“How?” I asked.
“You smell like smoke,” Treyton wrinkled his nose.
“Why can’t I be friends with everyone?”
Treyton and Blaire shook their heads. “No,” Treyton said. “That’s not how it works. My sister said Roy Bartleman and his crew are already watching the up-and-comers for the parties for next year. Do you or don’t you want to be invited?”
My face burned. Hanging with Treyton and Blaire was fun, most of the time. They had toys, Xbox, games. Brutus wasn’t into toys: he was into hunting, trapping, checking nets. When I went over there, we worked: hauled wood, cut kindling, watched him skin animals. They had a woodstove and they were always smoking meat in and outside of the house. That’s why we smelled of smoke every time we were in their home. It was great dry meat, boy!
“Prove to us, Clarence, you’re one of us,” Treyton said. “I’ll give you my favourite shirt.”
“You can keep the bra-bum pants,” Blaire said.
Wow! Treyton’s shirt was from West Edmonton Mall. It said Gap on the inside. He let me wear it one day and Sharon, Marcy and Janine all came up and ran their hands up my arms. “Nice shirt,” they said. I got dizzy from all the attention. It was Blaire who told me one day I had an Indian bum but that he could loan me a pair of pants that would push my bum cheeks together like a bra. And it was true. When I wore them, I had a bum. When I didn’t, I’d shuffle around all day with my cheeks clenched so hard I gave myself the stucks!
Just then, Brutus walked into the restaurant with his gumboots on and his torn jeans and jean jacket. He had a big pair of binoculars with him. “Hey, guys,” he said. He pulled up a seat, turned it around, sat on it and took a sip out of my coffee cup. Treyton and Blaire frowned. Brutus also helped himself to our fries and gravy and dragged his sleeve into the mix. “Mmm,” he said. “Deadly fries, hey?”
He took another sip out of my coffee and patted his knees. “Wanna go in the tree fort?” he asked.
I looked to Treyton and Blaire. They looked down. “Uh,” I said.
“Or we could go see the pelicans down at the rocks,” he said. “They might have their babies out.”
That sounded great, actually.
“Yeah,” Treyton said and kicked me under the table. “We have plans.”
“Oh,” Brutus said. “Whatcha think, Clarence?” He took another sip and dribbled all over his chin. He wiped his face with his sleeve before going to town on the fries and gravy.
I was suddenly embarrassed to be around him. He looked rough and he did smell of smoke. Worse today, he smelled of fish slime.
I could feel Blaire and Treyton glaring at me. “I’ll be right back,” I said.
I stood and walked towards the bathroom, but I hooked a right and walked out the side entrance, careful to not close the door all the way. I raced around the building and found his bike, the bike Brutus sold a lynx pelt for. I whipped out my thumb knife and slashed the back tire. “I’m sorry, buddy,” I said and walked away.
I doubled back and made it back into the restaurant pretending to wipe my wet hands on my pants. “Wanna go see the pelicans?” I asked.
Treyton and Blaire looked at me with horror. “Come on,” I said. As Brutus bent over to finish up the fries, I winked at Blaire and Treyton. They looked at each other suspiciously.
“You can pay,” Treyton said and I did. My face burned as I realized what was about to happen.
“Let me get my bike,” Brutus said.
Treyton sighed and Blaire looked up. “Pelicans,” he pointed. We looked and there they were: a squadron of them soaring high above us. It was a beautiful day and I kept looking up, dreading the next few moments that were about to change everything. My eyes started to water with the guilt that was trickling into me and all of my soul.
“No way,” Brutus yelled. “Oh man.”
I wiped my eyes on my shirt and blinked. “What?”
“My back tire,” he pointed. He looked around. “Oh, man. I must have run over some glass.”
Treyton and Blaire looked to me and I pointed to my pocket. They looked to each other and grinned.
“Oh man,” he said. “How’m I gonna get home?”
“Can you call your dad?” I asked. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to help him with everything I had, but it was too late.
“Aww,” he said, looking to the government building. “My auntie works at Manpower. I’ll ask if she can call.” He hung his head. “I hope my dad doesn’t get mad at me.”
