“He didn’t say, but I had my suspicions. Let’s face it, most of our communities have few items that date from early times. Either they were traded for next to nothing or they didn’t survive because of their fragility.”
“Isn’t it really up to the individual community to decide how they want to handle this?”
“I agree. But Louise was quite adamant that we—” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Christ, it can’t be….” His eyes were fixed on a woman who’d just entered the brightly lit ground floor of a townhouse set slightly back from the others.
“How did you know it was her?” I asked, immediately recognizing the woman. “You weren’t with me when I saw her this morning.”
“It may be many years since I’ve seen her,” he growled, “but I’d know my goddamn sister anywhere.”
“Your sister? But that’s Allistair’s mother.”
Eleven
Allistair? Who’s he?” Eric snapped back.
“Remember? The boy who was killed yesterday, the boyfriend of Louise’s niece.”
“Right. Sorry. I forgot.”
“Are you saying that woman is your sister?”
The woman approached the window. Worried she would see us staring in; I ducked and tried to pull Eric with me. But her red-rimmed eyes and distracted manner suggested her focus was on her murdered son and not on us. She flung the curtains closed.
“Stepsister.” He ran his hand through his hair. “This boy was Haida, right?”
“Yes, he was adopted. That’s what Louise said.”
“Christ, she did the same thing. Like mother like daughter.”
The minute the words were spoken, I knew he was talking about his own adoption.
“Let’s keep walking.” I had to calm him down.
During the ups and downs of our relationship we’d both kept secrets from each other, until a near tragedy forced us to admit that if we wanted to continue together, we had to be completely open with each other. After my painful confession to him about my brother, he had told me about his own childhood and his adoption by a white family in Calgary.
“I learned from my Algonquin grandmother when I finally located her that my real mother was killed in a car accident when I was about two,” he recounted before we were married. “My dad had taken off shortly before I was born, so my grandparents were the only family left to take care of me. But the local priest and the Indian agents didn’t think they could look after me properly or provide the so-called ‘necessary education’ to make me a contributing member of Canadian society. Yeah, right. As if that mattered to my grandparents.
“So I was taken from the rez and sent thousands of miles away to Calgary for adoption. I guess the authorities wanted to make damn sure there was sufficient distance between me and my heritage. My grandparents later told me that my leaving was like losing an arm or a leg. You see, I was their last remaining family. My mother was the only one of their four children to survive into adulthood.”
Needless to say, Eric had no memory of any of this. His earliest memories were of being a young boy growing up in a family with two older siblings. It wasn’t so much that his adoptive parents were bad parents; it was that they denied him his culture. When he started asking why he was darker than his fair-haired siblings and his parents, they finally had to admit that he was adopted. But they suggested that his parents might have been Italian. So he grew up not knowing that he was native, let alone a member of the Algonquin Anishinabeg.
“They wanted to stamp the Indian out of me,” he said, not bothering to hide his bitterness, “though I didn’t find that out until years later, when I finally put two and two together. They were much harder on me than the other two, kept insisting I needed more discipline for reasons they never bothered to explain. I assumed it was because I was adopted. They made sure I received a good education. Spared no expense and sent me off to one of the best private schools in Alberta. It was there I found hockey, my lifesaver.”
Eric proved to be a natural and before long was playing in AAA. At an away game in Winnipeg he was approached by a woman who wanted to know if he was from the Buffalo Point Reserve because he looked like the grandson of a friend of hers. He vehemently denied it, insisting he was Italian. Later, when he was mistaken once again for native, he started to wonder.
“It terrified me,” he said. “It’d been drummed into me since I was a boy that Indians were nothing but lazy drunkards. I didn’t dare ask my parents. To convince myself that I wasn’t one, I set out to become the best hockey player in the league and the best student in the school. It almost killed me. Between the hours I was spending working out in the gym, in hockey practice, and studying, there weren’t many left for sleeping. I was a walking zombie, barely able to function. Then I met Uncle Joe. He was a Dené elder from the Northwest Territories and the wisest man I’ve ever known. Simply put, he told me to stop running.”
Eric went on to describe how this wise old man, who’d spent more time in the bush than with a roof over his head, convinced the confused young player to accept and be proud of his aboriginal heritage. Uncle Joe opened the door to the traditional ways, to the Creator and Mother Earth, to smudging ceremonies and the like. He invited Eric to participate in a healing circle and sweat lodge. But it was only when he attended his first powwow that he felt he’d finally returned to his roots.
“I was very nervous,” Eric confided. “This was the first time I was going to be in a large group of my own kind and I felt like a fish out of water. I was terrified of doing and saying the wrong thing. I felt I had nothing in common with any of these people. But I shouldn’t have been worried; within minutes of arriving with Uncle Joe, someone stuck a mallet in my hand and invited me into the drum circle. Soon I was drumming with the best of them. I swore I could feel my ancestors talking to me through the rhythmic beating of the drums. It was the first time I truly felt like an Indian.”
