“Harold, your grampa, was my teacher. Picked me outta all the boys on the reserve. Said I had smarts and courage. I run away from the residential school they sent me to and came back here. I was about ten. He liked it that I wouldn’t let them take me away from here. He was a young man then. ’Bout maybe forty-five. So he’d bring me out here on nights like this, make tea an’ we’d sit by this fire an’ he’d tell me all about the old Midewewin. Talk about the old ways. Told me stories, legends, all kindsa things I never heard before.
“Daytime he took me for walks. Showed me plants and animals. Told me their old names an’ what kinda things they could do for the people. Introduced me to all of it for the first time. The world, I mean. While the other boys were out playin’, huntin’ and fishin’ I was out in the bush with the old man. Learned about bear medicine, deer medicine, all the songs for all the animals. He was my friend.”
“Did he teach you to be a Midewewin?”
“No,” Keeper said a little sadly, “no. I walked away. I walked away. Felt like I was missin’ out on somethin’ big not bein’ with my friends so I walked away. Didn’t learn enough to be a real teacher.
“But all that knowledge was inside me. Ev’rythin’ he gave me, all the things he taught me, ev’rythin’ he put inside me stayed right there. Didn’t go away. All the time I was runnin’ around with my friends it didn’t go away. I’d be looking at somethin’ an’ remember what it was called by the old people and what it was used for. Wanted it all to go away but it didn’t.
“Got older. Still wouldn’t go away. I learned too much too deep. Every time I’d see him around I’d try’n go the other way. But him he always had a waya meetin’ my eyes. Never said nothin’ all that time but his eyes spoke lots. Drilled right into me. I knew what he was tryin’ to tell me but me, I didn’t wanna hear it. All I wanted was my friends. All the parties, the adventures, all the stories. When he died I was drinkin’ it up with your uncle Buddy. When we heard we got even drunker. Least, I did. Was your ma finally told me about me bein’ the drum keeper. I knew some of it. Learned it before I walked away on accounta I think he was trainin’ me for it but I didn’t know the whole thing.
“In our way we believe that the drum holds the heartbeat of the people. The songs you sing with it are very sacred. Nothin’ to be played around with. When you sing you’re joinin’ the heartbeat of the people with the heartbeat of the universe. It’s a blessing. You’re blessing the land and the water and the air with the pure, clear spirit of the people. In return you’re gettin’ big blessings from the land. Food, shelter, water. It’s a big thing you do when you sing with the drum. The keeper of the drum’s one who’s learned the prayer songs like the old man taught me. Knows how to give blessings. So the keeper’s gotta be one who lives life in a good way. Pure, clean way. Keep the drum pure, heartbeat of the people pure and strong, and me I knew this.
“Pretty soon I was feelin’ real guilty. Like a traitor. Knew there was no way I could shake off responsibility for the drum an’ I knew how important it was for the people but I felt too guilty over walkin’ away an’ not learnin’ the rest of it. Didn’t think I was worthy no more and bein’ drunk started to feel better.
“Reason they all started to callin’ me Keeper was on accounta I’d be all drunk an’ cryin’ about your grampa an’ I’d try an’ tell ’em I was the keeper of the drum. They just laughed. Don’t blame ’em, really, but it still felt like a big knife in the belly. They laughed and started callin’ me Keeper as a big joke.
“Couldn’t sober up ’cause I figured it was too late. Thought I was unworthy an’ after a long time I was too guilty, too scared an’ then just too damn drunk to care. Too damn drunk to care.
“But one day I got tired. Tired of the guilt, tired of bein’ drunk, sick, bein’ all dried up inside. So I went an’ talked with your ma and went away.
“Thought about you when I got back. Remembered you coming here that first day, lookin’ all strange, smelly kinda. Watched you tryin’ to move around here. Tryin’ to find yourself. Saw you tryin’ real hard to be Indyun. Kinda reminded me of me. Not as cute maybe, but me anyway.”
He looked away, a distant, vacant stare that he held for a long time, beating his pipe against his leg slow and regular like the drum he was holding in his lap. We could hear the loons calling out to each other across the lake, and when he looked over at me again he was smiling.
“Let’s go back out,” he said, getting up slowly and lifting an old sweater from a hook by the door. “Sure were a funny-lookin’ thing when you stepped into your brother’s cabin that day. Heh, heh, heh.”
