Totem

by Jennifer Maruno

  Father Gregory walked into the study hall at that moment, carrying a notebook, pencil, and ruler. Jonny closed his book and stood up. Ernie sauntered over to the door.

  “You go on ahead,” Father Gregory told Ernie. “I want to show Jonny my plans.”

  Father Gregory put the notebook on the table. “In my last church, I had a whole choir of boys that sang as beautifully as you,” he said. “I wanted to be in charge of the choir here, but Sister Theresa was already directing it.” He gave a deep sigh and placed his hand on Jonny’s. “Maybe if I show Father Paul how good I am at taking care of little chicks, he’ll let me take over the choir. What do you think?”

  Jonny slipped his hand out from under the priest’s. He didn’t know what to think or what to say, so he slid the notebook toward Father Gregory and quietly left the room.

  In the dormitory Ernie adjusted his bed covers while Jonny sank to his knees. “Don’t tell me you’re praying again,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “We’re supposed to pray before bed,” Jonny replied.

  The lights went out at nine-thirty. In the long-echoing dormitory, both boys lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Then Jonny remembered what Ernie had said in the study hall.

  “Hey, Ernie,” he whispered. “What did you say about ending that legend?”

  “You have to say,” Ernie whispered back, “‘these are the words of my people. These are the words I have learned.’” His voice broke into a sob, followed by a series of muffled whimpers.

  That kid may be tough enough to fight everyone during the day, Jonny thought as he rolled over and closed his eyes. But, at night, Ernie’s just like all the others, crying in the dark for his home.

  5

  The Basement

  The first bell of the morning woke Ernie with a start. He groaned, pulled the blankets up over his head, and curled into a ball.

  Jonny, already dressed, folded his pajamas and tucked them in his cubby. He pulled the top sheet of his bed back to the bottom. “You better get up,” he whispered to the lump in the bed beside him, “or you’ll be …”

  Father John’s black robes filled the doorway. “Rise and shine,” he boomed as he strode to the side of the Ernie’s mattress and gave it a strong upward tug. Ernie landed on the floor.

  The priest left the room laughing.

  “I’m definitely gonna get that guy,” Ernie said fighting his way out of the bed sheets.

  “We have to be at the chapel before the next bell,” Jonny told him as he helped pull the mattress back into place. He led the boy into the washroom and handed him a toothbrush from the jar on the counter.

  “What about breakfast?” Ernie asked.

  “After Mass,” Jonny said. He didn’t bother to tell him they had to return to the dorm to make their beds after they aired out.

  The bell for Mass sounded just as Jonny hurried Ernie toward the stairs. Instead of taking the steps, Ernie slid down the banister. Jonny genuflected at the door of the chapel. The acrid smells of incense filled their nostrils as they entered.

  “What’s that stink?” Ernie whispered as he screwed up his nose. His mouth dropped open at the huge wooden image against the back wall. He frowned at the large drops of blood dripping from the crown of thorns that circled the Saviour’s head. “What the hell did that guy do?” Ernie asked.

  “Sit here,” whispered Jonny as the black-robed men and women filled the front pews. Father Gregory lit a candle. He used it to light another and then another until the back wall of the altar filled with tongues of orange light.

  Father Paul raised the silver communion plate and lowered it. He mixed a few drops of water with wine in a chalice and raised and lowered it as well. After washing his hands, the old priest spoke. “Lava me, Domine, ab iniquitate mea.”

  Ernie stared at the priest in front of the altar pronouncing the mysterious words. “What language is he speaking?” he asked in a loud voice. “And how come they get to speak their own language and we can’t?”

  Jonny nudged Ernie and shook his head.

  Father Paul kneeled and rested his forehead against the crisp altar cloth. He stayed for a moment and staggered slightly as his rose.

  Ernie drew his brows together and then smirked.

  The priest made his way to the rail and placed small white disks on the tongues of the kneeling nuns. Father Gregory passed him the silver chalice. He held it to the lips of the first nun and tilted it while she sipped. At the end of the row, he returned it to the altar. Father Paul tipped the chalice and drank the rest down. Ernie smirked again.

