Up Ghost River (14 page)

Erick sliced his forearm, then gave the pin to me.

“Your turn,” he said.

“I don't want to,” I said.

“Do it.”

“No. I don't want to.”

“Wuss.” He looked about the room. “Who's next?” No one said anything. “Chickens. The lot of you.” He cut a few more lines on his own arm and put down the pin. I turned away. He was in a dark mood, and I didn't want to be part of it.

Next morning, Mrs. Ryan gave us a packed lunch and we walked to our new high school: Kirkland Lake Collegiate Vocational Institute. The school was bigger than any building I'd ever seen. Kids stood in groups on the lawn, and everyone was in a hurry. We'd already been given our timetables and each of us looked at the times and room numbers, and then began scrambling trying to find the right door.

I arrived late for my first class. Not that it mattered much. I walked in, apologized and sat down. My teacher, Mrs. Karr, didn't slap me. She didn't go and send another student for her whip. She didn't even shout. She simply pointed to an empty chair, and I went to the back of the class, where the other native students were sitting.

It was lunchtime and we were sitting in the high school cafeteria with about three hundred people. It was packed in there, but luckily, all the St. Anne's students sat together.

“How's your first day at KLCVI?” Fred asked.

“Kirkland Lake Collector of Various Indians!” Nicholas replied. We all laughed. We called it that and it was true—mostly Crees and Ojibways, but there were also natives from all over.

“I don't like it,” Amocheesh said.

“You don't like anything,” Nicholas said.

“This guy Justin called me a wagon burner,” Amocheesh replied.

“Who's he?” Nicholas asked.

“Some guy who pushed me into the lockers. He's a senior.”

“We should take 'em, beat 'em up,” Erick said.

“Beat up who?” Nicholas said.

“Everyone in the whole school,” Erick said.

“That's dumb,” Nicholas said.

“You're dumb,” Erick said.

“Geesh. Why you always so down on everything?”

“I'm not.”

“And they made me take off all my clothes in the shower,” Amocheesh continued complaining. Once he got going, it was hard to make him stop. Still, I agreed with him. I didn't like being naked in the shower. It wasn't like at St. Anne's. There, we had always worn bathing trunks, so we would stay “modest.” It was one of the few rules that I liked. The clothing made me feel safer. Some of the brothers liked to watch us undress, and at least with the trunks you felt less exposed. They might catch a flash as you removed your towel, but if you were quick, they wouldn't see much.

“What did you do? Did you have to take off everything?” Fred asked.

“I didn't do anything at first. But then the gym teacher got mad.”

“It's so unfair,” Erick said. “I hate it. I hate this place.”

“It's not so bad,” Nicholas said. “I heard that some of the older years bought booze.”

“So?” Erick said.

“So we could too,” Nicholas said.

“Where from?” Fred asked.

“The LCBO.”

“That's not allowed,” Amocheesh replied.

“What's gotten into him?” Nicholas said, gesturing toward Amocheesh.

“We'll get into trouble if we go and buy booze,” I replied. Nicholas had to watch it: Irene and Joseph weren't as mean as Sister Wesley, but there would be trouble if we broke the rules, and who knew what would happen. The rest of my friends continued talking, and I felt caught in memories, of being whipped on my first day of school, of being electrocuted, and of being slapped when Sister Wesley found out I had wet my pants. I was stuck and unsure how to get out. After a while I tried to distract myself. “Hey, I hear that Irene is making mac and cheese tonight.”

“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.”