The chief bowed his head, a little, and then he looked at me. ‘We will help you dig the grave and I will perform the ceremony, if that is what you want. But make no mistake they will exhume the body when they find out.’
‘His spirit will be gone by then,’ said the Rat. ‘So it won’t matter.’
‘True,’ said the chief.
‘We have to put Dad in his suit,’ said the Rat. ‘And he has to be wrapped in the rug. He always liked that rug. Mom bought it in Paris.’
‘I’ll help you,’ said Running Elk.
Me and Little Joe followed the chief outside and we walked down to the prairie garden. Without so much as a word the chief took off his jacket and picked up a spade. Me and Joe did likewise and we began to dig. The ground was soft but it was hard work all the same. My hands ached with gripping the spade and I was soon breathing heavily. Me and Joe took turns in taking a break but the chief, old as he was, was big and strong and he worked without stopping. Within an hour he had the grave dug and, climbing out of the hole, he put on his jacket. ‘Let’s collect the body,’ he said.
My father was no longer my father, he was the body.
When we entered the living room the furniture had been pulled back off the rug.
‘Grandfather, can you bring him in?’ asked Running Elk.
The chief looked at me to see if I wanted to help but I looked out the window. When they brought Dad in the room I carried on looking out of the window. I could hear them straightening his legs and pushing the rug over him. I watched Little Joe go outside. He took a drum and a tambourine from the jeep. Then I heard his footsteps coming back into the house.
‘Would you like to look at him, Bob?’ asked the chief. ‘Before we … ’
I shook my head.
‘He looks OK, Bob,’ said the Rat. ‘He even looks happy.’
But I couldn’t look at him and so they tied him up with some cord.
‘When you’re ready, Bob,’ said the chief.
When I turned around they were waiting for me. I stood next to Little Joe at the front of the rolled-up rug and we picked him up. Running Elk and the chief took the back while Harold and Mary White Cloud followed behind. The Rat put on her sunglasses and holding the large silver crucifix she had taken from the mantelpiece, she led the procession.
No one spoke as we made our way out of the house to the grave. The only sound was our jeans rubbing together and our feet swishing in the grass. I couldn’t believe how little he weighed. With the four of us carrying him he weighed no more than a bag of shopping.
When we reached the garden, Running Elk and Little Joe put the instruments down and helped lower Dad into his grave. Then the chief stood at the front of the grave and we stood around it. He threw dust in the air and spoke in the old language so the ancestors would understand. Then he began to chant a song like the Indians in the old cowboy movies. The Rat, who knew all the old songs, could chant with the best of them and she sang along like a squaw. Running Elk and Little Joe joined in, beating the drum and shaking the tambourine. Mary White Cloud began to dance from side to side and we all did the same, except for Harold who shuffled on his crutches. I moved my feet as best I could, but my heart wasn’t in it. Unlike the Rat who danced like she was at a rave. When the chief stopped singing we fell silent. He nodded to the Rat who removed her sunglasses and took his place at the front of the grave.
‘Dear Lord, we ask you to look after our dad and allow his spirit to roam free and happy in the spirit world. He was a good dad who always looked after us, sang for us, and cooked for us.’ The Rat paused. ‘His pancakes were probably the best in Winnipeg, one might even say Canada, and his French toast was envied by all. Omelettes were another speciality and even though he couldn’t make mocha his regular coffee was pretty good.’ She paused again. ‘He cooked a great barbecue. His speciality was barbecued catfish, which he cooked with corn and roast potatoes. Duck was another favourite, as was his roast pig with his very own applesauce. We had it one Christmas time and I swear it was the best meal I ever had. Dad always made Christmas special. But it wasn’t just his big meals. Something simple like his oven-baked oatmeal raisin cookies could brighten the day. And whenever I was feeling down he would make me a special sandwich, and straight away I felt better. And that was another speciality: making you feel better.’
The Rat continued until the cookery book of Dad’s life was complete and then she finished with an Amen.
‘Well done, Marie Claire,’ said Harold.
