Up Ghost River (6 page)

We were at the concrete steps. I was trying to hold on to our time together but it was slipping by so fast. Papa was at the top of the steps and knocking on the wooden door.

“Good morning,” a nun said to us in Cree. “Come in.” We walked into a wide lobby that was nothing like our house. The hall was so bright, with lights shining down from on high and tall windows, and everywhere was white: walls, tablecloths and clocks. No furs or grass on the floor. Instead, hard things—a see-yourself glass, grey stone stairs, and leather-like floors. I saw lots of squares—photo frames, side tables, chair seats—and surfaces that must have taken many hours' scraping to be so smooth. The air was different here, too, and it was not just the smell, which I later discovered was bleach, but the way it
moved, like there were lots of invisible things in it, and all the things were too close together.

“I'm Sister Wesley,” said the nun. “What's his name?” she said to my father, speaking her mother tongue.

“Edmund Metatawabin.”

“And you are Mr. Metatawabin?”

“Uh huh.”

She led us to a bench in front of two full coat racks, where two other boys were sitting. One of them was smaller than me, and the other was tall and built. “It's good you came. Sit there, Ed,” she said, pointing to a spot next to the slender boy, who was fidgeting with a piece of paper. “Mr. Metatawabin, I'll be right back.” She disappeared through a wooden door at the end of the lobby. Papa waited until she was out of earshot before speaking.

“What are your names, boys?”

“Tony,” said the taller boy.

“Amocheesh,” said the other.

“You boys are a long way from home.”

“I'm from Peawanuck,” the boy named Amocheesh said.

“I'm from Moosonee,” Tony said.

“Hmm … your face looks familiar,” Papa said to Tony. “Your family traps on the Moose River, right?”

“Yeah, but they are thinking of going farther north, following the caribou.”

“That's good. I heard the animals are now near Peawanuck.”

“Yeah …” Seeing Sister Wesley returning, Tony stopped talking.

“Mr. Metatawabin. You can go.”

Papa frowned, glancing at her. I could tell he thought she was rude. He paused, irritated. She waited. When no one said anything, he scooped me up into his arms so I could smell wood smoke and the scents of fall. He gave me a long hug.

“Please not yet,” I said. I wanted to cry.

“You will be fine.”

“Don't leave me.”

“Be strong, Nkosis.” I wondered when I would next hear Papa calling me “my son.”

Then he left, and I watched my tears dripping onto the floor. I tried not to make much noise, and the droplets seemed small for the river of sadness that was in me. Tony saw me and looked away.

A priest in black came out of the office and stood next to the Cree sister.

“Stop crying,” said Sister Wesley. “Let's go.” The other boys and I stood. Then we all went up some stairs and the sound of our footsteps bounced off the hard walls. I thought about how the sounds here were different from the bush. There, you can always hear lots of animals breathing, eating and mating; singing and crying; grunting and bellowing; whereas here were the same noises again and again. Step after step, no talking. At the top, I saw metal beds in rows, and a lot of boys, sitting and standing. There were more children than I could count.

“Thisissdalastofdem,” said Sister Wesley to the white man. He pointed to us. “Kipkwayettverywonn.”

I looked at her, panicked, wondering what she had said. The other boys had been murmuring to each other, but they too froze and stared at her. Then the white man began to speak, with the Cree nun translating.

“Welcome to St. Anne's Residential School,” he said. “I am Father Gagnon, the bishop for the region, and your principal. This is Sister Wesley. She will translate for me until you understand English. She is your supervisor. She will care for you before and after the school lessons.

“St. Anne's is the main girls' and boys' school for this region. We take our mission here very seriously. We are here to make you into
good Christians and honourable members of Her Majesty's Kingdom. This is a learning environment. That means we expect silence at all times. God speaks to those who listen. Now, the first order of business is the numbering system. For that I need you to get in line from shortest to tallest.”

I was not used to lining up or being ranked, so I walked to the back. She grabbed me from where I had placed myself and roughly pulled me toward the front. “Do you think you are that tall?” she said loudly. “You belong here!” Once we were lined up to her satisfaction, she began speaking.

