The Mask That Sang (10 page)

chapter twenty-three

Cass could barely hear anything Degan was saying. It wasn't that she was thinking about something else. She just wasn't hearing things right, or seeing them right, or something. She was just walking along in the rain, that was all.

“We'll just get some more money,” Degan repeated. “Five more dollars, and we'll buy it back.”

Cass looked at him blankly.

“No.”

She would not try to get the mask back anymore. She would not negotiate with that man for something that wasn't important to him. It would make her too embarrassed and ashamed to buy anything—but especially something that mattered so much—from someone who had no respect for her.

The Orenda was singing inside her, anyway. It had never stopped. The Orenda would keep bubbling and gushing with life in all things, in all places, whether Ellis had Cass's mask or not.

So she didn't need the mask, not really.

Although her insides were sobbing at its loss.

™

They had reached her driveway.

“Good night,” Cass said dully, and turned to walk up toward the door.

“It'll be okay,” Degan said, his voice tight. “Tomorrow we'll make a new plan.”

She nodded without agreeing, and turned the knob to enter the kitchen. She closed the door softly behind her, shutting Degan out in the rain.

The kitchen was dark, with only the light over the stove gleaming faintly. At first, Cass could make out very little. Then she realized with a start that Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, her head cradled in her hands.

“Mom?” Cass whispered. “Are you okay?”

Mom looked up. Even in the half-darkness, Cass could see that she had been crying.

“Oh, Mom! What is it?”

Cass tumbled into the chair beside Mom and wrapped her arms around her. Mom sank into Cass's arms, resting her head on Cass's shoulder. Not for the first time, Cass felt responsible for Mom, as if Mom were her child.

Cass tried desperately to imagine what could possibly be wrong. Mom had been planning to speak to Mr. Gregor about how to maybe go back to school. Had she found out that was impossible?

“Did—did you talk to Mr. Gregor? Did something go wrong?”

Surely Mr. Gregor wouldn't have said something unkind?

Mom took a shuddering breath and sat up. She smoothed her hair and wiped under her eyes with the tissue beside her. Then she shook her head the way she did when she wanted to get the unhappiness out, and get on with things. She smiled, suddenly Mom again, though rumpled.

“Oh, yes, I talked to Mr. Gregor.” She gave a short, sharp laugh. “That seems like a million years ago.”

“What did he say?”

“What did he say?” Mom repeated in a faraway voice. “He actually helped me a lot. I can take some courses online to get my GED—that's my high-school graduation. And he looked at my résumé and said he thought I might be able to do some cooking in his sister's daycare, because she's looking for a cook.”

She stared down at her hands like they weren't hers.

“So then he called his sister. And then I went over to the daycare and met her. And she's hired me—on probation for a few weeks, but permanent after that if it works out. I'm starting tomorrow. So I can do that in the day and get my GED at night.”

“That's wonderful!” Cass cried.

“And she gave me an advance of money.” Mom blinked at Cass, with eyes that seemed to only partly see her. “So, I did what I promised you I'd do. I went over to the pawnshop, where I pawned your mask. You know, the one you liked. I promised I would get it for you when I got a job.”

Cass drew her breath in slowly.

Tears filled Mom's eyes again.

“It was sold.”

Cass nodded.

Mom whispered, “I let you down, honey. You don't ask for much, but that was something you really wanted. Mother of the year, here, took it away and then couldn't get it back for you.”

“Oh, Mom. No.”

“So then,” Mom said, “I was sitting here thinking about that mask. And wondering why you felt such a connection to it.” Her voice got low. “And I thought, you know, about that day at the lawyer's office. Ms. Maracle. Do you remember that she gave me an envelope?”

Cass said softly, “You threw it away.”

The tears were spilling out of Mom's eyes now, and Cass could feel them as if they were her own. As if they were the tears of lots of people.

“I went out,” Mom said. “Down to the bottom of the yard. It was teeming rain. I crossed the little stream and started picking through all that garbage. I know I threw the envelope there. But I couldn't find it. Not anywhere.”

She put her head in her hands.

“I ruined everything, didn't I? Story of my life: I'm my own worst enemy. Who knows what was in that envelope? Could have changed our future.”

The music stirred inside Cass at that moment. It was a single voice this time. It circled ever higher, just as Cass had done around the white pine in her dream. As it flew higher, it grew bigger.

When Cass spoke, her voice was somehow in harmony with that other voice.

“Mom, the envelope isn't lost.”

Mom looked up at her blankly. As if Cass was talking another language altogether.

“I have something to show you,” Cass and that other voice said.

Then she was scraping her chair back, and running to her room. She ran to the dresser where the mask had been, and where the envelope now was. She yanked open the drawer and grabbed it. Then she held the envelope to her for a minute.

When she returned to the kitchen, she held it out to Mom.

“See? I rescued it.”

