“I’ll get the door,” I said to Donna. “Your folks are here.”
“Wait.” She put the dishtowel down and walked across the room. She was smiling, looking into my eyes. She brushed by me, took my hand and faced the door. “We should do this together.”
And we did.
Floyd Favel
Governor of the Dew
A Memorial to Nostalgia and Desire
This drama was workshopped at the Takwakin Performance Workshop and the Playwright’s Workshop Montréal in 1997. It premiered at the Globe Theatre in 1999, and had its most fully realized incarnation under the direction of Floyd Favel when presented at the National Arts Centre in September 2002.
CHARACTERS
NARRATOR
MOTHER
ROSE
BEAVER
YOUNG BEAVER
OLD BEAVER
NARRATOR
The story goes something like this.
It’s been so long since I heard it,
it’s from another time, another place,
before I became a man
in the whorehouse of the world.
This is a story my mother told me.
She did not leave much when she left this world,
no money or possessions
just words, stories, like this one.
nikâwiy, your smile brightened the world,
and you will live forever through your words.
MOTHER
Once upon a time, an old woman,
Rose Billy, was at home.
The afternoon was still and quiet,
when all we could hear is the wind rushing through the trees.
ROSE
“Grandmother’s Song”
niya ôma nôcikwesiw
Rose Billy kâ-isiyihkâsot
ôta niwkin
e-peyakoyân
e-kaskeyihtamân
ekwa mina e-kitimâkisiyân
ekwa mina e-kitimâkisiyân.
[I am the old woman
who is called Rose Billy
This where I live
I am alone
filled with loneliness
and I am so pitiful
and I am so pitiful.]
Musical interlude.
niya ôma nôcikwesiw
Rose Billy kâ-isiyihkâsot
ôta niwkin
e-peyakoyân
e-kaskeyihtamân
ekwa mina e-kitimâkisiyân
ekwa mina e-kitimâkisiyân.
[I am the old woman
who is called Rose Billy
This where I live
I am alone
filled with loneliness
and I am so pitiful
and I am so pitiful.]
Chant.
ROSE
I was at home
I hear these steps on the porch, Ma!
and a scratching sound at the door.
awina etikwe? [Who can it be?]
Could it be my grandson
who has gone away to school?
Or an old sweetheart
coming to warm these old bones?
So I open the door,
and standing there is this old beaver!
wahwâ, mitori nimâmaskâten [I was incredibly astounded]
e-manâhtâwahk! [It was a holy event!]
ahm mosôm, tawâw. [Grandfather, you are welcome.]
MOTHER
The beaver entered,
and sat beside the table,
the room was silent
and filled with power.
The beaver hung his head
and tears poured down his face.
His body heaved with his broken heart.
BEAVER
I have lived my life in shame,
and please, nôsisim don’t judge me.
ROSE
mosôm, you know as well as I
that it is not us who can judge.
BEAVER
tâpwe nôsisim, kitâpwân. [That is true, grandchild,you are right.]
kimiyopikiskwân [You speak well.]
You speak truthfully and with kindness
which I do not deserve.
ROSE
I gave him some tea, lifted it to his mouth,
and he drank.
I wiped the tears from his eyes
and caressed his head.
ahm âcimo! [Come on, tell your story!]
BEAVER
iyaw, kâya nânitaw iteyimin ôma kâ-wî-âcimoyân.
[Don’t think bad of me, about what I am going to tell.]
This story happened over there at the shallows
where the wagons used to cross.
This story is about the time I fell in love.
Yes, I was in love once, to look at me
you would find that hard to believe, cî?
ROSE
No, mosôm, you are still handsome.
Your visit blesses me!
BEAVER
Yes, I was in love once.
It is difficult to speak about it.
ahm nôsisim, give me some more tea. [Come on, grandchild]
It happened like this.
YOUNG BEAVER
One morning, I was up earlier than usual
and I sat on the bank of the creek.
I looked at the willows that lined the banks
and listened to the birds
rousing us to wakefulness and vigilance.
This is my home, nitaskiy ôma! [this is my land!]
Someday, I will be the Governor of my tribe,
and this is our land.
I lifted my hand, and turned a half circle
then lifted the other hand, and turned in the other direction
and said a little prayer;
wishing for a long life and the health of our tribe,
for the unborn who come crying over the next horizon.
BEAVER
How naïve our prayers can be.
We never know what life will bring tomorrow.
I laugh now at my prayers
for they showed the naïveté
and ignorance of my understanding.
mâka, I believed in my prayers.
was that not enough, I ask you!
