Up Ghost River (7 page)

“What's he doing here?” I asked an older boy.

“He likes doing the service here. He's here a lot,” the boy said.

“Innomineepatrisatefillyatespirtussanctee,” he said. “Gratiadomineenostreejesukristeeatecarrotsassday.” We all stared at him, trying to follow. He sounded the same as the stinky man at Rita's funeral, but I couldn't be sure.

After the service, we filed out of the church to where Sister Wesley was waiting and she took us to breakfast. We lined up outside the kitchen. I got some porridge and sat next to Tony.

“Your turn to get extra,” I whispered.

“Yeah. Sorry 'bout that,” he said.

“Last time I take your word.”

“I didn't know.”

“Well you do now.”

We continued eating. I didn't like porridge, I decided.

“Hey,” Tony said. “You see the way that Father Lavois looked at that tall wemistikoshiw nun at the back of the church?”

“Who?

“I don't know her name. I'll point her out to you.”

“How did he look at her?”

“Like a man looks at his wife.”

“No way,” I said.

“Yup. He was all over her. Check it out next time.” Then he grabbed my unfinished bread and filed out of the dining hall to the yard.

The older boys were already there playing tag, ball hockey and soccer. I gazed out across the gravel to the grass and the trees beyond. There was no fence separating school from the freedom outside. But Sister Wesley was watching. It would take a few minutes to get to the trees. If she saw me bolt, I'd be whipped again. I glanced around for Tony, who was playing soccer with the older boys. I joined in too.

When the bell rang, we went to the classroom. I opened the door, and saw a group of us, as many as in a net of baby walleyes, boys and girls, some my age and others slightly older. We walked in, where a different nun was waiting.

“Kumminsitdoun,” she said. I looked around for Sister Wesley to translate but she wasn't there. “Sitdounne!!!” the nun shouted. She pointed to an empty desk and chair. I walked to it and sat.

The rest of the lesson continued like that. I didn't understand what was going on but there was no one to translate. Sometimes the nun, Sister Thérèse, stared at me and shouted. I didn't know what to do, so I looked down. She came over and slapped the back of my head. I glanced at up at her, and she glared at me.

“Lookatchmeeweneetalkdouyooo.” I stared at her blankly. She hit the back of my head again.

We sat there for what seemed like the length of time it takes the Albany to freeze. My head felt as if it had been set on fire with all the slaps, but somehow I knew I shouldn't cry.

Eventually the bell rang, and we filed out into the yard for playtime. I went to the corner and put my throbbing head in my hands. Around me I could hear laughter as boys played games. The whir of legs seemed to be banging on my head. I could hear strange words, lookatchmeeweneetalkdouyooo and savageboi, repeated over and again. Sister Thérèse's fists seemed to be trapped inside my head. I stayed crouched in the corner until the end of break.

That evening we all went out to dig potatoes in the nearby school fields. As we walked, I tried to see my house but it was obscured by the spruce trees that lined the Albany. I kept silent as we weren't supposed to talk. Amocheesh ignored the rules and began whispering.

“What's that?” he whispered to Tony, pointing to a nearby building made of glass.

“That's where they grow the special food for the priests and nuns,” Tony whispered.

“Can we have any?”

“What do you think?” Tony said.

“What do they have?”

“Shhhh!” Tony said, as Sister Wesley turned around.

No one said anything until Sister Wesley had moved down the field. All we could hear were the leaves rustling and shovels digging.

“How's your head?” Tony whispered.

I shrugged. “Fine.” It still hurt, but there was no point complaining.

“That woman is so mean.”

“I know.” I focused on the earth for a while. It was tiring digging the potatoes from the ground—we didn't have enough tools to go around so most of us used our hands. Tony, sensing that I didn't want
to talk, began joking around with Joe, another classmate, for a while. When the sun started to set, he turned back to me.

“I saw you looking at that girl in class today,” Tony said. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” I said blushing. “She lives in Fort Albany. She's a family friend.”

“What's her name?”

“Angela.”

