Sanctified

by Maggie Blackbird

  “It’s more than enough.” An easy smile cracked Emery’s rose lips. “I attend confession on a weekly basis, but as I said—”

  “What’s confession?”

  “Where one receives absolution for the mistakes they’ve made, or what they failed to do. Where they wrongfully thought or said in words.”

  “So it’s also a spiritual cleansing,” Raven said more to herself. This was interesting.

  “Yes.” Emery opened the lid to the roaster. He sniffed at the meat in the pot. “There’s a confessional where you meet with the priest.”

  “Is it dark?”

  “Yes. Complete blackness.”

  “The sweat lodge is the same way.”

  “Err, the sweat lodge is extremely hot.” Emery chuckled.

  “Do you think Darryl will become a Catholic?”

  “No. He practices his beliefs and I practice mine.”

  Raven folded her arms. Maybe she stood a chance with Jude. She didn’t wish to see him walk away from his spirituality he received from the church. Well, he was meeting with his dad during the sweat lodge ceremony.

  Darryl ascended the stairs of the deck, motioning at her.

  It was time.

  Raven opened the door to the chill of March, clutching the canister of water. Darryl held out his hand, and she grasped it. He helped her down the rest of the stairs so she wouldn’t slip.

  The cold touched through the deer hide of her moccasins and chilled her feet. Her exposed and even wrapped skin received a good nip from the ice in the air.

  Darryl let go of her hand. Raven gingerly walked on the cedar boughs. Once she reached the lodge, she moved in the direction of the sacred circle until she came upon the entrance that faced east.

  Before opening the flap, she shifted to her haunches and offered a short prayer. When she entered the lodge, she moved in the same path she’d walked—west to east, not stopping until she found her place on the right side where women sat if joining men for the ceremony.

  She removed the bathrobe and tucked it beneath her. As expected from women while inside the lodge, she sat with her legs to the side.

  Darryl entered next. He sat cross-legged opposite Raven and also disrobed.

  Basil made his appearance. He heaved his old body next to Darryl.

  The first round would consist of prayers from Basil.

  Tyrell moved back the flap. He placed the pot of medicines next to the pit. Just as quickly, he vanished. A few moments later he reappeared with the first Grandfather, which he set in the pit.

  Darryl sprinkled a dash of medicine from his pouch onto the rock the size of a human head. Each time Tyrell brought in a Grandfather, Darryl kept sprinkling medicine on the spirits.

  The small lodge, chilly at first, warmed Raven’s icy skin.

  When the seventh Grandfather was laid in the pit, Tyrell left, closing the flap.

  Heat curled around Raven’s limbs from the glowing Grandfathers.

  Basil launched into his prayer. Darryl tapped his hand drum in sync with the words coming from the old man’s mouth, honoring Mother Earth, Creator, and the five directions.

  Raven bowed her head. She needed direction from the three, and the east, west, north, south, and sky that represented respect, humility, truth, sharing, caring, kindness, and strength.

  The hiss of the medicine splashing the rocks whispered through the lodge. Raven kept her head bowed, although no words came from Darryl, which meant he was holding the eagle feather and praying quietly. After a few moments, shuffling sounded. Darryl was feeling his way to offer Raven the eagle feather.

  She stuck out her hand, and her palm met the beaded, leather stem. Holding the eagle feather to her chest, Raven prayed to the Grandfathers, Grandmothers, and Creator, giving thanks for the sweat lodge ceremony, the air in her lungs, the heat climbing around her skin, the chance to return to womb and become reborn inside the skin of the lodge, and her sobriety. During her prayer, Basil kept splashing water on the rocks.

  For about a half hour Basil prayed. He then stopped.

  “Nindinawemaganidog,” they said at once.

  Basil opened the flap and signaled for more spirits.

  Tyrell appeared. The heat snuck into the cold air outside. One at a time, he loaded the pit with seven more Grandfathers. Darryl sprinkled the medicine on them.