MOTHER
The room was heavy with his question
and Rose Billy could not answer him.
BEAVER
But I believe in my heart
that I have been blessed in this life.
When I think back to that morning,
I at least knew the taste of Faith,
however brief, Praise the Creator!
YOUNG BEAVER
I went on my stomach and slid down the mudslide
and splashed in the cool clear water.
Frightening a school of jack fish in front of me.
MOTHER
He made his way downstream
to the narrows where the shade is cool.
Where members of his tribe
gather in the heat of the brief summer,
to settle tribal disputes and have their ceremonies
under the light of the full moon.
Here the horses use to come to drink at dawn,
silently, warily, like outlaws.
Led by the dappled stallion
who stood off to the side, keeping watch
nose testing the air for danger.
New to this land,
they had been accepted by the various animal nations
and given their space and freedom.
A distant solitude is in their nature.
Perhaps it is memories of their past suffering
in the far south and across the Big Water
that have made it difficult for them to trust.
Here they have found Peace.
It is not true that Peace
is what we all seek?
YOUNG BEAVER
I emerged and saw some humans on the shore.
They were different from the ones
I knew.
They had with them some horses, dark with sweat
and carrying bundles on their backs.
Slowly and silently I watched them.
The bearded men called to each other
in a language I had never heard before.
mitoni, e-miyohtâkosicik. [They sounded nice.]
One man sat in the shade
playing a musical instrument he held under his chin.
The instrument made a high beautiful sound
that I felt deep in my soul.
I drifted closer, seduced and curious.
And then, I saw her.
This young woman, sitting on a rock by the creek.
How strange, her skin so smooth and bronzed,
her hair so long, black and wavy.
WOMAN
Regretter
Regretter, c’est combattre le temps
et tout au fond des entrailles
un chant d’oiseau a midi
si tu pouvais goûter mon coeur
tu reconnaitres le goût
de la cruelle nostalgie
là, solitude des grand-mama
de la mure fraîche de l’été
de l’amant et de l’aimée
[To regret is to battle time
against all that is important
such as the bird’s song at midday
if you could taste my heart
you would know the taste
of cruel nostalgia
the deep solitude of the grandmother
the taste of the ripe summer berry
the shadow between the loved and the lover]
Ton nom remue d’inconsolable désire
là, dans tu sombre forêt
sous un flou soleil d’hiver
cheveaus venant s’abreve alaube
dans l’ombre de la clairiere
le lieu où les guerriers prient.
[My land, your name stirs inconsolable desire
for the dark mysterious forest
the prairie under the winter sun
for the place where the horses used to drink
in the shade of the clearing
where ancient warriors once prayed.]
Si tu pouvjais goûter mon coeur
tu reconnaitres le goût
de la cruelle nostalgie
là, solitude des grand-mama
de la mure fraîche de l’été
de l’amant et de l’aimée
si tu pouvjais goûter mon coeur
si tu pouvjais goûter mon coeur!
[My love, if you could taste my heart
you would know the taste
of cruel nostalgia
the deep solitude of the grandmother
the taste of the ripe summer berry
the shadow between the loved and the lover
if you could taste my heart
if you could taste my heart!]
BEAVER
Her eyes found mine
and I was never so aware of myself.
I knew shame, and I knew desire.
Nothing in all of my life had prepared me for this.
Our warriors had faced death many times
and we had been taught to face it bravely.
But against this great force, desire
I had not been taught what to do.
I returned her gaze.
Could she love me?
What would my tribe say if I brought her home?
OLD BEAVER
Namôya konita mâna
kehte-ayak e-kî-itwecik,
eh âyiman ôma pimâtisiwin.
e-pâpam moskôtehiyahk
e-pôni-mâtoyahk
ekosi, e-pôni pimâtisyahk.
[It is not for nothing that
the elders say,
Life is hard.
We go around with crying hearts
we stop crying
then, we die.]
YOUNG BEAVER
There I stood, wondering
if she would accept me.
âstam, ki-nôhte pe-wîcewin? [Come, do you want to come with me?]
e-nitaweyihtamân ka-pe-wîcewiyan. [I want you to come join me.]
She came; she waded into the water
against the cries of her countrymen.
I reached out my hand.
The roar of their thundersticks was loud in my ears.
The smell of gunpowder harsh to my nose.
The thud of their bullets around my body
only made me laugh.
There was no turning back
and I abandoned my body to death.
Nothing lasts forever.
I took her hand
and swung her to my back.
Hold on tight! hold on tight! hold on tight!