The Rat looked pleased with herself. ‘Would you like to say something, Bob?’
I shook my head. I just couldn’t. She dropped a Purple Cone Flower into the grave and we began to fill it in. It felt strange burying my father on that sunny afternoon. He’d cooked us breakfast that very morning and now he was dead. Tears blurred my vision as I shovelled the soil over him. I couldn’t believe I wouldn’t see him again, but the grave was soon filled in. The Rat pushed the crucifix into the ground and we wandered away. It was over, just like that.
‘Give me your arm, Bobby,’ said Mary White Cloud.
I put my arm through hers and escorted her back to the house.
‘We all have to leave this earth someday. I know you are very sad, but you will see him again when it’s your turn.’
‘But I’m also worried about what will happen now, Mary. Little Rat said they’d put us in a home. She couldn’t handle being put in a home. She’s crazy and they’d try to make her normal.’
‘She only appears crazy because she does not behave like others.’
‘But she says strange things, Mary. She said Dad was going to die and it came true! And she says other things that come true.’
‘We can all see the future from time to time. But the truth is that Marie Claire is a very special child. She’s received a great gift from the Great Spirit. But even if she wasn’t gifted she is still a precious being and you should guard her with your life.’
I looked at the Rat who walked on ahead of us. She was talking to Harold about the play. ‘She’s not even bothered that he’s dead!’
Mary stopped me. ‘That’s not true, Bobby. Of course she’s bothered! But with her insight she can see that death is only the beginning. And so she’s happy for him. And if you could see what she sees, you would be happy for him too.’
But I couldn’t see what she sees and I might not believe it if I did. Because even though I pray sometimes, and I try to believe in God, I’m not sure if I do. And I found it so hard to believe in an afterlife. It just didn’t seem real. People floating around on clouds and being happy for eternity. It was like believing in fairies and Father Christmas. It would be nice if it were true but I doubt it was.
When we got back to the house Running Elk and the Rat served us coffee, sandwiches, and the last apple pie that Dad ever made. And for the first time they seemed to get along. And I was glad Mary and the chief were there. It’s good to have your friends around you when something like this happens. And they were wise. It’s good to have wise friends.
Later we made our way on to the porch and watched the sunset.
‘It was a nice service, Bob,’ said Harold sitting down next to the Rat. ‘And I’m sure he’s in a better place.’
‘Thanks, Harold.’
‘If anyone’s going to a better place it’s your father,’ said Running Elk. ‘He was a good man. I liked him a lot.’
The Rat looked at Running Elk. ‘You liked our dad?’
Running Elk rolled her eyes. ‘And you’re supposed to be gifted.’
It was even nice to have Running Elk there. She was never friendly but I felt she was a true friend. And I was sure that one day her and the Rat would be the best of friends. One day.
When it was dark the chief built a blazing fire. Bringing out some chairs, we sat around it. Then, in the voice of a time-served storyteller, he told us many a Native legend. Legends you could not find in storybooks, but which had been passed down from a time before white people came to
the Americas. They all had a moral about death and the afterlife and I found them comforting to listen to. Even the crackling fire made me feel better. Maybe that’s why they built it. I watched the orange sparks float up into the night sky. They made me think of tiny spirits on their way to heaven. Who knows? Maybe it is true.
When the chief had finished we cooked deer meat, which we ate with rice and bread. Then Mary talked about Dad’s life before we were born, or too young to remember. She told us about the first time he drove a combine harvester, and how it ended up in a ditch. She told us how he bought a car to drive to Montreal, when he was accepted into university, and how it never made it out of Winnipeg. She told us that, for many years, he had been the most successful farmer around. And that much of the harvest was donated to the poorer reservations. The chief confirmed this. Even Running Elk could remember the old folks talking about his kindness. I felt sad listening to his old friends talk about him with such affection, but I also felt happy and proud. He wasn’t just a good dad, he was a great man as well.
Running Elk and the Rat served us more coffee and we drank it while looking at the stars. It was a nice evening and I enjoyed sitting outside. Harold insisted on helping the Rat do the dishes and when they returned Mary White Cloud sat up in her rocking chair. It was time to discuss what would happen.