  Second round. The hiss of the water and the steam moistened Raven’s skin and hairline. Once the entrance closed, she’d be encased in a bursting volcano meant to purge the negative emotions from her body through the sweat of her flesh, bringing her to new life as an infant came out pure from its mother’s womb.

  They’d pray for their natural brothers and sisters. The four-legged, winged, finned, and two-legged. Raven kept her head bowed. Basil sang quietly while Darryl beat his hand drum.

  After about fifteen minutes, there was silence, meaning Darryl held the eagle feather and was praying silently again. Once finished, he crawled along the earthen floor and handed Raven the eagle feather. She said her prayer and passed the eagle feather back to Basil while more medicine was splashed on the Grandfathers.

  When the third round started, Tyrell having brought in seven more Grandfathers, the sweat seemed to rain from Raven’s pores. She made sure to drink the water since her scalp was soaked in sweat.

  This round was meant for her sisters, her brother, and mother—those suffering greatly from the effects of the Indian Residential Schools. Raven must remember their pain, why they behaved the way they did, and most important, that Creator’s work be done, not hers.

  Creator’s wishes. Creator’s desires. Creator’s wants.

  Raven was one simple spirit in the circle. Center of self. Center of self. This was what treatment had taught her to draw away from. Western society preached that one put themselves inside the circle, the wrong place for Anishinaabeg to be, because everyone came from the Great Mother, so they were linked around the circle, not inside it. She couldn’t let life revolve around her, she must revolve around life, and life was happening to her family as she prayed.

  Her family loved her. Her family wasn’t perfect, since nobody was perfect. She had faults. They had faults. She must pray for what they suffered inside. What Clayton suffered. What Fawn suffered. What Wren suffered. What Lark suffered. What Mom suffered.

  They went through their prayers, and the flap was again opened. Raven readjusted her legs to the other side of her. It wasn’t easy sitting this way when she longed to cross her legs as the men did. Each time Tyrell set a new Grandfather into the pit, the heat climbed in the lodge. Too small. Raven was used to sweating with about twelve to fifteen of her female relations in a much bigger lodge.

  The heat seemed to find her lungs, her heart, her liver, even her kidneys, while swathing her flesh in its tormenting blanket of hot moisture. The Grandfathers sizzled from the water Basil splashed on them.

  He sang his song, and again Darryl beat his hand drum.

  This last and final round was for Raven’s own self. Black dots appeared in front of the glowing Grandfathers. Her head lightened. She could leave if the heat became too much, but she’d stay. This prayer must be done.

  The singing, praying, and drumming were never-ending. Basil’s old voice was moist and rich, not the grit of a man in his eighties.

  Raven clutched the water canteen against her chest. She curled up slightly, anything to try to cool down and escape being plopped inside a blasting oven full of bubbling water.

  Wait, she was fighting the heat, fighting the spirits, fighting what must leave her body. She set aside the canteen, shakily raised her chin, placed her hands on the ground, and sat straight and tall.

  Suffering was part of the ceremony. She must suffer for Creator to grant her answers that she sought.

  The drumming and singing stopped. Only the hiss of the Grandfathers permeated the lodge. Darryl was praying.

  Raven bowed her head. Creator had extended His hand
for her to walk the red road. She’d taken it. Creator had sent Clayton to help her, and she’d gladly accepted the help.

  Creator had brought Jude Matawapit into her life—a Catholic man of mixed-blood heritage, but oh so Anishinaabe in his physical features, and much so in his spiritual beliefs because he unknowingly lived by the Seven Grandfathers teachings since he’d been honest with her, showed her respect, took a leap of courage to welcome her into his life, even though she was his enemy, which made him a brave man. And his kindness, his willingness to understand, while knowing she’d make her decision today. He was at the church, searching for his truth. He possessed the qualities that made an Anishinaabe man a great warrior.

  She had the diner to think about. Did she desire to serve and host those in the community for the right reasons? Or was she being greedy, wanting the money for herself? In the past, their ancestors honored generosity. The more one gave away, the more this person was respected and revered.

  The diner was something she’d pursued for the wrong reasons. She’d wanted the gold mine for respect, not because she loved cooking and waiting on people. Then if the diner was meant for someone else... No, she trusted Creator.

