“She’s our mom’s sister?”
“No, our father’s.”
“She nice?”
“Yes. We also have another aunt who lives in Whitehorse, but she’s here for the holidays. Her name’s Olive.”
“What about the uncle?”
He’s nuts, he thought. “He’s in Edmonton. In an institution or someplace like that.”
“What? Why?”
“No idea.”
“Is he nuts?”
“Tina’s grandfather told me he was quiet and couldn’t take care of himself, so they sent him there.”
“Wow. Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
“How are you?” she asked.
“Okay. You?”
“Great. How many people there?”
“Six or seven hundred.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, lots of changes. Not the same as I remember. Different an’ not all good.”
“Why?”
“Drugs, alcohol, violence, same ol’, same ol’.”
They talked for a few more minutes, and then he talked to his parents and his other sisters and wished them all a Merry Christmas. “You got a number we can reach you at?” his mom asked.
He gave it to her, then hung up and took the phone back into the living room. “What they say?” Tina asked.
“Nothing. They jus’ asked a few questions.”
“Maybe they don’t want you to marry someone from here.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I forgot to tell them.”
He redialed the number and Eva answered again.
“I’m getting’ married,” he said, then hung up and handed the phone to Tina.
A few seconds later, it rang. “You answer it,” she said.
He only grinned, so she picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Tina?” Eva asked.
“Yeah?”
“Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true, but I’m having second thoughts,” she said, and then laughed.
“Congratulations!”
“Thanks, but it’s all happening so fast.”
“When’s the big day?”
“Haven’t set it yet, but sometime in the spring, or nex’ fall.”
“Why so long?”
“He’s gotta get back to work an’ so do I. And I have to save up for college nex’ fall.”
“Where are you going?”
“Calgary, I hope.”
They talked for a few minutes, and Tina met his parents on the phone. “They’re nice,” she said as she hung up.
“They are. You’ll like them.”
“I’m sure I will.”
The next day, for whatever reason, John found himself standing in the cemetery that was next to the church and covered with at least two feet of snow. There was a large spruce tree, probably a few hundred years old, decorated with Christmas lights. At least a hundred granite, marble, and wooden crosses poked through the snow. He checked the graves near the church and eventually found his parents’. Their wooden crosses were painted white and had their names on them. They’d died in February 1974, two years after he and Eva had left. They’d been in their early thirties; they’d been young. He looked at the hills and the mountains and wondered why he felt no anger or sympathy. Over the last decade, he’d thought about returning to kill his dad for all the abuse he’d put them and his mom through. But now, today, the day after Christmas, he felt absolutely nothing. He turned and walked away, and wondered what his uncle, Edward Brian, had seen. He shook off the thought and tried to get into the holiday spirit.
He returned to Abraham and Sarah’s and helped them cut up caribou meat for the feast, then decided to take a nap. A few hours later, Tina woke him and they took the meat down to the community hall where the feast and dance was to be held. John was surprised to see so many people. One of the elders said an opening prayer in the language and the feast began. It was traditional and there was a lot to eat. He had caribou soup, boiled meat and bannock. After everyone had eaten, the local minister said a prayer, and then Chief Alfred spoke in the language and John had no idea what he was talking about. “What’s he sayin’?” he asked Tina.
“He’s thanking the people an’ hopes they had a good Christmas.”
After Chief Alfred finished, his father, Chief James, spoke in the language and looked at John, and then mentioned his name.
“He’s telling them about you,” Tina said. “Stand up.”
He did and everyone applauded, and then he sat back down and Chief James continued speaking.
“He’s telling them about your hunt with my grandfather. He’s saying you left when you were young, so you never had the chance to go hunting, to get your first caribou. But now, you’ve returned an’ you’ve got your first caribou an’ you’re sharing it with the people.”
The people looked at him, nodded their approval and applauded.
Chief Alfred spoke again and this time they applauded louder. Tina looked as if she wished she could disappear. He assumed correctly that Chief Alfred had told them about their upcoming marriage. “An’ don’t forget dance tonight!” Chief Alfred said in English. Start at nine!”
As they walked back to the house, John recalled the dances. He remembered the fiddle and guitars, and the square dances, waltzes and jigging. “We gonna go to the dance?” he asked.
“You wanna?”
“Not really. I’m tired.”
“Me too,” she said, and then whispered, “We’ll be home alone.”
“I’m not that tired.”
“Good,” she said, smiling.
That night, after they had made love, Tina asked, “You wanna head back tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he said. “This is a little too much too fast for me.”
And then John had a thought, a flashback if you will. He remembered the tradition of walking around on New Year’s Day. This meant meeting at the Chief’s house early in the morning and walking from house to house wishing everyone a Happy New Year. “Do they still walk around on New Year’s Day?” he asked.
“Yeah, they still do that.”
