Totem

by Jennifer Maruno

  Silver Cloud’s eyes widened at the sight of such magic.

  Sudden sounds of whistles from the woods startled those enraptured with Agnes’s paper magic. They looked up to see some of the village men run out from the forest making lightning quick thrusts with their spears as if they were attacking. “Chako,” they called out to those pulling up on shore. “Chako,” one of the men said as he dragged Ernie from the canoe.

  “What’s going on?” Jonny called out in alarm, seeing his friend dragged into the forest.

  He looked to the men unloading the canoes, but they paid no attention to what was happening. No one seemed bothered that the village warriors had just abducted Ernie in broad daylight.

  “Looks like your friend is wanted somewhere,” Old Tom said, scratching his head.

  18

  Fire Dances

  That night, after a meal of fish, to the relief to the nuns, the fire burned down to red winking coals and dark shadows moved about the walls of the lodge. Jonny watched the chief fill his carved pipe. The hollow at the top of the Chief’s wooden headdress once again held soft, fluffy eagle down — a sign of peace. Whenever he moved, it floated about his head like snow. The chief raised his pipe into the air. After moving it from side to side and saying a few words, he passed it to Old Tom.

  Everyone but the sleeping priest looked up when they heard stomping sounds coming from the roof.

  “Sounds like you got some big birds in this part of the country,” Old Tom remarked.

  Sister Cecile huddled up in fright to the guard. The old nun shot her a disapproving look. The guard brought his pistol into to his lap, while Mr. Cameron, the surveyor, mopped the never-ending beads of sweat from his brow.

  Large masked figures suddenly dropped from the roof to the floor beside the fire. The dancers wore carved headdresses of animal snouts, bird heads, frogs, and other forest creatures. The young nun shrieked at the sight of their bulging eyes and curling tongues.

  Agnes’s eyes came alive with excitement as the dancers, wearing long yellow strips of shredded cedar at their waists and elbows began their performance.

  “What are they supposed to be?” Agnes asked Tommy-Two.

  “Forest spirits,” Tommy replied. “That bird monster cracks open skulls and eats brains,” he said with a huge grin.

  “How exciting,” Agnes shouted over the sound of the shaking rattles.

  “How heathen,” Sister Bernice commented.

  The dancers moved around the fire, their grass-like skirts swaying. The beaks of their huge faces opened and shut with loud clacks.

  When they had finished the dance, they removed their giant heads. One of the dancers was Ernie.

  “I was worried about you,” Jonny whispered to his friend. “What happened?”

  “I was invited to be a dancer,” Ernie bragged. “Not everyone is asked, you know.”

  “You weren’t exactly invited,” Jonny pointed out. “You were dragged off.”

  “Just their way of doing business,” Ernie said with a grin. “By the way, I’m taking your advice and hanging out here while the rest go to summer camp.”

  The chief rose from the box he was sitting on and carried it to the fire pit. He removed the lid and poured its oily contents directly onto the flames. The fire roared and the entire lodge filled with light. Then he tossed the box and lid in as well.

  The old priest, startled by the crackling sound of the blaze, woke, pulled the hood of his cassock down over his eyes, and went back to sleep.

  “Where on earth did he get all that oil?” Agnes asked.

  “You never heard of the candle fish?” Old Tom replied.

  “What’s a candle fish?” asked Sister Cecile.

  “More nonsense,” said Sister Bernice.

  “The candle fish swims upstream in the good weather,” Old Tom told them all. “It is so oily you can stand it on one end and set it on fire, just like a candle.”

  “That’s not true,” Sister Bernice said. “It’s just another heathen tale.”

  “Well, where do you think all that oil came from?” Old Tom snapped back. “The Indians boil the fish and skim off the oil. They save it to add to the taste of their food in the winter.”

  He looked at the Chinese cook sitting away from the circle. “Hey, Cookie,” he called out. “You should get some of that stuff. It would help your cooking.”

  The cook nodded his head up and down so fast, his pigtail flew about.

