Asin’s hole is similar to Adik’s. Similar but also different. Centuries ago, Adik had family. Herd. They had land, culture, endless song. They had language. They had all the essentials of living one’s best life. Now all that is gone and Adik lives in the realm of a dangerous loneliness, where every connection is only a little bit right, and none is effortless. They are never really seen. There is nothing Ninaatig can do to alleviate this reality. Not a single thing. It is just something Adik lives alongside.
Adik’s favourite place is Kinomagewapkong. There are adikwag carvings. There is the sound of Akiwenzii’s gneiss hammer. There are the five-lined skinks. Ninaatig likes to visit Kinomagewapkong too, and in the summer, they go every night with Adik to help Akiwenzii sleep.
Adik
Adik walks over to Kinomagewapkong at night to check in on Akiwenzii. The water in McGinnis Lake tastes like water, for one thing, and Adik is a worrier. They are not sure what this old man is doing sleeping on the rock every night, and getting so little sleep at that. Adik circles Akiwenzii four times, licks their cheek and then heads back to the Don Valley. Worst-case scenario, Adik thinks, is that Akiwenzii dies here — and what a spectacular place to change existence.
Adik and Akiwenzii have been together forever. Adik remembers the day Akiwenzii was born in the bush on the reserve with an old kookum who served as both the midwife and the undertaker. They remember the songs for when Akiwenzii was in the birth canal. They remember the songs for when Akiwenzii came through the doorway. They remember the feast and the thanksgivings for this new life.
Adik didn’t spend a lot of time with Akiwenzii until Akiwenzii was supposed to be in school. That’s when Adik saw opportunity, and they regularly busted him out and took him into the bush to hang out with them and Sabe, and sometimes even Ninaatig. Akiwenzii was not difficult to lure out of school and into the bush. They did that all on their own anyway. Adik just made sure they were safe from all forms of kid-snatchers. They made sure the bush was like a hug. They made sure Akiwenzii was fed well.
In the spring, Adik, Akiwenzii and Sabe ate duck and turtle eggs. In the summer, they picked buckets full of berries, tended the garden and fished. In the fall, they were the busiest. They riced. They harvested the garden and cached it away for later. They hunted ducks and geese. They hunted deer and moose, dried meat and tanned hides. In the winter — well, in the winter, they told stories, sewed, drank buckets full of tea, fished through the ice and then told more stories. Then they repeated the pattern.
Adik and Sabe also taught Akiwenzii about old-time ceremony, and when they did this, they went north, deep into the bush, well out of reach of anyone. They built lodges, fasted, sweat, prayed and sang.
It was never perfect, but it was always good enough.
Mindimooyenh
Mindimooyenh has one app on their phone and it is Al Jazeera. Their notifications are turned on for Palestine. They dream of a Jayco trailer houseboat. They dream of driving their Jayco house trailer boat all the way to Palestine with the flotilla to resist the idea that this situation is complicated, that there are two sides, that there is no way to help.
Mindimooyenh
Mindimooyenh dreams of a houseboat. More of a floating dock than a boat, more of a trailer than a house, but a trailer houseboat with a brand-new Evinrude all the same.
Mindimooyenh
Mindimooyenh keeps their special things zippered into their front pocket:
fishing line and a needle
baggie full of assorted buttons
nail clippers
Mindimooyenh
Mindimooyenh says: “The Palestinian people are our cherished relatives.”
Mindimooyenh
They say “cherished” as if it were a ritual.
Akiwenzii
After a week of carving, Akiwenzii makes “(C2” appear on the rock face using their gneiss hammer. Akiwenzii misses Adik.
Akiwenzii
Akiwenzii lies down with their head on one of the deep crevices. They wake up at 11:55 p.m., hardly enough sleep, but just enough time to carve. After two weeks of carving, “(C2H” is embedded onto the rock face. They use a gneiss hammer. Akiwenzii misses Sabe. They try to remember the last time they saw that old one.