  After Mass they made their beds and went to the kitchen. Two bowls of grey mush sat facing each other at the kitchen table. Two slices of bread and two spoons filled with lard sat in a jar beside a jug of powdered milk.

  “What,” Ernie complained, “no flapjacks?” He filled his mug with milk and drank it down. When he reached for the jug again, Jonny put his hand on his wrist.

  “We have to say grace,” he said.

  “Grace,” said Ernie, pushing his hand aside and filling his cup a second time as the cook removed a tin of freshly baked muffins from the oven. Ernie filled his lungs with their aroma. “That’s more like it,” he said. “I love muffins.” But the muffins went onto a tray for those in the dining room across the hall.

  After picking through the leftovers of bacon, egg, and toast crusts, Ernie folded several crumb-filled muffin papers and crammed them into his back pocket.

  The boys did the dishes. More cardboard boxes waited for them inside the storage room.

  “Watch the door,” Ernie told Jonny. “I’m going to go through these boxes first.”

  “Why?”

  “To find my vest,” he said. “My grandmother tanned the hide herself and stitched the design. I’m not letting them burn that.”

  Jonny stood outside the door while Ernie rooted through the boxes. His vest was at the bottom along with his slingshot. He rolled them up and stuffed them inside his shirt. “I’m going to hide these in the woods,” he said.

  That afternoon, Jonny and Ernie nailed the last board of the little wooden chicken coop in place.

  “Don’t they need somewhere to perch?” Jonny asked. He didn’t know much about chickens but he watched the birds in the forest a lot.

  “They will need a roost,” Father Gregory said, scratching his head. “You’re right.”

  “What about a tree branch?” Ernie suggested.

  “Good thinking,” said Father Gregory. “We’ll look in the kindling pile.”

  “There won’t be one the right size,” Ernie said. “We’ll need to go into the forest.”

  Father Gregory looked at his watch. “No time now,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Where will they eat?” Jonny asked as they parked back at the school.

  “We’ll have to make some kind of feeder,” Father Gregory said. “We can use one of the old barrels in the basement.” Father Gregory put a hand on Jonny’s arm. “Ernie, you fill those apple crates with grass while Jonny and I visit the basement.”

  Jonny’s stomach turned. He had never been to the mysterious basement and would have felt a lot better if Ernie were coming along too.

  Father Gregory opened the door with one of the keys attached to the long, black cord he kept beneath his cassock collar.

  “You know this is an out-of-bounds area,” the priest said.

  Jonny nodded.

  “No one is allowed down here unless I go with them,” he warned.

  Jonny nodded again.

  The cold cement floor and cobweb-filled air made Jonny shiver. Father Gregory’s arm thrashed around in the blackness for the string to the light. In the sudden brightness, the huge black furnace surrounded by cords of wood was starkly visible in the centre. Next to its main pipe sat a shovel and a bucket. Jonny peered into the bucket. The smell of ashes filled his nostrils. Behind the furnace, wooden walls with doors went from floor to ceiling.

  Several short walls divided the r
est of the basement into stalls. One held stacks of newspaper and cardboard boxes. Another housed a giant, wooden-lidded bin. Beside it was a stack of empty apple crates and several barrels. The largest compartment beneath a small open window held the coal that rolled down the chute.

  “We can use one of these,” Father Gregory said, pointing to a row of barrels. He knocked one of them onto its side. Jonny read the word “Cider” as it rolled toward him. “Once we fill it up, it will last weeks.”

  Together, Jonny and Father Gregory carried the barrel up the stairs to the truck. Ernie stood in the yard holding a dead squirrel by the tail.

  “Where did you find that?” Jonny asked.

  “Up a tree,” Ernie said. “Where do you think?”

  “How did you kill it?” asked Father Gregory.

  “With a stone,” Ernie answered with a huge proud smile.

  With a stone shot from a slingshot, Jonny thought, just like David in the Old Testament.

