I nod.
“I think the root of it lies with our bringing the crows here.” We keep walking, heading toward the palisades. “The visit of the atirenda was good for everyone, I think. Spirit of Thoughts is well enough that she can sit up and talk, but she’s still weak.”
We go through the gates toward the three sisters. I can tell there’s something he needs to say, so I stop walking. “Tell me,” I say.
He looks down at me with his head cocked and his eyes narrowed, as if he wants to ask how I know what he’s thinking. Men are so easy to see into.
“Spirit of Thoughts dreamed that in order for the healing to begin,” he says, “she must have a feast.”
I like feasts and tell him as much.
“Her dream told her,” Father continues, “what needs to be consumed at the feast.”
I’m excited to hear.
“Her dream told her that all the animals of the village except the dogs will be consumed.”
The raccoon chatters as if he finds this funny. “I’m letting him go tomorrow,” I say, lying.
“We have to listen to her dream,” he says. “We can’t lie. It won’t do any good.”
“But he …” I look for the word. “He’s my friend.” The raccoon, as if agreeing, pulls my earlobe.
“I’m sorry,” Father says, taking him from my shoulder.
—
SLEEPS LONG EXPLAINS once more that sometimes the needs of the group are more important than those of the individual. I don’t want to hear it. She rubs sunflower oil into my hair and I cry into my hands as we prepare for tonight’s feast.
“I hate feasts!” I say. “I hate people!” They’ve killed my raccoon and now they expect me to join them in eating him to fulfill the dream of an old woman who clearly hates me.
“Don’t cry, Snow Falls,” she says. “You were soon going to have to release it into the forest anyway.” She hesitates. “I imagine it wouldn’t have lasted long once you’d done that.”
This only makes me cry harder.
—
THE BOY NAMED He Finds Villages who sits beside Christophe Crow and now goes by the charcoal name Aaron keeps glancing at me as we all sit in Spirit of Thoughts’ longhouse. I refuse to eat. I don’t care. I want to scream at He Finds Villages to stop looking at me. He smiles. I curse him in my head and look away.
The stews, the old woman announces, contain bear and blue jay, snake and squirrel and goose, rabbit and frog and dove, and raccoon. I wish, when she says this, that she’d not gotten better.
“My dream told me,” she says, “that we needed to rid ourselves of our pets. And just look at how many of them we kept!” She points at the many full kettles.
People all around me laugh at this.
“We, in our home, need to rid ourselves of our pets,” she repeats. “This was my dream. We are sick and we need to allow our houses to become clean again. We need to rid ourselves of those guests we once thought were welcome additions to our homes but that have soiled it with their ways that are not ours.”
I look over to He Finds Villages because I know his eyes are still on me. He tries to tell me something with them but I look away, turning to the face of Christophe Crow instead. Christophe Crow’s face is the colour of blood beneath his charcoal beard as he himself watches Spirit of Thoughts.
My father nods to my untouched bowl. Sleeps Long whispers to me that I need to at least make the effort of pretending. No one else seems to notice, but I imagine they do.
“I can assure you,” Sleeps Long says, “the kettle from which your bowl was served doesn’t contain your raccoon. It’s clearly a bear stew.”
I look at her. “Do you promise?”
She nods. “Have you ever known me to tell an untruth?”
I will trust her, then. I lift my fingers to my mouth and eat a little. Father seems to breathe easier. I eat from my bowl very slowly, so slow that I’m just finishing it by the time the kettles are scraped clean.
Father stands to talk. He thanks Spirit of Thoughts for her hospitality and then says that he has a very important announcement to make. He looks down at Hot Cinder, who immediately places a couple of fingers in his mouth. The swelling has gone down but the nails haven’t started growing back in yet.
“I’ve thought hard about this,” Father says. “And I’ve made a decision about my new son. I’ve decided that more sacrifice is necessary.”
Hot Cinder begs me with wide eyes to once more save him.