We settled ourselves on a rough-hewn bench by the door. Both of us gazed upward almost automatically at the stars that were shining like little chips of ice and a big orange moon that was just starting to rise in the east.
“Hey-yuh. Funniest-lookin’ thing I seen in years. But, important thing is you’re home. Gone long time, you. Learned diff’rent ways. Ways that stick on you, make you move an’ behave diff’rent, look diff’rent even though you’re one of us. A Raven. Anishanabe. White Dog Indyun. But you, you need a guide right now. Someone to help you find your way around. Help you learn to see things Indyun instead of white … or black even. Heh, heh heh. An’ me, well, I need someone to help me too.”
“Help you? Help you what?”
“Hmmpfh. Been gone long time myself. Could use a good guide too. See, you’n me got a lot in common. Lotsa things the same. You, you’re tryin’ to learn to fit in, tryin’ to be at home here, tryin’ to win back all them years got stolen on you. Me, same thing. Got a lotta years to win back.
“Takes lotta courage to come back here. Brave boy, you. An’ I can tell you got smarts by the way you’re always watchin’ things go on around you. Never say nothin’, just watchin’. Learnin’. Tryin’ to see with diff’rent eyes. S’good. Lot of us we try ’n tell each other how much we know about things, how much Indyun we are, but all the time we’re scared inside on accounta we know we don’t know much. So we use our mouth to hide our real feelin’s, our lacka knowin’. Not you. Learned lots already by bein’ silent. S’good.
“Kinda like me when your grampa took me up here. Said I had courage an’ smarts too. And we’re the same now as men. Both of us lookin’ to find our way back, both tryin’ to win back some time got taken away. You, you need someone to teach you about your own people. An’ me, me I kinda need to pay back a debt. Need to give back what the old man gave me. Need to become the drum keeper he wanted me to be. Find another teacher around to keep on learnin’ and need to pass on whatever I learn.
“So I wanna spend time with you. Nothin’ big. Just walkin’ round talkin’, lookin’ at things. You got questions you ask an’ I’ll try an’ answer. That way we both help each other find ourselves. Kinda be each other’s guides. Sound good?”
Now it was my turn to stare away across the bay and up towards the sky. That was the first time I ever realized why those old Indian people did that so much. Staring away across the universe like that started all kinds of things tumbling through my mind. Things like that sandbox and a little red truck with one wheel missing and all the times I’d heard someone tell me “You can call me Mom” or “This is your home now” and wondering which one of the dozen or so really was or if home or Mom was something I’d ever really have. The feeling of searching for something but never knowing what and the anger that smolders away so deep inside you that you never really think it’s there but that keeps you moving and searching anyway. I thought about being tourists in this life and how an old man, a moon across the water, the sound of loons and the smell of trees can suddenly feel like something you’ve worn around forever like an old pair of moccasins, all loose and comfortable.
“Yeah,” I said finally with Keeper smiling away at me with his eyes. “Yeah. That sounds good. Real good. When can we start?”
“Soon as that moon goes down behind them trees over there an’ we see the first light in the east. It’s cal
led Beedahbun. First light. We’ll burn some cedar, smudge ourselves with the smoke, say a little prayer. Then I’ll sing the morning song the old man taught me on this drum. After that we walk back to the townsite an’ you make the old man breakfast, ham’n eggs, old style, lotsa bread with lard, tea. Good way to start.”
We sat in silence the rest of that long night. An old man and me. Keeper’n me. Watching that moon working its way across the sky, watching its reflection in the water, both of us thinking about the mystery of things and wondering where that mystery might lead us. It was a deep, comfortable silence.
“Ever slow, that moon, eh?” he said finally, and we laughed.
Talk about sweetgrass or smokin’ the pipe to some people and they think us Indyuns are gettin’ high all the time. Heh, heh, heh. Don’t know why that is. Seen this show on TV one time in Winnipeg had this priest walkin’ down the aisle in church wavin’ a big smokin’ pot on a chain. Wavin’ it all around. Smoke ev’rywhere. Garnet said that partic’lar church was into the incense. Hmmpfh. Me I thought incense was somethin’ bad you done with your own fam’ly. Glad the boy straightened me out there. Heh, heh, heh.