He remembered the last time they’d come to his house and found his parents both passed out. The Chief said nothing and led the men out while John and Eva watched through one of the many holes in the attic floor. They had been cold, hungry, and dirty. He shook the memory off and tried to think of better times; warmer times, summer. But even in the summer, they had still been hungry and dirty.
The leaves were green, almost luminescent. It had been a long time since he’d seen them this green. He looked at the hills and the mountains and wondered why they were blue. The last time he went up into the hills, they were green and grey, not blue. He wondered why the river was silver, and not brown. Things were not what they seemed.
“Hi, Edward.”
He glanced up.
He grinned. “Hi.”
She was a beautiful girl, barely twenty, with long, black hair and an infectious smile. She was dressed in a pair of black slacks with black running shoes and a pale yellow blouse over which she wore a blue cardigan. She sat beside him on the bench. “Whatcha doin?”
“Nothin’,” he said. “Jus’ lookin’.”
He remembered she liked walking along the shore, picking up stones and throwing them into the river. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her like he seen them do in the movies. He’d told Elizabeth he was in love with Margaret and wanted to marry her. He wanted to live in one of those towns in the south where nobody knew who he was. He wanted to go to a place where they didn’t call him stupid or slow. He wondered if she’d marry him, even if he was stupid. They were almost the same age, but he dropped out of grade nine when it became too difficult for him. He didn’t like being called slow and he hated being called stupid. He did like the hostel, though. At least there they made rules he could follow and not get into trouble.
“Did you really join the army?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He had joined a few days earlier when the soldier had come to town. Floyd asked him to join. He said he’d take care of him. They’ll make men out of us, he’d said. We’ll make good money too. It was then he thought maybe she’d marry him if he became a man and made money.
When you’re leavin’?” she asked.
“Couple ’a weeks.”
“Me too. Back to school.”
A week later he was outside their house talking to her father, Abraham. Over the last few years he’d helped Abraham and Sarah by cutting wood and getting water from the creek, or ice from the river. He was trying to show them he was a good man and a hard worker. He also did that to get close to her, but something was wrong. Over the last few days he’d hardly seen her. He’d gone to her house a few times, but she stayed inside and never came out. Maybe she was mad at him. Maybe she didn’t like him because he was slow. Maybe they were right, maybe he was stupid.
“When are you leaving?” Abraham asked in the language.
“Tomorrow,” he answered in the language, then switched to English. “Me and Floyd.”
“How long?”
“Don’t know. Two, three months.”
“And then?”
“Don’ know.”
Abraham smiled and put an arm on his shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”
She came out carrying a galvanized tub full of clothes, walked by without looking at him and began hanging clothes on the clothesline.
“Margaret, you forgot this,” Sarah said in the language, holding up a bag of clothespins.
Margaret walked to her mom, her arms folded across her as if she had a stomach ache, took the bag of clothespins and then walked back to the clothesline, her gaze never once leaving the ground.
“She’s going back to Helena for school,” Abraham said.
“Oh.”
Being in the army was like being in mission school: he lined up, they shaved off his hair, they gave him the same clothes as everyone else, he slept in a big dorm, he ate in a dining room, and he did what they told him to do and he did it without asking. Whatever he couldn’t understand, Floyd helped him with. He wondered if Margaret was still mad at him. He wondered what he had done to make her mad. He wished he could write to her, but he didn’t know what street she lived on and his letter might get lost. He wished he were smart, like Floyd and the rest.
“You comin’?” Floyd asked.
“Where you goin’?”
“Edmonton for the weekend. Gonna have some fun.”
“Okay,” he said, even though he didn’t like to go to the bars. Maybe he could go to the place they have those rides. He had fun there. Everyone acted like kids there.
Later that night, or early the next morning, they tried to get a taxi to take them back to the base but Floyd was drunk and had no money. He had some, but even so, each time they tried the driver would look at them and drive off.
“Fuck it,” Floyd said. “Let’s walk. It’s only thirty miles. We can do ’at in our sleep.”
Three hours later they were on the highway walking back to the base when he heard the big truck and stepped off to the side of the highway. He turned just in time to see Floyd put his arm up in a futile effort to stop the big truck. It was futility, but it was instinctive.
And just like that, Floyd was gone, and so was the truck. He couldn’t remember how far he had to run before he finally found Floyd. It had to be Floyd. He was wearing Floyd’s clothes, but his face was gone and his arm and legs were twisted and bent out of shape. He tried to fix them, but they were broken. He tried to wake him, but he knew Floyd had disappeared into the night and had gone back to the Old People up in the Blue Mountains. He didn’t know how long he waited, but after a long, long time, he saw the lights. They were far away, but they grew brighter and then blinded him.
After a long while, the lights disappeared and someone asked, “Private Brian, are you okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened to Private Chinke?”
“Truck, sir. Big truck.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s gone, sir.”
“Did you get the licence number?”
“No, sir.”