“Like an
angel
,” he said. The last word he said in a funny language, I think it was wemistikoshiw.

“A what?”

“A manitou with wings,” he said.

“Manitous don't have wings.”

“These ones do. They are special wemistikoshiw manitous. The wemistikoshiw think they live up in the clouds.”

“Oh, the bird-men!” I said, remembering the painting. “Angela is a bird-man?”

“No, fart bum. She's a …” he paused, as if confused.

“A bird-woman?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Quiet,” Sister Wesley shouted.

We continued digging potatoes in silence. I looked at Tony and realized he didn't know what he was talking about.

Next day was a Saturday, and it was the first time since arriving that I got to sleep in. We didn't have to get up until seven a.m. and there was no bed-wetting inspection. After breakfast Sister Wesley escorted all the boys in the dorm to the yard. On the way, Tony whispered to me.

“See that kid up there?”

“Which?” I said.

“The tallest one of the juniors.” The higher grades, six through eight, were known as seniors. “Number Sixty-Five. Brandon.”

“Yeah.”

“Beware of him.”

“Why?”

“He's older.”

“You're lying,” I said.

“No.”

“Why's he in our year, then?”

“Just because.”

Sister Wesley looked back at both of us, so we fell silent for a time.

“So what?” I finally whispered.

“So. He can take you out.” He did a mock punch. I looked at Number Sixty-Five. He had paler skin than the rest of the boys and he looked mean. His brown eyes darted about like wasps and his mouth was pulled down like the outline of an arrow. When we got to the yard, some boys huddled in the corner, others began playing tag. Tony wanted to play soccer, and he and another tall boy said they were captains and they began to pick teams. Tony picked me, and I was pleased.

We shouted go, and my classmate got the ball and passed to Tony, who shot wide.

“Who's that?” Amocheesh asked as we waited for the goalie to go and get it.

“Where?” I asked.

“Over there.” In the distance, standing at the edge of the playground was a tall, blond-haired man.

“I don't know,” I said.

“Oh, him?” Tony said. “That's the new Hudson's Bay store manager. His name is Mike Pasko.”

“Why is he standing there watching?” Amocheesh said.

“Who knows,” Tony said.

“I don't like it. He's creepy,” Amocheesh said.

Our side scored a goal, and then it started to rain and Sister Wesley blew her whistle. I looked out beyond the gravel, where Mike was fiddling with his umbrella.

After playtime, we went upstairs to the showers next to our dorm. We all stood in line. When we were at the top, we collected our special shower trunks to hide our privates. The nuns said that this is because men and boys should be “modest” and no one wants to see your “parts.” Sister Wesley left, so we began to talk.

“Fred. You kick like a girl,” Tony said.

“Yeah, well you kick like a sick frog,” he said.

“That doesn't even make any sense. Frogs don't kick balls.”

“So?”

“So think of something better.”

“You think of something better!”

“Think of something better to insult myself?”

“Yeah.”

“You're dumb.”

Tony turned toward me. “I know where they keep the food.”

“What food?”

“The stuff that the nuns get.”

I thought of what we saw them eating each mealtime: the roast beef, jams and chocolate cakes.

“Where?”

“In the basement.”

“Oh,” I said. We weren't ever allowed to leave the group without permission and the store cupboard was three floors below.

“We could get some. At night.”

“I don't think so,” I said. I imagined getting caught and it scared me. I didn't want to be whipped again.

“Don't be a baby.”

“I'm not.”

“Yes you are.

Let's do it tonight,” he said.

“No.”

“Crybaby.”

“I don't want to.”

“Do you want to be my friend or not?”

I shrugged.

“Well that settles it then,” Tony said.

After lunch, we didn't have lessons because it was a Saturday. We just went outside to the yard. I didn't feel like running around—I was still hungry as we didn't get much food at lunch—so I stood and watched. Joe and Erick approached, whispering. They pushed past me.

“Hey,” I said. “Careful!”

“Sorry,” Joe said. He giggled.

“Why're you laughing?” I asked.

