When they were near the top, they turned from the ocean vista across the strait, and breathed in the sweet air of the mountains facing north. Even here you could catch the scent of the sea. Coastal mountains for as far as the eye could see. It was here and then that Leah gathered her courage, reached out, took Ray’s hand as they stood in silence. He did not resist but curled his hand around hers as they stood together lost in their own thoughts; drinking in the magnificence falling at their feet before them. Her heart rose and flew far away toward the sea.
l
MOON OF THE WITCH, Verse Three
Blue with fear I double back again
I’m running blind
With that old dog at my heels
I’ve never run that way.
Still deaf to the only voice
My mind is wrong, oh
But my heart must be right
And it’s here I start to pay…
l
Leah was hot, flushed from an erotic dream. She showered and was still left aroused. She dressed warmly, picked up the journal and her pen and went outside to write.
l
Today
In the garden, I’m watching two squirrels manically tearing across the ground, up a tree, leaping to another tree, then tearing down the trunk. They speak to one another in frantic chatters and whirrs. Why are they rushing? A crow hovers. Flies close above one squirrel, who has become frozen on the ground. The crow hovers still lower, just barely above the squirrel. The squirrel stands upright and takes a swipe at the crow. The crow simply moves higher, hovers just out of reach, as if he is saying, “Look what I can do that you can’t.” I laugh out loud and watch as they continue this little dance. The crow seems to take delight in distracting the squirrel from his quest to tear about. I guess Crow has nothing better to do. He sits now above the squirrel uttering strange dolphin-like chattering, as the squirrel warns with a staccato rattle that sounds aggressive.
Now the crow meows, over and over. I wonder if they learned that from cats, or if that is a natural sound. Maybe he is taunting the squirrel, who surely is afraid of cats. In any case, I can’t stop laughing.
It makes the pain go away for a few minutes, but soon it returns to cloak around my shoulders. I think it would take dynamite to move the pain off me for good.
l
She woke from a dream she could not pull out of. She lay in the grey morning light trying to understand the meaning. She recalled sitting in the cabin. Uncle Angus had come in the door, with a wide smile. She had run into his arms, crying out, “Uncle, oh Uncle, I thought you were dead.”
“No, I am not dead, my girl. Understand? Just someplace else.”
In the dream she did know. She felt the oneness of the two worlds, with no separation.
“Uncle, can you help me?”
“I will always help you.”
“I need to remember, Uncle. I have lost some of my memory.”
“Are you ready?”
“I think I am.”
“You sure?”
“No, I’m afraid.”
“Fear chases it away. Face the fear. Make friends, ask it what it wants.”
“Okay, Uncle. I miss you, Uncle. So much my heart feels like it’s been torn in two. It hurts.”
“I know.”
“How can I stop hurting?”
“You can’t. It’s life, like weather. Dress for the weather.”
They sat in silence, and he embraced her, saying it was time for him to go take care of Gramma. When he held her she smelled his jacket, as she always had. And as always, it smelled of the outside. The lake, the spruce trees, the thousands of medicines of the land she loved.
This was what was troubling her. What had he meant, “Dress for the weather?” And how was she going to face her fear when all she wanted to do was run as far away from it as she could?
l
Today
The water on the inlet moves west to east like it has a plan. The insistent bird was calling, “See? See? See?” As soon as I heard the message, it stopped. Ravens were here somewhere earlier. They only said, “Why? Why?” That’s what I’d like to know – why! When I heard, they left. Their voices sounded like those of old and treasured friends. When I opened the window and asked them to speak again, they would not.
The sun is trying to shine through marble clouds. Flash-frozen lightning. Naked trees against that sky, black delicate filigree. A solitary duck follows the water west to east now, silently flies, wings drumming a fast beat. Damp leaves, heavy with wet, cannot move on a restless wind.
One mad squirrel machine-gun repeating, “This, this, this, this, this, this!” A tiny chickadee throws in a few words. “Look!”
