The Night Wanderer

by Drew Hayden Taylor

  “Hitchhiking! That’s dangerous. Some pervert could pick you up and kill you!” Kim, on the other hand, was a little more pragmatic. Kim also wanted to go to Vancouver, but to attend the University of British Columbia. She had hopes of becoming a lawyer, though she always downplayed it. It always seemed a little ambitious for a girl from some obscure Ojibwa reserve.

  “I can take care of myself. Think of it. No winter. Beach year-round. Christ, I should leave tomorrow!”

  “I still think you’re crazy.”

  Darla smiled and taunted her friend. “You’re just afraid.”

  “Afraid of dying, of being raped and murdered and left for dead in a ditch somewhere in the Rockies? Yes!” All three would spend hours debating their future lives, but Tiffany was the only one not quite so set on her future plans. Like her friends, she wanted to explore the possibilities beyond the reserve boundaries. The world out there, not here. The idea of more school, let alone intense university-type stuff, definitely did not appeal to her. Maybe a job. Somewhere down the road she knew she’d have to make some tough decisions. But that was what tomorrows were for.

  They were having fries at Betty’s Take Out. If it needed to be fried or, even better, deep fried, it could be found here. This was the nexus point for all teen life in the rez. Their fries weren’t the best, but at least it was away from prying parental eyes and that was good.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she asked as she grabbed a ketchup-laden fry.

  Both girls glanced at Tiffany as she sat down, neither responding. “What did I miss?” asked Tiffany.

  Finally it was Kim who spoke. “You missed last night.”

  “We waited for hours. Where were you?”

  Four eyes were on Tiffany. “Oh yeah, sorry about that. I was out with Tony.”

  Tiffany tried to grab another fry, but Kim pulled the tray away. “We were supposed to get together.”

  “Yeah,” added Darla.

  “It’s just we had a party to go to. You’re right, I should have phoned. Like I said, sorry.”

  Kim nudged Darla. “Always Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony.”

  Darla asked in a seriously fake British accent, “And how is young Anthony?”

  “Great,” answered Tiffany enthusiastically.

  “Well, good for you.”

  “Yeah, good for you.”

  Tiffany could tell this wasn’t going to be easy. “You guys are mad?”

  “We waited for hours.”

  “Yeah, hours.”

  “I’m really, really sorry?” Tiffany offered.

  Darla and Kim looked at each other, silently debating whether to let up. Then, slowly, Kim slid the tray of fries in front of Tiffany once more. A peace offering of sorts. “Thanks,” said Tiffany.

  “We never see you anymore.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Tiffany said sheepishly.

  Darla idly moved the ketchup around with a fry. “You know, people are talking about you two.”

  Tiffany perked up. “Talking? Talking how?”

  Kim shrugged. “You and Tony. You know . . .”

  “No I don’t. What about me and Tony?” While Tiffany didn’t mind being the center of attention, she did hate being gossiped about.

  “Yeah, I heard too,” said Darla. “Just people, around here, talking. Like, you two are an odd couple.”

  Tiffany had a flashback to the previous night, the bush party. So it wasn’t just them, but everyone on the rez too. “What are they saying?” “Stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Tiffany was becoming impatient.

  “Just stuff.”

  Tiffany eyed her two friends for a second, deciding on a course of action. “Well, I don’t care. Let them talk. I’m happy. Tony’s happy. That’s all that matters.” She crossed her arms defiantly as the two girls looked at each other. Then she added hesitantly, “Is it bad?”

  Darla shook her head. “No, just it’s not often somebody from Otter Lake goes out with somebody from Baymeadow. Not a lot of people do that. So people are wondering and talking about it. That’s all. Nothing to get worked up about. Hey, we’re running out of fries. Should I get more?”

  Kim dropped the topic too. “So what else is new with your boyfriend?” asked Kim. With no romance in her life, she was more than willing to live through someone else’s, but there was an odd tone to her voice, like she knew the answer to her own question.