“When I clap twice, it means line up in order of height, just like you are now,” she said. Then she walked the line's length, counting. I was small for my age, so was number 4 out of 127.

“These numbers are your new names, so remember them well,” she said. I tried the number out silently in my mouth. It felt flat and far away.
This is unfair
, I thought,
even dogs have real names
.

“Many of you have come from homes where the hygiene standards are, how can I put this, a little lax.” Sister Wesley was translating for Father Gagnon and as she spoke, she suppressed a smile. “Let's start as we mean to continue. Clean. Everyone take off your clothes. Put them in a pile in the middle of the floor. Then return to the line.”

We didn't move. Father Gagnon motioned like he was going to take off Tony's sweater. “Clothes!” Sister Wesley shouted in Cree. “Off!” I didn't want to give up my beaded moosehide moccasins—Mama had made them for me—so I picked at the beads until Sister Wesley pulled them from my hands and tossed them in the pile.

When we were naked, Father Gagnon left the room and Sister Wesley began to walk the length of the line. She shook white powder on our heads and privates if we had hair there. Some of the boys got it into their eyes, and they started to rub them and cry. It smelled
bad, like a stinging in my nose. We left the line and hurried one-by-one to the three showers next door, dousing our hair under the warm water. Then we came back to the line, and Sister Wesley handed us each a towel. When everyone was finished, we returned quickly to the dormitory.

“We will now give you the clothes to use for the whole year,” Sister Wesley said. “You will be given two sets. If you tear them on purpose you will sew them yourself.”

Sister Wesley walked to the cupboard by the wall and began pulling out neatly folded piles of clothes, some denim and some black and white. Each was embroidered with our numbers, according to our height. She also pulled out an undershirt, shorts, bathing trunks, pyjamas and running shoes for each boy. She clapped twice and we got in line again according to height. Then one by one we came forward. My pants didn't quite fit, but I dared not say anything.

It was time for our medical exam. Sister Wesley told us to stay in line, then left the room. In walked a man in a black cassock who introduced himself as Brother Jutras. He sat in a chair and told us to line up in front of him, the smallest boy stopping about four feet from him. I stared at Number Three's back.

“Step forward and pull down your pants,” Brother Jutras said when it was my turn. He reached forward and cradled my penis, touching it, examining it carefully, then eventually pulled at the skin to examine the tip. He also felt my balls; his touch immediately made me hard. Somehow I knew it was wrong, and I tried to pull myself away but he held firm. I looked away and waited for him to stop touching me. It took a while. Then he told me to pull up my pants.

Sister Wesley entered. “Time for haircuts,” she announced, as she tied on a blue striped apron.

There was silence. Then Tony said, almost inaudibly, “We don't cut our hair.”

“Don't you have Indian Agents in Moosonee, Number Twenty-Three?” Long hair had been illegal since before I was born. When I was out in the bush, I saw that a few people still had braids. I asked Papa about it and he said that these people didn't go near the settlements and so they did their best to ignore the white man and the wemistikoshiw ways. I remembered my grandmother saying our hair is a sign of our strength.

Sister Wesley clapped and we lined up. She cut our hair with scissors, then used an electric razor. Our hair tumbled to the floor in tangled clumps, like broken bird's nests. Tony caught my gaze in the mirror, and I jokingly pursed my mouth into the shape of a fish. He smiled.

We heard the clap of Sister Wesley's hands, lined up according to the numbering system, and went downstairs to the dining hall for dinner. I heard utensils scraping plates, and smelled roast beef, potatoes and gravy. I had hardly eaten anything for breakfast, and had no lunch, and my mouth watered. However, lining up with our trays, I realized that the good food was for the nuns; ours was a bowl of watery beans with tiny pieces of meat.

I sat at one of the rows of benches, next to Tony, and dug in. The food tasted like muddy river water. It slid around in my mouth, slipping up my gums and between my teeth. I ate quickly, and afterward, I was still hungry.