The other squirrel on the ground is focused on his frantic-looking foraging work. They remind me of me, foraging for my truth.
l
Still lost in the meaning of the dream, cheeks flushed, Leah needed no blush this morning. She dropped the tin of Lavazza coffee all over the floor. Already late, she left it and ran for the shower. She was out of shampoo. Soap would have to do. Her frustration mounted, knowing how hard her hair was going to be to comb out. How had she fallen for a man who clearly had no real feelings for her? How could she have allowed herself to be that vulnerable to believe that he did?
Stepping out of the shower, she found no towel. Remembering it was in the bedroom, she ran and slipped on the tile, slamming down, bruised her hip. Cursing by the time she was rushing into her clothes, she tore the only pair of stockings she had.
“For the love of God, can anything else go wrong?”
A briefing with the Federal Minister and his Provincial counterpart was not something she could be late for, she would hail taxi. She dialled and was on hold for minutes. Tears of frustration burned her eyes. She put the phone on speaker, dropped it on the bed and found a pantsuit. Dated, but it didn’t require stockings. The cab was late. She tossed a $20-dollar bill over the seat into the driver’s lap before grasping her briefcase and tearing into the building. At least when she flashed her door pass, security didn’t stop her. The elevator had an “Out of Order” sign. She groaned.
Taking the stairs as quickly as she could, she was sweaty and gasping by the time she reached the fifth floor. She struggled in the door and ran straight into Jean, her coffee buddy.
“God, Jean, I’m late for a briefing. Do I look alright?”
“You’re gorgeous. Just dab the perspiration before you go in.”
She found a tissue in her purse, wiped at her face, took a breath. She could see through the frosted glass that they were already in the Deputy’s office. She took a deep breath, knocked and walked in as coolly as she could.
“I’m so sorry I was delayed. I had one of those mornings.”
Her Deputy Minister was frowning, gave her a tight smile seemingly for appearances. The Provincial Minister was deadpan. She shook his hand and introduced herself. It was then she realized she had left her briefing binder at home. Panic moved like a gale force wind through her. She could do this. Somehow, she would have to pull it off. She booted her notebook, retrieving the agenda from her email.
“Miss Red Sky, we were just discussing the Indigenous Youth Execution.”
Leah felt as though she’d been struck. She looked at the first item on the agenda. Youth execution? It seemed so absurd, awful. Her nerves got to her. She began to laugh uproariously. The Ministers stared at her, cold. Worse, there was no way she could get control herself. Her laughter was a runaway train, fuelled by their indifference.
It was minutes before she could compose herself. But in that time, something snapped. Frustration and fury, fuelled by weeks of fear, rose like a tidal wave, sucking the wisdom like water right off the beach. The wave crashed in with a vengeance.
“So, how are these Youth Executions going to be carried out?” Leah spat. “I don’t recommend smallpox blankets this time around, because, no doubt, someone will catch on. I mean seriously, who the hell would put ‘In
digenous Youth Execution’ on an agenda? How ignorant can people in Indigenous Relations be?”
“It was actually me.” Her Minister had ice chips for eyes.
“I see. Well. I know we are talking about a youth strategy and how to roll it out, but seriously? Could you have picked worse wording? As an Indigenous woman and staff member, I find this highly insensitive, inappropriate, and downright insulting. I would like an apology.”
The Provincial Minister was looking at his nails.
“Miss Red Sky, I certainly will NOT apologize.”
“Is it because I have bigger balls than you? The fact that I wear them on my chest is no reason to be arrogant about this.”
“Miss Red Sky, take your things and go home. I think your time with the Ministry is just about over.”
Leah stood and stared at her.
“With pleasure, you fat, arrogant, inept cow.”
The Provincial Minister’s lips were twitching. She saw a glint of laughter in his eyes. With as much dignity as she could, she nodded to him, glared at her Minister, and left. She was face to face with Jean’s horrified expression. It was only then that she realized she had been shouting.
l
“Ray?”
“Leah, hi!” She ignored the pleasure in his voice. She ignored it. Clearly, he wasn’t who she had thought he was. He’d been in it for the sex. He hadn’t called her since leaving Vancouver.
