Onwaachige the Dreamer

by Jay Jordan Hawke

  “So, where is your father?” Mokwa asked.

  Only then did Joshua fully realize that though Mokwa was taking them through the forest, Joshua was in fact the leader. His friends were looking to him for guidance. He wiped his eyes and oriented himself, still feeling a bit dazed from his dream. He usually felt refreshed after a power nap, but this felt completely different, as though he had been sleeping for many hours. “I don’t know,” Joshua finally told Mokwa, closing his eyes.

  “Bro, seriously. Wake up!”

  “I told you, my dreams are weird,” Joshua snapped, his eyes still closed. “They don’t always make sense.”

  “Dude, you gotta give me something. What did you see?”

  “I saw you right here, sleeping,” Joshua said.

  “Lame,” Mokwa interrupted. “I mean, I’m not psychic or anything, but I could have told you that.”

  “No,” Joshua said. He opened his eyes and propped himself up. “You were both sleeping, and I was awake.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” Little Deer said.

  “No, I mean, in my dream. You were both sleeping.”

  “Chill bro, we’re listening.”

  Joshua was fully awake now as the images raced through his conscious mind, but he struggled to translate them into appropriate words. “I saw this shadow, a figure, something, in the woods. Right over there.” Joshua pointed to the forest canopy.

  “I think a shiver just ran down my back,” Mokwa said.

  “It’s cold out,” Little Deer reminded him.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not that cold.”

  Joshua ignored the small talk and continued. “And it talked to me. In my father’s voice.”

  “Now I’m getting the chills,” Little Deer said.

  But Mokwa appeared excited by the revelation. “So you did see your father?”

  “No, it wasn’t him,” Joshua corrected. “It was small, very small. But it had my father’s voice.”

  “What did it say?” Little Deer asked, acting uncharacteristically engaged.

  “Pretty much the same thing as before. It wanted my help, and then it pointed to that canoe.” Joshua pointed to the canoe that Little Deer had alerted them too. It had since wedged itself in between some branches on their side of the riverbank, only a few feet away.

  “Bro, you dreamt about that canoe. And it appeared. That’s totally awesome!” Mokwa was visibly impressed.

  Joshua’s face lit up with pride, as he regained his self-confidence.

  “Hey, I found the canoe,” Little Deer insisted. “And then woke you both up.”

  “So what do you think it means?” Mokwa asked, ignoring Little Deer.

  “I think we should take the canoe, I guess,” Joshua said.

  “Dude, it’s much more than that. Don’t you see? You got the attention of the Memegwesi.”

  Joshua’s mind raced through its recently acquired Ojibwe lexicon and came up short. He hadn’t heard that word before. “Memegwesi?” he repeated, asking for help.

  “The Little People! They are manitous that live out here, by the water.”

  “They abduct kids,” Little Deer said, offering a more negative spin.

  “What?” Joshua asked.

  “No, they don’t,” Mokwa argued. “They like kids. Mothers just say they abduct children to keep us from running off into the forest and getting too close to dangerous rivers, and—” He paused as if to consider. “—and drowning.” He looked back to Joshua. “Kinda like we’re doing. I mean, minus the drowning.” He paused again for a moment. “So far.”

  “So these Little People like children?” Joshua asked, wanting clarification.

  “Yeah, supposedly.”

  “Sometimes they play tricks on them,” Little Deer said, interjecting more negativity into the conversation.

  “Bro, don’t let Little Deer scare you. It’s a good thing to have the Little People on our side.”

  Little Deer scowled.

  “It could have been worse,” Mokwa said, looking at Little Deer. “He could have dreamt about Bigfoot.”

  Little Deer nodded his head in agreement.

  “Bigfoot!” Joshua shouted. “You have Sasquatch out here?”

  “Now you got him all scared,” Mokwa said, spitting an accusation at Little Deer.

  “Sorry,” Little Deer said apologetically.

  “So what do we do?” Joshua asked.

  Mokwa stared into Joshua’s eyes, displaying a complete confidence. “Bro, if the manitous are telling you to take the canoe, then you take the canoe.”