“To show the generosity of our people, I’ll send Hot Cinder to live with the charcoal in their new village. I hope he helps lead them to a good place.”
I’m relieved. Clearly, so is Hot Cinder. People turn to each other and discuss this, many of them calling out Ah-ho! Christophe Crow looks pleased. He smiles at the boy, and the boy looks back at him. I’m happy about this decision. The idea of keeping him around had begun to bother me. I much prefer being alone. Fox leans to my father, and I can hear him whisper this was a wise and good decision.
Once the feast has broken, I walk out into the night, lonely for my raccoon. People will be up early tomorrow, as word has come that if the weather holds, the Iron People from far away will be arriving. Soon we’ll begin harvesting the three sisters and the men will head out into the forests and to the lakes for their hunting and fishing. Christophe Crow and the others will leave us very soon to build their new village before the seasons turn. I realize then I will miss him.
I’m nearly at the palisades when I sense someone following me. I stop and turn, half expecting to see Gosling. Instead, I come face to face with the boy.
“What do you want of me, He Finds Villages?”
“Call me Aaron,” he says.
“What do you want, Aaron?” I like the way the name sounds on my tongue.
He holds a large hide bag out to me. “I brought you a gift before I leave,” he says, and only then do I realize both he and Hot Cinder will be going with the crows.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I tell him.
“I think you’ll like it,” he says. “I promise.”
Hesitant, I take the bag from him. It squirms and I almost drop it.
“Open it,” he says. “Don’t be afraid.”
With one hand I loosen the tie and slowly pull it open. My raccoon pops his head out and chatters to me, climbing out of the bag and onto my shoulder.
“How?” is all I can ask, for fear of crying.
“I was put in charge of killing and skinning the animals for the feast,” Aaron says. “Spirit of Thoughts hoped this task would encourage me to stay with my family instead of leaving with the charcoal. I recognized your raccoon and hid him away for you.”
I want to hug him. “You’ve made me very happy,” I say.
He moves closer, as if to touch me, but instead says, “I should go now.” He walks away.
“I’ll come to visit you in your new village,” I call after him.
—
OUT IN THE DARKNESS of the forest, I sit with my raccoon as we say our goodbyes. “Be strong out there,” I tell him. “Protect yourself and find a good woman. Have a family.”
We sit together for a long time and I think he understands what’s happening. “I can’t keep you in the village anymore or people will know and you’ll be eaten. This is what’s right for you.” The raccoon pulls my hair, then reaches a paw to my face. “It’s time for me to go now,” I say. “Father will be worried, and soon the sun will come up. You need to find a good place to hide for the day.”
Standing, I hug him one last time, smelling the wild in his fur, stroking him. I bend down and set him on the ground, and then, as an owl hoots not far away, I leave him and head back for home.
CAPTAIN OF THE DAY
In these seventeen months that have passed, dear Superior, life here in the new world has become something quite different, startlingly different now that we live by our rules and laws and customs in our own village. The donnés have truly been a godsend. T
wo dozen good-natured and hard-working men who live by the Gospel and require little have begun for us what promises to be a well-fortified and complete home. The dozen lay brothers who have arrived have proven themselves more than up for the task of helping to plan excursions out into the land of the Huron, and we even have a group of ten soldiers wintering with us before they make the journey back to New France in the spring. And so we feel very protected and, if not exactly comfortable, at least like civilized Frenchmen again.
There is talk of more arrivals in the coming summer, including the much-anticipated blacksmith and livestock. I find it amusing to picture chickens and pigs making the treacherous and trying trip in sauvage canoes.
On a separate note, we three Jesuit brothers, when not working to help carve a community of light out of the darkness here, have continued to go out on missions to preach the word of God. While the Huron of the Bear nation, the people who kept us in their community for so long, seem satisfied to see us again when we visit, the people of the other nations, with names such as Deer, Rock, and Cord, seem far less hospitable. Apparently, outbreaks of influenza have come to them and they blame us for their troubles. But still, we soldier on despite the very real physical danger to us. Threats against our lives have been numerous, and poor Père Isaac, already having suffered so cruelly, was beaten yet again by people who claim to be our allies. Thus far, Père Gabriel has avoided physical violence but has said many times that he welcomes it if this is what the Lord desires. I can’t imagine having better friends and brothers to help me bear this particular cross.
