“I love her mac and cheese. It’s so creamy!” Fred said.
“She going to make it with wine?” Nicholas asked.
“Geesh. You’re obsessed,” I replied.
That night, Irene made her special mac and cheese. With cream, not wine. We all ate as much as we could, it was so good. In the middle of dinner, Irene said someone had left a phone message.
“Where from?” Fred asked. We never got any phone messages. No one on the reserve had a phone except for Father Lavois, and his was a radio phone that was hard to hear, and only for emergencies.
“A man called Mike Pasko.”
“What does he want?” Fred asked.
“He just called to say hello. He said he knows you,” Irene said.
“Knows me?” Fred said.
“Knows all of you,” Irene replied.
“He does,” I replied.
“How?” I explained to her that he was the Hudson’s Bay manager, and he was really friendly. He took boys fishing sometimes and let them work at his store. In our final year, he had brought us all hockey skates, and gave skating lessons on the lake behind the school.
“Oh how sweet!” she said.
“Did he say anything else?” I asked.
“No. Not much. He said he might stop by if he was passing through.”
“Stop here?” Amocheesh asked.
“That’s what he said.”
“Maybe he’ll take me to the movies,” Amocheesh said.
“Or me,” I said.
We didn’t hear from Mr. Pasko for a while after that. I didn’t mind—there was a lot going on. I was training to be on the track team, and had meets most nights. And I was trying to change my schedule. They had put us all in the technical stream of KLCVI because the teachers said it was easier for Indians to get jobs doing something practical. I needed a job, but hoped to do more than just work with my hands. I wanted to be a teacher or something like that. I told Nicholas about it over lunch.
“Why don’t you stick to what you’re good at?” he said. “You’re already too behind to get into the academic stream. I’m focusing on carpentry.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to be a carpenter.”
“Jesus was a carpenter.”
“Yeah, and look what happened to him!” We both laughed.
“All right. So what do you want to be?”
“I dunno. A teacher, I think.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to study really hard.”
“At KLCVI.”
“Yeah.”
“And what does the V stand for?”
“Vocational.”
“Exactly.”
“So?”
“If you wanted to be a teacher, you should have gone to a regular high school.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. I had tried so hard at St. Anne’s. I was one of the few people who made it through. I had put up with it all because I thought it would give me more options, so I could teach or work in an office. After eight years, I had graduated, but it hadn’t made any difference. I was stuck being a carpenter. What had been the point?
“Don’t look so down, brother,” Nicholas said. “A carpenter isn’t so bad. At least you’ll have a job.”
That night, Nicholas tried to cheer me up. He came into our bedroom when I was reading.
“It’s not so bad,” he said.
“Speak for yourself.”
“You’ll do it one day.”
“Do what?”
“Teach? Write? Whatever you want.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you try really hard.”
“Look. You’re right. Being a teacher is a dumb dream. We’re Indians. In a vocational school. That’s just our lot.”
“I have an idea that will cheer you up.”
“What?”
“I’ve arranged for one of the older guys from St. Anne’s to get us some booze.”
“Big deal.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun. We can drink it on the school field.” There was an elementary school in front of the Ryans’ house. “Besides, Erick’s already in.”
“Why did you ask him?” Erick was always so negative; it put a downer on everything.
“He asked.”
“What if we get caught? Won’t they send us back to St. Anne’s?”
“Why would they do that?”
“For being troublemakers.”
“No way. Things are different around here. You’ll see.”
It was a Saturday night when we went out to buy booze. I felt sick, but Nicholas and Erick had already decided on the date and arranged it with our buyer, the twenty-two-year-old brother of a wemistikoshiw high school senior, who agreed to do it for a commission of two dollars. We waited behind the store. He came out and handed us the wine in brown paper bags.
“Got the money?” he said. We handed him ten dollars.
“Just don’t get caught. And if you do, remember, it wasn’t me.”
We had bought the cheapest stuff in the store, but it didn’t matter. We hurried to the field. Nicholas popped the bottle with an opener he’d nicked from the Ryans. He took a swig, then passed it to Erick, who passed it to me. It tasted like vinegar.
“I don’t feel good,” I said.
“You’re such a baby,” Erick said.
I really needed to go to the bathroom and get some water, so I left them there and ran across the street to the Ryans’. Nicholas promised me they wouldn’t finish it all while I was gone.
“Where have you been?” Mrs. Ryan asked, when I opened the front door.
“Just out.”
“Have you seen Nicholas or Erick?”
“No,” I said.
“Amocheesh told me some of you were hanging out on the field.” I wondered if he had ratted us out.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe I saw them there. I don’t know.” Mrs. Ryan gave me a sharp look.
“Joseph has gone out looking for them.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”
“Yes, I’m fine, Mrs. Ryan. I just need to lie down.”
I went to the bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet seat. I dry-retched, but nothing came up. Would they be whipped? Electrocuted? What was going to happen to them? My mind spun.
At the sound of voices, I came downstairs. Joseph had them by the forearms, one on either side. They were giggling.