Brutus’s dad didn’t cut him any slack when things like this happened, especially after Mercy passed. “Take care of your things and they’ll take care of you,” was one of his mottos. He also said things like, “The quickest way to get something broken is to lend it out.” I also heard him say, “Wanna lose a friend quick? Lend them money.”
Brutus’s dad’s lungs sounded like wrinkled dragonfly wings now. They crackled when he breathed and his face was grey. Still he smoked; still he drank. Quiet for days at his table looking down. He was one of those Indians who turned more and more purple the more he drank, and his breath got sweeter and sweeter as he did. It was sad. One time after Mercy passed, I walked to Brutus’s to see how he was doing, and I could hear drumming coming from the kitchen: two drums. I bet it was Brutus and his dad. I felt so bad for them that I walked home.
“Ah,” he said. “You guys go ahead. Here.” He took his binoculars out. “Take ’em. Let me know if you see any babies.” He offered them to Treyton.
“Thanks,” Treyton said and he motioned for Blaire to take them.
“Okay,” he said. “Sorry, guys. I gotta go.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Like, can we help?”
“Clarence,” Treyton said. “He said he’s fine. Let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Blaire said.
I looked at Brutus who was looking at his tire. He looked so sad. “Sorry, bud,” he said. “I wanted to double you home.”
That was the moment all the tendons and sinews of my heart snapped. I knew Treyton and Blaire were watching my every move. I could feel it. These were the seconds that counted. “You’ll be okay,” I said. “See you later?” I wanted to say, but didn’t. I knew if I said it I’d have to prove myself all over again, and I could only do this cut once. It had to be public like this. It had to be the slice of forever.
I started walking away with Treyton and Blaire with Brutus’s binoculars. I wanted to throw up with what I’d done.
As we walked down Field Street towards the Welfare Center, towards the trails that lead to rapids and pelicans, Treyton started to giggle. “How did you do it?”
I closed my eyes, pressed them shut as hard as I could and produced my thumb knife.
“Whoah,” Blaire said. “Ninja!”
“Lemme see,” Trey said. “Cool.”
This was the knife that was given to me my birthday. My mom gave me rat root for protection. She later sewed it into the hem of my parka. It was a small party but I’d never felt prouder to be Tlicho. That was when Brutus gave me the muskrat hat that Mercy made for me. She made two before she passed: one for him and one for me. Brutus’s dad already had one but I had a dream soon after that I could see him trying the one that was meant for me over and over, crying, trying to make it fit.
“Okay. You’re in,” Blaire said. “You showed us.”
“Yup,” Treyton said. “You’ll get the shirt tomorrow.”
“Keep the pants,” Blaire said.
I’d burn the shirt. I knew I’d never wear it. The pants…well, I’d keep the pants.
Trey handed me the knife and the binoculars. “They stink,” he wrinkled his nose.
I smelled it and inhaled as much as I could. I didn’t know the exact number of muskrats Brutus had to skin to get it, but I could smell the smoke on it, t
he smoke of dry meat, spruce, hot tea and bannock.
Brutus, I thought. I’m so sorry. Who will you have now?
All of a sudden, we heard a bang in the basement, like someone falling off the couch.
“Hey now,” Mr. Sparrow stood. “What’s going on down there?”
“Our new game,” I said. “We shoot catapults at our He-Men.”
The timer went off on the stove and he stood. “Tell those boys supper’s ready.”
“Okay,” I said and made a run for it.
I crept quietly to the door.
“Don’t you tell him,” Treyton said. “It’s not his fault.”
“Well, he has to know,” Blaire said.
“What can he do about it?” Trey asked.
“Nothing,” Blaire answered.
What the heck were they talking about? I knocked on the door.
“Hey,” Treyton called. “Come in.”
I walked in and it was Treyton and Blaire who looked down.
“Supper’s ready,” I said, hoping this would make them forget about the game.
Blaire held up his hand. “We’ve decided.”
I put my hands in my pockets and felt my cheeks flare with heat. “Okay.”