Akiwenzii
Akiwenzii is wondering when someone is going to notice that they are carving on the rocks at Kinomagewapkong. They have been sneaking back almost every night all summer and while their modifications on the rock are tiny, they would have thought someone would have noticed something by now. Not that they are upset by this. They don’t need to get charged for defacing a sacred site. They don’t need to try and explain that one can’t just look at or preserve a sacred site. That if the sacredness is to be maintained, Nishnaabeg have to continue the relationship. Fast. Pray. Sing. Carve. You cannot just ignore something and expect it to still be there for you when you need it.
FIVE
AMPLIFICATION
Adik
Adik’s favourite sound is ten thousand hooves hitting the ice. Imagine. You can’t even.
Adik
Adik was sitting on the east side of Rosedale Valley Road during rush hour when a Mercedes loaded with zhaganash family was driving by at a snail’s pace because of the traffic. Adik could tell that things were not good in the back seat by the lightning bolts coming out of that region of the car, and just as Mom accelerated, the five-year-old zhaganash rolled down their window and threw their aqua-blue Fjällräven Kånken mini-backpack out the window. It landed at Adik’s feet.
Adik
The backpack was rectangular. Cheap on the straps. Could maybe get $40 on Kijiji for it.
Inside the Kånken was a nursery school painting on newsprint of who knows what in primary blue and primary red, folded into quarters. Ish. Five rocks and a piece of asphalt. A gull feather. An uneaten package of MadeGood granola balls — banana flavour. Adik ate those, unfolded the painting and hung it inside Sabe’s plastic water bottle lodge and threw the rocks and asphalt into the bush.
Adik
Adik did not know a lot about backpacks but they did know that this one carried a certain ethic and status with it, even though the straps were cheap.
Adik
Adik loosened the straps all the way and tried it on, because why not.
They kept it on for the rest of the day, because why not.
They decided to keep it, because it was a gift, and one should keep gifts.
Adik
After the fourth day of wearing the backpack, Adik moved their special things into it:
exhibition catalogue to Jeneen Frei Njootli’s I can’t make you those mitts because there is a hole in my heart and my hands hurt
tin of spruce gum balm for their hooves
voice recorder
Adik
Adik records the sound of the bush as Ninaatig pushes their shopping cart towards them.
Adik
Adik’s hooves are always sore. Always. It is because they are designed for moss, earth and snow and all there is now is concrete and asphalt. When Adik is at Akiwenzii’s cabin, Akiwenzii lets Adik use Dr-Ho’s Circulation Promoter and wow that thing is worth its weight in gold. The rest of the time, Adik rubs spruce gum balm into the cracks and hopes for the best.
Akiwenzii always says, “Take it! You need it more than me!”
But Adik never does. It won’t fit into their backpack for one thing and where would they get thirty-eight AAA batteries anyway. Plus it’s a nice part of visiting Akiwenzii, something to look forward to doing. Looking forward to things is important.
Adik does record the sound of the foot massages and the sounds of relief Akiwenzii makes when they are using said massager.
Adik
Adik stops into Artspace in Nogojiwanong on their way back from Kinomagewapkong to see Jeneen Frei Njootli’s exhibition. Adik had been there for the installation because how
could they miss that really, but the best part was the opening, because Frei Njootli had invited the Porcupine caribou herd to attend with her. And wow wow wow. Here Adik was, in their own territory, dancing to Frei Njootli’s sounds with the only living relatives they had ever known, while all the humans stood around acting impressed and dumbfounded or whatever they did when they attended arts shows not really made for them at all. The installation is called I can’t make you those mitts because there is a hole in my heart and my hands hurt. They sure made mitts that night, though.