“No reason,” Erick said.

“We got bread,” Joe said. He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a chunk and shoved it in his mouth, chewed once and swallowed.

“Can I have some?” I asked.

“No,” Joe said.

“Where'd you get it?” I said.

“Brother Jutras,” Joe said. I had thought that Brother Jutras was some sort of doctor, but it turned out that he was the school's baker.

“He gave that to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Erick looked uncomfortable and then turned away.

“We didn't have to do anything. Just stand there,” Joe said.

“Stand there and do what?”

“Nothing. It didn't even hurt.”

“What didn't even hurt?”

“When he touched us.”

“Oh,” I said. I remembered when he gave me the medical exam. It didn't hurt, but it made me feel uncomfortable. Something about the way he smiled. I wondered whether it was worth the trade-off for bread. I was so hungry. I thought about having fresh bread in my mouth, the way it was warm against my tongue. My mouth watered.

“We're going to go back and get more,” Joe said. “He said we could come back whenever we wanted. As long as we trade. Wanna come?”

“Maybe,” I said. Was it riskier to go to the basement storeroom to steal, or to go with Joe and Erick to Brother Jutras? I wished there was someone I could ask. Someone who would know. I thought about my papa. He was so far away, and there was no way of speaking to him or hearing his voice.

Maybe it would be better to let Brother Jutras touch me for a slice. After all, Joe said it didn't even hurt. Then I could get bread whenever I wanted.

“Sure,” I said. “I'll come.”

“We went to the dorm to ask Brother Jutras if it was okay,” Joe said. All the brothers and priests slept together in a dorm near the main school building. They tended to stay there on weekends. “Father Lavois said he was asleep.” It was after-dinner playtime, and in the fading light, I looked at Joe and Erick to see if they had extra bread. Their hands were empty.

“Oh,” I replied. “Are you going back?”

“Father Lavois said not to disturb them,” Erick said.

“Maybe we can ask on Monday,” Joe said.

“Maybe,” Erick replied, and he looked down, then motioned to Joe to leave.

—

While I was waiting, we had a surprise visitor. It was Monday morning. We were sitting in a class with Sister Thérèse who was speaking her wemistikoshiw language. I stared at her and tried to follow what was happening. After a while we heard a knock on the door.

“Kummin!” Sister Thérèse said.

Mr. Pasko walked in.

“Dississmistapasko,” Sister Thérèse said. “Heehasastoreintoun.” We looked at her blankly.

“Hello, boys,” Mike said to us in Cree. “My name is Mike Pasko. I run the Hudson's Bay store.”

“
Tanisi
,” we replied.

Sister Thérèse began talking again. This time Mike translated.

“Sister Thérèse has to leave for a couple of minutes. But I am going to read you a story.” Mike held up a book. “I need children who are good listeners. Does everyone want to show me how good you are at listening?”

We nodded. Mike opened the book and started reading in Cree. It was called
The Ugly Duckling
. When the bird said goodbye to the barnyard, Sister Thérèse left the room. Once the door clicked, he read a few more lines and then closed the book.
He's breaking the rules
, I thought, and it made me nervous.

“What's your name?” he said, pointing at Amocheesh.

“Number Three.”

“No, I mean your real name.”

Amocheesh hesitated and looked around the room.

“Don't be scared. My name is Mike. What's your real name?”

“Amocheesh,” he said, quietly.

“What a great name!”

Amocheesh grinned.

“What's yours?” Mr. Pasko said, pointing to me.

“Edmund.”

“You?” he said pointing to a girl named Dayness.

“Dayness Kooses.”

“Wonderful.” Several boys and girls excitedly raised their hands, as if eager for Mike to comment on their own names.

“Tell me, Amocheesh. Where does your family like to go trapping?”

Amocheesh started to tell Mike, and then asked him if he could have a pen and paper to draw a map. Mike walked to the stationery cupboard. “Why don't we all plot our homes on Amocheesh's map?” In the excitement, we didn't hear Sister Thérèse enter the room.