Resurrection

by Mark Kelly

  If Otetiani was surprised by Lucia’s answer, he didn’t show it. He ran his eyes over Baker, taking measure of the other man before offering him his hand.

  “Michael Otetiani.”

  “Sam Baker,” Baker replied, shaking Otetiani’s hand. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “What’s your involvement in all of this?” Otetiani asked bluntly.

  Baker explained his background and how he and his partner had come to Canada searching for Simmons.

  “And you know where this man, John Raine, is?” Otetiani asked.

  “The last location we had for him was just outside Kansas City.”

  Otetiani raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a distance from here.”

  “Fifteen hundred miles, give or take a little,” Baker replied. “With a bit of good luck, we should get there before the snow falls as long as we don’t have to walk.”

  “You’re going to need more than a little bit of good luck,” Otetiani said. “The larger cities are all no-go zones. You’ll have to travel around them, and most of the interstates are blocked. My guess is you’re looking at something closer to two thousand miles. What can we do to help? Do you need fuel or weapons?”

  “We’re in good shape as far as weapons go, but we could always use more food and fuel.”

  “I think I can help you with that.” Otetiani’s eyes twinkled as he nodded towards the gigantic tanker that loomed over them. “She has eight tanks in her cargo hold filled with nearly five hundred thousands barrels of gasoline and diesel.”

  Baker looked up in awe. “Where in the hell did you find this monster?”

  “Like I said earlier, she found us,” Otetiani replied. “One of the men from our community was a marine pilot. Before the pandemic, he worked for the river authority, assisting foreign vessels navigate the waters along the seaway. He was onboard the ship helping the captain bring the Petrolia Desgagnes back to port in Montreal when the government quarantined the river to foreign vessels.”

  Baker glanced at the narrow man-made waterway they were standing next to. “This seems like an odd place for a ship this size. How did it end up here?”

  “All ocean-bound traffic on the river has to pass through this canal,” Otetiani replied. “It’s part of a lock system built in the 1950s to allow ships past the dam you crossed. There is one more set of locks to the east and three more upriver to the west before the open water. When the captain died and the crew started showing signs of infection, the ship’s pilot decided it was too risky to try the next set of locks. He disabled the ship’s navigation system and left her moored here. Then he contacted me.”

  “That must have been an interesting conversation.”

  “It was a short one,” Otetiani said grimly. “He was very sick. He died the day after the ship moored. Only two of the twenty-eight men in the crew survived. Both of them live on the reserve now and are up there helping.”

  Baker looked up at the ship’s deck where a group of men were man-handling a huge rubber hose that dangled over the side of the ship and was attached to a pump at the back of a gasoline tanker truck. “Is that how you unload the fuel?” he asked Otetiani.

  “Yes. Once it’s off the ship, we transport it to a gas station on the reserve. From there, we ration it out to people in our community.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t have problems with looters.”

  “We did at first,” Otetiani admitted, “but now we operate a second gas station off the reserve where we sell gasoline. We still have problems from time to time—that’s why the ship is under guard, but everyone for miles around knows we’ll sell them fuel at a fair price and won’t rip them off. But if they try to take our gasoline, they’ll pay with their lives.”

  “I didn’t see any fuel for sale at the market on the other side of the river. Is there a reason you don’t sell it over there?” Baker asked.

  Otetiani hesitated and then said, “We have a business arrangement with Les Chevalier de Montréal.”

  “The biker gang?”

  “You know them?”

  Baker nodded and glanced at Lucia who kept her mouth shut. There was nothing to be gained by telling Otetiani about their experience at the truck stop. “I wouldn’t think they’d be good business partners,” Baker offered.

  “They’re the best of the worst,” Otetiani replied with a shrug. “Henri, their leader, rules with an iron fist, but he also understands give and take. He treats the people living in his territory fairly. We’re not interested in fighting, so we sell him fuel at wholesale prices and stay on our side of the river. In return, he allows us to run the market. It’s a fair arrangement for everyone.”

