Glass Beads

by Dawn Dumont

  She felt tears on her cheeks and brushed them away.

  The hardest thing in the world would be staying still. But she did. Even as people knocked on the door, she remained where she was, one hand on the wall, the other on the counter in front of her. She didn’t even dare to use her voice. The pain came in waves and she breathed them away.

  There was a knock at the door. “Are you sick?” Nellie’s voice was raspy. She really was tired. Probably fighting off a cold.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you eat anything?”

  “No.”

  “Everyone left. It’s just me and the baby and my mom — well, Gammy — here.”

  “Taz?”

  “Went for more beer with Tweedledum.”

  Julie took a deep breath and then another. She turned on the light. Surprised for a second to see her short hair, like a male version of her staring back.

  Be brave. She pulled down her panties. She leaned close looking for a drop of anything. Nothing. She buttoned herself back up. Looked back at the strange woman looking at her. It will be okay she told her.

  She opened the door.

  Nellie looked her over. “Did you fall asleep in there?”

  “I had the shits.”

  Nellie laughed. “Oh. Well. Hope it wasn’t the cupcakes ’cause I ate like five.”

  “Do you want to go somewhere?’

  “Not really. I want to take a nap. For like a few . . . years.”

  “That sounds good.”

  Julie watched Nellie sleep with Malcolm in her arms. He wound his fist around her finger. He was so strong already. Was that Everett? Or was that Nellie? But Nellie had never been much of an athlete. Malcolm frowned at Julie as if he could read her thoughts. “Now that is pure Nellie.”

  She could hear Natalie in the kitchen, humming softly, as she put everything into its proper place.

  The Stars

  February 2008

  THERE WAS A BENCH in front of the Native Friendship Centre. He liked to go there early in the morning, with a tray full of coffees. People would come and talk with him:

  “Chief, when you talk with the province, you should . . . ”

  “Gotta do something about those cops . . . ”

  “They got the guys piled on top of each other in the jails . . . ”

  “There’s no jobs . . . ”

  “My grandkids — they went into care . . . ”

  “How do I sue the government . . . ”

  “I never met my mom . . . ”

  “My reserve won’t help me . . . ”

  “The doctor says they’re gonna take my leg, the whole thing this time . . . ”

  And, of course, “How about them Riders?”

  And he would listen. For some, he would follow with a text to someone that he thought could help. Mostly he handed out twenties. “You’re only making the problem worse,” Nellie would tell him. But he didn’t think so. Sometimes all someone needed was a little piece, not the whole cake.

  Around nine, he’d gulp down the last of his coffee and shake hands.

  “You’re doing a good job.”

  “Don’t let the bastards get to you.”

  “Don’t take it personally.”

  “You can do it.”

  He climbed into his truck. Nice one, black 4x4, good on the rez roads. The kind he’d dreamed about owning when he was a kid growing up in Crow’s Nest. Imagined it parked beside the road when he walked into the bush. Been a long time since he’d gone hunting. Been a long time since he’d gone home. Old Sam had called him the other day. Just to shoot the shit, ask about his old friends who were Senators and Elders now. Taz would describe meetings with them that may or may not have happened, making the stories funny for his dad. Then when Sam was happy, he’d call for Taz’s mom; she never came to the phone. Wasn’t a fan. Told her stories in letters that found him wherever he was and always ended the same way, “I am waiting for my grandchild.”

  Not long now Kokum. Julie was coming along. He turned around the other day in the bathroom and bumped into her tummy. They both laughed. Her size surprised both of them. Nobody else could tell though. That’s how skinny she was normally. Not him, belly kept growing and growing, making him spend more on clothes than he wanted to.

  His phone started buzzing.

  “What’s up?”

  “Meeting with the Premier this morning.” Nellie was talking through something in her mouth. Probably a donut. He’d told her to start losing the baby weight. But she never listened. Other chiefs had cute little things by their side. Maybe he should hire another assistant? One to travel with him.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “I should be there.”

  “Its not that kind of meeting.”

  “Some kind of circle-jerk?”

  He laughed. She could be gross like a guy. He liked that.

  “They want it off the books.”

  “Do you have the Act?” She was referring to her baby, The First Nation Child Welfare Act — “protecting our children, our future” was the tag line she had for it.

  “No. It’s not that kind of meeting.”

  “But what if he asks for it? I should come drop off a copy.”

  “He has people who read things like that for him.”

  “But of course you’ve read it right?” She laughed. “As if.”

  He did try to read things. “Gotta go.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Awus.” He hung up shaking his head. She was a fearmonger, that one.

  They were meeting at a clubhouse on the city golf course. As he walked to through the clubhouse, he saw the snow on the grounds and wondered how long until he’d be able to dust off his golf clubs. The meeting was in the back of a backroom. Rooms he hadn’t known existed were opening up for him all around the province. The trick was pretending that you knew they were there all along.

  Four white guys stood up when he entered. Damned if Nellie wasn’t right.

