by William Bell
“Was my fault,” he said so low I could hardly hear him. “That’s why I got to pay.”
“How? Pay for what?”
“I got to lead the spirits from our territory to the Other Side. But me, I can’t go that place. I got to keep doin’ this until I paid.”
The cigar between his thick fingers burned forgotten as he stared into the trees. It was like he could see something out there. What did he mean? I thought. I couldn’t fit it together and I was afraid to ask too much in case he left us again. I decided I had to try, though.
“Did you … did you have a daughter like me?”
He shifted his gaze from the trees to my face and coughed. His voice was thick when he answered.
“Had lots of kids,” he said again. “Two kids like you, ‘bout your age, maybe little younger. Girl and a boy. Born same time, same minute almost. Looked same. Them kids, they was my favourites. Special to the spirits, see? Because they was born same minute. Can’t see them now, ‘cause I can’t go the Other Side.”
Twins! Chief Copegog had had twin kids!
Behind me I heard John whisper, “Karen, ask him—”
“Please tell me some more,” I said softly. He looked into my eyes and seemed to make a decision. He hopped off the gravestone and for a second, panic hit me. I thought he was going to leave. But he just lowered himself to the ground, leaning back on the gravestone, and sat in its shadow with his legs crossed.
I sat down in front of him on the fresh earth, the same way. John sat on my right and Noah moved around and sat on my left. We formed a half circle in front of him with the gravestone behind. It was still very cold, but I noticed it wasn’t as bad as before. It didn’t seem to go into me.
When Chief Copegog began to talk his voice changed. Now it was softer, like wind in long grass. And there was a sort of rhythm to it, halfway between speaking and chanting.
“When my brother went to Other Side I became Chief. We lived all ‘round here, could go where we wanted, not like my peoples now. Had lotta problems, them days. Game and fish disappearing. Whites coming in more and more. Had to decide. Stay and live with Whites or go back north, northwest into the land where Whites didn’t go so much.
“Lotta Elders wanted to go back. I thought, okay, be good for coupla years, then same problem. Some day we got to stop runnin’.
“So one time, I went to that place, York, to take good look at the White world. Travelled southeast long way by water until the big lake, then west. Terrible place, that York. Could smell it day before I finally got there. Full of ugly wood buildings—tall too. Big iron boats with black smoke comin’ out, wagons with them big ugly horse animals, mud and smoke. People runnin’ ‘round. Not goin’ anywhere.”
Chief Copegog paused and puffed his cigar. It had gone out while he talked. Noah quickly struck a match and leaned forward to hold the flame to the end of the cigar.
It looked so strange—an old man wearing skin clothes and a headband and a medicine bag, having his cigar lit by a kid with worn cut-offs and a T-shirt, with the sides of his head buzzed and a cross dangling from his ear. Then it hit me. What was the big difference? I knew that Chippewa men used to decorate themselves and put stuff in their hair. John had lectured to me about all that enough times. Kids I knew did all that too. The decorations were different now, that was all.
The Chief smiled sadly at Noah and took a long drag on the cigar. Beside me, John began to whisper.
“York, that’s what Toronto was called back then, Karen.” Then a strange look came over his face. He gulped and said, “And I think around that time the cholera—”
“I knew then when I saw that ugly place,” Chief Copegog went on, “no one could stop them Whites. Thought about it all the way back home. My mind, she was split in two. Hated that ugly York, but it showed me we couldn’t stop them Whites. Decided I would try to get the Elders to go along with me. We had to stay and try to live with the Whites. Maybe we didn’t hafta go the White men’s way, but we had to live with ‘em.
“So we moved from this place to Narrows. Built some wood lodges like Whites had, built a school, a church.
“Trouble was, that sickness came. Many of the peoples was sick and many others went away into the hills north to get away from the sickness. All my family but me had the sickness.
“Lotta peoples died that time.” He stopped talking and stared into the trees. I realized then that when he looked away like that he was looking into the past, seeing all his kids and his wife sick, lying on beds in strange houses, close to death.
