Wake The Stone Man (20 page)

“I was on the train,” she said.

“What train?”

“Momma put me on the train. I can't see out the window. I can't see my mother.” Nakina opened her eyes and tried to sit up.

“What train were you on?” I asked.

“Can you get me some water? My mouth is dry.”

I got a glass of water and held the straw to her lips. She put her head back on the pillow and I thought she would go back to sleep, but she turned to me and I could tell from the look in her eyes that her mind was clear.

“They took me to the psychiatric hospital, you know.”

“You told me. To have the baby.”

“There was no baby. I was just over four months. They gave me a general anesthetic and when I woke up the nurse said they'd taken care of it.”

“Aborted?”

“And when they had me under the anesthetic they tied my tubes.”

“I don't understand.”

“Sterilized me. What they did to Indian girls who got pregnant.”

“But they couldn't. They couldn't just do that.”

“They could. They did. After that I got an infection and had to stay there for months.”

After a while she drifted off to sleep again. Curled up in the fetal position with her bald head and so thin I could see her shoulder blades through her skin, Nakina looked like a baby bird that had fallen out of the nest.

I was holding back tears because I didn't want to cry. Didn't want to wake Nakina. Didn't want the nurses or some stranger to come in and see me crying. I thought about the day that Nakina came back to school. After what she had gone through — what they had done to her — she just came back to school and picked up her books at her locker and went off to class, like nothing had happened. What else could she do?

She slept the rest of the afternoon so I curled up in the chair and slept too. I dreamt about a train, a long black train pulled by a steam engine puffing its way through the bush. Black train, black smoke cutting a black line through the boreal forest. Past blue lakes, past moose standing up to their bony knees in the marsh, past jagged red rock cuts. Onward, farther south. Tiny faces pressed against the window. The faces of the stolen children. Nakina's face, with her mouth opened slightly as if she were about call out to someone. Call out for help.

When I woke up Nakina was still asleep. I sat in the chair in the dark room listening to the beeping sounds coming from down the hall. Every so often there would be an announcement over the hospital intercom: “Code blue, trauma team to emergency stat, trauma team to emergency.” Then everything would be quiet for hours. Then there would be a flurry of activity somewhere on the floor — people running, orders shouted, someone crying. Then silence again. More waiting.

I left Nakina's room and walked down to the family room. I spent some time working on the jigsaw puzzle. I was angry but didn't know why. I think I was angry with myself. I felt so useless. The puzzle was an English thatched cottage surrounded by a rose garden. The thatched roof was a real bitch.

chapter twenty-five

The next day when I arrived at the hospital I could hear Nakina screaming all the way down the hall. I ran to her room. “Do you want me to get the nurse?” I asked. I could see she was in pain.

“I want you to get the fuck out.”

She had kicked the blankets off and I could see her thin boney legs kicking against the metal rails of the bed. Nurse Hodder came in with another nurse who was carrying a tray with medication and an IV bag. I stepped back into the washroom and watched through the doorway as they worked quickly to change the line and hang the new IV bag. Nakina had stopped swearing and was making low moaning sounds. The nurses stripped the top sheets and remade the bed, swaddling her flailing arms and legs. The moans got softer till they sounded almost like a kitten purring. The nurse turned to me.

“Come here. Molly, is it?”

“Yes.”

She handed me a jar of clear cream. “Could you sit there. No, pull the chair closer to the bed. Good. Now take that cream and rub it on her lips.”

I was afraid to touch Nakina. Afraid she would start shouting again, afraid to feel the dry peeling skin on her lips.

But the nurse was watching. “Good. Now, try to do that every few hours. Down in the kitchenette you can get ice. Straws are in the left-hand drawer. Keep a glass of ice water by the bed. It's comforting to keep the mouth moist.”

“OK.”

“I went down to the kitchenette and got some large plastic glasses and straws and filled a blue water jug with ice and water. When I went back to the room Nakina was sitting up in bed.”

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

“I brought you some ice water.”

“In a urinal?”

I looked at the blue plastic water jug and realized it had an odd shaped wide spout.

“Molly, you're such an ass!” Nakina started to laugh and I dropped into the chair beside her and began to laugh hysterically. Once I got the giggles there was no going back, and the more Nakina laughed the more it set me off until a nurse stuck her head in the door.