Anyway, what I was meanin’ to say is, them missionaries when they came here saw all these Indyuns ev’rywhere prayin’ real strange. Strange to them anyway. Had big pipes they were passin’ aroun’ and sittin’ there passin’ smoke over themselves offa burnin’ grass, moss and partsa trees. Some were goin’ into sweat lodges. Prob’ly looked like little smokin’ tents to them missionaries. Guess they couldn’t figure out what was goin’ on so they decided we all needed helpin’ in a big way. Called us savages, heathens, pagans. Said we needed direction. Said our way of prayin’ was wrong.
See, them they came ashore with what they called The Great Book of Truth. Us we never knew truth to be somethin’ had to be spelled out. Always figured was somethin’ we each carried around inside. True human bein’s got that. Truth inside. You see it in the way they move around the world. Always kind, respectful, honest. That kinda way. You learn that from watchin’ nature. The world’ll teach you everything if you look long enough. Natchrel laws true for everything. Anyways, they come here with their Great Book, lookin’ strange at our ways, not takin’ time to learn about it, not askin’ for a guide, judgin’. Guess when your truth’s all spelled out for you you got no need to learn no more. I don’t know.
But they seen all these Indyuns prayin’ and singin’ strange. Had pity on us. Hmmpfh. We pray lots. Least the ones who still try to follow the teachin’s pray lots. Lots don’t but its the same with ev’ryone, not just Indyuns I guess. Go anywhere you see it. Lotsa people come around to our pow-wows and them they always start with a prayer. Takes long time. Gotta be grateful for lotsa things, thank the Creator for all of it. Gotta ask for strength an’ direction to learn howta live through lotsa things. Takes long time. Them they get all shifty-footed, embarrassed. Guess they figure anyone gotta pray so long needs lotsa help. Same with them missionaries. So they brought out The Great Book of Truth, told us that all we hadta do was believe in the Great Book and all the problems of the world would disappear.
Get on your knees an’ pray, they said. So those Indyuns back then they got on their knees outta respect for their visitors’ ways. Us we do that. And they prayed and they prayed and they prayed. Prayed long time with their heads all bowed down to this strange higher power lived in a book. Prayed an’ prayed an’ prayed. Wanted all their problems to disappear. When they looked up from all that prayin’ they discovered all their land was gone. Up to then us Indyuns never figured the land was a problem but accordin’ to the Great Book it musta been on accounta it was the first thing to disappear. Salvation and real estate been workin’ hand in hand ever since that time. Heh, heh, heh. Sorry. Don’t mind me. Get goin’ kinda always wanna throw in a funny. Heh, heh, heh.
But’s true. Seen us prayin’ strange and got fulla fear about it. Not their fault. Us we’re all the same, us humans. See somethin’ we don’t understand we get scared. Fear. If you fear somethin’ long enough you get to feelin’ you gotta control it, destroy it, change it. Better in the long run to take time to understand but don’t work that way in the world lots. Fear done lots to make up hist’ry. Other people’s fear pretty much made up us Indyuns’ hist’ry anyway.
Never was nothin’ to be scareda. Us we always wanna share our way with those that want it. Welcome everyone. Even pow-wows got them inter-tribunal dances meant for ev’ryone. Ev’ryone from every tribe of man. Dance together, celebrate the power of the Earth, heal each other, dance and make up one big circle. Like the universe. So if they had asked us, we woulda told ’em what we were doin’. And all we were doin’ was prayin’. Prayin’s a good thing. People who pray are gonna be happy and happy people, well, they ain’t likely to hurt each other.
That smoke I was talkin’ about is where our truth is. We light up our prayer things every day on accounta our truth is gonna be different each day. So we smudge ourselves in smoke each day to help us face that day’s truth an’ to remind us of the one great truth same for ev’ryone. That us we need help. Us humans, Indyun or not. So we pray an’ ask for help. And the smoke carries our earthly thoughts to the spirit world. Watch smoke sometime. Curls around an’ around and pretty soon disappears right in fronta your eyes. Like prayer. It’s real while you do it but when you’re done … it’s gone. Into that place we can’t see. But when you smudge you go walk around your world an’ get a whiffa that smoke sometime through the day, kinda reminds you that you prayed, asked for help. Keeps you thinkin’ an’ behavin’ in a good way. That’s what we were doin’, givin’ ourselves a reminder that it’s not our world an’ we gotta follow the rules. Be good to each other. Help each other. Thass all. You walk into someone’s house who’s smudgin’ an’ getta whiffa that smoke an’ you feel good all of a sudden. Comfortable, safe, happy. ’Cause it hits you in your center, your spirit, connects you to everything again.