Mom took the envelope from Cass with trembling hands. She turned it front to back, and smoothed the paper between her fingers. She began to ease the envelope open.

“Wait!” Cass and the Orenda said.

It was too dark to read. But the overhead lamp would be too bright, too garish for this moment.

Cass took candles from the kitchen drawer and placed them on the table. Mom lit them with matches. The flames made shadows dance on the walls.

It could have been anywhere, any time in history.

It was all times at once.

chapter twenty-four

Mom pulled out the papers and unfolded them. She placed them on the table and slid her hands across the pages to smooth them out. She peered close at the first page and then sat back, putting her hands over it, as if she couldn't quite handle what might be there.

Cass leaned close and put her hand on Mom's.

“Want me to read?”

Mom nodded, closing her eyes.

So Cass hunched over the pages and began to read aloud, in that voice that felt like part herself and part something bigger.

Dear Denise Jane Foster,

I am writing to tell you the story of your mother. This letter is based on conversations we had, before she passed away. She helped so many people during her life, and we, in turn, have tried to help her by finding you at last.

Mom slid a hand around Cass's shoulders. Her fingers were cold. Cass reached up and took Mom's hand as if she could thaw it out by holding it.

“Go on,” Mom said softly.

Cass leaned close to the page again.

You may have wondered about your own culture and heritage. You may have felt like you didn't have any. That is not true. We would like to give them back to you now.

Your mother was born on the—

Cass's eyes scanned ahead, and she gasped.

“What?” Mom said.

But Cass's heart was beating so fast, suddenly, that she couldn't answer. And her heart was like drums, drums that had been waiting for a long time.

Mom gently took the pages.

Your mother was born on the reservation just outside this city. She was Cayuga by birth. You may not know what that means. The Cayuga are one of North America's first nations. They are Iroquois. They have a long and proud history, and you are part of that. We would like you to know that you have roots going back thousands of years in this place.

“Cayuga?” said Mom, trying the word out in her mouth. “Iroquois? So she was…Native?”

The truth was dawning on Cass, falteringly, like she was just learning to walk.

If Mom's mom was Cayuga, then that meant—

It meant—

The drums were pounding joy, and the voices were raised now in victory.

Mom and Cass. They were coming back.

Cass took the pages and began to read again.

Your mother lived on the reservation until she was six years old. Her mother had passed away, and her father raised her as best he could, which was not really very well. The trouble was that he had been forced when he was a little boy to go to a terrible place, where he had forgotten what it was like to have a father, so he couldn't imagine how to be a father. He also tried to find ways to escape his pain, which were not very good ones. That was a very hard thing for everyone.

Then your mother was also taken from her home and sent to one of these nightmare places to live. It was called a residential school. The government said that its purpose was to “take the Indian out of the child.” The government and the churches did not think our culture should be part of the country. They tried to get rid of it by taking it away from the children.

Your mother was beaten there, and starved and tormented. Everything was taken away from her, even the words in her mouth. She was punished if she spoke her own language. She learned that her traditions were bad. She learned that if she was to survive, she must be trained to do jobs that would suit her for being a worker in a white society. She must be trained not to be herself.

Cass was dizzy with all the truths that were suddenly all around her. She thought of her dreams of those terrified children, trapped in that place.

Her grandmother had been one of those children. And her great-grandfather.

That was what the mask had been trying to tell her. It was making sure they weren't forgotten. It was passing their stories to Cass.

“The bullies!” Cass said, her hands in fists.

It seemed like the whole world was nothing but bullies and victims, and nobody could escape being one or the other. Not her grandmother, not Mom, not Cass, or Degan or Ellis. Not even the government of her own country. Orenda and Otkon, two forces, and Otkon won, over and over.

She continued to read aloud.

When she was seventeen, they finally set your mother free.

But now she did not know anything about herself. She had forgotten how to speak to her family, because she didn't know her language anymore. She had almost forgotten what a family even was. She did not know how to be a daughter, and she had no idea about what mothers and fathers were supposed to do either. She had learned that white ways were the real ways, that everything else was fake. She had no solid earth under her, and she could barely stand. She was a toddler, staggering in a world that didn't make any sense.

You can see that this was a terrible thing. It separated her from herself, and she was lost for a very long time. She had nothing to tell her what was right, and like her father before her, she discovered a half-world of drinking and drugs that might help her to not think about herself. She did not respect herself. In fact, she hated herself.

During that time, she found out that she was going to have a baby. She was barely out of her teens. She was living on the city streets now, having left the reservation.

Mom shook her head, hand to her mouth. “Poor girl,” she said.

The drums pounded louder.

Your mother could not look after a baby, living in alleys and on sidewalks, exposing you to so many dark things. And so, after you were born, she took you to the hospital and placed you in an armchair in the lobby, wrapped in a towel. She didn't leave a note. From there, you were made a ward of the Crown, and you entered a foster home—the first of many for you. We now know about what these places were like for you. We learned, and then we walked them with you in empathy. We have heard you.