“I went into the town to talk to the govmint agent fella ‘bout a treaty. Had big house, that guy. Still there, I guess. Fella name Bond.”
Noah shot me a quick look and I heard John catch his breath. Inside me, tension began to squeeze like a cold fist.
“Talked to that guy long time, day after day. Explained what the peoples needed—lotta land without no White boats or machines or stone buildings. Lotta land for trapping, hunting.
“That guy, he promised me all kinds things. Said he was White Father sent by govmint to take care of us Chippewa children. Said my peoples would get evrythin’ I asked. I just hadda make a mark on a paper.
“I tol’ him I gotta talk with the Elders ‘bout all that. That’s our way. The peoples gotta agree. He said I could mark the paper, come back tomorrow, I was Chief. I said no, gotta have a council.
“Went back home. Couldn’t find some Elders. They was gone into the hills, north. My wife and my kids, they was worse. Sick real bad. My heart was achin’ for them. Couldn’t do nothin’ for them, their sufferin’, ‘cept wait and see if they was stronger than the bad sickness-spirit.
“Next day I went an’ tol’ Bond I couldn’t sign. Had to wait for sickness to pass and Council could get back together. He got real mad. Then, little later, Bond tol’ me he could get strong medicine for the peoples, White medicine, would chase the sickness away.”
Chief Copegog paused and cleared his throat.
“But I had to mark the paper first.”
John groaned and swore and shook his head. Noah dropped his head and his long black hair fell across his face.
“I tol’ him I would talk to Elders. I would find them in the hills, one by one, talk to ‘em, if he would give the medicine. He said No, mark the paper first.”
The Chief was looking at the ground too. He was talking almost in a whisper, so that his voice seemed to come from a hundred years away.
“So I did that thing he wanted. Took a big feather with black water on the end and marked a paper. Made a scratchy sound, that feather. Then Bond, he gave me a cloth bag with brown powder in it. Had strong smell, that powder. Said boil some powder in water, get sick peoples to drink it. Sickness be driven away.
“I went back to the home place fast as I could. Gave out the powder to my family and the peoples there and later took some into the hills to find rest of my peoples. Was gone three days.
“Came back to the home place and my kids was dead. Wife was dead. Found them all in the wood lodge, all swelled up, with tongues hangin’ out. Bad smell there, too.
“My heart sneaked away, then. Never came back.”
The old man let out a long, painful sigh. When he started talking again, the rhythm speeded up.
“Same day, an Elder tol’ me that medicine, that’s no good. Said it was somethin’ lotta Whites drank. Called it ‘coffee.’
“And all the peoples was mad at me. Said White mens came, told ‘em to get off that land. White land now. Told ‘em we all hadda move across the lake. Waved a paper ‘roun’, called it Surrender Number 48, said it had my mark on it.
“Then I knew that Bond fella, he tricked me.
“Same night, I went ‘cross the lake to talk to Bond, make him take back that paper. He laughed at me. Used an Ojibwe word to me, bad word, meant I was lowest thing alive.
“I could see my kids’ faces in front of me when I took out my knife and kilt that guy.” Chief Copegog stopped talking a
nd cleared his throat again. He lifted his head. There were tears running down his wrinkled cheeks.
“I ran away into the bush after that. Nothin’ to go home for. Lived alone in shame lotta years.
“One winter mornin’ I was pushin’ along a frozen river bank, checkin’ the trapline. Snow was deep that winter, hard goin’. Big storm came up that day, blew in fast. Had to hole up to wait out the blizzard. Waited three days. I was sittin’ in there in the dark, in my shelter, freezin’. Started thinkin’ ‘bout my family. Felt so bad I went out that place, walked into the wind’s teeth. Laid down in a snowdrift and went to sleep.
“When I left this world, couldn’t get into the next one. Now I got to lead the peoples there when their time comes, but I got to stay between. I’m outcast.”
The cigar was cold in his hands.