Me’n the boy burned cedar that first mornin’. He di’n’ know what to thinka it all. Could see the doubt in his eyes, way his hands shook around some. Us we take that cedar, the leafy part from the branches, kinda roll it together in a little pile and light it with a wooden match. Outside we use the end of a burnin’ stick or log an’ put the cedar on there to get it goin’. Anyways, once it gets to smoldering we pass some of that smoke over our head, heart and body. It’s a purifyin’ thing. Meant to purify our body, heart and mind on accounta it’s the place the Creator gave us to live. His temple, I guess you could say. So we use that smoke to purify that temple. Make us ready to live the right way, think the right way, feel the right way. That’s what it’s about. When I told him all what I just said he started to understand more. Felt like he was more a parta us here after. Found a big parta himself that was gone a long time. I know how that feels. See, when you’re prayin’ you’re comin’ outta your center. And when you’re done and you’re walkin’ around in the world you’re operatin’ from that center still. From that truth. Man who faces his own truth each day is gonna be humble, kind, respectful, on accounta he knows he hadta ask for help just to get through the day.
When I was out there drinkin’ I wasn’t operatin’ from no center. Anything that takes you away from your center is your enemy. Booze, even negative thinkin’ an’ behavin’, takes you away from it, the place where your truth lives. Robs your spirit from you. Starts you livin’ opposite to yourself. Livin’ pretty soon outta your head insteada your heart. Old man told me one time he said, the head got no answers and the heart got no questions. Human bein’ livin’ by the heart’s gonna live a good way. One livin’ by the head’s gonna come lookin’ for a guide before too long lead ’em back where they oughta be. Good man, that Harold.
Spent lotta years out there lost and wanderin’ around. Just like the boy. That’s why I like him so much. Gotta lotta me in him and me, I got lotsa him too. Burnin’ that cedar joined me up to my center again. Got started in the clinic I went to. Was hard. Hardest thing I
ever done. I was real sick for about three weeks on accounta all the booze from all those years was comin’ outta me. Kinda snakes outta you in sweat an’ fear and tremblin’. But the sickness went away after a while an’ there was just this big hollow feelin’ in my belly. Mind kinda cleared up too but that hollow feelin’ wouldn’t go away. Made me afraid. Made me wanna run, go have a drink, feel that burnin’ in my belly insteada hollow. Told one of them counselors one day an’ she took me into her office, put a blanket on the floor, laid out a bowl and cedar. Lit it up an’ said a prayer for both of us on accounta I was too ashamed an’ scared to say one for myself. Then she smudged me with that cedar. The smell hit something deep inside me I hadn’t felt in a long, long time an’ I cried real deep an’ long. Cried for Harold, cried for my shame, my fear, all them years. When I was done that hollow feelin’ was gone. Counselor told me it was on accounta I was back in my center an’ the hollow feelin’ was the big empty that happens when we decide not to live outta there no more. It’s a natchrel thing for us humans to wanna be livin’ outta there an’ when we’re not it’s a natchrel thing to have a yearnin’ for it. But us drunks we learn to think that booze gonna not make us feel that yearnin’, that ache, that hollowness. It does for a while but comes a time when even the booze turns its back on you an’ won’t make it go away. Then you drink to just disappear an’ me I disappeared for a long, long time. Was cedar brought me back.
Had to fight though. All them years of drinkin’ make you pretty stubborn inside and that big empty come back day after day. But me, I started to remember what that old man gave me an’ I kept on smudgin’ an’ smudgin’, prayin’ an’ prayin’ and pretty soon one day I was goin’ to sleep an’ I realized I never felt that hollow all day. Slept good. Dreamed lots an’ remembered ’em next day. Stayed extra time at the clinic on accounta I didn’t wanna go back to the bottle an’ I wanted to be strong enough to come home an’ stay that way. Pretty good. Bin five years now, so me’n the boy been home about same time, really. Home with ourselves, I mean.
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