  They picked him up in front of a 7-Eleven. He had a liter of coke tucked under his coat. The blue and red lights flashed the second he walked out the door.

  If I had stayed inside one minute longer.

  They both got out of the car. Walking tough the both of them. One was about thirty-five; the other probably closer to forty. Mustaches, one with a bit of beard. They asked for his ID. He rummaged through his pocket. Found his wallet. Tried to balance the pop while digging through his wallet with one hand. His hands started to tingle in the cold air.

  It was a five-minute walk, from his friend’s shitty apartment to the 7-Eleven. “I’m heading out for mix ’cause you dumbass Indians don’t know how to plan for nothing.” He had thrown over his shoulder as he left the apartment. Didn’t even bother to bring his gloves or hat.

  The pop slipped from his arm and fell on the ground. It bounced once and then burst, the pop spraying over the parking lot, the sidewalk and the shiny black of their boots.

  Arms were on him and Taz didn’t struggle. There were two of them — and a trip to the drunk tank wasn’t any reason to end up with a dozen shitty charges and a broken jaw. He glanced over his shoulder at the 7-Eleven. Nobody was watching.

  In Indian politics, the chiefs and councils voted for the grand chief. The people voted for the chiefs and councils. And if you pissed off your electorate then you paid bloody hell. But Taz had noticed that whites thought chiefs were like kings. Like he was the king of all the Indians. It was wrong — but he let them think that. Because if they didn’t — then why meet with him?

  There was an offer on the table. Nellie’s Act had caught their attention. Native kids in care were not a good look for the province and things happened to them all the time. “We’ll give you jurisdiction.” The premier said.

  “Acknowledge our jurisdiction.” Taz corrected him.

  “We’ll recognize the Act.” The premier waved his hand over Nellie’s baby. “We won’t stand in your way.”

  Taz waited. There was still
a paper facedown on the table. The guy on the premier’s left turned it over. Taz could read the words on there. They wanted their provincial sales tax. Something the chiefs would never agree to.

  The premier cleared his throat. “We’ll respect your jurisdiction on reserves of course, but off reserve, it has to be this way.”

  “How much are kids worth, right?” Taz said. His laugh sharp in the quiet room.

  They went in the opposite direction of the cop shop. It took Taz a few minutes to realize that.

  “Where are you going?” He asked.

  They didn’t answer.

  He knocked on the window. “Hey, where you taking me?”

  They were talking to each other, so he kept hitting the window between them and him. Then one of them slammed on it with his baton. “Fuck off.”

  Taz leaned back in the seat. He looked out the window. Were his friends wondering where he was? He and Everett had been drinking most of the day at their friend’s place. They’d left the girls at home. Everett might think he went home. The girls would think he was with Everett.

  There were no witnesses. Just the stars.

  Taz’s foot flew up and he started kicking: the window, that little plastic barrier keeping them away from him, the ceiling, even. If they were gonna kill him, they’d have questions to answer about dents in their roof and footsteps on the glass. More questions the better: Taz unzipped his jeans.

  He could have called Nellie. There was time. They even said he could think about it. “Take your time.” The premier said.

  Time for what? Time to go his chiefs and have them reject it? Like they had every other time the province had tried this?

  There was a lawyer on the right side of the premier. Taz could tell by his suit and the pissy look on his face. The confidence that the law was always on his side. “It will happen. Whether you agree to it or not, it will happen.”

  So if I don’t, you get the money, and the children, and we get the pride of knowing that we stood up to you.

  He could have called Nellie.

  Instead he signed.

  They stopped the car. Came around to the back. He held his legs up as the door opened and greeted the older one with a kick. It grazed his shoulder and Taz aimed with his other foot but the other guy had his hands on him.

  “What the fuck?” One of them asked.

  “Fucking animal.”

  They threw him to the ground and started putting the boots to him. He’d seen it happen to guys before, the dull thuds of the boots on a human body. It looked painful and it felt worse. He put his hands over his head and his face, hoping to protect himself from a brain injury. If I can just get out of this.

  “You smell like piss.”

  “Dirty fucking Indian.”

  He could tell they were scared. His DNA in the car — his body bruised — his clothes all marked up. What kind of story were they going to make up to fix this?

  One of them went back to the car. “What are you doing?” The young one asked. He turned his head towards the car and Taz seized his moment. He got up and ran.

  His feet felt slow on the soft snow and so he moved towards the frozen stuff. There must be water near. Where’s the bush? Where’s the fucking bush?

  He could hear footsteps behind him. So fast. Those fuckers worked out. But they had on big boots and big jackets. Taz was wearing sneakers and a light jacket. He heard a big sound behind him, one of them had slipped. He didn’t look back.

  Nellie was at her desk when he walked in. Technically it was his desk but she worked there more than he ever did.

  He told her the good part first and saw a huge smile take over her face and light up her tired eyes. She was pretty when she smiled. He even got to see an excited little clap before he had to tell her the other part.

  She jumped up, sending papers and pens flying. “Why didn’t you take me? I told you not to go alone.”