  “It’s a plan.” Joshua smiled.

  “That was my plan,” Little Deer said glumly.

  CALEB AND Black Crow had spent hours at the lake in the pouring rain waiting for Pywacky to return. Exhausted, they finally sat on the tree stumps around the campfire. The rain slowed to a drip, but both knew it was only temporary. It had acted like that for hours now, teasing them into thinking it was about to stop before attacking again with a ferocious downpour. It didn’t matter at this point. They were both drenched and cold from the rain.

  After only a few moments, Caleb had rested enough and felt it was time to start up the search again. And besides, the more they sat there in the rain, the colder he felt. He’d rather be moving around.

  He got up and stared into the dark forest. “Pywacky!” he called, for the thousandth time. In response, all he heard was the sound of rainwater dripping from branches.

  “You should probably quiet it down a bit,” Black Crow suggested, in a grumpy mood himself.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re kind of shouting. If he is scared of humans, shouting probably isn’t the best approach.”

  “But I want him to hear me,” Caleb said.

  “He’s a cat. He’ll hear you.”

  Black Crow was right. They’d probably been going about this all wrong. They needed to be sweet and gentle with this cat. It was probably terrified from all of their shouting. “Good idea,” he said. He again stared into the forest and positioned himself for another calling, a calm one this time. “Pywacky,” he offered in a gentle, barely audible whisper. “Here, little kitty.”

  “What are you doing?” Black Crow asked, confounded by Caleb’s approach.

  “You said to whisper,” Caleb replied.

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be that quiet,” Black Crow said. “How do you expect him to hear you?”

  “Well then you do it,” Caleb challenged, snapping at Black Crow. They had grown rather used to each other in the few hours they’d been together. Already Caleb felt perfectly comfortable fighting with Black Crow.

  “Fine, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Black Crow got up and looked into the forest, apparently filled with self-confidence. “Pywacky, here kitty kitty,” he said in an equally inaudible whisper.

  “That’s what I did,” Caleb said.

  “Shhh, I’m not done,” Black Crow said. He turned back to the forest. “I got some fry bread for you.”

  Caleb then joined in. “Here kitty kitty. Do you want some fry bre….” Caleb came to a sudden stop and looked to Black Crow, who was similarly looking back at him.

  “Damn!” Black Crow said, speaking for both of them. “We forgot the damn fry bread.”

  Another deluge drenched the two as they set off toward the interns’ campsite, hoping to rummage up something enticing with which to tempt their companion.

  PASTOR MARTIN had been waiting inside the Trading Post with Gentle Eagle and Jenny, anxiously watching for any sign that the rain was going to stop. But Gentle Eagle was much less concerned about it.

  “Aren’t you bothered by this rain?” Pastor Martin finally said, if only to vent his frustration.

  “No, if it weren’t raining, we’d just be waiting outside at the picnic table. Waiting is pretty much the same, regardless of where you do it.”

  Jenny nodded, although she was visibly frustrated as well.

  Pastor Martin was disappointed at the
response, but mostly because he couldn’t argue with it. And that’s what he really wanted right now: something to kill the time and make it easier to endure the waiting. He needed something else to debate about. Finally, he had it. “Why didn’t you give those two boys something better to do?” he challenged. “Instead, you have them looking for that stupid little thing.”

  “Now you sound like Catherine,” Gentle Eagle said.

  It sounded like an accusation to Pastor Martin, and he felt like he needed to come to her defense. He knew what she had done to the cat was callous, and he didn’t want Gentle Eagle thinking even less of her. “Well, it did attack her, after all,” he said, unconvinced by his own argument.

  “No, it defended Joshua. There is a difference,” Gentle Eagle argued. “And besides, it’s not a thing. It’s his friend.”

  Finally! Pastor Martin thought. An argument! “Oh come now, this is what has always bothered me about Native American religion,” he pressed. “You elevate nature to such a high level. I mean, surely you realize animals don’t have souls, don’t you?”