  As for Clayton, she’d desired to become his campaign manager for the wrong reasons. Her own selfishness had goaded her to say yes, because she’d been too busy thinking about what she could get from his generous offering. By agreeing to his offer for the wrong reasons, she’d put herself in this quagmire, and the reason for her sweat.

  Then there was Mom. Raven had a right to ask for respect. For two and a half years, she’d walked the right road. The tension between them came from Mom, who was responsible for addressing the resentment and anger simmering inside her. Raven shouldn’t and wouldn’t accept Mom’s pain and ire any longer.

  There was shuffling. Raven reached for the eagle feather handed over by Darryl. Creator was asking for faith. And Raven knew what she must do now. All the answers were inside her heart. They’d been there all along, but she’d been too afraid, too worried, too frightened to acknowledge them. This evening, Creator was in charge.

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Secret Information

  Jude squeezed the rosary in his fist. He flopped back in the pew. They were in the first row, front and center of the unlit sanctuary. Only the emergency lights gave off a hint of red. To keep costs down, the thermostat was lowered to around sixteen degrees, and he shivered.

  “A coffee?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah. I could use a warming up.”

  “Let’s go to the rectory.”

  It was across the road. Father Bennie had flown out on Friday to conduct Mass for a couple of other reserves this weekend. Dad would lead a communion service at the church tomorrow.

  Jude rose. His heels dragged the carpet as he followed Dad down the main aisle. There wasn’t much to shut off because they’d entered using the main door and only needed to switch off the light inside the narthex.

  With the church locked, Jude stepped out into the cold of March. One more week of school. On Friday, the kids would leave for Kenora. He started down the steps. No answers had come during his praying. The Lord was asking him to share with another person, finally let go of what burned inside him.

  They descended the steps and walked across the plowed lot and then the road to the rectory—a quaint two-bedroom home with a porch, white-trimmed shutters, and light-gray siding. The only sound was the crunching of their boots on the snow.

  Whenever Father Bennie had to fly out to another reserve in the diocese, Dad cared for the rectory by keeping the wood stove burning, imperative so the pipes didn’t freeze.

  Each had a key. Jude withdrew his from the big set on his neck strap. He unlocked the door to a small table lamp in the foyer giving off a delicate glow.

  “Father Bennie really enjoys the coffee you supply.” Dad ambled to the kitchen.

  “Everyone should have access to Coffee Coffee, no matter where they are,” Jude couldn’t help saying. He headed into the kitchen. Dad had already turned on the light.

  “This won’t take long. I made sure to run water through each day.” Dad strolled to the coffee machine Jude had purchased for the rectory around five years ago—the expensive kind that hosted hot water in a tank to perk a cup of joe in under two minutes.

  Jude pulled out one of the two chairs at the small table. His mind wouldn’t shut down. What if Raven—?

  “Out with it.”

  Dad’s firm tone hit Jude’s spine, and he jumped.

  “We’re here to talk. You’re too much like me.” Dad added coffee to the filter. “Everything stays in here.” He tapped his head. “It drives your mother crazy.”

  “It... it drove Char crazy.” Jude clasped the salt and pepper shakers.

  “I know. Don’t think I didn’t catch her sly barbs whenever we’d visit.” Dad poured in the water.

  “Yeah, she liked to get a few shots in.” Such as in her roll-of-the-eyes little-girl voice, Jude, listen? Jude only listens so he can tell you what to do. Those barbs had always pinched his balls. Oh yes, date night. Your one-night-a-week obligatory time when you try and listen to what I have to say over dinner.

  Funny, Raven wouldn’t have taken a passive-aggressive approach. She would have told Jude, shut up and listen, and I don’t wanna hear one word from you.

  “What’s producing such a smile?” Dad asked.

  Jude didn’t know he smiled, but the glow in his chest said he was. “Thinking about Raven.”

  Dad set the two coffees on the table. He sat, clearing his throat.