“But that wasn’t your fault!” I said. “You did the best you could.”
Chief Copegog frowned and shook his head.
“That’s White thinkin’. Our way, we got to decide together. We’re a nation, all peoples fit, all got a place. Even crazy ones or sick ones or old ones. All got a place. I betrayed that, see? Decided on my own. ‘Cause I wanted that medicine for my kids, specially them kids born same minute. Thought of myself, not my nation. Now … ”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Noah said, “Is your punishment … eternal?”
“I got to do this till I pay back my peoples. Sometimes outcast can get back in if he does somethin’ special good.”
I felt kind of selfish then about bothering Chief Copegog with my problem, but what else could I do?
“Chief Copegog, this thing I was telling you about, could you help me with it?”
“Could try, little girl, but I’m in spirit world now.”
“Well, this problem is sort of about the spirit world.”
He smiled, creasing up his already creased face.
“Okay, I help you then. Try, anyway.”
So I told him about Kenny. And I made sure he knew that we, Kenny and I, were twins, just like his kids.
“And now,” I finished up, “we”—I pointed to John and Noah—”we know for sure that Kenny is trying to talk to us from the spirit world but we don’t know why or what he’s trying to tell us.
“Could you,” I blurted finally, “could you come with us and talk to him for me—I mean, us?”
Noah jabbed me in the ribs just as John hissed, “Are you nuts, Karen?”
Noah leaned over so that his mouth brushed against my ear and added so softly I could hardly pick up what he was saying, “It’s the same house, remember? The house where he—”
“Sure,” I said out loud, “but—”
“Karen,” Noah whispered, “can you imagine what kind of forces would come pouring out of the next world if he came to your house?”
“Karen.” It was John talking. “I think we better talk about this!”
Noah wouldn’t let up. “Listen, don’t you get it? If Chief Copegog comes to your house—and you conveniently left that little tidbit out when you asked your favour—don’t you realize that Bond’s ghost might join us too? Do you want them both in your upstairs hall? A murderer and a dirty rotten drunken cheat?”
I looked into the Chief’s calm, sad face. I pushed Noah away and said to Chief Copegog, “Will you come?”
“Yep. Can’t go ‘way for too long, though.” He pointed to the earth in front of him. “Think he’s almost ready to cross over, and I got to be here when he’s ready.”
I got to my feet and said over John’s and Noah’s protests, “Let’s go, then.”
Tuesday Afternoon:
Our House
Chief Copegog led the way back to the boat, with me behind him and the guys behind me. They talked excitedly to each other all the way but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.
Chief Copegog sort of glided through the bush. The three of us were always shoving branches aside, ducking under things, waving mosquitoes away, tripping ourselves up. Not Chief Copegog. He hardly ever moved his arms. He slipped around and between trees like a—well, like a ghost. Except you could tell he had always walked that way.
The water in the bay was so calm and clear I could see the sand bottom and the trees that lined the shore were reflected on the surface.
John and Noah dragged the little aluminum boat from the trees and settled it into the calm water of the bay, breaking up the image of the sky and trees on the surface. Noah squatted and held the boat against the flat rock shore so we could get in. John dropped the packs into the bow of the boat where they thumped on the aluminum floor.
Chief Copegog stared down at the water behind the boat. The light breeze stirred his long black hair. A frown creased his brow and the corners of his mouth turned down.
“That boat, she don’t smell so good.”
I looked where Chief Copegog was looking. Around the scaly blue motor was a pretty rainbow floating on the water. Except I knew the rainbow was caused by gas and oil leaking into the lake.
“Sorry about that,” said Noah. “It’s my uncle’s boat,” he added, as if that explained anything.
I climbed into the boat, rocking it like crazy. Noah had to hold the gunwale to keep it steady. It wasn’t a very big boat, and my weight made it tilt to one side.
I sat down on the centre seat, facing the back, then Chief Copegog stepped in, just like he would if he was stepping over a string that was lying on the ground. The boat didn’t rock. It didn’t even move. And after he sat down on the seat with me the boat still tilted to my side.