  Jenny watched the argument closely, evidently deciding it best not to get involved. Gentle Eagle responded almost immediately, as though he didn’t have to consider his response. “I think they have more of a soul than most people.”

  Pastor Martin had finally beaten Gentle Eagle in an argument. His position was totally untenable. “Are you saying that cat of yours has more rights than a person?” Pastor Martin was pleased with himself for cornering Gentle Eagle.

  “Maybe,” Gentle Eagle said, sounding less confident now. “It depends on the person,” he added, qualifying his argument.

  “See, now that’s what I’m talking about. This is where our religions are just so fundamentally incompatible.”

  “How so?”

  “In Christianity, all human souls are equally worthy, and animals were created to serve people. But you are putting the two on an equal pedestal.”

  “No, not equal,” Gentle Eagle corrected him.

  “Look, if you had to kill an animal to save a human, would you do it?”

  “That’s difficult to say.”

  “Because you instinctively know all humans are worth more than all animals. Surely you must understand God created them for us.”

  “I know that nature is not always as absolute.”

  Pastor Martin hadn’t expected that and needed clarification. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think of Adolf Hitler?”

  Pastor Martin no longer had any idea where Gentle Eagle was going with this, but he wanted to find out. He’d have to play along. “Well, he was a terrible man, of course. Possessed by hatred and bigotry.”

  “I think I would not kill Pywacky to save Adolf Hitler,” Gentle Eagle said, finally making his point. “So, as I said, it depends upon the person.”

  “Well, now, that’s not fair,” Pastor Martin insisted, feeling like Gentle Eagle was breaking the rules of sound logic. “You can’t take the worst human and compare him to a creature you have affection for.”

  “And you can’t take all humans and compare them to all animals, as you have done.”

  Pastor Martin couldn’t believe this. He was no longer sure who was winning. This was supposed to be an easy victory. He had to focus. “Okay, let’s try another scenario.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, a house is burning down. Your cat is in it, as is your son. You can only save one. Who do you save?” Pastor Martin said, completely satisfied that the debate was now over.

  “I would save my son and feel terrible about the cat,” Gentle Eagle agreed.

  “Ah ha, see!” Pastor Martin said, excited Gentle Eagle had taken the bait. “Humans are more valuable than animals. Surely you get that now.”

  “And if it were my son and someone else’s son, I would probably still save my son. That doesn’t make the other boy any less valuable.”

  Pastor Martin considered Gentle Eagle’s argument. This was no longer the easy win he had anticipated. Frustrated, he decided it was time to end yet another debate for now. “You can be quite insufferable sometimes,” he said.

  “Forget about religion, and forget about rights,” Gentle Eagle said, not yet ready to let it drop. “There is a terrified creature out there who dared to trust us. And we betrayed that trust. I intend to find him.” Gentle Eagle paused for a moment as he began to tear up a bit. It was the first time he had let his emotions show all day. “Besides,” he added, “Joshua has bonded with that cat, and Joshua is a very good judge of character.”

  Pastor Martin’s strained experiences with Joshua instantly bubbled to the surface. “Well, he never liked me all that much,” he grumbled.

  “Yes, I know.”

  Pastor Martin felt an unexpected urge to laugh, finally breaking out in a snicker instead.

  Gentle Eagle took in a deep breath as though he were ready to make peace again. “I’m sorry if I’ve been unforgiving. I’m just worried about my grandson being with Catherine. She doesn’t approve of who he is,” he said a bit cryptically.

  “Yes, well, she has never been comfortable with Ojibwe spirituality. But I think I can convince her that there might be some room for it. You know, I have not given up on my promise to you. I will try to convince Catherine to let Joshua visit his friends here on the reservation.”

  “If you manage to do that, I will indeed believe in your miracles.”

  “No miracles necessary. Let’s just say that my relationship with Catherine has intensified.” He almost sounded like he was bragging.

  “You know she is a married woman.”

  “Yes, well, obviously she won’t be for much longer. They’ve been drifting apart for quite some time, you know.”

  “Well, I would appreciate it very much if you could convince her—”

  “Don’t worry. Piece of cake,” he interrupted.

