Annie Muktuk and Other Stories

by Norma Dunning

  My women circle close to her. Alaq touches the clerk’s hand and holds her red nails close to her eyes. Her small nostrils flare as she tries to smell the polish. Tetuk bends low to the floor and is running her hand around the black stiletto heels of the clerk. She pushes her body away from the woman and lays her head on the floor. She pulls a small stone out from her sleeve and rolls it between the heel and the base of the black shoe. She is grinning, thinking she has made a new game. Keenaq is pressing the clerk’s yellow hair in her both of her hands. She is smiling and saying in a low cooing voice, “Aumajuq, aumajuq.”

  A high-pitched scream sounds. A man in a dark suit is throwing us out the door. We are thrown onto the street like a barrel of chimps. The babies cry—again.

  “Fuck you!” I scream to the gent in the dark suit. “You fuckin’ whities—fuck you!” and I make a fist. My women cower together, hiding their eyes behind their hoods.

  “You and your fucking Indians aren’t welcome here, asshole! Get those fuckin’ savages away from the streets—Now!” The heavy door slams in our faces.

  “We need to find a room! Look what you all did! Got us kicked out! Now what?”

  Tetuk stands on the tips of her toes, puts a hand to her hip, smiling. Alaq rubs spit onto her fingertips, rubbing it into her fingernails. Keenaq throws back her hood, dividing both sides of her hair into her hands. They all burst into the biggest laugh I’ve heard in eight days. They each chatter about the white woman at the desk. They are saying she is only good for one thing—how could a woman who looks like that have any skills to stay alive? They gather up the three babies and walk alongside of me with a giggle that lasts for ten city blocks.

  We walk single file into the Hudson’s Bay Hotel. I’m a Factor—they can’t refuse me. The baby girls are tired and their mothers are still gossiping about the woman at the St. James desk. I turn and give them the nod. They quietly shuffle to a corner.

  Behind the desk is a company man. Young, bright blue eyes, flaming red beard. When he opens his mouth to speak the stench of stale whisky fills the air. This is a man I can relate to.

  “Me and my girls need a room, Scottie—how much for a couple of nights?” I grin at this young fella and he grins back.

  “You and the blackies in the corner? A hundred bucks for two nights.”

  “Hey, hey, hey, I’m the Factor at Poorfish—give me the company rate.”

  “Blackies leave skid marks on the sheets—fifty bucks a night—no negotiating.”

  “How much of it lands into your pockets?”

  “About sixty bucks. But there’s not another soul for miles and miles who’ll give you a room, Factor—not another soul.”

  I reach into my pockets for the paper that will get us into a room, onto a bed, into a bathtub.

  “Here you go, Scottie—thank you most kindly.” I lean in to shake his thick hand and as we clasp palms, I quickly make a fist and say, “Listen you little Scottish asshole, I’ll get my extra sixty bucks back one way or another! Got it,—ya little red prick?” My teeth are gritted and we have one small moment where I see fright building in his pupils. I’ve got him scared and that’s all that matters. I’m small but I’m tough. I’ve wrestled with all kinds of animals in my time. This little red prick is easy prey.

  I turn to my women, wink, and nod, saying with a smile, “Attagu!” They all grin back at me and off we go up the stairs to room number one.

  There are two beds and the babies are removed from their Mamas’ hoods and rolled onto their sides. My tiny girls look like tiny cigars in a tiny cigar package, bundled up tight in their brown caribou skins. I head to the bathroom and turn the water on for a bath. All my wives stand behind me, peering over my shoulder and saying how good it is to make water flow inside. I step away from the tub and let them know that they are first.

  I didn’t expect them to all get in at once, but they did. What a time they are having, splashing around and laughing. I stretch out on the other bed, cradling my head in my hands. Thinking how happy I am to be here and to lie down after days of travel. I let out a long yawn and look towards the bathroom door as it opens. Keenaq is smiling her wise smile, her dripping body floats towards me, her weathered-brown hand stretched out. I look at her and grin and she pulls me up from the bed. Together we walk towards the bathroom. Our eyes dancing with each other.