“Jesus Christ,” Joseph said. “I’m going to have to tell Mr. Cooper about this. And in the meantime, you’re both grounded.”
“Grounded?” Nicholas asked. “What’s that?”
“It means you have to stay home!” We all looked at him, waiting for him to tell us another punishment.
“That’s it?” Erick asked.
“Yes, that’s it!” Joseph exclaimed. “You’ll be cooped up here for a month!” We stared at him, waiting to hear the bad part.
“Stop staring! I have half a mind to ground all of you. Go upstairs! I don’t know what’s gotten into you all.”
—
The annoying thing about having Erick and Nicholas at home was that it was harder for me to study. I had decided that I would probably never make it as a teacher, but I still wanted to graduate high school, maybe even complete Grade 13.
Every time I went up to my room, they were there. It was like they were suddenly my best friends.
“Hey, Ed. You got a girlfriend yet?” Nicholas asked. Erick smirked.
“No.” I blushed. There was a native girl, from Matachewan Reserve, named Connie, whom I sometimes saw when I was at track. I liked her but I didn’t know whether she liked me.
“What about that girl Connie? Didn’t she wave to you at track the other day?”
“Maybe.”
“Ed has a ghurl-freeend!” Nicholas sang. Erick joined in.
“Shut up, you guys,” I said.
“I
heard that wemistikoshiw girls kiss like this,” Nicholas said and he stuck out his tongue, like he was trying to shove it down someone’s throat.
“Wemistikoshiw girls are disgusting,” Erick said.
“Whatever,” Nicholas said.
“I’d never do that,” Erick added.
“Yes you would. You’d do it right now.” He jumped on top of Erick and began to wrestle him on the bed.
“Be quiet, you guys!” I cried. “Or I’ll tell Mrs. Ryan.”
“Goody two-shoes,” Nicholas said. He got off Erick and stood up. “Hey, I heard Mr. Pasko is coming to town.”
“Whatever,” I said.
“No, it’s true.”
“What would he do here?”
“He’s going to take us all to a hockey game.”
“What?” I said. “All ten of us?”
“No, three of us,” Erick said.
“Why only three?”
“He only has four tickets.”
“Well, how will he choose?”
“I don’t know. Ask Mrs. Ryan.”
I asked her about it over dinner. She confirmed: Mr. Pasko was coming to town and had four tickets to the Toronto Maple Leafs.
“Isn’t that expensive?” I asked Mrs. Ryan.
“He says he’s got it covered. Foster Hewitt donated the tickets.”
“He knows Foster Hewitt?”
We were allowed to watch Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights and Foster Hewitt was the broadcaster.
“No. I think he just said it was a gift to some poor native children,” she said.
Mrs. Ryan had decided that we would draw straws. Except for Nicholas and Erick. They couldn’t go because they were still grounded. After dinner we made a circle around Mr. Ryan and picked our fate. I couldn’t believe it. Me, Amocheesh and Fred would be going to Toronto for our first ever professional hockey game.
A month later, Mike showed up on Saturday morning at six. He had rented a van because the drive was long—eight hours—and after the game, we might have to pull over and sleep in the back.
As we got in, the other boys stood in the upstairs window and waved goodbye. None of them had ever been to Toronto before. I could tell they were all jealous.
I called “shotgun” and got to sit in the front seat. I was tired, but Mr. Pasko wanted to talk.
“So how are you boys getting along?” he asked.
“It’s cool.”
“Irene and Joseph, right? They seem nice.”
“They are.”
“They feeding you well?”
“Oh yeah. We get lots of nice food.” I told him about Mrs. Ryan’s mac and cheese.
“And what about after school? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No. Not yet. I’m really busy.” I told him about studying hard and training to be on the track team for 400 and 800 metres.
“I didn’t know you were a runner. You any good?”
“My gym teacher, Mr. Preston, says I am.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime.”
Toronto was even bigger than Kirkland Lake. Everywhere there were these wires overhead, crisscrossing the sky. There were people rushing about and cars honking their horns. The buildings were stacked on top of each other, reaching into the sky. On some of them were flashing lights and fluttering flags, the Canadian and British.
The hockey game was at Maple Leaf Gardens. The building took up a whole city block. Inside, excitement crackled in the icy air, and it smelled of beer, sweat and adrenaline. We took our seats and waited while some of the referees skated around the rink, examining the ice. We were sitting in the Maple Leaf section, but opposite, I could see some fans in red and white, the colours of the Detroit Red Wings.
Once the game started, the players whizzed around the ice and slammed into the boards. We even got to see a brawl. Everyone stood up in the bleachers and shouted, “Fight! Fight!” The Maple Leafs’ goalie, Johnny Bower, dropped his stick and started punching one of the Wings’ defencemen. Both men took off their gloves and then the referee slowly glided over and pushed them apart.
During the break Mr. Pasko got us some hot dogs and Cokes.
“There’s yours,” he said, and he handed me a hot dog and an extra large fries.