  Otetiani leaned against the trailer. One of the corners of its cover had come loose. He looked over the side and chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Corn—you must like it a lot,” Otetiani said, reaching down and grabbing a handful of golden yellow kernels from a burlap bag. “I think there’s enough here to feed a family for six months,” he said, exaggerating.

  “It seems one of us likes it a lot,” Baker agreed with a laugh, ignoring the glare Lucia threw his way. “I’m told it’s extra healthy because it’s been soaked in ash-water.”

  Otetiani nodded, oblivious to the exchange between them. “Now that corn has become a staple again, there’s been a resurgence of Pellagra—a deficiency of niacin. Tekonwenaharake, one of our clan mothers, taught the others in our community how to prepare their corn in ash-water to help ward off the disease. You must have purchased yours from her—and from the look of it, you took everything she had. Jonathan won’t be happy.”

  “Who is Jonathan?”

  “Her son,” Otetiani said, spitting the words out. “He’s the one who has to haul the corn across the dam to the market for her to sell.”

  “You’ve got plenty of fuel. Why doesn’t he take it across by boat?”

  Otetiani stiffened. “The fuel belongs to the community. If we waste it, we wouldn’t have it for very long. The exercise and work is good for Jonathan. It keeps his mind off his demons.”

  “Are you hungry?” Kateri asked Baker and Lucia, changing the subject.

  Baker grinned. “I could do with a snack, but no corn please. I think that’s all I’m going to get to eat for the next month.”

  They all laughed, except for Lucia who glowered at him.

  “No corn—I promise,” Kateri said. “Are you coming?” she asked her brother.

  “No, but I’ll catch up with you later tonight or tomorrow morning. I have to go to Kahnawake. There are a few things there I need to take care of.”

  “Is there a problem?” Kateri asked, a worried expression on her face.

  “Nothing I can’t deal with,” Otetiani said. “Their band council is demanding a larger share of the fuel.”

  Kateri crossed her arms and frowned. “They don’t deserve it. It’s our ship.”

  “They are our brothers and sisters. They are Kanien'kehá:ka, like us,” Otetiani said sternly. “But don’t worry, they won’t get a free ride. If you are concerned that they are not doing enough to help, I could ask them to come and work with you managing the crossing.”

  “Don’t you dare. I don’t need—”

  Otetiani smiled and held up his hand to calm her. “I’m joking. We’ll work something out with them.” He turned and spoke to Lucia and Baker. “Will you stay the night as our guests? I’m sure you would appreciate a real bed and a home-cooked meal for a change.”

  They both nodded.

  “Good. It’s settled. I’ll see you later.” He gave Kateri a hug and then climbed into a large 4x4 truck.

  After he had left, Kateri motioned at Lucia and Baker to follow her. “Come on, I’ll take you to our place. It’s about a half-hour drive from here. You can follow me on your motorcycles.”

  “Do you think you can keep up with me this time?” Lucia asked, poking fun at Baker.

  He smiled back. “I’m not even going to try. J
ust remember, if I get lost, you two will have to come find me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll go slow,” Kateri said.

  Baker winked at Lucia. “Good to know at least one of you knows how to do that.”

  18

  Condolences

  Lucia sat at the kitchen table staring at Baker. The grin on his face had been there from the time he woke up. For once, she didn’t make fun of him. Even she had to admit it was nice spending the night in a real bed and not on a thin camping mattress.

  The smell of cooked bacon and coffee wafted through the air making her salivate. She could count on one hand the number of times in her life she had eaten bacon and eggs, but even after the feast Kateri had cooked for them last night, she was still hungry.

  “I’m sorry,” Kateri said as she put two plates on the table. “All we have to drink is water and coffee.”

  “It’s a good thing that’s all you have,” Baker replied with a chuckle, “because if you had offered me a glass of orange juice, you’d never be able to get rid of me.”