They kept him in the hospital for a long time and a doctor came in each day and checked his heart, then looked for his soul with a bright light. They had another doctor come in and ask him questions, and they even made him write some tests. He kept looking for Floyd to help him, but Floyd was AWOL again.
After what seemed like forever, the sergeant told him he was going home. “Private Brian?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re sending you home.”
“Home, sir?”
“Yes, you’re being discharged for medical reasons.”
He didn’t know what that meant, so he just said, “Yes, sir.”
The doctor tried one last time to look for his soul, but he couldn’t find it. “I don’t know how he made it this far without anyone noticing,” he said to the sergeant.
“Me neither, but he was a good soldier.”
Daniel David Moses
The Witch Of Niagara
A Confabulation in One Act
This world was already complete
even without white people.
There was everything
including witchery.
Ceremony
Leslie Marmon Silko
This drama premiered at the Robert Gill Theatre from 9-12 December 1998, produced by the Centre for Indigenous Theatre, and was directed by Carole Greyeyes.
CHARACTERS
The GIRL
The BOY, the Girl’s cousin through her Father
The Chief, the Girl’s FATHER
The Girl’s UNCLE through her Mother, a War Chief
The OLD MAN
The Girl’s GRANDmother through her Mother, a Clan Mother
The Girl’s MOTHER
The Girl’s AUNT through her Father
The Thunderer, the God of Rain
The God’s Helper
The Snake
SETTING
The action occurs in a village, in the fields, and on the paths through the forest along the river and gorge in the vicinity of Niagara Falls, the residence of the Thunderer, the Iroquois god of Rain.
SCENE 1
The new moon looms over Niagara Falls. The GIRL lies in her grandmother’s lodge in the village. She opens her eyes.
GIRL
In the story— The story? In the dream! In the dream, I’m alone. Alone in the village. Alone in the longhouse. Alone in my bed. In the dream, everything’s quiet. No kids. No dogs. No birds. No wind. I can’t even hear the falls. The sun’s shining.
Then this shadow’s there standing in the doorway. It’s a man, a stranger, but in the dream I’m not afraid because he’s so beautiful. I can’t see his face but I know he’s beautiful. He speaks to me. His voice is soft, whispering. He sounds far away, even though he’s right here beside me. I don’t know the words he uses, it’s another language, but I understand him all right. I want to ask him who he is, what’s going on, where everyone is, but he puts a finger to my lips, puts a finger to my lips – and then kisses me. In the dream, he kisses me. No man has ever ever kissed me before.
Then he’s gone and I’m awake. And my belly is big and tight as a drum. And Mama and Grandma, they’re standing over me, mumbling and shaking their heads. Shaking their heads. And then this pain like a blade down there makes me look, this tickling and trickling between my legs. We all look under my dress. There’s this flood, this flood of little baby snakes squirming out of me. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, my Mama, my Grandma, they’re the ones, they’re the ones in the dream who scream. And this flood, this flood of little baby snakes, it crawls back – back inside me.
She closes her eyes. Thunder. The moon sets.
SCENE 2
Dawn. The hunting camp. The BOY tends the fire; the Girl’s FATHER and UNCLE sleep in the lean-to. The OLD MAN enters fro
m the path from the woods.
OLD MAN
Hello? Hello! Anybody there?
BOY
Uncle, cousin, wake up.
FATHER
What is it?
OLD MAN
How are you this morning?
UNCLE
Who’s that?
FATHER
I recognise him. Long time, no see, Grey Hair!
UNCLE
Oh no. The Trader.
BOY
That’s him?
OLD MAN
Long time, no see, Chief. Can I bother you for some tea?
FATHER
Sure. Sit, sit.
BOY
Here you go.
OLD MAN
You’ve been hunting?
FATHER
Down river, far as the lake.
OLD MAN
No luck?
FATHER
As you see, empty hands.
OLD MAN
Hard times, hard times everywhere.
FATHER
We’ll be fine.
OLD MAN
Going home now? I’ll walk with you then.
UNCLE
You haven’t visited us since when?
OLD MAN
The spring. It’s so sad for me, coming home now.
UNCLE
You’ve been where?
OLD MAN
East and west. The salt lake and the dirty river. I’ve got shells and copper and seed corn.
FATHER
The women will be glad to see you.
OLD MAN
I’ll be glad to see them. I’ve got herbs for them, some medicines.
BOY
You travel alone?
OLD MAN
Who would go with me?
BOY
Don’t you get lonely?
FATHER
Don’t be rude. I’m sorry, Grey Hair. He’s not used to strangers.
OLD MAN
Your sister’s boy? Just out of the house, is he?
FATHER
I’m afraid so.
OLD MAN
He’ll learn how to treat his elders someday.
BOY
What’s he mean by that?
UNCLE
Sh! Let your uncle do the talking.
FATHER
And you?
OLD MAN
Could be worse. I do get lonely sometimes. I’m thinking about getting me a wife.
The Exile Book of Native Canadian Fiction and Drama Page 21
