled them next to tools and baskets on the beach. Everyone seemed impatient to be off to summer camp.

  Jonny followed Silver Cloud into the great lodge. Her baskets and bundles of herbs tied with curls of root filled the floor of her small compartment. She gave out a great sigh of satisfaction. “The spring gathering was good,” she said. “The spirits provided.”

  Back outside, Jonny spotted Ernie heading across the beach. His friend carried a rake that looked like a giant comb with razor sharp tines and a basket. Jonny ran to catch up.

  “I’m glad to see you,” he said, clapping Ernie on the back.

  “I went back to the cave,” Ernie told him in a whisper, “but nothing happened.”

  “Nothing?”

  “All I found was the same pile of wood, the torch and those drawings on the walls.” He waded to the middle of the river that flowed down from the mountain and moved the rake to catch fish on the tines. He filled his basket.

  Chasekin, one of the men in the village, looked into Ernie’s basket and grunted.

  Jonny remembered Silver Cloud telling him that Chasekin was an expert harpoon thrower. “I thought you said that guy was going to take you out whaling,” Jonny said, as he helped Ernie carry the basket along the shore.

  “Who cares about whales?” Ernie retorted.

  The woman sitting beside the small low fire on the beach took a fish from his basket and tossed it on the flames. After searing the body, she pulled it out by the tail and placed it on a cedar rack over smoking coals. Soon she would have a great pile of smoked fish ready for the journey to the summer camp.

  “Didn’t you once tell me your father was going to take you whale hunting?” Jonny asked.

  “You gotta travel too far,” Ernie said as they watched the woman work. “My dad hardly ever did what he said, anyway.”

  Jonny wasn’t sure which was worse, having no father at all or having an unreliable one. He put his arm over his friend’s shoulder. “I bet you could catch a fish the size of a whale.”

  Ernie’s face brightened. “C’mon,” he said, beckoning with his hand. “I’ve got something to show you.” He danced with excitement as they followed the river upstream. “All the salmon swim hard against the current to spawn,” Ernie said. “When they come to a waterfall they have to jump to get over it. That’s when we spear them.”

  The boys followed the river upstream a good distance. Around a bend, they faced a tremendous waterfall. Two fences of sticks spanned the river in front of it.

  “Everyone talks about an old Chinook that weighs up to a hundred pounds,” Ernie said. “I figure she’s not going to be able to swim around. She’ll have to leap over the first fence and then the second.” Ernie pointed to the long wooden spear on top of the second fence. “When it comes time to leap the falls that old gal will be tired and I plan to get her.” He dropped to his knees and listened to the water. “I just know that Tyee is coming,” he said, “but everyone is packing up and moving to summer camp.”

  “Why don’t you stay?” Jonny asked. “You might just catch her.”

  “I thought I was supposed to do what the others did.”

  “As if you ever acted like the others,” Jonny said with a smile.

  Back at shore, Ernie picked up a stone and hurled it into the waves.

  They watched it bounce but did not see it sink, for their eyes were transfixed on the tall white plume of smoke billowing across the horizon.

  “What is it?” Ernie asked in a whisper.

  “Some kind of ship,” Jonny said, cupping his eyes. “It’s coming into the cove.”

  15

  Visitors

  Amid the crowds gathering on the beach, the chief issued orders. Men readied their canoes while the women herded the children inside the chief’s lodge.

  “Come on,” Ernie said. He grabbed two paddles from the stack near the lodge and tossed one to Jonny. “I hope you’ve been practising.”

  Ten large canoes set out to greet the strangers.

  Under the Union Jack, the steamer pulled into the cove. Its copper hull and spikes of bronze gleamed in the late afternoon sun. As the passengers crowded to the side, the warriors yelped and shot their harpoons into the sky in celebration. The faces of the passengers turned to terror. One of the women in black screamed. Men rushed to the railing and dropped anti-boarding nets into place. Others raised rifles.

  Jonny’s heart flew into his mouth when a man in the all-too-familiar black skirts came to the rail. He held out a tattered prayer book and mumbled as the men at the rail took aim.

  “They think we’re attacking,” Ernie cried out. “They’re going to fire!”

  Jonny dropped his paddle and stood up. He touched his forehead and the place on his chest where his heart almost came through his skin. Then he extended his hand to his left shoulder and then across to his right. Surely someone on deck will recognize the sign of the cross, he thought.

  “Stand up Ernie,” Jonny urged. “Copy me.”

  “I’m not doing that,” Ernie argued. “We ran away from all that.”

  A warning shot hit the water.

  “It’s what they’ll understand,” Jonny screamed. “It’ll stop them from firing.”

  “Konaway tillikum!” Ernie shouted out to the other canoes as he stood up waving his arms. “Konaway tillikum!”

  The surprised warriors watched as Jonny and Ernie stood, touched their forehead, chest, left shoulder, and then their right. They stopped paddling, stood, and copied with puzzled faces.

  “Look at what they’re doing,” a women in a straw bonnet called out.

  Thunderstruck, the priest held up his hand. “They’re not heathens,” he said, indicating the soldiers should hold their fire.

  Ernie elbowed Jonny. “Whatever you do, don’t let on you can speak English.”

&nbs
p; The people of the village watched the boatload of sightseers arrive. A scruffy man jumped out first to push the vessel up to the beach. His red flannel shirt was in tatters. Splotches of dirt danced along his suspenders. As thin as a stick, Jonny feared the wind would toss him about the beach like a dead leaf.

  A short, sallow man with a single dark pigtail swinging from his stiff black satin cap hopped out of the boat next. Jonny couldn’t help but stare at the pointed toes of the man’s slipper-like shoes and black pantaloons that were tight at the ankles.

  A soldier got out next, cradling his rifle. Seeing no sign of trouble, he waved the rest of them ashore.

  A whiskered man in a bowler hat tugged at his shirt cuffs to ensure they showed the proper amount of white below his tweed suit jacket before stepping onto shore. He then tugged at a gold chain to remove a watch from the pocket of his vest to check the time.

  The priest, as old and stiff as a dead tree, dragged his threadbare cassock across the sand. His matted white hair stuck out in all directions. He moved across the stones with a great sigh, leaving the nuns behind him to find their own way.

  When the nuns placed the heavy toes of their sturdy laced shoes into the lapping waves, the hems of their cloaks soaked up the water.

  A woman in a straw bonnet, close-fitting jacket, and ankle-length skirt stood up. “I’ll take the camera,” she told the tattered man standing nearby. In rubber boots, she waded to the shore carrying a large box. She placed it far from the lapping tide and then ran a loving hand over its oilskin cover.

  “I hope this little venture will not delay any of our surveying works,” the man in the bowler hat said to the woman, as she placed her tripod next to the box.

  “Queen Victoria herself champions the art of photography,” the woman replied in exasperation, “and she is an avid collector of photographs of her colonies.”

  “We are in the season of longer days, Mr. Cameron,” the tattered man chimed in. “We’ll be able to make up the time.”

  The sailor in the stern scrambled to the front of the launch and passed cargo to the tattered man. Tents, tent poles, small steamer trunks, rolled mattresses, and blankets came to shore. They piled barrels, biscuit tins, a tea kettle, frying pan, and several sacks on the sand.