“Who's ‘we'?” Mom said.

Cass shook her head, puzzled. Maybe it was generations of ancestors, reaching out to recover all those who had been lost. Maybe it was all of those voices who had been singing together inside her, ever since the mask had introduced her to the Orenda. Maybe it was the children in those schools.

Or maybe it was something else, something she couldn't imagine yet.

Your mother was too ashamed to go home, too ashamed to tell anyone what she had done. But when word finally reached her that her father had died, it pierced through the haze she lived in. It shocked her into grieving at last.

She went back to the reservation then. She entered the house she had lived in. Her room had not changed, as if her father had expected her home any day.

She wandered through the house, trying to feel any sense of connection to it. On the wall in her room, she saw the mask that had always hung there, carved by her grandfather. He was a member of the false face society, and that mask was used in ceremonies for healing.

She took the mask with her.

Cass and Mom stared at each other.

“Your mask?” Mom said.

Your mother was faced with a choice—to continue in her destructive ways, or to seek a means to heal herself. Your mother bravely chose healing. She did not know how to do this, though. So she traveled in search of answers, working as she went to make enough money to continue her quest. She visited other countries and sought out quiet, holy places. She learned to meditate. She studied about great religions, and explored what it felt like to practice them.

When she finally came home, she was ready to look at her own traditions, the spiritual ways of her own people. Humbly, she asked the knowledge keepers to teach her.

And so she began her journey back to herself.

As she learned more and more about herself and her people, she thought more and more about you. She contacted the Children's Aid to ask where you were. They were not helpful, for she had no proof of being your mother. She tried exploring on her own. She followed leads, found possible foster homes where you had been. Each was a dead end, but she continued to search.

At the same time, she went back to school. She earned scholarships to go to college, and from there to university. Eventually, she earned a degree in social work.

Cass said, squeezing Mom's hand: “That's what you're doing! You're going back to school too!”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” said Mom. “I haven't even signed up yet. And we aren't made of money.”

“But you will.”

“Yes, maybe I will,” Mom said softly.

Cass read on.

Your mother wanted to help other people who were like herself. Women who had lost the ways of their traditions. Children of those schools, grown up now, lost in the cities. She wanted to help restore them to themselves. She could see that this was to be her job.

So when she was able to, she founded a place for them. It is called the Turtle Island Healing Center. It is in this city.

Cass flung down the papers.

“I know that place! I walked by it with Degan.”

Her grandmother had founded it!

Suddenly the amazing truth was dawning on her. The journey she had taken, first in her dream and then with Degan, had been about much more than simply finding the mask. It had been about trying to help her find everything.

Mom took the papers now, and read on.

Your mother made the Turtle Island Healing Center a refuge for all who were hurting. As time went on, she gathered other people to help her. They provided classes in traditional ways, offered aid to those in crisis, helped to build skills necessary for finding jobs. They taught about what it was to be a parent and to be a child.

And during all of this time, the mask hung on the wall of her office.

It reminded her of her own past. It reminded her of her grandfather, and of her father, and of the many children who grew into fathers and mothers without having had any.

You were one of the children she thought of often.

When she became ill, she made a will. In it, she left her house and her little savings to you, even though she did not know where you were.

And then she passed away.

You cannot even begin to imagine the outpouring of grief. We were united in our love for her—those of us who had come, broken, through the open doors, and those of us who had stood by her side and reached out to the ones who thought they were forever lost.

It was a long time before we decided upon a fitting tribute to her. But when we did, it seemed so simple and so obvious.

We must find you.

It was not easy. We knew it wouldn't be. But we were a network of people, not simply one person. Through your mother, we had built roots and connections that spread out in all directions, interlocking and crisscrossing. Although we might have come to the Healing Center broken, we had gone from there to build many kinds of lives. Among us were lawyers, police, and, indeed, social workers within the very Children's Aid itself, who all assisted in our search.

In the end, we found you, of course.

One of us, now a lawyer, met with you and arranged everything. Others cleaned your mother's house and got it ready for you. We put your mother's story into this letter and sealed it.

Finally, we decided to put your mother's mask in the house. We chose not to hang it on the wall, as you did not yet understand its significance. Instead, we placed it quietly in a drawer. It is a sacred thing.

And now you know the main facts. Maybe that's all you will want to know. Or maybe you'll be curious to find out more. Please be assured that we will never seek to contact you or influence you in any way. If you are interested in reaching out to us, however, we will always be here for you.

Cass and Mom sat silently, the letter lying on the table between them.

Mom's eyes were wide in the candlelight, taking in everything, trying to make sense of it.

“She tried to find me,” she said at last.

Then her eyes glistened with tears. “And I pawned her mask.”

“But if you hadn't,” Cass whispered, the drums still beating inside her, “we would never have found out.”

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door.