  “I hope you don’t plan on filling the ship with that smelly stuff,” Mr. Cameron said, brushing the dirt from his trousers as he stood.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Old Tom said. He rose from the ground and saluted the chief. “I plan to lighten your load in your hold,” he said. “I’m getting off here.”

  The bay shimmered with the glow of the beach fires, as the visitors made their way to their tents. Jonny grabbed Ernie’s elbow and pointed to the ring circling the full moon. It was the sign they had been waiting for, the sign Kalaku told them about, the sign that meant it was time for them to dance in the cave.

  A light rain pitted the grey water as they raced to get their bundles out from beneath Tommy-Two’s bunk in the lodge. Each boy designed the costume he would wear to perform his spirit dance. Ernie pushed a canoe into the water as Jonny lifted his arms in prayer. “May the great serpent let us cross without harm,” he said before they placed their precious clothing inside. They did not know who waited for them in the cave, or what was in each other’s bundle. They would reveal the identity of their guardian spirit only when they performed.

  Leaving the canoe on the pebbly shore, they followed the path up the mountain. In the entrance cave, beside a small fire, a masked elder waited, as they had been told. He indicated Jonny was to go first and went into the next cave.

  Jonny donned his carved wolf mask and the necklace of claws given to him by Kalaku. He made his way down the passageway singing of his dream of the wolf pelt coming to life and showing him the way to the river. When he entered the ceremonial cavern, the drawings on the wall flickered in the torchlight. Dancing in a circle spiralling toward the centre, Jonny told how the wolf called to him when he first arrived in the cave. When he reached the centre of the circle, Jonny sang of how he waited on the cliff, gave the wolf a drink of water, and looked into its eyes.

  Jonny then began a new dance. He moved in the opposite direction, spiralling away from the centre, imitating the animal’s posture, his clawed feet, and his walk. He whimpered, whined, growled, and gave a great wolf howl at the end.

  The man sitting under the torch nodded.

  Bathed in sweat, Jonny moved into the shadows so as not to distract Ernie. His heart filled with anxiety for his friend. Had Ernie found a guiding spirit?

  Ernie emerged from the shadows wearing a mask of cedar, pounded so thin, it took the shape of his face. The scaly salmon skin that covered it gave it a silver glow. Ernie stood naked but for a small skirt of shredded yellow bark at his waist. Red dye mixed with grease covered his body. Large fish scales glittered along his arms and fingers.

  Ernie placed the toes of his feet with care as he crossed one foot over another and sang his song of how he had taken the footpath that led from the village to the top of the cascading falls to watch for the great Tyee. A sudden cloud of mist made it difficult for him to see. When the fog broke, the legendary old Chinook swam along the bottom of the chasm.

  The Chinook jumped the first fence and then the second and showed no signs of weariness. Ernie knew the great fish was about to make its way up the waterfall. He knew the plunge from the cliff amid the projecting rocks was dangerous, but he jumped.

  The boy dressed like a salmon danced with his chest out and his head held high. His arms moved in swimming motions in time with his legs under the wild, furious water.

  “Let me catch you,” he said when he faced the fish. “I will tell of your greatness in song and dance,” Ernie promised the fish. “I will use your spirit power to teach those who
hunt to take only what they need and not kill without cause.”

  He opened his arms wide to show how the ancient salmon swam into them. He then demonstrated how he staggered out of the water and laid his heavy bundle on the shore. When finished, Ernie, glistening and tired, also moved into the shadows.

  The figure at the fire did not move. He stared out of the mouth of the cave.

  Both boys stared into the fire and waited.

  The elder broke into an energetic session of drumming, singing his thanks to the spirits of the wolf and the salmon people.

  Ernie and Jonny looked at each other and smiled.

  They had passed their test and had become men.

  19

  The Trade

  “There’s a lot of stuff I never found use for in that old chest,” Old Tom told the crowd on the beach as he emptied the contents of his battered trunk. Everyone in the village had gathered to watch the old miner make his trade for a canoe. “I’m sure there’s enough to buy myself some transportation.”