Adik shelled out the $20 to get the catalogue with essays by Olivia Whetung in it that Adik promised themselves they would read later, mostly so they’d have a physical reminder of the dancing. They put the catalogue carefully in their Kånken backpack for later. Adik wishes Jeneen could see them. They wish Jeneen could see them and would take them home to the Gwich’in, who would know just what to do.
Adik took the adikwag up to Kinomagewapkong after the opening was over. They wanted to show them their bush, and the carvings of the caribou on the rock. Adik wanted to repay them for the purity of the early evening, and this was the only way they thought to do it.
Akiwenzii was there sleeping.
Adik
The main thing Adik wants to do with the adikwag at Kinomagewapkong is to record the sound of their hooves on the rock. They set up the recorder and give Akiwenzii a kick so that they roll over, stop snoring and ruining the recording. Then the adikwag just walk in a sunwise direction around the rock, and Adik records.
It is like adding a drummer to the band.
Adik
Adik likes to keep on the move, even though that is no longer easy in Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg territory. They take the ferry over to the island with the tourists in the summer. They wander up to the Rouge Valley to visit the moist, and sometimes they stroll out into Tommy Thompson Park with Ninaatig. Ninaatig has a project by the name of Asin in the park, and they like to check on the kid. They have a real thing for birds.
Every ziigwan, Adik spends time with Lucy and Sabe tapping trees at Akiwenzii’s. This past year was the fourth season in a row, and for the most part it was just the three of them. Lucy with the drill and then the ATV, collecting the buckets of sap. Sabe on fire. Adik and Lucy taking turns watching the boil. Adik liked the rhythm of it, the busy. They liked being with Sabe and Lucy for long hours with a common goal. They liked the warmth of the sugar shack and the sweet smell of Ninaatigoog.
It is the only time of the year when Adik’s hooves stop hurting.
At least one of the nights when Adik, Lucy and Sabe are boiling during the day, Adik walks up to the gorge on the Crowe River. The gorge is magnificent, and it is where some very skilled and knowledgeable water creatures live. Adik isn’t there to see them, though. Adik is there to record the sound of water carving out rock. Adik is there to record the language of the past talking to the present. Adik is there to record the sound of hope.
Adik bought the Sony UX Series Digital Voice Recorder in Black from Best Buy. The recorder is rechargeable, and so Adik makes sure they plug it in at Akiwenzii’s house, and that keeps their visits to Akiwenzii regular. The recorder records for 159 hours.
Adik’s plan is to record the gorge for twelve hours. They move down to the flat rock closest to the river, set up the recorder, press record and then fall asleep.
Adik
Adik heads up to Kinomagewapkong at dusk. They tie a string to the voice recorder, press play and lower it between the sides of the big crevice. Adik smiles. Tonight when Akiwenzii lies down and puts their ear to the rock, things will be as right as they can be — just like before the zhaganash built the building and choked off the creek. Akiwenzii will hear the water. Akiwenzii will hear the world.
Sabe
At dusk, after a day in the city, Sabe rides their bike to Tommy Thompson Park. They are not watching the birds, though. They watch this oddball kid who is obsessed with birds — a boreal owl in the winter, and in the summer, any one of the fifty nesting species in the park. The kid has a deep red glow about them, like an ancestor stone when they are about to come out of the fire and into the lodge. Asin is an odd duck to be sure. They have all the usual equipment — phone, bird books, notebooks, but they don’t do any of the same things the other birders do, and this is why Sabe is drawn to them. They sort of just sit and feel. Sometimes, late at night, they build the tiniest of fires and fall asleep. This is when Sabe shows up to rub Asin’s back.
Akiwenzii
The next night, Akiwenzii lies down with their head on one of the deep crevices. They wake up at 11:55 p.m., hardly enough sleep, but just enough time to carve. After four weeks, “(C2H4” is embedded onto the rock face. Akiwenzii misses Ninaatig. They try to think of the last time they saw that old one.
Akiwenzii
That final night, they wake up at 11:55 p.m., hardly enough sleep, but just enough time to finish carving “(C2H4)n” into the rock face using their gneiss hammer.