“I wanted to know if we have any loose ends to tie up with the project. If so you, can call anytime from now on – I lost my position with the Ministry.”
“Yes, so I gathered from your email. Is that a good thing?”
“Well, not from the standpoint of my finances, but yes, it is from the standpoint of my ethics.”
“Your email description was hilarious; sorry there were consequences. I have to say, I wish I’d been a fly on the wall,” he chuckled quietly. “Leah, you are some character – if I come back down to Vancouver, I just have to get to know you better. I need some kinda whatever it is that you got! I am just way too tame!” (Yeah, I know what it is you want that I’ve got.)
“Well, maybe tame isn’t a bad thing.” (Keep it light.)
“Personally, I like my women like my coffee. Strong and bitter.”
Leah’s laugh sounded bitter even to her. Ray did not miss her tone, but at least she no longer seemed so angry at him. It wasn’t a good thing to have a Wolf woman angry at you.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Leah has one perfectly preserved and beautiful memory that comforts her spirit. She keeps reliving it.
Uncle and Haywire are outside, she hears them talking.
“Come on, Chaos, the ice will melt!” Leah’s excited, like a little kid, can’t wait to get moving. She smiles to herself and calls,
“I’m coming, just grabbing mitts!”
Doris has a filthy look on her face, is shaking her head. Leah isn’t measuring up. She feels Doris’s judgement coming at her like a bad smell. She hears every day, “A good woman can run fishnets in winter with bare hands. You think you can do that, city girl?” Leah feels frustration rise. She sees the dark look in Doris’s eyes, and knows Doris does not approve of Leah being with her son. Doris is trying, but Leah knows it’s only to keep peace with Haywire. Leah can feel the resentment coming off Doris in waves when he’s not looking.
She smiles and says “Bye!” to a grumpy Doris, pulls her mitts on, and throws her scarf around her neck, tying it tight.
They’re waiting outside the back door. She breathes in air redolent of spruce, moss, frozen berries. Doris is glaring at her through the kitchen window, but she will not show that she feels it. Leah can’t help herself, turns and sticks her tongue out. Then just as Doris’s face scowls, it changes into a broad smile and Leah sees the wave. She knows Haywire has changed that look. He pretends he does not see this tension between the two women, but he teases Leah out of earshot.
“What did you do to Mom? Pee in the mush? Chip her stove? Insult Hank Williams?”
They take the well-worn path behind the house, heading for the meadows, and she can’t wait to see this place Haywire has talked so much about. Her feet crunch on frozen moss, layers of fallen pine needles. The ground has no give. As if the permafrost has reached with icy fingers all the way to the surface. The air is stinging cold on her ears, her face. Her breath clouds with every exhale.
Angus walks ahead, with his .30-30. This is not a hunting trip, but guns are part of life because, as Angus says, “Never know.”
Leah is walking in the middle behind Uncle. Haywire behind her, carries a.22. They don’t make a sound when they walk but, no matter how hard Leah tries, she makes noise as they weave through the spruce, jack pines and buck brush. Leah tries hard, but her feet keep breaking sticks. Haywire hisses, “Why don’t you scare all the game away?” She turns and shoots him a look. He grins widely as she trips on a deadfall.
She finds looking at Angus’s back comforting. He always wears the same plaid wool cap, army-green bush jacket, loose khaki pants. Bush boots, leather lace-ups, high on the ankle, pants tucked in.
They move around willows, through thickets of buck brush, and finally now the land is clear and flat for miles around, except for stands of trees with a few deep gold leaves here and there. The day is crisp with dry cold, and though there isn’t a sign of snow down low, the feel is in the air, as if the mountains breathe through their snow cover, and exhale across the valley.
She hears a stream before she sees it.
“Okay,” Uncle says quietly, and puts his packsack down. The little lake is ahead of them, a pond, really. Solid ice. Uncle pulls a coffee tin out of his sack. It has a wire handle. Fills the can in the nearby stream. He takes a drink, and the water drips down the side of the can to his canvas jacket. He motions to them, and Leah takes a drink because it is offered, not because she is thirsty.