“Clarence,” Treyton said, “we’ve decided this isn’t going to work.”
“What?”
“You’re Indian and that’s not gonna change.”
I burst out laughing. “Come on.”
They both looked at me. “We’re serious.”
I pointed to the ceiling. “Blaire, your dad’s Dene.”
He shook his head. “We’re Métis.”
“So? What does this have to do with anything?”
“Look at your socks,” Treyton said.
I looked down. They were wool.
“Only Indians wear those,” Trey said.
I looked to him and wanted to see a smirk to show he was kidding. He wasn’t.
“Your mom still makes you parkas.”
“So what?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not cool.”
“At least I love my mom,” I said and I heard a hiss from both of them.
“See?” Treyton looked to Blaire. “What did I tell you? Indians will always backstab you.”
Blaire nodded. “You were right.”
I felt my voice rise. “Do you have any idea what I did to Brutus to be here? Do you?”
“You backstabbed him,” Treyton said. “See? And Blaire and I know your folks are at that big chief drum dance.”
“What?” I asked, winded. I started to shake. I knelt down and started grabbing all my He-Mans and my catapult.
“Why did you cover that up?” Blaire asked.
I looked to him through tears. “I told you they were dancing.”
He nodded. “But you didn’t say they were drum dancing.”
I winced. That was true. I didn’t want to talk about it.
“Don’t be mad,” Treyton said. “When you get to high school you can go to the special ed part of the school where they keep the other chiefs.”
I looked up at him. I couldn’t take him. Blaire would help. The flash of what I’d done to poor Brutus only furthered my sadness. I started to cry.
“I hope that spirit that you keep talking about takes you so high up” – but I stopped. I felt something inside of me, like a trigger – about to be pulled. I marched over to where my parka was and put all my men in the special pockets my mom had made for me on the inside of my parka specifically for each man. I put them in quickly as Blaire walked by to go eat. Beast Man! My Beast Man was upstairs! Ah! Now I’d have to go see Mr. Sparrow and make up some dumb excuse.
Treyton walked by me and paused. “It was a mistake to try and help you.” He made his way upstairs and I sat down in a daze as I slowly put all my guys in my pockets and carefully placed Brutus’s catapult in the pocket over my heart, and that’s when I got mad. To think of what I did to him made me shake. I let out my breath and closed my eyes. Things were about to get ugly – Indian ugly…
I took the pocket knife out of my pocket and cut all of the elastics that held the bodies of Treyton’s G.I. Joes together. I also snapped their thumbs off so they’d never hold guns again. For Blaire’s He-Men, I cut my knife up and through their leg elastics and crippled them. All of them. I went to slice across their eyes so they’d be blind in this and the spirit world but thought twice. Easy now, I thought. It wasn’t their fault.
When I was done, it looked like a death party.
I snapped my knife back in my pocket. I turned and walked upstairs to get my Beast Man. As I took those stairs, I could smell that pizza. It smelled like an outhouse to me now.
“Clarence?” Mr. Sparrow asked. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I have to go.
“There’s a bloody blizzard out there,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll walk.”
“What happened?” He looked to his son. “I thought this was a sleep over.”
Blaire shrugged and kept eating.
“Mr. Sparrow,” I said, “thanks for being such great hosts for the pizza parties. You guys were the best. Can I ask you? Are you Slavey or Chip?”
“We’re Slavey,” he said. “Why?”
“Full blood?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I looked at Blaire. He’d paused eating. “Did you know your son hates Indians?”
Mr. Sparrow’s head snapped in the direction of Blaire. “What? Is this true?”
Blaire looked down. His face turned bright red. “Treyton does, too.”
Mr. Sparrow looked at Treyton and glared. “What the hell happened downstairs?”
I grabbed my Beast Man and put him in my pocket. “I’m sorry, Treyton,” I said. “Looks like you’re outnumbered. There’s Indians everywhere.”
“Dirty Indian!” Treyton said.
“Hey!” Mr. Sparrow said.