“Everything OK?”

I held up the urinal, laughing too hard to explain. She smiled. “Yeah, you're not the first one to make that mistake. Don't know why they make them both the same colour. I'll take that.”

The drugs were working. Nakina was sitting up laughing and I could tell from her face that she wasn't in pain.

We talked for more than an hour about her work in B.C. “It was interesting. Not the actual recording; that was pretty mindless. But the hearings were interesting. I learned a lot about land claim issues. A lot of legal stuff. Met some great people. Travelled a lot. Most of our work was in Northern B.C., up around Williams Lake.”

“What was it like?”

“The mountains were beautiful. Snow capped. I liked hiking in the mountains. Camping out.”

“Sounds good.”

“It was. Until I got sick.”

“And then you came back here?”

“Right. I could have gone to the hospital in Vancouver but I wanted to come back here.” Nakina turned onto her back and adjusted her pillow. She looked tired. “So what about you? How is Halifax? How is the art college?”

“Good. Different from high school — I finally feel like I fit in. And there's interesting stuff going on.”

“What stuff?”

“Conceptual art — more concept than form. Hard to explain. Anyway I like the East Coast. I like living beside the ocean. It reminds me of Lake Superior.”

“I remember…” Nakina paused. She was drifting off again. “I remember in high school you said you were going to go to art school.”

“Yeah, and you said I was an asshole and would never get out of Fort McKay.”

“Guess I was wrong.”

The hospital intercom came on. “Code blue 7B stat, code blue 7B stat.” Two nurses ran down the corridor and into the room across from Nakina's. There was a brief flurry of activity as an oxygen cart was wheeled into the room, then everything went quiet. When I looked back over at Nakina she was asleep.

I sat quietly beside her looking at her sleeping face and thought about her hiking in the mountains. I spent the afternoon waiting. Waiting and thinking. Wondering what the end would be like. Afraid but not certain what I was afraid of.

I got up and walked around the room. Not much to see — a bed, a side table with a box of Kleenex and the jar of clear cream. In the bathroom was a toilet with metal handrails, two boxes of rubber gloves, a metal bedpan and a box labelled “Toothettes.” I opened the box and pulled out a stick with a foam tip and wondered what they were for.

I looked out the window, out across the harbour. I could see a boat on the horizon. Looked like a grain boat. I wondered if grain was starting to come through the port again.

I walked down to the family room and spent some time adding pieces to the puzzle. There was a phone there. I dug in my wallet and pulled out the slip of paper with a telephone number and called Lars. It rang three times and went to voice mail. “You have reached Lars Gustoffson, Quetico Park Resource Manager…”

“Lars,” I said. “This is Molly Bell. I got the message from Merika Goodchild that you bought one of the paintings, and I just wanted to call and say thanks.” I paused for a moment then added, “I'm going to be in town for a while. I don't know how often you get into Fort McKay, but if you're around you can usually catch me at George's at lunchtime. You know, the diner across from the hospital. Anyway, it would be great to see you.”

***

I didn't recognize Lars at first when he came into George's Diner. His long blond hair was cut short and his beard was gone. He still wore the round wire-rimmed glasses but he was taller than I remembered.

“Molly?”

“Lars.” I stood up to shake his hand and almost knocked my knife onto the floor. He ignored my hand and embraced me.

“So, you got my message?” I said, sitting down.

“I did. I'm glad you called.”

“Almost didn't recognize you with the short hair.”

“You look the same. Almost the same. Your hair isn't as curly.”

“Longer.” I wore my hair long now, pulled back in one thick braid.

“So you're working up in Quetico Park?” I said.

“Yeah. I've been there a few years now.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do. The people I work with are great and I get to work outside.”

“What about music? Do you still play?”

“A bit. Not seriously. My brother and I have a band and we play a few gigs here and there.”

“How's your dad? The last time we … well, your dad had broken his arm.”

“Oh right, he's fine. I had to stay in Nipigon for a while to help out. I came back after the fire.”

The fire. I hadn't spoken with anyone about it for years but sitting with Lars it suddenly felt very raw. “It still feels like a dream to me, like it never happened.”

“I didn't make it back for the funeral,” he said.