The water is clear, cold, sweet. She smiles at Uncle, who smiles back his gentle smile. Haywire collects wood and is piling small sticks. She hears the fire’s first words and turns to see Haywire building it up. She moves to it, spreads her hands, enjoying the heat.
Uncle kneels with Haywire, puts the tin right on the flames. She notices how he and Haywire have no need to talk while they work together.
In a few minutes the water is boiling, and Uncle takes a handful of coffee grounds out of a paper bag from his packsack, throws them in the bubbles. Leah watches as the grounds disappear into the water and catches their fragrance. Uncle fetches a cup of water out of the stream in a tin cup. Leah watches as he adds it to the tin.
“Uncle, what is that for?”
“Sink the grounds so you don’t gotta chew them.” He grins. The brew comes back to a boil and Uncle hooks the wire with the stick he has been turning in his hands. He takes two tin cups out of his pack and fills them. “Here, go ahead.” He passes her a steaming enamel mug. She sips it; the rich fragrance in the steam.
“This is the best coffee I ever had, Uncle. What kind is it?”
“Campfire coffee.”
“I mean the brand, Uncle.”
“Dunno, the cheap one,” he laughs.
Leah savours the contrast of the scalding hot drink in the cold air. She knows no matter how much money she pays and how fancy the beverage is named, this is the perfect coffee. She savours each sip until it is gone. It warms her belly. The warmth spreads through her chilled body.
“May I have more, Uncle?”
“Why, shore,” he says. He pours from the tin into her cup. He always says, “Why, shore” and laughs. She wonders if it is a line from an old cowboy movie. He only has about three expressions. This is one. The other is, “Wanna fight?” Always said with his two fists up in a boxing stance. He often randomly asks her this. She knows it’s to make her laugh, and she always does. It’s cute. The other expression comes with a thoughtful look, “Maybe, too.”
Now Leah watches Haywire lace on a pair of black skates. His bladed feet make awkward steps over the
snow toward the ice; she imagines a baby moose struggling to walk. He skates around, and Angus and she watch. After a while he comes over and says, “Uncle, have a go.” Uncle Angus grins. He puts his cup down near the fire, laces the skates and makes his way to the pond. He skates, pushing one leg out behind the other, faster, faster, still. She watches his breath leave a steamed cloud behind him. He comes back, removes the skates, hands them to Leah.
“Your turn,” says Haywire. Leah does not hesitate. She pulls off her boots, feeling the cold nipping her toes, and laces the skates up tight. She hasn’t skated outside in years. Walking to the pond, she is careful not to trip, stepping tentatively onto the ice. She stands, looking down. It’s like glass: She can see all the way to the bottom, the little creatures walking about, little fish swimming, and the weeds standing, undisturbed. It’s breathtaking. She moves as if she is skating on air, suspended, on this perfect ice, pure magic. She has never been able to skate this fast on girls’ skates or keep her ankles from bending. She spins around, finds this like flying, like drifting, like she is a leaf on the surface of the creek. It’s a moment she wants to last forever. Suspended between the sky and water, on this thin frozen crust of ice. Breathless, she stops and kneels on the ice to see the life below. She is elated, peaceful, happy.
l
September 24,1993
Johnnie got a job surveying up on the Dempster Highway being built from Dawson City to Tuktoyaktuk. He writes his girlfriend letters on rolls of orange survey tape with black markers. They’re tough to read, but we all enjoy them.
Sammy doesn’t care about working, and never has much money. But he’ll gladly give you his last five bucks, if he thinks you need it more than he does. Haywire got work hauling gravel down at Johnsons Crossing.
Now that I'm back in Whitehorse, Sammy watches over me now that Haywire is gone. I love all these guys, but they drive me nuts sometimes. Last week, when Johnnie was down from the Dempster, I was trying to sleep, and they were drinking. He and Sammy insisted on coming in my room and giving me chips to eat because I wasn’t out partying with them in the living room. Hahahaha – they dumped them right on the sheets. I’m still brushing the crumbs out!
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