  “Jonathan! Where in God’s name are you?” Catherine cried to Pastor Martin from the backroom.

  “Hmmm, looks like Catherine is awake,” Gentle Eagle said. “Perhaps you should attend to her.”

  “I think I’d rather help you find that cat.”

  This time it was Gentle Eagle who snickered.

  THE THREE boys paddled in the cold, roaring river for hours, occasionally pulling over to the side to take a quick break. Thankfully, their mysterious canoe came complete with paddles, allowing them to maneuver it through the treacherous waters. Joshua had initially been hesitant to get in it, wondering if it was safe. Canoeing could be exhausting even in calm waters. But during a storm, it was downright dangerous. The boys had to be vigilant to the many hazards posed by the rapids, ready to veer left or right at a moment’s notice.

  Already, as they had swerved to avoid a fallen log, they nearly smashed into an immense granite boulder protruding from the water. And if they capsized in these waters, despite being strong swimmers, they could easily fall victim to the relentless rush of water. Rivers had claimed many lives, and Joshua contemplated for a moment whether the manitous had brought them there to die. It was easy to believe. He’d never been in a canoe provided by the Little People before.

  But Joshua tried to put such negative thoughts aside and focus on the positive. His rational mind reasserted itself and convinced him that the canoe was simply a coincidence. It had to be. It was one thing for Joshua to be psychic. That was hard enough to accept. But that the rivers were populated by spirits, manitous who manifested in this world and played tricks on children? Joshua was embarrassed that he had entertained such a notion for even a moment.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the strange sensation that something was out there watching him, beckoning him, maybe even helping him. He just wasn’t sure. And when he had any doubts about anything Ojibwe, Mokwa was his go to person. He finally decided to raise the topic with him.

  “So, do you think the Little People made this canoe?” Joshua asked, feeling silly for even asking the question.

  “No, they just provide
d it,” Mokwa said.

  “How do you know?” Joshua asked.

  “Because if the Little People had made it, it would be constructed out of birchbark,” Mokwa informed him, as though the answer were obvious. “Duh,” he added, just having to rub it in.

  “Oh,” Joshua said, feeling stupid.

  “Campers,” Little Deer offered, looking as though he had been thinking about the canoe’s origins for hours. “They parked it too close to the river,” he said. “When the storm hit, it got washed into the river.”

  Mokwa shot Little Deer a befuddled glance. “Little Deer, you have a very active imagination.”

  As Joshua thought about it some more, he decided that he rather liked the idea of the Little People being out there helping them out. The evidence did seem overwhelming. Besides his odd dream, the clouds were dark and menacing, but it hadn’t rained in hours. Maybe the Memegwesi were controlling the rain. And so Joshua, taking Mokwa’s lead, decided to be alert for signs, anything that would tell him what to do next. If the Little People were leading him someplace, then where were they going? How would he know when he got there? Looking for signs wasn’t easy when you didn’t know what you were looking for. Anything could be a sign.

  Mokwa was in fact getting overly enthusiastic at the slightest hint that the manitous could be guiding them.

  “Dude, did you see that turtle plunge into the water?” Mokwa asked, visibly excited. “What do you think it means?”

  “I think it means we scared it,” Little Deer said. He obviously didn’t share Mokwa’s enthusiasm for signs.

  Mokwa didn’t want to argue about it. He looked around, as though trying to fixate on something more obvious, something that wouldn’t elicit a debate from the skeptical Little Deer. “Look! At the clouds!” Mokwa said a few seconds later, even more excited than before.

  “They are dark,” Little Deer said, unencumbered by emotion.

  “Exactly!” Mokwa said. He was unfazed by Little Deer’s apparent lack of faith. “Dark clouds! What do you think it means?”

  Joshua found Mokwa’s enthusiasm contagious, as he gazed up at the menacing storm, deciding that maybe it was in fact slightly darker now. But still, that didn’t actually tell him anything. “I don’t know,” Joshua said in response to Mokwa’s question. “What does it mean exactly?”