As she spoke, I remembered Papa throwing the bear oil into the fire. That was an evil ceremony, wasn’t it? I wondered if he would be scared of Sister Wesley. She was shorter than him, but much meaner. And she had a whip. Sometimes, she didn’t stop until there was blood everywhere. It made me feel sick. I tried not to look but then she might whip you for looking away. A bell sounded twice, interrupting my thoughts. We all stood up. It was a bomb drill. Sister Wesley clapped and we got in a line from biggest to smallest.
Outside, we walked away from the air force base that the wemistikoshiws were building north of the school. Sister Wesley said we needed the building to protect us from other wemistikoshiw men who live a long way away, who are called the Soviets.
The base wasn’t finished yet, but I’d already seen glimpses of it. The building was made of brick, not like our wooden house, and surrounded by a wooden fence. Inside were wemistikoshiw men and some locals that they liked to boss around.
That night, as I was trying to fall asleep, I heard the sound of metal ripping. I waited, then heard some slurping.
“Is that food?” It sounded like Brandon, the older, scary one.
“No.” The voice sounded like Amocheesh’s.
“It’s food,” Brandon said. “I can tell. Bring it here.”
“No,” Amocheesh said. “It’s nothing.”
“Shh,” said Tony.
“Come here and give it to me,” Brandon said.
“No,” Amocheesh said.
“Bastard.” It was a voice I didn’t recognize, coming from a distance away. Some people said that Brandon’s dad was actually a wemistikoshiw. We called these children pakwachwaypaeygan, or someone born without a father.
“Who said that?” Brandon said into the dark. No one replied. “Who said it?” he asked again, louder and slower this time. “That’s it,” he said. He got up and walked toward Amocheesh’s bed. Then we could hear a scuffle.
“No!” Amocheesh said. “Stop it!”
We heard footsteps coming our way from outside the room. Brandon hurried back to his bed.
The door opened. I saw someone holding what looked like a fat pen, radiating a circle of light. A face lit from below: Sister Wesley.
The next morning I found Amocheesh standing naked by the sink in the bathroom. In his hands were his underpants with a reddish stain on them. It looked like the remnants of tomato sauce. We scrubbed the stain with our fingernails until we heard the bell. Amocheesh put the underwear back on under his pyjama pants and we rushed next door as Sister Wesley began the morning’s bed-wetting inspection.
“What is this?” she said, pulling down Amocheesh’s pyjamas.
“Nothing.”
“Take them off.” He did as he was told. She held his underpants under his nose.
“Is it food?”
“No.”
“What is it then?”
“I pooed myself.”
“You little liar. Stay right there.”
She put the underpants inside her pocket, continued with the bed-wetting inspection, then clapped her hands and we all filed out to chapel.
We were out in the yard. A few boys were playing tag. Sister Wesley was patrolling. I walked up to Tony.
“What’s going to happen to Amocheesh?”
“I dunno,” he said. He looked worried. “Hopefully nothing.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“No.”
“I heard that they had a new whip. It has metal on the end,” I said.
“Yeah. Maybe. Or the electric chair,” Tony said.
“The what?” I asked.
“What did you hear?” Brandon had approached with his friends Russell and Jamie. They were both in the year above, where Brandon used to be before he was kept back.
“Nothing,” I said.
“This is your fault,” Tony said.
“What?!” Brandon said.
I bit my lip. I’d heard that Brandon beat up boys who answered back. Brandon was a head taller than me.
“You poured the tomato sauce on him,” Tony said.
“Don’t tell tales, Chief Sticky Fingers.” He shoved his face in Tony’s.
“Get lost,” Tony said, and started to walk away. “Come on, Ed,” he said. I hurried to catch up. I glanced around. Sister Wesley was watching us—fights happened but they were against the rules—and for once, I was pleased to feel her beady eyes locked onto me.
After lunch we learned that we couldn’t go out to the yard because of a special show in the playroom. We streamed inside, lining up around the perimeter, as packed as flies around spoiled meat, with the smaller boys in front. Everyone seemed to be whispering nervously.
“Why are we waiting?” I asked the boy in front of me. He shrugged.
“It’s the electric chair!” whispered the boy next to me. Everything else fell away. I stared at the doorway.
Sister Wesley and Brother Goulet walked in carrying a metal chair with wires coming out. Setting it down in the room’s centre, Brother Goulet, who doubled as the school electrician, attached two clips to the legs with wires that connected to a wooden box with plastic knobs and a crank. Sister Wesley stood near, checking that everyone could see.
Brother Jutras led a boy into the hall, who hung his head and dragged his feet like a limp bear. His hair was tangled and face so pale that it took me a few seconds to realize it was Amocheesh. “Brotha. Purleease. Purleasease. No.” The words sounded garbled and strange, and then I realized that Amocheesh was speaking a new language: English.
Brother Goulet picked up the whip resting on the chair’s seat. He sat eight-year-old Amocheesh down and whipped his legs when he tried to stand. Father Gagnon entered the room, and moved to its centre to address us. He started speaking English, with Brother Goulet translating.