  Father Gregory snatched the squirrel from Ernie’s hand and flung it far into the bush. “That is precisely why you have been sent to this school,” he said in exasperation.

  Ernie looked to where the squirrel landed. “I could’ve got a buck twenty-five for …” But before he could finish, Father Gregory grabbed him by the wrist. He dragged Ernie to the door of the truck and opened it.

  “Get in,” he said. “You are here to learn the Christian way of life, not to be hunting in the woods like a savage.”

  That night, before washing dishes, Ernie removed his shirt and tied it around his waist. Jonny couldn’t help but notice the black and blue marks around his wrist. When the cook handed Jonny a sack of garbage, Ernie brushed him aside. He swung the sack over his shoulder and left. When Ernie returned, his shirt was back on and buttoned to the top.

  Ernie’s smart, Jonny thought. He’s got his vest on underneath.

  In the dorm, Ernie lifted the pillow of the bed at the end of the row.

  “You gonna sleep way down there?” Jonny asked.

  “Nope,” Ernie replied. “I’m just stashing my vest. I’m not taking any chances leaving it in the cubby. I heard stories about this place.”

  “What did you hear?” Jonny asked.

  “Everything that’s true,” Ernie said. “You never get enough to eat, and the stupid priests push you around.” Ernie put his finger to the scab on his lip.

  “You can’t talk about priests in a bad way,” Jonny said. “God will punish you.”

  “Every time my mom heard a story,” Ernie said, “we took longer to get home from summer fishing camp. A lot of good it did.” He leaned in and whispered. “When I get out of here, I am going to get even with that Indian Agent.”

  The light in the hallway flickered. The sound of Father Paul’s cane, thumping its way to the third floor, echoed through the building. Jonny held his breath.

  “Did you know the kid that went missing?” Ernie whispered in the dark.

  “Which one?”

  “The one they never found,” Ernie said. “The fisherman told my dad only three ended up at home. They’re still out looking for him.”

  Jonny’s brow furrowed. “You’ve got it mixed up,” he said. “They found all four. Three went home in the boat and one came back to the school.”

  “Well, something must have happened to him,” Ernie said. “He ain’t here or at home.”

  6

  Father Gregory

  Jonny woke to the sound of a woodpecker drumming the tree outside the window. He laid thinking about the squirrel Ernie had killed, wondering how roasted squirrel tasted. The boys in the dorm talked a lot about wilderness adventures. Jonny had never even been camping.

  “Time to get up,” he said to the mound in the next bed.

  Jonny heard the creak of the bed springs as Ernie hopped out. “I know they all call you Jonny Joe,” Ernie whispered, “but, what’s your real name?”

  “I don’t have any other names,” Jonny said, “just a letter and number.”

  That day, the boys covered the floor of the chicken coop with a thick layer of sawdust and wood shavings. “That should keep down the smell,” Father Gregory said. “We’ll clean the whole thing out in the fall and in the spring.” He looked at Ernie and smiled. “It will be a good job for you,” he said. “I’ll make sure your name goes down for it.”

  Ernie rolled his eyes at Jonny. “So when does the school part of going to school start?” he asked out loud. “All we do around here is work.”

  Father Gregory said. “Once the chickens are old enough, I’ll show you how we clip their wings.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt them?” Jonny asked.

  “No.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “It keeps them from flying over the fence and getting eaten,” said Father Gregory.

  Jonny thought about the animals on the island that would love to have chicken for dinner, including himself.

  Ernie looked at the roll of wire netting. “That won’t stop a raccoon,” he said. “We’ll need barbed wire along the bottom.”

  “Good idea,” Father Gregory said, rubbing Ernie’s head. “I’ll pick some up when I get the chickens.”

  “Do we get to come along?” Ernie asked.

  “I suppose you can,” Father Gregory said. “I’ll have to clear it with Father Paul first.”

  “What boat are we taking?” Ernie asked.

  He sure asks a lot of questions, Jonny thought.

  “We’ll be taking the launch,” Father Gregory said.