I put down my quill and rest my hand. Looking around me at this room, a fire burning in the hearth and sitting in a proper chair at a table built by the hands of a carpenter, I can almost imagine I’m back in the French countryside at a peasant’s home.
Despite the snow blowing outside, I feel the need for air. Another blizzard seems to be coming. The snow’s already drifted as high as the palisades, but at least this offers a windbreak. The sun at this time of year lies low on the horizon, and the light filtered through cloud makes me melancholy. My feet crunch on the icy surface that is my new home, and I bend my head to the bitter wind that comes off the Sweet Water Sea.
We’re close to the water here, and just a day’s walk from Bird’s village, which is even less by canoe. I trudge along the path that will soon disappear in the whiteness and try to imagine in my mind’s eye what this place will become. Already we have built permanent stone-and-wood structures. A chapel, a carpenter’s shop, a refectory for the donnés and laymen that serves both as a kitchen and communal eating place, and even a granary for the farmers. We’ve allowed our sauvages their own separate residences on the other side of the community, and here they’ve built longhouses and a few smaller round residences for visitors. We’ve attracted not only Huron but also Algonquin and Anishnaabe as well. We’ve made the rule that there be a Christian longhouse and a non-Christian longhouse separated by a fence, and intentionally the Christian longhouse is larger and sturdier. Many families have come to us this last year, and our converts now number two dozen. But just as many non-Christians have come to our door asking for handouts. We cannot turn them away and daily appeal to them to accept our faith.
When the weather allows, I’ll head out into the wilderness to collect more souls. I’ve debated this with Isaac and Gabriel, who are content to stay here in the safety of our new home and wait for the sauvages to come to us. I argue that we must continually make forays into Huron country in order to show them we aren’t afraid of the physical or demonic dangers of their world.
I walk to the refectory to see who might be about. After stamping my feet at the door, I’m greeted by a large fire in the hearth and men sitting around the table. The laymen are a bit of a rough group, and they don’t like to mix with the sauvages.
“Good day, Father,” one says. Others nod and greet me as well.
“Have you seen Isaac or Gabriel?” I ask.
They shake their heads and look away. While on the surface they are respectful, I often sense some bitterness, possibly anger toward me. I’m not sure where this stems from, as I’ve only treated them well. I must assume this unhappiness is born from suffering a long winter cooped up like livestock in a barn. That, and the hard reality of having landed in such a desolate place with only a slim chance of ever seeing home again. So be it. You have a plan for all of us, Lord, and we’re here to fulfill it.
As I walk outside, the young Iroquois once called Hot Cinder and whom we’ve baptized Joseph frightens me by jumping out from behind the wall of the refectory, grinning foolishly. I think he lost something that horrible night he witnessed his relatives tortured so cruelly.
“What will we have for supper, Father?” he asks.
“We will eat sparingly, Joseph,” I say, “for there is still much winter to survive before we can grow crops again.”
“Aaron has been treating me poorly,” the boy says. He pronounces Aaron’s name with the guttural inflection of his people. “He says my mind is weak and I need to leave him alone.”
“Where is he?” I ask. Aaron has become my first true victory.
Joseph looks away, his sign to me he doesn’t know or won’t tell.
“Well, then, do you know where Delilah is?”
“She was in the longhouse sewing when I last saw her,” Joseph says. He puts a few fingers in his mouth, a habit, I assume, from when Bird pulled out his fingernails. It clearly gives him comfort. Despite the bitter cold, he wears only a hide tunic and leggings. I’ve asked him before how he can stand such cold in so little and all he says is that he can feel the fire that burned his relatives.
“I must go to see Delilah,” I say, walking toward the longhouse.