  As I crouch down into the already grey water, my ladies shrink to small Sednas. They are little women, like the little people, as they wiggle over my belly. I can only see the tiny shadows of them because of all the steam inside this room. I can only feel their hands, their tongues and their toes waving over me in the most sensual of ways. I moan and groan and try to catch them as they dash over my body. They have become minnows of what they are normally. This spell that is over me is too lovely to swim my way out of. It feels like a drowning dream but I’m drowning in the sound of my own short breaths, the feel of their tongues around my balls and I can’t stop it. I think I can hear the sound of two of them throat singing. The sound of nature’s noise.

  Tetuk crawls on top of me. She is the size of a one-foot china doll and we fall into waves of perfect rhythm with one another. I scream my pleasure out to the dripping walls. This has to be a dream. There is no other man on this earth who would believe what is happening. I believe there is no other man on this earth who has had this form of pleasure. I can only go with what is happening around me. I can only let these small fish-ladies have their way with all of me.

  I open my eyes to an empty room with all the water drained from the tub. Where are they? Alaq arrives with a towel wrapped around her worn body. She takes it off and hands it over to me. Have I made all this up? She looks at me with her hollow mouth and asks, “Nakuusiaq?” I nod, understanding the word but not really knowing what has just happened. She nods her wrinkled face and says in her best English, “It is good,” as she leaves the bathroom.

  This is the mystery of living with these ladies. The things that happen when I am with them I don’t understand. The things I try never to think too hard about because there is no way of putting into words what has just happened. It is these kind of times that I find myself filled with the secrets of these peoples and I only know that I have to keep these secrets locked away inside of me. There is no one to tell them to.

  When I walk into the main part of the room, my ladies all smile at me. They each have one of my babies on their laps and we all begin to sing, “What do you do with a drunken sailor…” It is the happiest of afternoons.

  Keegan McTaggart stands in the boiler room, boiling over. That bastard, he thinks, I’ll get that son of a bitch. I was in the North once, I know what those little Factor pricks are all about—I’ll beat the little fucker blue before he leaves town. Sixty bucks, that’s my money—it’ll help to get me back home to Kilwinning. Back to my màthair. I’ll go back into the coal mines forever if it means I can be back home.

  Taking a swig from his bottle of Birch’s Black whisky, he swallows hard and shakes his head. These Canadian Bay men, he thinks, these dumb arses, I’d like to wring every one of their lily white necks. I despise those fuckers. The way they boss all the rest of us around as if we are their servants. They’ve got no loyalty, no morals, no sense of right from wrong. What kind of man would match hisself up with women like that? You gotta have some pride man. Not be running your prick up every northern hole! I’ve told myself too many a time now, Keep the heid! Keep the heid!— well I’m good and damn tired of keeping that heid and I’m gonna do something about this time. He’ll not get his sixty back and I’ll be damn sure of it!

  Listen to the circus goin’ on up there. I can hear ’em. Moanin’ and groanin’, screwin’ and sweatin’ and then cacklin’ out songs about it like a bunch of wounded geese. Mother of God, they’re the worst bunch that’s ever walked through these doors. Shame on that Husky—three of them for himself and proud of it! That man will surely rot in hell—surely!

  Those short little men been pushin’ me aroun
d this town too long—I’ll wait for him and then I’ll get him with my slim-line pocket knife. Three inches of steel was all a man ever needed to do any real harm and shadows are made for getting even.

  My ladies are shiny-faced and smiling as we strut into the Hudson’s Bay Store. We all head off to the ladies department first. They each find new dresses made of cotton and kerchiefs for their heads. The colours are dazzling—blues and yellows and reds. We find flat shoes in the shoe department and off we go to buy nail polish and lipstick. I pull all that paper out of my pocket and proudly pay for my ladies’ new clothes. They look magnificent and stunning. In all of this colour, they almost look white.

  Off we march to the children’s department and find small denim trousers for the little girls and fluffy dresses with buckled shoes. I pull all that paper out of my pocket again and give the sales lady at the counter what she wants. The baby girls are giggling and making happy screech noises as we head out of the children’s department and to the toy department. We buy one tricycle and three dolls with yellow hair and blue eyes. The baby girls are cooing over their babies as we head to the men’s department.