And we dove.
Her people will have a great story to tell about me!
We swam along the moss-covered rocks
at the bottom of the creek.
We met some of my relatives
who were running for safety.
Away from the sounds of War.
We swam through the doorway into our world,
and came bursting into the sunlight.
She was weak and collapsed in my arms.
She was even more beautiful.
MOTHER
They say we came from the land of the sun.
There, where the land, sky and water meet.
It is there where it all began.
This is where the muskrat brought up land
from the depths of the water.
The little piece of Earth was clutched in his little hands
as he emerged dead from his efforts.
From this we learn that
all earthly actions are accomplished with a sacrifice.
kistesinaw, Our Elder Brother, the Son of the Creator,
was floating on a raft, destroyed by grief.
He delicately opened the hands of the muskrat
and retrieved the little piece of earth
that had cost the muskrat his life.
Our Elder Brother placed the earth into his hands,
blowing upon it all the while.
The land began to grow and grow,
and soon it made a little island,
then a larger island, ôma ministik. [This island.]
This land that we now live upon.
YOUNG BEAVER
My love, mon amour, nisâkhâkan
ôta ôma e-wikiyân. [This is where I live.]
ôta ôma e-ki-pe-ohpikhikawiyân. [This is where I was raised.]
ôta k”sta ka-wikin. [This is where you will live also.]
This is where you will live also.
The End
Robert Arthur Alexie
excerpt from
The Pale Indian
John and Tina woke early on Christmas Day and gave Abraham and Sarah their gifts. There was another church service at eleven that morning, which Sarah and Tina attended; John and Abraham didn’t. John was trying to think of what to say to Eva about their parents. He also had to tell his family that he was engaged. He looked at photos while Abraham told him of his family history and how most of them were related in one way or another. John realized that he and Tina might be related on her mother’s and his father’s sides of the family. They may be fourth or fifth cousins, once or twice removed. It was so far removed, though, he was sure their kids wouldn’t be sitting on a porch swing picking on a banjo. “What do you know?” he asked.
Abraham wondered if John knew. He had been young when he’d left. “What do you know?” he asked.
“Tina told me they died up the river and my uncle found them.”
“That’s about it. Nothin’ much I can add. They were drinkin’ an’ must ‘a passed out an’ froze. That’s when Edward found them.”
“What can you tell me about my uncle?”
“What you know about him?”
“Nothing. I didn’t even know I had an uncle.”
“Don’ know when he was born, but he join the army when he was young.”
“When?”
“Sixty-one. He wasn’t even twenty.”
“When did he come back?”
“After you lef’. Seventy-three, I think. Yeah, seventy-three, ’cause he found your parents the year after.”
“What happened to him? Up at the cabin, I mean.”
“He said he found them. Never said much after that. He brought them back to town all dressed up, ready to bury.”
“Why’d he go quiet?”
“Nobody knows. He was always quiet, slow.”
“Slow?”
“Yeah, he wasn’ retarded, jus’ slow. He use to take care of himself, but after he foun’ your parents, he just seem to go inside. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think so. Anyone go see him?”
“Eunice an’ Olive went out once, but they said he just sat there an’ didn’ say a thing. He didn’ even know them.”
John wondered what made his uncle go silent. And how could his parents freeze? They were Indians. But they were drunken Indians. Drunken Indians and the cold do not mix.
Later that afternoon, Sarah and Tina began preparing Christmas dinner. “You call your sister?” Tina asked.
“Not yet.”
“Will you?”
“Have to.”
“They’re gonna wonder why you haven’t called yet.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right,” he said, and then took the phone into the bedroom. Eva answered. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Merry Christmas to you. Why didn’t you call earlier? We were worried.”
“Busy morning.”
“Whatcha do?”
“Went visiting an’ talked with her grandfather.”
“They nice?”
“Yeah.”
And then she asked, “You see them?”
‘No,” he said. “I’ve got some bad news.”
Somehow he wasn’t surprised when she said, “They’re dead.” It wasn’t a question; it was more of a statement.
“Yeah, they died ten years ago.”
“How?”
“They froze upriver at their cabin according to what I’ve heard.”
“That’s too bad.”
“You don’t feel bad?”
“I don’t remember them,” she said. “Anything else I should know about?”
“We have two aunts, one uncle an’ a few relatives.”
“Yeah?”
“Remember I told you about Chief James? His son is now the Chief an’ his wife is our aunt. Her name’s Eunice.”
The Exile Book of Native Canadian Fiction and Drama Page 20