‘You know your father was proud of you, kids. And you always did him proud. You were the only thing that kept him going after your mother died.’
‘What are we going to do, Mary?’ I asked.
She sat forward, her face glowing in the fire. ‘Maybe you could go to your uncle.’
‘We have an uncle?’ I said.
Even the Rat looked amazed.
‘Your father had a brother, a bad brother by all accounts, and his name was Jerome, Jerome DeBillier. And he still lives, as far as we know, in the city of New York.’
‘He’s the man in my dream!’ said the Rat.
‘Maybe,’ said Mary.
‘Was he really bad?’ I asked.
‘He had some hard bark on him, that’s for sure. He was twelve years younger than your father and twice his size. He went to sea at fifteen. Joined the French Foreign Legion at nineteen. When he came back he was always in some sort of trouble, fights and whatnot. There was even a rumour he’d killed a man in a bare-knuckle contest on the coast of Africa somewhere. He always had the ladies around him too. Every time I saw him he was with someone different. Your mother was in New York with him when she died in the car accident. Your father went there to bring home her body. When he returned he told us that Jerome had become a drug dealer and that he was responsible for your mother’s death. He told us never to mention his name again, not to him and not to you kids.’ She took a photograph from her bag and handed it to me. From the light of the fire I could see a portrait of a young, mean-looking man. He had a small scar on his right cheek, like the sickle of a quarter-moon, and his eyes were as black as his hair.
‘I can’t see any resemblance to Dad,’ I said and passed the Rat the picture.
‘I can!’ said the Rat. ‘That’s Dad’s brother all right!’
Mary looked at me. ‘I’ve known Jerome since he was a small boy. And, bad as he was, I believe he’d look after you.’
Chief White Cloud stood up and threw some logs on the fire.
‘What do you say, chief?’
‘I do not agree with Mother. Maybe you could live with foster-parents. We would take you in ourselves but I am too old to adopt, and now that my daughter is dead I have to take care of Little Joe and Running Elk.’
‘I’m not living with foster-parents and I’m not going in a home,’ said the Rat.
‘I was thinking we could ask the authorities to locate Jerome,’ said the chief. ‘But they would never let you live with him, not if he sold drugs for a living.’
‘We’ll go to New York and locate him ourselves,’ said the Rat. ‘And we’ll leave tomorrow. Right, Bob?’
When I looked at her she looked worried. I didn’t want to go in a home and I didn’t want to live with foster-parents, but I could if I had to. The Rat couldn’t. She needed space, at least twenty acres, to go crazy in.
‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ I said.
The Rat looked relieved. ‘Thanks, brother. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
‘Can you help, Chief?’
The chief made a grim face. ‘I have already broken the law by helping you bury your father. But, as Mother pointed out, the law is not always right. But I’m sorry, Bob, I can help you no further.’
‘We can get the train to Toronto and cross the border!’ said the Rat.
‘Two kids travelling alone on a train will look suspicious,’ said Running Elk. ‘And you’ll need money for the tickets.’
‘Freight trains leave every day for Toronto,’ said Harold. ‘I don’t like to think of you travelling in that manner, Marie Claire, but if you want me to I’ll—’
‘Of course!’ said the Rat. ‘Harold will put us on a freight train!’
Mary White Cloud rocked in her rocking chair. ‘I feel that someone in the spirit world watches over you, my little Marie Claire. And I believe that your destiny, like ours, was painted on the walls of caves long before you were born. And so, what will happen will happen. But I can’t help but feel that you are in danger.’
Chief White Cloud looked concerned. ‘On that I agree. You are only children. New York can be a dangerous place. You might not find Jerome. He might not want you if you did. For all we know he may no longer be living there.’
‘He’s there,’ said the Rat. ‘I can feel it!’
‘Wait a day or two,’ said the chief. ‘I will try to find a family to take you in.’