I shot a look at John. He made a soft whistling sound just before he scrambled into the back. Last came Noah, pushing off the rock beach as he hopped in. He plunked himself down beside John. The boat floated free.
I was shivering like mad and I could see John hugging himself to keep warm but pretending not to. The aluminum seat under me was like a slab of ice.
I turned to Chief Copegog and said as politely as I could, “Um … do you think you could turn down the cold a little?”
Chief Copegog looked startled for a second, then grinned, showing his stumpy teeth and the gaps where there weren’t any.
“Can try, little girl.”
The cold melted away. Most of it, anyway.
Noah pulled the choke on the old motor, squeezed the bulb on the gas line, and then gave a great heave on the starter rope. The motor turned over a couple of times, coughing. A blue cloud of exhaust boiled out behind the boat. I looked at Chief Copegog. His eyes opened a little wider, then went back to normal. Then he scowled again and wrinkled his big flat nose.
“Scare all the ducks, birds, animals off with that stink and noise thing,” he said. “Reminds me of that place, York.”
Noah yanked again and the motor woke up, growling, then settled down to a drone.
As we turned out of the bay into the lake a long, sleek boat roared past. It was one of those speed boats we called cigarettes because they were so long and narrow and it was pulling four skiers on bright yellow ropes that fanned out from the back of the boat. The skiers came so close to us we could hear them laughing and screaming—three girls and a guy in black rubber wet suits—and the spray from the skis splashed us. They waved as they passed.
Chief Copegog grunted and looked around. It was still a sunny afternoon and there were lots of windsurfers out, trying to capture some of the light breeze in their wildly coloured sails. A cabin cruiser plowed down the channel, heading for the narrows, leaving a creamy wake behind it.
I wasn’t paying too much attention to what was going on out on the lake, though. I was starting to feel pretty guilty about not telling Chief Copegog what house we lived in. Guilty and scared. What if Noah was right? What if, when Chief Copegog came into our house, he met up with Bond the Creep? And what if Noah was wrong? What if ghosts could hurt people?
Then another thought hit me. A thought that made me feel worse, not b
etter. What if spirits could hurt other spirits? It sounded crazy, but it wasn’t any crazier than droning across Lake Couchiching in an aluminum fishing boat with two boys and a ghost. What, I thought, if Bond’s ghost hurt Chief Copegog?
And what if he hurt Kenny?
We were pretty near the town docks when I said to Noah, “How about you guys dropping Chief Copegog and me off at our boathouse.”
I knew that Noah wouldn’t want to leave the boat at our place because his uncle went fishing almost every night and he would be looking for his boat.
Noah spun the motor around and the boat swerved back up the lake.
“Sure, no problem.”
I didn’t want to say it out loud, but to get to our house from the town docks we’d have to walk through Couchiching Park, right past the big statue of Sammy Dee. I wasn’t worried about people in the park seeing Chief Copegog. He could just not appear to them. I didn’t want him to see the statue. I figured maybe he’d had enough of that stuff to last ten lifetimes.
When we got to our place I was relieved to see that Skinny Minnie wasn’t in the back yard. Our house stood tall and silent, and the willow at the shore looked quiet and peaceful.
Noah cut the motor and the boat slipped neatly into the dark boathouse behind our rowboat. I scrambled up onto the dock and turned around to give Chief Copegog a hand.
He wasn’t there.
“What the—”
“Look behind you, Karen.” John was smiling, showing his braces to the world.
I turned to see Chief Copegog standing beside the rowboat. He wasn’t laughing, though. He stood in the gloom of the boathouse quietly. He didn’t look around or show any interest in where he was. Did he know, I wondered. His face was a grim, carved mask again—his mouth a hard straight line, eyes deep, like black caves.
“How did you do that?” I said.
His voice was like sandpaper dragged across metal. “Not so hard.”
Noah restarted the motor, backed the boat out into the lake and headed toward the town docks. John waved to us.