“This boy,” he said, “committed a big sin. Last night he crept into the St. Anne’s storeroom and stole some beans. Then he tried to eat them in bed. When confronted, he lied about it. Luckily Sister Wesley realized the truth.” As Father Gagnon spoke, Sister Wesley buckled Amocheesh’s arms and legs to the chair.
“Some of you come from homes where it is okay to steal. That is not the case at St. Anne’s. Our job is to make you honest and good. To make you upstanding members of Her Majesty’s Kingdom. When you take from St. Anne’s storeroom or anywhere else, everyone suffers. You shame yourself and you bring shame on the school. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” we replied in unison.
Sister Wesley began to crank a handle on the wooden box. Nothing happened.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Father Gagnon said. Brother Goulet went to get his tools.
While he was gone, Sister Wesley opened the wooden box and fiddled with the wires. Then she said, “Aha!” and started to turn the crank.
Amocheesh stiffened and sucked in his breath. She turned the knob. He cried out and started to squirm.
“Don’t be a baby,” Sister Wesley said. She twisted the knob again, and his whole body tensed. Then he slumped in the chair. Everyone stopped talking. No one laughed. We all waited for him to get up.
Sister Wesley turned the current off. “Get up,” she said. Amocheesh didn’t move. They’ve killed him, I thought. “Get up,” she said.
“Christ,” Father Gagnon said. Sister Wesley kicked the boy’s foot. It didn’t move. Then they unfastened the buckles, and Brother Goulet carried him out of the playroom.
SIX
I noticed Mike Pasko out in the yard. He was throwing his hands in the air and laughing as boys ran around him. I remembered him asking everyone their names and it made me feel warm inside, like I used to feel before St. Anne’s. He waved at me.
“Hi,” I said, walking over.
“Hi, Ed,” Mike said in Cree.
“You remembered my name,” I said, and blushed.
“Of course. You feeling okay? You look kinda sick.”
“Yeah. I’m …” I wondered whether I was allowed to tell him what had happened with Amoc
heesh. I decided against it, just in case it got back to the nuns. “I’ve not been feeling well.”
“Don’t let this place get to you, Ed.”
I smiled, then quickly checked to see if anyone was watching. He also glanced to and fro. “Sometimes I take boys away from here,” he whispered.
“Where?”
“Special places. Don’t tell.”
“I won’t. Where?”
“Hunting. Or on trips. Whatever they want.”
“It’s allowed?”
“Of course. It’s a big treat.”
“Where do you go?”
“Wherever they want.”
“What happens there?”
“I can’t tell you now.”
“Why not?”
“You’re too young.”
“When will you tell me?”
“Soon enough,” he said, and he reached over and ruffled my hair.
It was raining so our break was in the playroom. I was playing Chinese checkers with Joe. Sister Wesley was sick, so Sister Wheesk was on duty. She was from Fort Albany, and taught the older years how to write Cree, so sometimes she was nicer than the rest of the nuns and brothers. I finished the game and went up to her.
“Can I go to the infirmary?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But be back here in fifteen minutes.”
I hurried down the hallway to the back entrance and out the door, headed for the building next door where they were keeping Amocheesh. I crossed the wooden bridge that spanned the creek, ran up the grass and opened the door of the two-storey brick infirmary, and walked into a waiting room with some chairs. A middle-aged man from my hometown said hello to me in Cree. I nodded to him and sat down and waited. After a few minutes, a woman wearing a white nurse’s uniform came into the room.
“Can I help you?” she asked in Cree.
“My friend, Amocheesh. Number Three. He’s in there.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Can I see him?”
“No. He’s sleeping.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Come back in a couple of hours,” she said.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“They won’t let me. I need to get permission.”
“Well I can’t wake him up.”
“Can you tell him that I came? It’s Ed. Number Four.”
“Okay, Number Four. I will.” She shut the door.
We didn’t have another break from cleaning until that evening. By then, everyone was so tired that they just stood huddled in groups.
“Did you get to see Amocheesh?” Tony asked.
“No. He was sleeping,” I replied.
“Sleeping? What an excuse!”
“You think he wasn’t sleeping?”
“No.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Who knows,” he said, and bit his lip.
Amocheesh got out of the infirmary at some point that night. I woke up and looked around and he was already folding his sheets for the bed-wetting inspection. I wanted to talk to him and find out if he was okay, but Sister Wesley and the others were particularly strict that day, and we weren’t allowed to talk until the afternoon playtime.
“So how was it?” I asked him. “Did they whip you in there?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Did they make you do any school work?”
“No. They gave me my own toy.”
“Your own toy?” None of us had our own toys. “What did you get?”
“I got a toy horse. It was made of wood.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No. I had to leave it there.”
“Oh.” I wished I could have a toy horse.
“And I could talk whenever I wanted,” he said.
“Who did you talk to?”
“The nurses. They were really nice.”
“They were?”
“Yeah. And they gave me really nice food. Like a chicken breast. And sauce. Lots of it.”
“Like the nuns eat?”
“Yep. Just like the nuns.”