I didn’t stick around to see what happened next. I took the stairs and put on my dad’s kamiks and the gloves my mom made me, along with Mercy’s muskrat hat. I walked out into the blowing wind and never felt better. It was off to the drum dance for me. Brutus would be there and I’d give him the biggest hug, my mom the biggest kiss and my dad and I would have tea later after Mom went to bed. This storm was nothing.
Tony Toenails
Do you ever wonder how people earn their nicknames? Where I’m from – Fort Smith, NWT – we’re the nickname capital of Canada. We have hundreds of nicknames. Some people are born with nicknames; others earn them.
Here’s a story my uncle told me one day that I hope makes you laugh. I guarantee you’ll be sharing this at the supper table right after you hear it.
There’s a couple in town – I can’t tell you who they are because I swore to keep it secret, and, ah, you’ll know who they are anyway. Okay, what happened, the way I heard it, was like this:
There’s this husband and he’s the most wonderful husband in the whole wide world. He absolutely adores his wife. He cooks for her, cleans for her, bakes little bannocks. After her yoga class, he runs a bath for her, throws in some Epsom salts and some baby oil. He rubs her little toesie wosies at night with almond butter. He’s crazy for her, he sings to her, he writes her a poem every single day. Everything’s great! He spoils her. Do you know what I mean? He’s so in love, he gives himself a perm just thinking about her!
Anyhow, the only thing is, he has the worst habit ever. It’s actually the worst habit in the entire world. (Worse than snoring or leaving the seat up or, um, “arriving early.”) He likes his hockey, eh. So when he’s watching hockey, every three months, he whips off his socks and he goes, “Aww! Aww! What’s going on with my toenails?” He runs his fingers along his scraggly, long, sharp man-hooves. “Ah
ha! It’s time for me to clip my scragglies!” (That’s what he calls them.)
He’s a real cheapskate, eh! He doesn’t have a big toenail clipper or his own personal one, so he uses his wife’s fingernail clipper – the little gold one. So he grinds away, digs away, he cuts and digs and pulls to get under his huge bionic toenails. You know he works out in the bush, eh! So he has his big sweaty toes in wool socks all the time. Imagine these thick yellow toenails with a hint of green. So he clips like this and he clips like that. And they fly, boy! Half of his toenails end up in the goldfish bowl and the other half end up on the plants. As he watches the game, he stops halfway to smell the clipper. That’s the man musk right there! That’s the aroma of a real man. Oooh hoo! That’s the sweet stuff. After he takes another sweet whiff, he goes back to watching the game. His worst habit is, after he clips all his nails, he scoops them up and leaves them on the supper table.
When his wife comes home from work, she is beat. She works hard, eh. She works for the government. She comes home one day and steps on something sharp. It tears right through her sock.
“Ooooh my goodness!” she says. “What is that?”
She pulls from her sock a yellow toenail, all sharp and pokey. She looks at the supper table and there’s the biggest pile of yellow toenails piled up curled and jagged. Every three months! And each time this happens, they always have the same fight:
“You have the worst habit in the whole wide world,” his wife says. “It’s disgusting. I told you to burn your big corn-chip toenails in the wood stove. I shouldn’t be stepping on them and cutting up my favourite sock. I may have to get a tetanus shot because of you! I cannot even believe this! If you do that one more time I am going to fix you!”
He says, “Oh baby, baby, I am sorry baby, baby, baby. Don’t leave me baby, baby, baby. You’re the love of my life. You’re my lighthouse, baby, baby, baby. I’ll never do it again. I swear!”
And she forgives him and they go into the honeymoon stage, hey. But it happens, she comes home one day three months later. She is having a real rough day, eh, a real rough day. It’s election time, hey. She comes home and steps on something sharp again and it rips through her brand new pantyhose. She already knows what it is and she pulls it out. Oh, it is the biggest, grossest toenail. She looks in the fish bowl and the fish are all nibbling on the toenails that plopped in there and half the fish are dead, hey, just floating sideways. She looks at her plants and sees toenails poking through the leaves. She looks at the supper table and there is, once again, that big pile of stinky yellow toenails!
Godless But Loyal To Heaven Page 6