  Tiffany smiled. Even though life sucked, she’d been smiling a lot lately when it came to Tony. “Oh, he’s fine. Still yummy good.” They all laughed at that. The bracelet he had given Tiffany was dangling on her wrist. She kept rotating it, often without being conscious of it.

  Darla noticed this. “Well, you know what I heard? Julie Banes, you know from school, she’s wearing a bracelet just like yours. Isn’t that right, Kim?”

  Kim nodded, adding, “Word has it.”

  Immediately, Tiffany’s ears, heart, and other vital organs perked up. Julie, whom Tony had hugged last night, had a bracelet exactly like hers? It had to be a coincidence, though Tiffany tended not to believe in coincidences, especially when it came to Tony and a cute girl. Highly suspicious.

  “What do you mean like my bracelet?”

  Darla leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, I heard Mr. Tony Banks used to go with Julie a long time ago. But her father made them break up. They were too young or something. But her parents got divorced, and she now lives with her mother . . . and now she has a pretty bracelet too. A solid gold one. But hey, what do I know.”

  Tiffany glanced at Kim, who merely nodded, sadly acknowledging Darla’s news flash. And what if that was the bracelet Tony had said was for his mom? News like this deserved direct action. And Tiffany was in the mood to take it.

  “Kim, give me your cellphone.” Curious, Kim did as Tiffany asked, and Tiffany started dialing Tony’s number. Smiling in anticipation, Darla leaned forward, swallowing the last two fries in the tray. Tiffany could hear the distant sound of his phone connecting, ringing, and being answered. Then, she heard Tony’s voice, and turned away from her friends to speak to him.

  “Uh, Tony, this is Tiffany.” Pause. “Yeah, I’m using Kim’s cellphone, that’s why.” Pause. “I was just talking to her and Darla and they say Julie has . . . what?” Pause. “Tony, I’m sorry.” Darla mouthed the words he’s blowing her off to Kim, who silently chuckled to herself.

  “Okay, I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.” Tiffany pressed the red button on Kim’s phone and the connection went dead. She looked up and saw the two girls watching her.

  “Well?” they said in unison.

  “Nothing,” Tiffany shrugged. “He’s at work. Couldn’t talk.”

  “Couldn’t talk,” they both echoed almost gleefully.

  “I don’t know why this should make you so happy.”

  Kim answered. “Serves you right for ditching us.”

  “And not even telling us you were ditching us,” added Darla.

  Tiffany got up to leave.

  “Where you going?” asked Kim.

  “I don’t know. Home, I guess.” Her day, which had started with such promise, had gone spiraling out of control.

  Darla and Kim watched her go. “What do you think?” asked Darla. “Trouble,” Kim answered.

  “Big trouble.”

  They watched Tiffany disappear around the side of Betty’s Take Out. And for a moment, they were touched by a feather of regret. “Were we a little mean?” asked Kim.

  Darla’s only answer was a shrug. That was safer than telling the truth.

  FIFTEEN

  IT WAS LATE and Tiffany had to race home for supper. The sun was almost down and Granny Ruth and her father didn’t like her being late for dinner. She was hustling down Henry’s Path, a path that cut through some back country. On foot, it took a good half hour off the trip home from Betty’s Take Out. Her uncomfortably brief conversation with Tony, and then Kim and Darla’s reaction, had left her upset. It wasn’t that long ago they would spen
d hours hanging out talking about everything and nothing. They would fight, gossip, argue, tease, and laugh all the time. Now Tiffany had spent a grand total of about four minutes with her best friends all weekend. She missed them, but time with them meant less time with Tony. It was a vicious equation.

  During her long walk, she pondered the questions that teenagers of all eras frequently ponder. But answers were rare. She did reach one conclusion, though: she had decided what life was about. No grumpy father. No weird grandmother. No strangers in the basement. No school. This is how life should be. It’s a pity God, the Creator, whatever term you may want to use, never took advice from teenage girls.

  Once, when she was younger, she had asked her mother about God. Claudia, not knowing how to answer, had shrugged off the question, telling her to ask Granny Ruth instead. The old woman sat her granddaughter down and told her to close her eyes. Tiffany did as she was told. “Now I want you to listen.”