“I will come with you,” Joseph says.
“I’d prefer if you stay here.” Though it’s not his fault, with this boy my patience reaches the breaking point after only a few short minutes. I must strengthen it, dear Lord, and promise to start prac-tising tomorrow. “Why don’t you go to the eating place and visit with Captain of the Day?” I say.
His eyes light up, but then he frowns. “The hairy men will send me away. And if I don’t listen, they’ll hit me.”
“Tell them you’re there on my instruction,” I say. I head to Delilah’s longhouse.
To our communal surprise, she journeyed with us to this new place based on her promise so long ago to convert if that might save her family. But Delilah is unreliable at best and misses her family so much that she’s sunk into a relentless sadness. Even my promise to bring her along on our next expedition to her home does little to lift her spirits.
Again, today, once I’ve entered her longhouse, she cries as she speaks. “I will die and never see them again,” she says.
“You will,” I explain, “if we can win them over to our side.” This tactic hasn’t worked yet, though. I look around at the other Huron huddling by their fires. They look frightened and hungry. A few children cry.
“There’s been much stomach illness,” Delilah says. “The children soil themselves numerous times a day, and I fear it’s spreading to the adults as well.”
“We’ll make sure you have the medicine we have,” I say. “But the most important thing I can give you is to tell you that you must continue to put your belief in the Great Voice. He knows all. And He will not let you suffer if you put your trust in Him.”
Delilah stares at me. She wants to tell me something but won’t.
“Tell me,” I say.
“I want to go home,” she says. “But now I can’t. Even if I could I would only bring back the sickness we’ve begun to suffer and kill those I love.” She holds in a sob.
I want to scold her for the silliness of her thinking but instead allow her to go on.
“And now because I made a promise to you, I feel like I’m being caressed with hot coals. I’ve made a great promise to you and I won’t break it. I worry, though, that my promise to you has not only doomed me but also doome
d the ones I wish to be with forever.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she stands up from the fire.
“I don’t request a discussion,” she says. “I only wish to do what you ask of me.” She’s about to walk away but hesitates. “Something very bad is coming,” she says. “I fear it’s already here. What comes will be the end of us, and of you. But my dreams tell me this is what you hope for.”
I’m stunned by her words. I stand up, feeling light-headed in the smoky longhouse. My stomach suddenly feels sick. Before I throw up, I claw my way through the haze and burst out the door.
—
“THE SAUVAGES,” Gabriel says at the dinner table, “have no understanding of manners, but I’m convinced my experiment with them will work.”
Isaac and I, along with several laymen and donnés, listen intently. It’s indeed true that no matter how often we tell them they can’t just barge, as is their custom, into our residence at any time of the day or night, they ignore us. The donnés are growing short-tempered.
“Have you noticed their fascination with that clock?” Gabriel asks.
A gift from a sponsor so far away to remind us that our time in this world is short, it’s a simple enough piece with an unadorned face, sitting squat on the mantel, ticking out its rhythm. I’m amazed it made the near-impossible journey at all, never mind in working order.
“They think it’s magical,” Gabriel says. “Their simple minds believe it’s possessed of a spirit. They say it has a soul, a magic like none they’ve ever seen before.”
The men laugh at this.
“They have more faith in that clock than they do in God. And so I’ve been using it as an experiment.”
“Tell us, please,” one of the donnés says.
“I’ve been experimenting with Joseph. He’s probably the worst of the lot, coming in at all hours to disturb us with his chattering.”
Several men nod.
“But he’s especially fascinated by the clock. I’ve told him its name is Captain of the Day and he must obey it. When the clock’s about to strike the hour, I pretend to command it by shouting, ‘Speak to me, Captain of the Day!’ and when it does, Joseph nearly falls over in fear and amazement. And depending on the hour, right before the clock sounds out its last note, I command it to stop.” Gabriel smiles. “And then I tell Joseph that the clock says it’s time for him to leave.”
The Orenda Joseph Boyden Page 29