  Jonny examined the prow piece attached to the hull of the black dugout. “Look,” he whispered to Ernie as he ran his fingers over the inlay pieces of the carved fish design. “They’ve added otter teeth.”

  Both boys remembered the men cutting the cedar to make this canoe. After they’d hollowed out the trunk, they’d filled it with water and hot stones. The men added the cross boards once the wood had softened and would stretch. Finally, they singed the inside with torches to harden the wood and polished away any splinters with dogfish skin.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to trade the entire lot,” Mr. Cameron said in surprise.

  “As long as I got my rifle, compass, tools, and a set of warm clothes for winter, I don’t need much more,” Old Tom replied. He pulled items of soft leather out of the trunk. “I’ll be keeping these mitts and moccasins, though,” he said. “My mother made them.”

  Jonny and Ernie lined up the collection of shoes along the sand. The men in the village inspected the miner’s gum boots and pairs of overshoes. The felt lace-up boots looked new.

  “They can have one of each pair, if they like,” Old Tom told Tommy-Two who was mediating the exchange. “Those felt lace-ups I never used. They probably won’t want them either, as they’re no good for travelling in a canoe.”

  “They would be inside a lodge,” Agnes piped up. “Offer them to the Chief’s wife.”

  Old Tom did and she accepted them with grace.

  Two pairs of heavy woolen socks went on top of the shoes, along with a woolen sleeping cap and a couple of yards of towelling. Ernie held up an unworn English corduroy suit. Two men grunted their acceptance at the same time and then scowled at each other.

  “Could they use some burlap sacks?” Old Tom asked. “Now that I’ve banked all my gold, I won’t need them.” He tossed several burlap sacks on top of the pile. “I’ll keep the money belt, though,” he said, “just in case I stumble across another mother lode.”

  Mr. Cameron raised his eyebrows, seeing the number of empty sacks.

  Old Tom draped undershirts, top shirts, flannel drawers, and stockings across a beached log. “Here,” he gestured to the men. “Have a look at these.”

  Sister Cecile cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t mind having a pair of those flannel drawers,” she said. Her face turned red with her words.

  “Got anything that isn’t churchy?” Old Tom asked.

  The young nun dipped her hand into the pocket of her cape, and then opened her palm. “It’s the commemorative medal I purchased before boarding,” she explained. “There’s an impression of the steamer on one side and Christopher Columbus’s Santa Maria on the other.” She cocked her head to one side. “It seemed an appropriate token at the time, but it’s not much good at keeping me warm,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Now you know why I prefer trousers,” Agnes said with a great laugh.

  Old Tom took the disk, put it between his teeth, and bit down. “That’s copper all right,” he said. “Go ahead and pick out a pair of pantaloons.”

  Sister Cecile selected the pair with yellow and green stripes. Seeing Sister Bernice’s frown, she rolled them into a ball and held them under her cape. “It’s not as if anyone is going to see them,” she commented to Agnes.

  “What about your sou’wester?” Agnes asked. “It’s still in my tent.”

  “It never looked as good on me as it does on you,” Old Tom said. “If you plan on heading north you better keep it for yourself. You’ll be glad of it.” He put out his hand to shake hers. “For payment, you can send me some of your photographs, care of the Hudson’s Bay Company.” Agnes took the grimy old miner’s hand and kissed him on the cheek, much to his embarrassment.

  Everyone knew the trading was over when the men of the village handed Old Tom a set of paddles.

  Across the bay, Jonny and Ernie cleared a runway through the pebbly shore where Old Tom could draw up his canoe. They helped him cover it with cedar matting to prevent cracks.

  “Best I build a shelter while the weather holds,” the old miner said, looking up.

  “We can help you with that,” Ernie offered. He slapped Jonny on the shoulder. “We could even build you a chicken coop.”

  “Why would I need one of them?” Old Tom asked. “Don’t plan to farm. I just want to explore in the summer and sit with my pipe in the winter.”