  “Listen to what?” the eight-year-old asked.

  “To the world around you. And I want you to smell it too. And feel it on your skin and hair. And if you can, taste it on the wind.” Not really knowing what her grandmother was talking about, but still trusting, Tiffany did what she was told. At first, she didn’t understand. All she could hear were cars off in the distance. And dogs barking down by her cousin Jake’s. And somewhere far away, almost too far away to be heard, came the call of a loon. She could hear crickets, the buzz of a lawnmower somewhere, and her father wandering about the kitchen, his footsteps rattling the dishes. Then she became aware of the smell of grass all about her, the wet stink coming from Benojee, who had just come back from swimming in the lake, and coming from somewhere nearby the delicate aroma of flowers. Tiffany could feel the wind on her cheeks, noticed a cloud coming between her and the sun just by the change of temperature on her skin.

  “That, my little granddaughter, is what God is about. Don’t let anybody tell you God is a man, or a person, or lives somewhere high above. God is a feeling. God is the world around you. God is life. I don’t know much, but that I do know.” That had been a long time ago but occasionally Tiffany would remember back to that day and wonder if Granny Ruth was right. But at the moment, she wondered why God would see fit to put a really spooky forest between her and her home.

  It was now almost dark. This time of year the sun set quickly, seemingly in a hurry to brighten some far-off exotic country’s day. Shadows and dark hollows lined Tiffany’s path as she made her way home through the woods. It was scary and dangerous. The overhead trees blocked out any moonlight or starlight, inviting her to trip and stumble frequently. It was like nature was taunting her. She knew the house was just ten minutes or so ahead, somewhere in the darkness. All that was left was to follow Henry’s Path past the Point, the small peninsula near the tip of Otter Lake, till it came to a hill. Then up the hill and through the cedar grove, and there was home.

  Winded, she slowed her pace as she came to the sandy beach. The wind off the lake, usually too chilly, was nice, cooling down her overheated body. On the far shore she could see lights coming on as the cottagers and permanent residents acknowledged the arrival of night. Those far-off houses were not part of the reserve. Most were city people, others a few local non-Natives on privately owned land. Tony lived somewhere over there, one of the anonymous shimmering lights, but she couldn’t pick his house out in the darkness. She wondered if she called to him, would he be able to hear her.

  Tiffany had ridden along the shoreline in an outboard boat many times with her father, but there had been no reason to stop. Residents of the reserve did not know or care to know anybody across the lake in that direction. Their world was on this side of the watery expanse.

  Tiffany knew tensions between Baymeadow and Otter Lake had been building for a long time. For decades both places had lived side by side, comfortably ignorant of each other. There was no one issue that divided them, but a number of small things. People from Otter Lake started wanting more than what the treaties said they should get. She was aware of issues like land claims, hunting and fishing rights, and the fact that the cottagers across the lake had better boats made for angry discussions. During band elections Tiffany would hear people talking about these things, and she herself was aware that people outside the village had thoughts of Native people being lazy, alcoholics, and other unpleasant descriptions. As a result, other than school, the odd baseball or hockey tournament, interaction between the two villages was extremely limited. Geography forced them together, but that was about all.

  People of Granny Ruth’s generation had cleaned their houses. People of Keith’s age had guided them to all the best fishing locations on the lake. And Tiffany’s generation had to deal with this baggage.

  The moon was high over the horizon, starting its slow arc through the heavens. It was three-quarters full, right next to what she supposed was Venus, the evening star. Venus was also the morning star, she thought . . . possibly. She was failing science so she couldn’t be sure. Venus was also the Roman god of sex . . . again possibly. Or was she Greek? And maybe she was thinking of Cupid instead. Who knew? Again, not that it mattered. All she was really sure of was that it was very far away.