Sabe and Adik arrive to witness.
Sabe brings Akiwenzii’s special things from the glove compartment of their truck:
claw of an eagle wrapped in red cloth
flint and steel
hunting knife
Lucy
Sometimes Lucy and Akiwenzii set up a practice target outside the sugar shack. One time it was an old door. Akiwenzii drew a target on the door with a Sharpie and Lucy attempted to shoot at it. Lucy needs more practice than Akiwenzii can provide, mainly because the wasting of ammunition is driving Akiwenzii bonkers. Lucy can unload thirty shots and hit the circle once or twice. In Akiwenzii’s day, that would be thirty deer, not one tiny paint chip in an old door. They think about going to a gun range. Akiwenzii thinks that’s dangerous and ridiculous and after the Possession and Acquisition Licence course, they highly doubt Sabe will accompany them. So, it’s back to the door.
Akiwenzii thinks screens have ruined Lucy’s eyes and that this entire generation is hopeless. They put that in their do-not-say bin. Not that Lucy could hear anyway, because they are wearing hearing protection so the sound doesn’t cause their body to involuntarily jump in fear.
Akiwenzii does not know how one can possibly hunt if one can’t hear the animal coming. They put that in their do-not-say bin too.
Lucy
To be honest, Lucy isn’t looking forward to the processing of the deer, to facing the death they caused. The gutting and quartering is going to be real. Too real. Blood. Guts. Smell. Plus hide-tanning requires a very old kind of patience and work ethic Lucy isn’t sure they possess. It is a very concentrated kinetics where one doesn’t move across the land, but one still travels a great distance, they presume.
Lucy
Lucy is just waking up on the fourth day when Asin arrives with the blanket. They have only a tiny bit more of stitching on the border to do and then the thing is done. Asin had enough sense to bring food and water, and when they see the fire, they are overtaken with exhaustion. Lucy does the stitching. Asin falls asleep by the fire. The blanket is beautiful, all done in purples, reds and blues. The stars made out of tarp are Lucy’s favourite part.
Lucy
Several hours pass and Lucy completes the border of the blanket while Asin sleeps. After they finish the final stitch, the final knot and the final cut of thread with the scissors, Lucy puts the blanket down and looks up. There, not thirty feet away, is Waawaashkeshi, just standing and looking at Lucy.
Lucy looks back.
Waawaashkeshi lies down, still looking.
Lucy raises their 386 and fires, the bullet whistling through the air and hitting nothing.
Waawaashkeshi doesn’t move, still looking.
Lucy fires again. The hemorrhaging begins.
Asin wakes up.
SIX
RECONFIGURATION
Mindimooyenh
Mindimooyenh is sitting on the cement wall at the edg
e of the canal watching teenagers jump off the old railroad bridge into the water. It looks dangerous. It is dangerous. But a sort of wholesome danger for teenagers these days, they think. They have to watch for cabin cruisers going through the lock and kayakers and canoeists.
Canoeists means white people in canoes. This is different than canoers, at least for Mindimooyenh, because they can remember when canoeing wasn’t a thing, it was simply a means to an end. If you got there in an efficient way, you were fine. Over the course of your life you became good at it or you became dead at it. There were no personal floatation devices, or expensive paddles or whistles or Tilley hats. There were no badges or levels. It wasn’t an exercise in choreography.
Today, the canoeists are moving through the canal in choreography, stopping, twirling, manoeuvring sideways with precision. Going nowhere fast, Mindimooyenh thinks.
Mindimooyenh is at the canal waiting for the sun to set. On nights like this, in the peak of summer, it takes forever. Within an hour of losing light, the canal becomes quiet and Mindimooyenh can sneak down to the rowing dock and fall asleep. They can only sleep for more than two hours on the water. The Jayco trailer houseboat will really solve a lot of problems.
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