“Did you get any chocolate cake?” I asked as Tony approached.
“What you get?” Tony asked.
“Chocolate cake,” said Amocheesh.
“No way,” he said.
“Yep.” My mouth watered and my stomach growled.
“Yeah. I’m going back.”
“How’s that?” I asked. It was hard to get to the infirmary. You had to be really sick, otherwise they just sent you to the dorm. Even when they beat you till you bled you didn’t always get to go.
“I’m going to have an accident,” Amocheesh said.
“What sort?” I asked.
“I’m gonna choose,” he said.
“That’s stupid,” Tony said.
“If you’re that hungry, maybe you could just go to Brother Jutras,” I said.
“No, an accident is better. I heard that Brother Jutras makes your thingy hurt.”
“That’s not what Joe—” I clapped my hand over my mouth. I hadn’t meant to blurt it out.
“What?” Tony asked.
“Maybe it doesn’t hurt,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t,” I lied.
“Did you go?” Tony asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Good,” he said. “Don’t.”
I kept waiting for Mr. Pasko to tell me about the special place. In the meantime, Amocheesh wasn’t around that much anymore. He was always helping out Father Lavois in chapel. If Father Lavois thought you were really good then you might have your cleaning duties stopped for a few days. We were talking about it when Brandon and his friend Russell approached at the next playtime break.
“I know something you don’t know,” Brandon said.
“I doubt it,” Tony replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brandon took a step forward and glared.
Tony shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Oh yeah. Well, get this, smarty-pants. Mr. Shaw is coming,” Brandon said.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“The Indian Agent,” Brandon replied.
“Oh no,” I said.
“What?” Tony said.
“It’s good news, dummy,” Brandon said.
“I doubt it,” Tony said.
“Mr. Shaw already came here,” Russell said.
“When?” Tony asked.
“Before you got here,” Russell added.
“So?” Tony said.
“So he took all the whips away,” Brandon said.
“I don’t believe it,” Tony said.
“He did!” Russell said.
“You’ll see,” Brandon said.
I didn’t think much of it, until a few weeks later when we heard at breakfast that Mr. Shaw really was coming. Sister Wesley didn’t say anything about the whips. Instead, she told us that there was a new cleaning schedule because the school had to be spotless before he arrived.
Over the next few weeks, everyone was very busy preparing for Mr. Shaw. We kept cleaning, scrubbing and mopping, as the weather got hotter. On the day that he was supposed to come, we heard that his flight had been delayed and that he had decided to postpone his trip until after the summer holidays.
It was the last day of the school year. I couldn’t stop thinking of what I would do when I got home, and anyone could have seen the twinkle in my eyes. We heard a loud scraping of chairs, and we all stood up. We weren’t allowed to run, but we could barely contain ourselves, all pushing toward the door. There was still a risk that Father Gagnon would whip us for being pushy, but somehow this thought slipped from my mind as I left the classroom and hurried toward the front door. I was going home for the summer holidays—three months of freedom.
Outside was so bright. I could smell cut grass, horse manure and a hint of spruce. And then I was running across the wooden bridge, streaming past everyone, the water gushing beneath me. Just beyond th
e trees I could see glimpses of my house.
I ran up the path all the way to the front door, crying tears of joy. Home.
We were out on the Albany River, Alex, Papa and myself in our wooden canoe. Mama and my new baby sister, Mary-Louise, were at home. It was one of those days where the water and the blue sky seem to merge. Papa had some fishing line and thread in his hands. He was showing me how to tie a lure.
“The most important thing is that it’s secure and the lure can move freely,” Papa said. “The first thing we need to do is tie a bigger knot in the main line, so tie a granny knot, and then don’t pull it tight—make sure it stays slightly open,” he said, pointing to the circular knot at the end of the thread.
Alex and I watched and listened intently. Papa expected us to commit the process to memory the first time, just like he had to do when he was growing up.
When he finished, he watched as we did it ourselves. Alex got it right the first time, but I had trouble pushing the line through the final loop. My fingers felt too big for the small hole.
“Don’t worry about it, son,” Papa said. “Just try again.” He watched me until I got it right.
I was carrying a pike home. It was so big that I had to hold it near my face so it didn’t drag on the ground. I’d caught it myself. Papa told me that I’m a quick learner and that Mama and Mary-Louise will be really happy about the pike. Alex was carrying a walleye but his was smaller than mine, only the length of his arm. We had left Papa to finish up at the river.
Mama opened the door as we walked up the path.
“My boys,” she said, smiling at us. She came out with a chopping board, which she put on the tree stump next to the house, and began gutting the fish. “Wanna help, Ed?” she asked.
“I … I don’t remember how.”
“Sure you do. Come here,” she said. I stood in front of her and she leaned her head on my shoulders and took my hands, showing me how to use the knife. “You’re getting so big,” she said. “You have such strong hands.”
—
The days ran together in a blur of fishing and eating and playing slingshots with Alex. I hadn’t practised my aim all school year. Since I’d been gone, Alex had gotten better than me and could hit the farthest branches of the treetops.
Up Ghost River Page 7