I could see that going hobo-style to New York appealed to the Rat’s sense of adventure. In her mind she was already on that train and I was on it with her. The chief’s words fell on deaf ears.
Chapter Five
When I woke the house was silent. No trumpet sounds blasted up the stairs. No crooning came from the kitchen. The smell of pancakes and coffee had been replaced by a fresh breeze. It even seemed cold in the house as though winter had come to Winnipeg overnight. I got dressed and, making my way downstairs, I entered the kitchen. Everything was wiped clean and bare. I stood there for a moment looking at the spot where we had found him and then, pushing open the screen door, I went outside. There I saw the Rat kicking a soccer ball in and out of the orange cones.
‘It’s exciting, isn’t it? We might meet celebrities! My acting career could take off!’ She blasted the ball into the back of the net and ran to retrieve it. ‘The others left early this morning and they took Harold with them. He said to be at the Symington Yards before midnight. That’s when the train leaves.’ She placed the ball at the beginning of the cones and started over. ‘We’ll have to take care in Toronto. It’s a dangerous city. And the people are a bit snobbish. But don’t worry about them. We’ll just be our pleasant selves and if they’re not nice to us we won’t speak to them.’ She came to the end of the cones and kicked the ball hard. She missed and it rolled off towards the garden.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Sure, Bob,’ she said looking slightly surprised. ‘But I haven’t had breakfast yet. Can you make me some pancakes, like the way Dad makes them?’
‘Dad’s dead, you know that, right?’
‘Of course, Bob. That’s why I’m asking you to make them.’
We went in the kitchen and I made her pancakes. She frowned at them at first, but she ate them quickly once she got started, and then she ran upstairs. ‘I’m going to get started on my packing.’
I didn’t like being left alone in the kitchen. It felt empty without the Old Man. But I filled up the sink and started the dishes.
‘How much stuff can I take?’
I dried my hands and went upstairs. She had two suitcases open and all her clothes were laid out on her bed. She had all her shoes, soccer kits, and coats. She even had a swimming
costume. It was as though she was going on vacation. I felt weary and sad and so I sat down on the bed. ‘We can’t carry suitcases on the bikes and we’ll need them to ride to the railyards. We can even use the bikes in Toronto if we can get them in the boxcar.
‘You’re right, Bob. Good thinking.’
‘We’ll just take our rucksacks. They’re not very big and so we can’t bring a lot of stuff. We’ll take a change of clothes and our rain jackets. We can take a towel and some toiletries, and a flashlight, but that’s all. We can tie our sleeping bags to the top of our rucksacks and put our cellphones and their chargers in the side pockets. We’ll need them in case we get separated. The only other thing we should take is our birth certificates. It’s best if we have some ID.’
‘What about my Armani dress and my soccer kits? I might want to play soccer.’
‘You can put a soccer kit in my rucksack. You should have enough room for your dress.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘But we have to dress the part for the journey. Let’s wear our bib and brace jeans.’
I agreed just to keep her happy.
We packed our rucksacks, tidied our rooms, and put everything away that needed putting away. We took the $150 from the cookie jar and split it between us. And then we made ourselves sandwiches for the journey. The Rat pumped up the tyres on the bikes while I took care of Dad’s room. I took the sheets off his bed, packed away his things, and wiped around with a duster. Then I took his clothes from the chest of drawers and put them in a box. He never had many things and what he did have was old and worn.
I remember bumping into him in town, this one time, when I was out with the guys. I felt ashamed of him because he was so raggedy. Now I felt ashamed of myself. He would have dressed a lot better had he not given all his money to us kids. He even got drunk on the cheap: homemade wine and homemade whisky. Nothing was too cheap for the Old Man when he was buying for himself. And nothing was too expensive when he was buying for us.
Hidden away at the bottom of the chest of drawers I found a photograph of him and Mom. It was taken outside St Boniface on their wedding day. Dad looked proud and Mom looked beautiful. She had long blonde hair and green eyes and she smiled like a movie star. It was a nice photograph. I wondered why he kept it hidden away.
Unhooking the Moon Page 5