“Ed,” whispered Tony. “Go 'n' ask for more.”

We were supposed to be silent, so I waited until Sister Wesley, who was patrolling the room, had moved to the next table.

“No!” I whispered.

“Come on. They are our people.” I looked up from my plate. He was right—the servers behind the counter were all Cree men, younger than Papa. If they'd been raised right, they should share. “Go on,” Tony hissed, and he looked at me hard, like it was a test of my bravery.

I looked at them again. They doled out the food onto the plates and barely looked up. I stole a glance toward Sister Wesley, who was at the other end of the hall. I stood up and quickly glanced back at the servers. One of them looked up at me and smiled, as if beckoning. I started making my way to the food line. Once there, I looked over at Tony. He smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up. I moved up the line and reached for a plate.

“Boy Four!” It was Sister Wesley, who had spotted me from across the room. She moved quickly, almost running. I started to move away from the line, then froze. “You already ate,” she said. “Were you trying for extra?”

“Yes,” I said, which slipped out before thinking. “I mean no.”

“Which? Yes or no?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know. You're greedy, aren't you?”

I said nothing.

“Answer me when I ask you a question,” she said.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Sorry what?”

“Sorry sorry,” I replied. I didn't know what else to say.

“ ‘Sorry, ma'am,' stupid,” she said. “Go and get me the whip.”

“Where is it?” I said.

“You'll learn soon enough,” she said. She glanced around the room and caught sight of an older boy, who left and came back a few minutes later holding a long leather snake.

In the night, I woke up and reached underneath my pyjamas to touch my back. Everything below my neck was on fire. I thought back to the whipping and the pause between strokes, like the felling of a tree, where the rush of movement slices the air. I began to cry. After a few minutes, I heard someone creeping toward me. In the dark, I saw a face: Tony.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I didn't know you'd get whipped. Here.” He handed me something white. I brought it to my face. It was bread. I broke a bit off, and started to chew. My mouth was dry so it was hard to swallow.

“Where'd you get this?” I asked.

“Stole it.”

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay, but don't get caught. You're not allowed.”

“Am I supposed to pee my bed?”

“You're not allowed to do that either.”

“Oh.”

“Just try to go to sleep. You can go to the bathroom in the morning.” And then he was gone.

The next morning, at 5:30, I awoke to the ringing bell. I felt my pyjamas. They were still dry, and I was relieved. I saw Sister Wesley come into the bedroom. She started walking between the bed rows, slapping the faces of those still sleeping. I really had to go to the bathroom but I was afraid. I got up quickly and looked about. Other boys were making their beds and then standing at the foot, and I copied them.

“Can I go to the toilet?” I whispered to the boy in the bed next door.

“Not till after the inspection.”

Once everyone had made their beds, Sister Wesley began to walk along the rows. I had to pee so bad and the morning ritual seemed to take forever. First she checked whether the beds were correctly made, then she pulled down our underpants and looked for any sign of soiling.

Erick, a boy from home, had wet his pants. “You have an accident in the back too?” Sister Wesley said as she spun him around. “Take everything off.” He stripped down until naked. “Put your underpants on your head like a hat.”

He looked at her, confused.

She motioned for him to pull his wet underpants onto his head. He slowly did as he was told, although he kept holding them until she slapped his hands down. He stayed there naked with them on his head, and she moved to the next bed. Once finished, she clapped her hands again. Everyone rushed to the toilet. I was one of the first, thank Gitchi Manitou. I just made it.

At 6:15 she took us down to chapel. It was smaller than Father Lavois' chapel, with not as many paintings of bleeding men. As I walked in, I caught sight of a big group of girls sitting in pews on the right hand side of the chapel. It was the first time I had seen girls at St. Anne's, and I wondered where they lived. I recognized one of them, Angela, from bumping into her at the Hudson's Bay store. I tried to catch her eye, but she stared at the hymnals in front of her and wouldn't look up.

Once we were seated in the pews, I looked up and saw Father Lavois standing at the lectern.