  The next morning they trudged about the forest looking for a spot to settle. On a rise above the ocean, in the undergrowth of ferns, they spotted a spruce of such incredible colour it stopped them in their tracks. With a stem as straight as a sunbeam, its pale needles made it look as if it grew directly out of a vein of gold.

  “You might as well chop that one down,” Ernie said. “It’s dying.”

  “Reminds me of the seam of gold I came across,” Old Tom said. “Think I’ll leave it.”

  “Well, you chopped gold out of the ground,” Ernie argued. “How it is any different?”

  “I don’t know,” Old Tom said. “I think it’s special.”

  Tiny orchids grew from the carpet of moss at its base. Snails the size of a kernel of corn moved along the trunk. Jonny examined the needles of the spruce. “It’s alive,” he said, “and it looks healthy. It’s just a funny colour.”

  “Could be an albino,” Old Tom said. “I met a guy like that once in Dawson. His hair was pure white and his eyes pink. I thought I had seen a ghost.”

  “A golden tree on a mountain,” Jonny murmured to himself. The Old man said I was to find my way to Golden Mountain.

  “Why don’t we just use some of the planks from a lodge?” Ernie suggested. “Like everyone else.”

  Heading across the bay to the village side, Jonny, Ernie, and Old Tom paddled past the sightseers as they made their way back to the steamship. One canoe accompanied them back. Mr. Cameron had promised Chasekin, the great warrior, a chance to come onboard.

  20

  Cold Sickness

  Jonny and Ernie helped Kalaku cover and lash the newly carved pole to the side of his canoe. He was delivering it to another village.

  “How long will you be gone?” Jonny asked.

  “The village is two days away and there will be three days of celebration,” he replied.

  “Let’s go with him,” Ernie said to Jonny. “There’ll be a feast and gifts.”

  “We promised to help Tom,” Jonny reminded him.

  The boys watched the old man paddle away. “Kloshe nanitch” they called out, and then headed back to the village. Many had already left for the summer camp. The open walls of the lodges gaped like toothless mouths.

  The nuns had removed the small statue that the women all loved and left a snail shell frame with a picture of the Virgin Mary in its place.

  “There’s Chasekin,” Ernie said pointing at the water. “I thought he’d be gone by now.”

  The warrior’s canoe wobbled. When it reached shore, Chasekin staggered from it sweating and shivering at the same time. He drop
ped his paddle and sank to the ground, so weak he couldn’t stand.

  “He looks sick,” Jonny said.

  They watched those left in the village rush to him and help him to a fire. They covered him with blankets. But despite the warmth, he shook and shivered with cold.

  “Is he okay?” Ernie asked.

  Jonny shrugged. “It looks like he’s got some kind of fever.”

  They followed the crowd to the door of the lodge.

  Silver Cloud filled her wooden medicine bowl with sharp pungent leaves, crushed them, added a smear of fat, and made a paste. She kneeled at the warrior’s side to smear his forehead and shoulders.

  A memory of a time when Jonny had been ill drifted into his mind. He remembered how the days had come and gone and how he had dreamed of the smoking pipe over and over again. When he woke in sweat-soaked pajamas, a man with a black leather bag sat beside his bed. The doctor put a cold stethoscope to his chest and looked in his ears. He told the nun Jonny had a low-grade fever. Jonny thought it had something to do with his school marks and worried. When the doctor asked Jonny if he was getting enough to eat, the nun interrupted him and moved him on to the next patient.

  Within a few hours, Chasekin, the strongest and bravest of all warriors, was dead.

  Jonny listened to the moans and whispers of the villagers as he and Ernie removed planks from the lodge to build Tom’s cabin.

  “It must have been a poisoned object,” one of the women said as she clutched her small child. “If only Silver Cloud had found it.”

  “She felt his arms and legs,” another woman said in a hushed whisper.

  “I watched her search his chest and neck,” another added.

  Ernie and Jonny paddled back to Tom’s camp site with the planks. The three of them worked all day building the cabin and talked much of the night away by the light of the fire.