  Looking more serious than her age, Kateri said, “I guess we take it for granted. With fuel from the ship, we can put gas in the trucks and tractors, run our generators, even trade for things that other people can’t afford.”

  “You are very fortunate,” Lucia said, remembering the early days at the farmhouse with Mei and the others.

  “I know,” Kateri replied, becoming even more serious. “I’m alive—thanks to you.”

  Thanks to Saanvi, Lucia thought, and Mei and Gong and Tony. I had nothing to do with it.

  “Good morning,” a voice greeted them from the backdoor. Looking haggard and wearing the same clothing as he had the last time they had seen him, Michael Otetiani walked into the kitchen. Kateri hugged her brother and wrinkled her nose.

  “Ew, you smell. You need to wash.”

  “I will,” he said, pulling out a chair and dropping into it with an exhausted sigh.

  She placed a cup of coffee in front of him. “Did you work things out with the Kahnawake council?”

  He nodded and took a sip. “There are hundreds of acres of abandoned farmland south of their reserve. They will find the equipment and seed to plant, and we’ll provide fuel for the tractors. Any crops that grow will be split seventy-thirty between the two communities.”

  “Who gets the seventy?”

  “They do.”

  “That’s not fair—”

  Otetiani held up his hand to stop her. “It’s more than fair. This isn’t charity. They will be the ones doing all the work. It was our good fortune to have the ship brought to us and it is only right we share our luck. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  From the look on Kateri’s face, she knew not to argue with her brother. “Do you want anything to eat?” she asked him.

  “No, I’ll eat after the Condolences Ceremony.”

  “I didn’t know one was planned,” she said.

  “There wasn’t, but during the council meeting last night, one of the Rotiiane felt Lucia’s arrival was a sign we should hold one and the rest of the council agreed. The ceremony will bring the community together. It will be good for us.”

  He glanced across the table at Lucia. “The ceremony is to remember your friend, Gong, and all of our people who have died since the pandemic started. I understand if you wish to continue with your journey, but we would like you to be our guests at the ceremony. It will only delay you by one day.”

  “We’ll stay, right?” Baker said, looking at Lucia.

  She nodded hesitantly.

  “Do we need to do anything?” Baker asked.

  Otetiani shook his head. “No. It will be a small event. Your presence will be enough.” He glanced at his wrist-watch, climbed to his feet and spoke to Kateri. “The ceremony will be at noon. I’m going to grab a quick nap. Wake me in two hours if I’m not already up.”

  The Longhouse, a large, rustic building made of squared and varnished logs, was a twenty-minute drive from Otetiani’s home. It was located in the middle of nowhere at the end of a narrow winding gravel road. The uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Lucia’s stomach grew as they pulled into the overflowing parking lot. The Condolences Ceremony wouldn’t be the small event Otetiani had said it would be.

  Sensing her discomfort, Baker leaned in closer and spoke. “It’s just a ceremony—probably no different than a funeral.”

  She didn’t tell him she had never been to a funeral. Not to her father’s—he didn’t deserve it—but not even to her mother’s. She had seen funerals on the television and heard people talk about them. They were awkward and uncomfortable with too much emotion for her liking. Funerals were for the dead and she was alive.

  She climbed out of the pickup truck with the walking stick gripped tightly in her hand. She didn’t know why she had brought it, but it had seemed like the right thing to do.

  With Baker next to her, she followed Otetiani and his sister up the walkway to the main entrance. Otetiani opened the door and ushered them into the dimly lit longhouse where dozens of people jammed side-by-side sat on wooden benches against the walls.

  “Wow…is everyone from the Reserve here?” Baker asked Otetiani in a low voice.

  “No, but most are. Nearly everyone had a relative or friend who worked the barricade. Those that could, have come to offer their support and respect.”

  The people in the room went silent as Lucia stepped out of the lobby. Most of the faces were solemn, but a few looked at her and smiled. She felt like an animal in a zoo.