  “Too bad we’re not taking a canoe,” Ernie said. “I really know how to paddle a canoe,” he bragged. “I can really move fast.”

  “There wouldn’t be enough room for the chickens,” Jonny said, looking at Ernie as if he was crazy.

  That night in the study, Ernie whispered to Jonny, “I’m getting out of here.”

  Jonny turned the page of his book and sighed. All year long the boys talked about escaping. “Every year someone tries it,” he said without looking up. “You’ll be caught and whipped. They’ll shave your head and throw you in the basement with only bread and water.”

  “I won’t get caught,” Ernie bragged. “That chicken farm is on the same bay as the mountain with the secret cave. I’m going there to hide out.”

  At the mention of the cave, Jonny lowered his book. “How do you know there’s a secret cave?” he said. “It’s probably just some stupid story.”

  Ernie crossed his arms. “My father and I discovered it when we hunted on the mountain. The goat we were following disappeared. We searched for it in the brush and found it inside the cave. My Dad will know exactly where to come looking for me.”

  “They’ll all come looking for you,” Jonny said.

  “Of course they will,” Ernie said, “but they’ll be looking along the water.”

  The next morning, Father Gregory waited for them in the storeroom. He handed Ernie a heavy cardboard box. “Take this to the fire,” he said. “I need Jonny in the basement.”

  Jonny stopped at the top of the steps that descended into darkness. He fought down the uneasiness that came with the stale, musty air. He had been in the basement once already, he told himself. There was nothing scary but a big ugly furnace.

  Father Gregory followed him, his leather shoes squeaking with each step. The door to one of the rooms behind the furnace stood open. The tiny windowless cubicle had a metal bed with a crucifix nailed to the wall above it. There was no pillow or blanket.

  “Do you like apple cider?” the priest asked Jonny as he lifted one of the barrels.

  Jonny shrugged. Living at Redemption Residential he had only drunk tea, powdered milk, and water.

  Father Gregory removed a tin cup from a nail in the wall. He tipped the barrel and filled it with cider. After a drink, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and handed it to Jonny.

  Jonny raised the cup to his nose. The dark amber liquid smelled like autumn. He took a small sip and liked the taste. He tip
ped the cup back and drained it. Then, like the priest, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed the cup back.

  Father Gregory refilled the cup. This time he placed it on top of the apple storage bin and pulled a small container from a pocket in his cassock. To Jonny, it looked like a silver bottle flattened by a truck. The priest tipped some of the contents of the flask into the cup. He screwed the cap on to the flask and put it back in his pocket. He took a sip and smiled.

  “Now that’s the way to drink cider,” he said. “The stuff they make here is too flat, it needs some spiking up.” He took another drink. Then he looked at Jonny.

  “You are such a good little boy,” Father Gregory said stroking Jonny’s cheek. “Your eyes are such a beautiful blue and your skin is so soft and smooth.” He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue as a strange look came into his eyes.

  Jonny wasn’t sure what it all meant, but felt that something was not right.

  “Drink up,” Father Gregory encouraged him. “Even if you don’t like the taste at first, you’ll get used to it.” He held the cup out.

  Jonny took the cup and drank it down. This time the taste was sharper and the liquid burned the back of his throat. He felt a bit dizzy.

  There was a noise from above. “Stay here,” the priest told him.

  Jonny crouched down so that his knees were against his chest.

  Father Gregory took a brief glimpse up the stairs and then returned. He looked down at Jonny and gave him a big smile. Then the smile disappeared from his lips. “You know that telling those Indian tales is blasphemy,” he said wagging his finger in Jonny’s face. “I could report you.”

  Jonny tried to focus on the well-kept nail of the priest’s finger as it went back and forth. This time Father Gregory drank directly from his flask and ran his tongue around his lips. He took another swig and sat down beside Jonny. The priest was so close Jonny could feel the warmth of his pungent breath on his neck. They locked eyes for a few seconds. The priest’s mouth twisted as if trying to hide a smile.