  Tiffany certainly wasn’t the first young person to gaze up at the stars and wonder what was out there, and if it was better than down here. She sighed at the mysteries of the world surrounding her and was saddened by the fact she didn’t feel smart enough to understand them. Someday she wanted to explore those mysteries, see them for herself. But she feared her entire destiny could be summed up in two words: Otter Lake. One of her aunts, Audrey, had told her one evening while drunk that she had planned on running off to New York and becoming a big success. That had been thirty-seven years ago. She had never even made it to the border. That was one of Tiffany’s biggest fears. She had the ambition but lacked the willpower to make things happen.

  “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” came a quiet voice from behind her.

  “Yaaaa!” was Tiffany’s immediate, loud, and undignified response. Sheer reflexes made her jump about two feet or so to the right, directly into the lake, soaking her scruffy Nikes and lower pant legs. Turning around, she was ready to move farther into the lake if necessary—after all, Tony’s house was directly across the lake, and if she had to Tiffany was positive she could half run/half swim the distance. She searched the shoreline for whoever spoke. Pierre L’Errant squatted on the hill overlooking the sandy beach. Still dressed in black, it was as if he melded into the twilight. He stood up and moved effortlessly down the embankment toward her.

  “Stop doing that!” she cried. And as with most lakes and watery conduits, her voice reverberated up and down the water’s surface, alerting all lakefront residents that Tiffany Hunter was annoyed. “My feet are soaked!” Studies have shown that when you’re cold and frightened, you tend to state the obvious.

  Pierre stopped approaching when he came to the shoreline. “Forgive me. It’s a nasty habit I’ve picked up over the years.” He waited on the embankment as Tiffany splashed her way to the lake shore. She climbed up the sandy beach, leaving little rivulets of water behind her.

  “Bad habits were meant to be broken.” She knew she was upset when she found herself quoting her grandmother’s cliches. Both of them could hear the squish squish as she walked around, hoping most of the water would drain out of her shoes. Without them, it was back to the loose shiny black shoes and that was not an option.

  “You never answered my question,” he stated.

  “What question?” Kneeling on one knee in the sand, she tried wringing the water out of one pant leg. Standing up and repeating the operation with the other leg, she discovered her knee was now covered with sand and debris.

  “Beautiful night, isn’t it? Would you like me to repeat it again?” Pierre had his back to her, gazing up at the rising moon. He and that moon were old friends, and it was comforting to see it here, in his ancestral lands once again. He knew every crater by sight, and
had lost count of the times he had been alone with only his thoughts and the pale round satellite in the sky.

  Standing, Tiffany was in a state to disagree. “It was. Now I’m wet, and sandy, and late for dinner. How does that make things beautiful?” She was sure she couldn’t feel her feet anymore.

  Pierre continued to stare skyward. “So you are wet. You will dry. So you are sandy. It will fall off. And there will be food at home regardless. There are far worse things in this world to regret.” He was talking but not to her, it seemed. “It’s all a matter of perspective.”

  “Just what are you doing out here? Scaring people?” Tiffany was still put out. Philosophy did not go well with two wet pant legs.

  Pierre smiled and turned to face her. Tiffany couldn’t help notice how the light reflected off him, almost making it look like his skin was glowing. It was kind of freaky.

  “I am . . . exploring.” As always, he chose his words carefully.

  “Exploring what?”

  He held out his hand. Tiffany peered at some small objects cradled in his palm. It was hard to tell what they were in the darkness of the night, so she picked one up. “It’s an arrowhead. They’re all arrowheads. Wow.” She held it up to the moon to get a better look. About an inch and a half in length, chipped from rock. Probably flint or something similar, she thought. Her cousin Paul had two he’d found somewhere, but these were the first she’d ever seen with her own eyes. When she was young, some of the kids at school had asked her if she shot a bow and arrow, lived in a tepee, or rode a horse. Frustrated, Tiffany would tell them contrary to popular belief, not all Native people carry arrowheads or sweetgrass with them everywhere they go. No more than all Australian Aboriginals have a boomerang in their back pockets. She knew this for a fact because she had seen it on television.

  “Hey, these are cool. Where did you find these?” She took a second one and also held it up to the moon. It was slightly darker, and the tip was broken off.

  “Along the shoreline, near a big rock. Over in that direction.” He pointed northeast.