By this time Eric was playing Junior ‘A’ hockey in Medicine Hat, so it was easy to keep his adoptive parents ignorant of this side of his new life. But when the season was over and he returned home wearing a bone choker around his neck and a hawk feather in his Stetson, he confronted them. At first they denied it, insisting he was Italian, but when he threatened to leave and never come back, they admitted that he was native. Needless to say, they were all apologies about hiding it from him, but they truly believed it had been for his own good. Unfortunately, they knew nothing about his mother or her reserve. They only knew he had been born in Quebec.
“With the help of Uncle Joe, it took me eight years to find out I was Algonquin and another two to find the reserve where my mother had lived. In the meantime, I continued with hockey, advancing from the juniors to the NHL. The day I hung up my skates for the last time, I learned that my mother’s parents were still alive. I hopped on the next plane east and headed to the Migiskan Reserve, where I walked into the waiting arms of my grandmother.” His eyes had glistened as he remembered. “The two of them so wizened and small, their backs stooped from their hard lives. Kokomis was blind. Nokomis had lost several fingers from frostbite while tending his trap lines. But they opened their arms and invited me into their lives.
“Sadly, my time with them was short. Kokomis died a year after we were reunited and Nokomis a couple of years later. I never returned to Calgary. The Migiskan Reserve was having its difficulties. I decided that I would use the skills and the education I had acquired through my adoption to help our people. I moved in with my grandparents. I was still living in their bungalow when you found me.” He grinned.
At the time he said little about his step-parents or his step-siblings, and I hadn’t asked. I supposed I had the impression that despite their misguided views they had been basically good parents and that he and the two other children had gotten along the way most siblings get along in such relationships. But given his reaction to the sight of his stepsister, this clearly wasn’t the case. It was time he told me.
We continued walking
along the shore in silence. Although the lights of downtown Vancouver still shone brilliantly from across False Creek, the din of the city had died down and the traffic over the bridges had diminished to a trickle. The city was going to sleep.
I noticed a bench standing a little off the path, facing the water.
“Eric, let’s sit down and you can tell me about your sister.”
Twelve
“You told me that your stepsister was a few years older, but I don’t think you mentioned her name,” I said, settling onto the bench beside Eric.
Although I could feel the dampness of the wood seeping through my jeans, I ignored it. I squeezed his hand and received a warm answering squeeze, which I took as a good sign. He hadn’t shut me out.
Eric placed his arm around me. “I’m sorry. I’ve acted like an idiot, but seeing her so unexpectedly was a real shock. What did you ask me again?”
I repeated the question, adding, “If you really don’t want to talk about her, it’s okay. I understand.”
“I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Safe to say it’s a part of my life I’d rather forget about.” He paused. “At one time Cloë was the person I was closest to in my adoptive family.” He brushed a wayward strand of hair from my face. “You’re right, she is older, by four years. She married Dmitri Zakarhov, a Russian bobsledder who defected from the Soviet Union after the Calgary Olympics. Our family name was Teresko. I changed mine back to Odjik. I can’t remember if I told you that.”
“You said you changed it after you reunited with your grandparents.”
He chuckled. Another good sign. “Yeah, my stepfather wasn’t too happy. He saw it as a slap in the face for the years and money he’d put into raising me. I think I gave him the finger along with some equally complimentary words. I didn’t see him again for twelve years, until my stepmother’s funeral fifteen years ago. I haven’t seen him since. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead.”
He lapsed into silence. I could hear water dripping from the trees behind us, and the sound of waves lapping against the rocks below. Clouds were beginning to hide the top floor lights of the skyscrapers downtown. Was rain on the way?
“My mother meant well. She was a good person in her misguided way. She understood and accepted the name change the same way she accepted my desire to reclaim my heritage. But the old bugger wouldn’t let her have anything to do with me. After years of jumping to his commands, she wasn’t about to do otherwise. I never saw her again. But thanks to a neighbour, we were able to keep in touch.
“Mike, my stepbrother, followed his father’s lead and was very glad to see the end of me. He’d always resented me and didn’t hesitate to call me a ‘fuckin’ injun.’ I guess he wanted to make sure I was good and gone so he wouldn’t have to share his father’s money with me.”
“I’m so sorry. It must’ve been hard. I’m sure you loved them at one point.”
“My mom, yes, my dad, never, although I had a healthy respect for his heavy-handedness. As for Mike, it was mutual dislike from my first memories. He was seven years older and treated me like his personal punching bag. But, hey, he taught me one thing — how to stand up for myself. When I finally bulked up from playing hockey and could give as good as I got, we retreated to our own separate corners and had very little to do with each other.”
He grew silent and stared out over the water.
The tide was retreating. The seaweed covering the rocks glistened in the glow from the streetlight behind us.
“Don’t get me wrong, Meg, it wasn’t an unhappy childhood. I had many good moments. In fact, if my real mother hadn’t died, I’m not sure my life would’ve been any better growing up on the rez. At that time, life on the Migiskan wasn’t too prosperous and Kokomis said that my mother had a drinking problem, so it would’ve been difficult. But enough about me….” He held an open palm to the sky. “I feel a few drops. We’d better get back.”
I remained seated. “But you haven’t told me about Cloë. Besides, my bottom’s already quite wet. A few more drops won’t hurt me.”