“The coffins were so tiny. When they carried the coffins out they played Bob Dylan's ‘Forever Young' and I thought how Celeste and Blue would always be young and innocent and perfect … forever.”

“I was at Cripple Creek the night that Blue was born,” Lars said. “Celeste was about three I think. She was an old soul, even then.”

“She really was.”

“I came back the week after to play at the benefit dance. When I got back I drove out to Cripple Creek Farm. I had to see it.”

“Was anything left?”

“No, burned to the ground. Nothing but a field of snow. And then I went to your place.”

I was confused. “But I never saw you.”

“When I got there some guy came out of the house.”

“Sid.”

“Not very friendly. Said you didn't want to see anyone. I told him about the benefit dance the next night and I asked him to let you know.”

“He didn't tell me.”

“Anyway, after the benefit I went back to Nipigon.”

“I'm sorry. I wish he had told me. I wish I'd known. You know, no one really told me what happened that night.”

“There was nothing anyone could do. It was a chimney fire and once the roof caught, the top floor went so fast no one could get upstairs to them.”

“I was pretty messed up after the fire. I slept a lot. Sid was there then. He drove me home after the funeral and stayed on at the house for a while. He wasn't there long. Then I moved to Halifax to go to college. I heard that Rita moved back to the States with her parents.”

“That's right. Mary moved up north with Tom for a about a year. Last I heard they'd split up and Mary had gone back home.

“I think I want to go to Cripple Creek someday. Maybe if I could see it … it still feels like a dream.”

“I'll take you some time if you want.”

“Thanks.”

“You said you were going to be in town for a while.”

“My friend is in hospital. Cancer. They've stopped treatments. She's in palliative care.”

“I'm really sorry. Listen, I'm in town most weekends … I'd like to help if I could. Maybe sit with you at the hospital if you like.”

“That's very kind. Thanks. By the way, I moved back out to Kamanistiquia.”

“Really?”

“Just for the summer. I'm planning to go back to Halifax in the fall to finish my degree. Hey, here is Kikko and Toivo's number. I stay at their house a lot. Give me a call next time you're in town. Maybe you could come over to their house for dinner some night. I'd like you to meet them.”

***

The next day Nakina was awake most of the morning, but she seemed far away and didn't want to talk. I was getting bored sitting there so when the nurse came I helped her get Nakina into the wheelchair, then we stripped the bed. She taught me how to fold a sheet in half and lay it across the middle of the bottom sheet and tuck it in at the sides. Transfer sheet she called it, so that Nakina could be moved or shifted easily by people grabbing either end of the folded sheet. When the bed was made up I sprayed the sheets and pillow with a lavender spray. The nurse told me the smell of lavender was calming.

I opened the window and let the cool breeze off the lake clean the hospital stink out of the room. We moved Nakina back to the bed, took off her johnny shirt and gave her a sponge bath. I was uncomfortable at first, touching her body, seeing her small empty breasts and the loose skin across her belly, but I watched the nurse. She worked fast and was gentle like she was bathing her own child. I stopped looking at Nakina's body and began to think of how good the sponge bath must feel to her.

When we were done I found a soft pink johnny shirt that made Nakina's skin look less yellow. Nakina didn't speak while we washed her, and when we were done the nurse gave her morphine and she fell asleep. I sat beside the bed, window still open, white curtains blowing in the breeze. I could smell the lavender and soap. I looked across at her face, her elegant nose, her strong cheekbones, and I thought how beautiful she looked.

***

Toivo drove out to the house with me that afternoon. I wanted to talk to him about the barn. When we got to the house he took his tools out of the truck and went into the kitchen. “I'll prime the pump for you,” he said. “Let the water run for about a half an hour. The pipes are a mess but that will flush things out.”

I watched him work and was excited about having running water. I could hook up a hose and run it out to the field to water the garden. We went out and looked at the barn and Toivo agreed with me. “The supporting beams are solid. They'll be standing for another hundred years,” he said.

“Can we knock in some bigger windows back here?”

“No problem. Three, maybe five, right across the back. I had a look at the sauna. You could use a new stove.”

“You think so?”

“That one's starting to rust.”

“Well, it's pretty old. You want some tea?”

“No, I got beer in the truck.”

We took our beers and walked across the field to check out the sauna. It was good to be there with Toivo. I could learn a lot from him.