  I find a black suit with padded shoulders and wide-legged pants and bright white shoes. My ladies purr in approval, with low growls from the backs of their throats. I feel like a king with his court of lovely ladies as we all leave the store with our new clothes on and our old clothes tucked away in big bags with HBC printed on them. All of our shoes click down the sidewalk, the sound of new footwear echoing around the streets of Winnipeg. It’s a sound my ladies have never heard before. They take turns stopping and walking and laughing as each of them struts or walks slowly down the sidewalk. They each keep their heads down, watching each footstep to see whether it is their own or someone else’s. At last they hold hands with each other and the baby girls and we walk together in on large horizontal line on the sidewalk, clicking our tongues in unison with the concrete. I put my oldest daughter onto the tricycle and slide her down the concrete. The rhythm of squishy wheels and high-pitched giggles bring the best of smiles to my face.

  The sun warms the new garments on our backs and I know it is time to find something for us all to eat. We clamber into the Hudson’s Bay Hotel and find seats in the small restaurant. Along comes the Scot, Mr. Keegan, to take our order. He is a scowling young man today.

  “Keegan, my friend,” I say, “What’s the lunch special today?”

  Keegan glares down at me from his square built height. His hair and eyes look the same furious red. The stubby fingers on his right hand are forming a fist.

  “Read the bloody chalkboard ya skinny little Eskimo fucker!”

  Keegan is one spitball of flame today. I don’t want anything to ruin this day. This was our day, our day of shopping and laughing and clicking around in new shoes. My ladies have their heads down. The loud Scots-punctuated tongue has frightened them. My three little girls sit together with their bottom lips trembling.

  “Frighten my family, will ya? Ya dumb Scot. Over-charge me on my room too—ya bloody piece of Scottish shit. Here’s something to get your ass humming!”

  I grab the little fucker by the flickering sparks of his scraggly beard and twist my body around him in a vertical half-nelson. I got him bent from the waist down, slam his forehead into the empty table next to us. Forks, spoons and knives twirl and sputter against the hard wood floor.

  “I’ll just keep banging your potato head against the table until I hear the magic words, ‘I’m sorry, Sir Husky’—ya got it?” It takes all the force I have in my chest to hold Keegan’s cube-shaped body in this position. I just can’t stop.

  “I’ll bang your fuckin’ initials into this table with your fucking forehead!”

  Rage has filled my veins, flowing fast and hard into every part of my body. I want to kill the little fucker.

  I feel a sharp punch to the back of one of my knees. My body slopes over to one side like the skis of my dogsled on a hard turn. I feel my head whipping backwards and slam against the floor. I can hear the ladies screaming and the howls of my baby girls as the hardest work boot lands into my balls. All the air in my lungs hurdles forward and runs across the floor in leaps. I can’t suck any wind back into my chest. All I see are gritted, square teeth speckled with blood break into as smile as the shimmer from a pointed piece of silver dives into my right eye.

  I hear my own screams dance in circles around them. It grips onto the tiny hands of my little girls and swirls them into a jig with the deep groans of my ladies. Together all these sounds break into a reel, dancing together the hurt of each of us at once.

  Across the room a blurry picture of King George V and a tall, breasty white woman with a crown on her head next to him. I stare at them as I reach my hand up to my face and feel a mushy balloon on my right cheek. The soft, rough squares of gauze tickle my fingertips and I move my swollen right index finger in search of my nose and mouth. I find them, large and blubbery. I take a deep breath, relieved to find they are still on the map of my skull.

  I ache everywhere. Moving my finger down my body I try to feel my balls. I find them chilling on a bag of small ice chips and for some odd reason this is the funniest thing I know. I laugh and chuckle and air sputters out of my lungs along with half-formed whimpers. The memory of Keegan’s black work boot hits me hard—again. I don’t remember much afterwards, only that something glittered and later gutted my eye socket. I smell the sterility of the hospital room and feel anger rise up into my fists. I look back at King George V and remember why I went North to begin with. Life in the south always ended with you trapped in a hospital room.