  “See you in a bit,” Kateri said. She gave Lucia a comforting pat on the arm and then left to take a seat on a bench.

  Otetiani took Lucia and Baker by the arm. “Come, I will show you where your places are. The condolences ceremony will be conducted by a Faithkeeper who is one of our elders. My people, the Kanien’kehá:ka, have held this ceremony for hundreds of years.”

  The sound of their boots against the wooden floor echoed in the quiet room as they followed him. He came to a stop in front of a small hand-hewn log stool in the middle of the Longhouse.

  “You will sit here,” he said to Lucia, “and you will be asked to speak for your friend, Gong.”

  Lucia felt a hundred pair of eyes on her. She stared at the small wooden stool in the middle of the room. “What about him?” she asked, glancing at Baker. “Where is he going to sit?”

  “With Kateri and I.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Lucia said. She turned and made a move for the door.

  Baker stepped closer and took her hand in his. She felt the rough skin of his calluses against her palm as he spoke. “You can do this. You need to do this. You are the only person here who really knew him.”

  She shook her head. She didn’t know Gong—not really. No one did. He was a loner, like her.

  Baker squeezed her hand. “You can do it. I’m just going to be over there—a few feet away.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. Otetiani and Baker left her to take their seats. She sat down on the stool and placed the walking stick on the floor beside her.

  To her surprise, the old woman from the market stall limped painfully towards the center of the room.

  She’s the Faithkeeper?

  The old woman wore a simple headdress made of beaded leather with three large feathers standing straight up. When she reached Lucia, she said, “Many in this room know the story of Hiawatha, but you do not. Hiawatha was a man of peace, a great leader. He united the Five Nations into the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, but before he could do that, he had to overcome great tragedy in his life.”

  “After the death of his wife and daughters, Hiawatha wandered our lands. He was angry and suffered greatly until he met the Great Peacemaker from the north who taught him the condolence ceremony that we use today.”

  The old woman approached Lucia and removed a small piece of cloth from a deerskin bag hanging over her shoulder. She spoke in a hypnotic voice as she dabbed at Lucia’s
eyes with the cloth.

  “Like Hiawatha, you have been blinded by the tears of your sorrow. Your vision is blurred. I will wipe the tears away so you may once again see the joy and wonder of the world we live in.”

  Lucia flinched, but the cloth was soft and comforting, and with each stroke she felt herself relaxing. When the old woman stopped dabbing at Lucia’s eyes, bright sunlight streamed through the windows and the room was no longer dim. Lucia could see every wrinkle, every sweat pore on the old woman’s face, every dust particle floating in the air. It was as if she was looking through a magnifying glass. This is stupid, she thought. They have tricked me with some kind of drug.

  Confused, she glanced at Baker. He cocked his head to the side and mouthed, “What?” She shrugged. How could she explain something that was impossible.

  When she turned back to look at the old woman, the cloth had disappeared, replaced by a long white feather.

  Once again, the old woman addressed her. “In your grief, you are deaf to the cries of the people who need you, deaf to the gurgle of water flowing, of flowers growing, of friends laughing. With this feather, I will dust the dirt from your ears so you may hear again.”

  The old woman leaned in close and brushed the feather gently against one and then the other of Lucia’s ears. It tickled and Lucia resisted the urge to reach up and push it away.

  “Satahónhsate' kenh?”

  Startled, Lucia twisted in her seat and stared in the direction the voice had come from. She saw a woman at the farthest end of the room whispering into the ear of a teenage boy sitting beside her.

  “She is asking him if he is paying attention,” the old woman said to Lucia.

  They were over fifty feet away. It was impossible. Lucia spun back around in her seat and scowled at the old woman. “How am I able to hear them talk?”

  “Your ears have been emptied of all the sounds that do not matter,” the old woman answered. She stuck the feather back in her shirt pocket, removed a small glass jar half-full of liquid from the deerskin bag and unscrewed the lid.