“Uh … Mr. Pasko. I only have money for a small,” I said, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry. I got it covered.”
“Thanks, Mr. Pasko.”
“You’re welcome.” Pause. “So what’s your time like? You know, for the four hundred metres.”
“Sixty seconds. But I’m hoping to get it to fifty-five.”
“I was about that time at your age.”
“You were?”
“Yes. Do you want anything else? A drink? I’m getting a beer.”
“I’m not allowed.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Ryan keep you on a tight leash, do they?”
“Sometimes.”
“So, what are you up to this summer?”
“I’m not sure. I should go back home.”
“And do what?”
“Fish. I don’t know.”
“Not much work in Fort Albany.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You could always work for me.”
“Where? Fort Albany?”
“No. In Montreal.”
“Uh, that’s far.”
“Other boys have done it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You could make lots of money and you’d have free room and board. I have a beautiful house.”
“Uh … I’d have to ask my parents.”
“Of course! Have them contact me if you like. I can provide references.”
“Thanks, Mr. Pasko.”
“It’s Mike, Ed. We’re friends, right?”
“Right.”
ELEVEN
I wasn’t allowed to stay with the Ryans during the summer, and so had written to my folks to ask if I could stay with Mike. I didn’t hear back, so took the train home with the other St. Anne’s graduates. I didn’t intend to stay long, just until I had their permission and could get out of there.
“It’s a great idea,” Mama said, when I asked them over dinner. “You’ll get to see another city. Get a real job. Meet new people.”
“Who’s going to help me around here?” Papa said.
“Alex can help you.”
“It’s a long way.”
“Come on, Keshayno. It will be good for him.”
I packed a suitcase and flew to Moosonee, and then took the train to meet Mike in Cochrane. He was standing on the platform, smiling. He was wearing a beige blazer and leather brogues, and I remember thinking that he never looked like that in Fort Albany. I wondered if he had dressed up for me, or whether everyone dressed like that in Montreal. I probably didn’t have the right clothes.
Mike picked up the suitcase that I had borrowed from Mrs. Ryan and put one arm around my shoulder.
“How was your trip?”
“Good,” I said. “Not too long.”
“I’m glad you took the early train. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“That’s good,” I said nervously.
“Wait till you see my car,” he said. “She’s a beaut.” We walked out into the parking lot and I looked around. “Can you drive, Ed?”
“Not yet.”
“If you’re helpful, maybe I’ll give you a lesson this summer.”
“Thank you, Mike.”
“Good boy,” he said, and he squeezed me closer.
We got to his car, a brown Edsel, and he helped me into the front seat. He got in and turned on the radio.
“Check this out.” He took my hand and put it on the speakers. “Feel those vibrations. They are Delco slimline. Forty watts, eight ohm. Sexy buggers. Doesn’t get better than that.”
“Cool,” I said, although I had no idea what he was talking about. He kept holding my hand.
“This car is a chick magnet. You should see how babes check you out.”
/>
We drove through field-flanked flat towns with French names: Grand-Remous, Mont-Laurier, Rivière-Rouge. “See, Ed?” as we cruised through Labelle, looking for somewhere to eat. “Check out that girl over there!” Ahead was a teenager wearing a long flowing skirt. “She was all over you. She wants you.”
It didn’t seem true, but I laughed anyway.
The journey to his house took twelve hours. We listened to lots of music with men singing and playing the guitar. I knew it was rock and roll, but didn’t know any of the band names, and Mike told me it was the Beatles and the Stones. We stopped at a diner on the way for fries. I didn’t have any money, but Mike said not to worry, I could pay him back as soon as I started work. When the sun slipped behind the Earth, we stopped again, at another diner, and had shepherd’s pie and carrots.
We didn’t make it into Montreal until after midnight so I didn’t see much of the city except streets that were as wide as rivers, and signs all jumbled on top of each other and pointing this way and that. It was night but there were lights shining everywhere from buildings taller than trees in the forest back home.
We drove to a street that was narrower than the others with the buildings closer together. He parked and we walked toward a two-storey house with a long metal staircase, decorated with beautiful twirls of metal, like vines crawling up the bannister. We walked up to the second floor, huffing and puffing with our luggage. I wanted to look around, and asked if I could turn the house lights on.
“Let’s leave them off. I’m tired,” Mike said.
“Okay,” I said. The house was dark, but I could see the shadows of furniture from the streetlamps outside.
“It’s a one-bedroom, so we’ll have to share.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Don’t worry. That’s where all the boys sleep.”
“Oh.”
“Come here.” He took my hand and led me down the hallway. When we were in the bedroom, he let go.
“Just change here. It’s dark anyway.”
I quickly took off all my clothes, except my T-shirt and underpants. I could hear him doing the same behind me. I groped forward and got into the bed, pulling up the covers and shutting my eyes. He got into bed and snuggled into me. I felt a hard thing pushing into my backside. I moved toward the edge of the bed. He snuggled closer. The hard thing pushed into my backside. I moved again.
Up Ghost River Page 11