  “I understand Raven means a lot to you.” Dad sat straight in the chair. He wore a thoughtful expression while staring at the white cupboards Emery had repainted last summer for Father Bennie.

  “She does.”

  “This sweat lodge ceremony Darryl’s hosting, does this have to do with your... ah... relationship?”

  Jude tightened his grip on the coffee mug. “It hasn’t been easy for her. She thinks her family’ll disapprove.”

  Dad kept stealing peeks at the cupboards. His brows gathered in the middle. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? It’s not your fault her family’s... the way they are.” Jude lifted the mug and sipped. The coffee draining down his throat warmed the goosebumps peppering his arms and back.

  “Maybe it is. Arlene has a lot of reasons for her anger.”

  “You mean Mrs. Kabatay?”

  Dad’s nod was as precise and methodical as him.

  “Having a hate-on for the church isn’t a reason for her to despise our family.” This wasn’t like Dad to excuse a person’s asshat behavior. Jude angled his leg and rested his foot on his knee. “I know what they’ll do if Clayton gets in. They’ll kick me out of the school, they’ll—”

  “I simply feel bad that you and Raven are suffering the consequences because of...” Dad rose. He meandered to the sink and set his palms on the counter. His face reflected in the window. Frowning.

  “Understand, if I could do it again, knowing how the future would play out, I’d still marry your mother. She means everything to me.” Dad’s words came out deliberate, and lingering on them was a tinge of regret.

  “Uh... what’re you talking about?” Jude set his foot on the floor and straightened.

  “Arlene’s a year younger than me. We went to the same school.”

  A sponge seemed to soak up the saliva in Jude’s mouth and throat. “Wh-what?”

  “The nuns did their best to keep the boys and girls apart, but kids always find a way.” A limp smile tugged at Dad’s lips.

  “You and Raven’s moth-mother...” Jude sputtered. No. Not this. Anything but this.

  “It isn’t what you’re thinking.” Dad’s reflection studied Jude. “We fell in love a long time ago. A very long time ago. But it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Oh...” Geez, for a second Jude had thought... never mind that. “Y’mean you dated Raven’s mother?” Okay,
this was weird. Sure, he’d wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps as a kid, but not that close.

  Dad meandered back to the table and flopped in the chair. “I told you already, the schools separated kids by ages. We went in holding the hands of our brothers and sisters, and if they weren’t in your age group, that was the last time you saw them.

  “It was a lonely place. She was lonely. I was lonely.” Grief pooled around Dad’s dark irises. “We became... friends.”

  “How—if they separated you?”

  “You find a way. It isn’t easy. You manage to sneak off and see each other...” Dad shrugged. “It was one of the reasons why I got into so much trouble.”

  “They caught you two?” An egg or something bombarded Jude’s throat.

  “Yep.” Dad fiddled with the mug handle, staring into the coffee. “The nuns were especially hard on Arlene. Times were different. Women weren’t supposed to... we were kids. All we wanted to do was kiss and talk. The nuns believed Arlene was shaming herself.”

  “Geez.”

  “And word gets out. She was accused of being a... well, there’re names they gave certain girls in those days.” Dad picked up his mug, looked at the coffee as if it was dirt, and set the mug back on the table.

  “When I turned sixteen, I went to the high school in town. I didn’t fit. We were starting grade nine, and the other kids were two years younger than us. I mostly hung around to wait for Arlene. She joined me a year later. We didn’t last long there. We left and hitchhiked to Thunder Bay. We joined a group of other kids we knew who’d attended residential school.”

  Dad had previously mentioned dropping out in grade ten and hitchhiking to Thunder Bay, but he’d failed to disclose Arlene Kabatay had accompanied him.

  As a parent, Jude understood his children perceived him as nothing more than a father. Not a man who had needs and wants. Still, sitting here with his own father, knowing Dad was a man who also had needs and wants, Jude did his best not to squirm.

  “We tried. But I found... booze. And she was lonely for home. She begged me to go back. I don’t blame her. The school gave us skills to work low-paying jobs. We lived in a slum-house with others who’d come from the school. It wasn’t a pretty life.”