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

  “You don’t know that. I understand how they think, I could have threatened them with a lawsuit or bad press or something.”

  “They were going to do it anyway.”

  Nellie walked out from behind the desk where she sat six days a week, where she wrote letters and reports with “Protecting the Treaties,” emblazoned across the top.

  “I have a headache.” She said near the door. Taz knew he should say something, something to convince her that it would all be okay. He said nothing and the door banged shut behind her.

  Taz knew his day was just starting. He started dialing. Better the chiefs hear it from him.

  Everett opened the door the next morning. He was shirtless, a string of hickeys around his neck. Nellie would be pissed.

  Taz could see the shock in his face and knew he looked like hell.

  “Taz? What the fuck?” Everett dragged him inside.

  The warmth of the house felt painful. His skin pricked and stung as it came back alive.

  “What the fuck? Who jumped you?”

  Taz tried to talk but his face was too frozen. He stared up at Everett, so fucking glad to see someone he knew.

  Over his friend’s shoulder, he could see his reflection in a mirror. His face was white like a ghost, his eyebrows hairy with frost, his lips were grey. He looked dead.

  But dead men don’t cling to their friends. Dead men don’t cry.

  The Fight

  JULIE PUT ON A blue top and tied the bow underneath her boobs. She caught a glimpse of herself as she walked out of the bathroom and sighed. Grown women should not wear bows. She could imagine younger Julie laughing at her.

  Maternity clothes made her stomach look like a balloon. But she didn’t mind that so much. What she minded were the enormous tits perched on top of it. She probably got stopped at least twice a day by men who wanted to offer her congratulations while staring at her breasts with an intensity that she worried would make them explode.

  Julie took another look around the closet. There was nothing else. She had to go shopping again and made a mental note to ask Taz for more money. He hadn’t minded shelling out for clothes the last few times she’d asked. They went to a lot of events these days with even more on the horizon as the election got closer.

  She heard a beep outside and grabbed her purse. The fringes bounced against her hip and she was reminded of her mom. Her mom used to wear a light brown-fringed vest, like something a child would wear. Julie walked up to the picture on her wall; she was older now than her mom has been when she died.

  When Julie got outside, Nellie had her butt hanging out of the backseat of the car.

  “Someone got poopy on the car ride over.” Nellie called out from the other side of her rear end.

  “Shit happens,” Julie commented as she settled herself in the front seat. She turned and grinned at the little boy lying on his back on the car seat. “Hi little man.” He laughed in response. “He’s so happy all the time.”

  “He’s not a wriggler. Thank God, or I’d be fumigating this car every week.” Nellie said as she taped the diaper in place. “You have to be really careful with the straps by the way, if they’re loose, poop will leak out the sides.”

  “Hard learned lesson.”

  “The worst.” Nellie strapped the baby into his car seat and by the time she climbed into the front seat, she was sweating. She collected her hair into a bun and tucked it under. “Everett was supposed to babysit but he got a job interview.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup, at ASC. Sports coordinator. He’s a bit old for a coordinator job but it’s kind of ideal for him.”

  “He does love sports.”

  “And it’ll get him out of the house. I get sick of him always being home.” Nellie put the car in gear and started pulling out.

  “How much money does Taz make?”

  Nellie laughed. “Always blunt you.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m curious.”

  “Finally getting practical, are we?”

  “I just want to
know.”

  “I don’t work in Finance — ”

  “Yeah, but you know.”

  “I don’t know the exact amount but we’re talking low six figures.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “He still giving you an allowance?”

  Julie folded her hands on her belly.

  “Why don’t you tell him that grown ups don’t get allowances — ”

  “Ha.”

  Malcolm made a little growling sound and Nellie patted his car seat with her free hand. “Remember when you used to steal food from the grocery store — that time you stole a whole roast — and even went to the till and paid for some bananas — ”

  “Yes I was thief. People grow up.”

  “I’m not saying it was a bad thing. It’s just — you were fearless back then.”

  Julie didn’t know where Nellie got that idea, she’d been scared shitless her whole life.

  After supper, Julie scrubbed the pots in the sink. She looked up and saw her reflection. Her hair had a soft curl she’d never seen before. While she wondered at it, she saw a dark head enter behind her.

  “How was Nellie today?”

  “She was good. Everett had a job interview.”

  “I know I saw him. ’Bout time, eh?”

  “You think he’ll get it?”

  “Is that my T-shirt you’re stretching out?”

  “Sorry. I’m running out of stuff.”

  He grabbed a pop from the fridge. He was trying to drink less booze these days. It didn’t look good when you were chief, he told her. Times were changing from when chiefs could party. If you have even a single beer then the gossip would be that you were a drunk. People were always looking for something.

  The pot was gleaming but she kept scrubbing. Maybe she’d wait until he was ready for bed. Just before they had sex — that was a good time, right? Or after when he was relaxed? Or maybe in the morning? No Taz wasn’t a morning person.

  “I was wondering . . . ” She heard the words coming out and wished she could call them back.