But he stood up and pulled me to my feet. “It’s late, and I have another early meeting. I’ll tell you on the way back.”
“Oh no, I was hoping you’d get a chance to sleep in.”
“Unfortunately, not tomorrow. But it’s the last day of the Assembly, so the next day I’m all yours. And don’t forget the big event tomorrow night, the Closing Feast. You’ll want to look your best, so I think a good night’s sleep would only add to your … ah … lustrous beauty.” His grey eyes twinkled as he ruffled my hair.
“Lustrous beauty, eh? I like that.” I tried to regain control of my hair. “But it won’t work. Flattery will get you nowhere. But I could be bought off by …” I smiled wantonly, not bothering to finish the sentence.
The glint in his eye was enough answer for me.
“Let’s get going. But I still want to hear about your sister.”
He nodded, striding beside me. “There isn’t really much to tell. As I said, when we were growing up Cloë and I were close. She liked having a baby brother and treated me as such. She even came to my defence when Dad came on a little too hard. She was his little princess and could penetrate his tough veneer in a way none of the rest of us could.”
“So why did you get so upset when you saw her just now?”
Although I couldn’t see the rain, I could hear it approaching across the water. Within seconds it was upon us. I flipped up my hood and zipped up my rain jacket. Eric didn’t bother, but at least he’d put on the jacket.
I repeated my question.
“I heard you,” Eric replied abruptly.
We walked on, albeit a bit faster. The rain pounded us, and the ground around us. I wasn’t going to push him. He would tell me in his own time. The townhouse where we’d seen his sister came into view. While I glanced at the now darkened windows, Eric kept his gaze fixed on the path in front of us.
As we crossed back onto Granville Island, he finally spoke up. “Sorry, Meg. I’m not trying to avoid the question. I’m just trying to come up with an answer that makes sense.” He paused. “The last time I spoke to her was at Mom’s funeral, and we didn’t exactly part on friendly terms.”
Rather than taking the scenic shore route, we took the more direct route to the houseboat. The rain persisted. The bottoms of my jeans were drenched as were my trail shoes. Though Eric had finally zipped up his rain jacket, he still got pretty soaked.
“After I moved to Migiskan, we exchanged a few letters and some phone calls, but for the most part I ignored her,” Eric continued. “She was trying to get me to see their side and I didn’t want to. I was too angry.”
“This doesn’t sound like you. I’ve never known you to be mad for longer than a few minutes.”
“You didn’t know me back then. I was a man on a mission, intent on eradicating my white upbringing. At the funeral she wanted me to say a few words about Mom and I refused.”
“If you disliked your adoptive family so much, why did you go to the funeral?”
“Simple. I loved my stepmother. She had treated me kindly and with love. I wanted to pay my respects. I wanted to say goodbye to her. But Cloë and I started shouting at each other and I ended up leaving before the service even started.”
“And you’ve had no contact with her since?”
“No, not a single phone call or letter. I didn’t even know she was living in Vancouver. No, that’s not quite true. I found out she was living here just before we left home. She sent me a note suggesting that we meet while I was in Vancouver. She’d read in the newspaper that I would be attending the Assembly.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He grinned sheepishly. “I knew if I mentioned it, you’d insist I see her … and I have no intention of doing so.”
“But Eric, you said the two of you were once very close. Surely you must still have some feelings for her.�
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“I didn’t tell you everything. I imagine, like most siblings, as we grew older we became more caught up in our own lives. I was away at boarding school most of the year, and only came home for holidays and the summer months. She was caught up with her friends and had little time for me; in fact, she became a bit of a bully. She and her friends used to gang up on me. But I was okay with that. I would play tricks on her to get even.”
“What kind of tricks?”
“The kind of tricks younger brothers play on their sisters. A frog in her bed, Saran wrap on the toilet seat.” He chuckled. “Of course, that only made her madder at me.”
“I can’t say that my sister and I were any different.”
“What hurt me the most, though, was her coolness after she learned I was native. She didn’t call me names or treat me badly like Mike, but she would go out of her way to be busy whenever I suggested we do something together. And she no longer came to my hockey games. Before, she used to make an effort to see every Calgary game. Basically, she ignored me.”
“Did you ever bring this up with her?”
“No, I didn’t. I suppose I was afraid of the answer. Our mother’s death finally told me how much she had come to hate me. The argument we had at the funeral was only part of it. Mother was fairly well off in her own right, so when she died she left the three of us an equal amount of money. Cloë joined forces with Mike to try to prevent me from getting my share.”
“Oh Eric, how awful.”
“It was a terrible time, but the will held and I did get my money, although I didn’t want it anymore. I gave it all to the band council.”
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to see her. Still, she has opened the door. Maybe you should see her, or at least talk to her. Did she give a reason?”
“Something about putting our past quarrels behind us. But if I know her, she won’t let them rest and we’d just end up fighting again. Nope, I’m not going to go through that door. I’m very content with my life now.” He squeezed my hand. “I don’t want to ruin it by dredging up all those old feelings.”
Silver Totem of Shame Page 5