  I swing both my legs over the edge of the bed and steady myself against the thin mattress. I have to get out of this place. This is where white people die. I have to get out of here. I manage to find a chair to slide across the floor to guide me to the tiny brown closet. Just get my pants and shirt on and I’m outta here. Just open the closet door and reach in and get those pants and my shirt. Just sit on the chair now while I get my feet inside my pants. Just take it slow and easy and stay calm. Just…

  “Mr. Husky—you’ll not be doin’ any form of escapin’ on my watch!” A woman bigger than the one with the crown in the picture is squeezing me by the shoulders. Her large hands are dug deep within my collarbone and I can’t move. I feel like I’ve been ambushed by a polar bear. Her mouth is large, her lips are black and her teeth are jagged as her head sways close to mine. Her yellow eyes are fierce. I am being lifted and thrown back onto my skinny bed. My head is cushioned by the pillows behind me. I cannot think of one word to say.

  “You old trappers. Ya come into the city and get yourselves liquored up and beat up and then wind up here for me to look after ya. Damn you all!” Her words are less than an inch from my face as she roars into my left ear.

  “You’ll NOT and I repeat, NOT, be sneakin’ out of this room when I’m on duty. I’ve had one too many a doctor blame me for you types leavin’ in the middle of treatment. Not let your bodies mend inside these walls. Aye, Mr. Husky—you’re not leavin’ today!” She steps back from me and reaches to close the window.

  “I’m gettin’ the doctor in here right smartly, Mister, and he’ll talk some sense into ya. In the meantime, I’m gettin’ you something for the pain and makin’ it strong enough to keep you inside these walls until my shift ends!” The polar bear sways out of the room. Her big, round paws are almost silent on the floor. Her head nods as she walks away and her ass jiggles with a sense of purpose. I am too terrified to move.

  Seconds zoom past me and the polar bear is back. She has a large spear in one of her paws and she is moving her face close to mine. Her nose is flaring and those teeth are pointing at me. I turn my head as I feel the spear stab into the crook of my left elbow. The room spins into a whirlpool and I hold tight onto either side of my antiseptic bed. The polar she-bear holds both of my hands and moves her nose close to mine. She is swinging her head from side to side, the way I know they do before they poun
ce on their prey. I grit my teeth hard and form the biggest ball of spit I can, rolling my tongue into circles over and over again and then I shoot it from my mouth like a rocket ball from a Winchester. I see the she-bear howl and her head snaps up like an arrow, pointed edge up. My body lifts from the bed and I hear my back snap in a loud crack. I feel my body tumble into nightfall, the sky black, the stars shining. I relax as I float through the air.

  Keegan stands in front of the group of women who’ve been left behind.

  “Too bad old Father McGinty came along, I’m thinking. Too bad he broke up our fight just when I was getting it started. Now what’s gonna happen to you? Look at ya. All gussied up like white girls. Nice shoes. Nice dresses. Nice kerchiefs wrapped about your black, dumb heads. Maybe it’s time for you to know what a real man is.” Keegan steps back and grins at each of the ladies. They bow their heads and whisper to one another.

  “You’ll stop it!” Keegan yowls, “You’ll stop it, ya hear!” He yanks Tetuk’s baby girl from her and holds the little one close to his chest. The tiny girl begins to cry as Keegan holds the slim-line three-inch pocket knife close to her throat.

  “Which one of ya is the mother to this one?” Keegan yells. “I say, which one of ya is the mother to this little black female bastard child?”

  Tetuk steps forward, head down, eyes staring into the black boots that knocked Husky breathless.

  Keegan moves forward, pulling Tetuk’s kerchief-wrapped hair from the middle of her head. “Well, lookie here, you’re almost pretty. Better than the other two nags ya got with ya!” He shoves Tetuk’s baby girl onto the floor and gives her a small punt with his black boots.

  “You oldies, over there—you take this kid back and get up to your room. Me and this one are headin’ downstairs for a little real man fun.” Keegan siezes Tetuk by the scruff of her neck, swings open the door to the boiler room and pushes her down the stairs.