“Tom?” she said, pushing the door open further. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I’ve got the day off tomorrow and I really had to see Joyce. How is she?”
“She’s...” Tom’s grandmother noticed Billy and Paul standing at the foot of the porch. “Hullo, Billy,” she said hesitantly, before gazing curiously at the unfamiliar blond-haired boy.
“This is Paul Martin,” Tom said, gesturing to Paul. “His parents are the ones who are letting me stay at their house.”
Tom’s grandmother slid the door flush against the
interior wall. “Come in,” she said to all of them.
Paul watched as Tom and Billy gingerly climbed
up the steps and walked through the open doorway.
He imitated their actions. They stepped into a square kitchen. A wood-burning stove and a metal basin on a stool were neatly shoved along the right wall, while a rectangular-shaped older table was in the centre of the room. Paul couldn’t see any kitchen sink.
They must not even have running water.
The walls were completely bare, except for dents and marks that appeared irregularly.
“Want to come with me, Paul?” Tom asked.
Paul nodded and walked with Tom toward another door.
“The doctor came...” Tom’s grandmother said to Billy in the kitchen. “He thinks it’s polio. He had some medicine that would make her feel better. But it’s too expensive.”
Tom sighed. Paul froze.
Polio.
Only a few short years ago he had gone through the same thing. Except his family had gotten him the medicine he needed and he’d recovered.
Tom gently pushed his sister’s door open. Paul and Tom padded into the darkened room, carefully placing their heels before lowering their toes with each step. A single bed was in the corner, below another window, and the outline of a little girl could be seen through a thin comforter. Her shoulders lifted and lowered with each breath.
“How old is she?” Paul whispered to Tom.
“She’ll be 10 in the fall.” Tom stepped closer to the bed.
Joyce rolled over onto her side and opened her eyes, blinking herself awake. She dug one elbow into her mattress, easing the rest of her body backwards, until she reached the wall. Her hair was black and straight like her brother’s, but stuck to her face with sweat. Her cheeks didn’t glow. Instead, they were dull and grey.
Joyce squinted, adjusting to the dark. “Tom!” she said. “Nokomis and Mishomis kept saying you would be too busy to come.”
Tom smiled at his little sister. “That’s not true – I’m never too busy for you.” He sat on the edge of the bed while Paul hung back. “And my friend Paul came to see you too. I’ve been staying with his family in Col-chester.”
“Hi Joyce,” Paul said, moving to stand behind Tom’s shoulder.
Paul noticed a bedside table along the middle of the back wall, between Joyce’s bed and the other single bed in the left corner that he assumed belonged to Tom. On the bedside table was a saucer with the end of a wax candle poking out of it. He looked around the floorboards, noticing that there weren’t any wall sockets for electricity.
“How are you feeling?” Tom asked.
“Really bad,” Joyce answered. “I feel really hot then cold – the doctor said I have a fever... and Tom? He said that I have polio. What does that mean?”
“Umm,” Tom looked at the floor. “Well it’s a sickness a lot of kids get.”
“And then they feel better, right?”
“Right,” he said, examining the floor again.
“I had polio when I was younger,” Paul jumped in, “and I got better soon after.”
Paul felt bad as soon as the words left his mouth. He had been in the hospital and had been given medication to fight the symptoms. There wasn’t a cure for polio though. Your body just had to get rid of the infection on its own.
“I miss Mom,” Joyce said, pushing the comforter away from her. “I wish she was here.”
The corners of her lips sagged, as if gravity was tugging them down and her eyes glistened with a wall of tears. But she didn’t cry.
“Me too,” Tom said, as he propped Joyce’s pillow up. He paused. “She would be proud of you for being so brave.”
Paul noticed a paper card on the windowsill with the message ‘Get well soon!’ on it.
“Who gave you the card?” Paul inquired, trying to lighten the mood.
“My friends from school made the card when they found out I was sick and they brought it over to me.”
“Have you had a lot of visitors?” Tom asked.
Joyce rubbed her eyes with her fists. “Billy’s been here a lot and he’s told me a lot of stories. And some neighbours have come to see me.” She yawned.
“You should get some sleep. It’s getting late,” Tom said, standing up from the bed. Her eyes widened. “We’ll still be here tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
“Night, Joyce,” Paul said, getting up and following Tom out of the room.
Tom pulled her door shut quietly. Billy, Tom’s grandmother and an older man – Tom’s grandfather – sat at the kitchen table. A large candle in the middle of the table shined on their faces in flickering waves. Since they’d been with Joyce, it had become dark outside. Steam spiraled from a pot on the woodstove, while a metal jug was placed on the cracked counter. Tom’s grandmother got up and pulled a tin from the bottom shelf, plucking out a tea bag. She dropped the bag into the jug, dousing it with the boiling water from the stove.
“Come sit,” Tom’s grandfather said, gesturing to the empty chairs.
The boys sat down and Paul introduced himself to the elderly man. Tom’s grandfather nodded. His short hair had thinned in certain areas, yet his dark skin still stretched smoothly over his cheekbones. Tom’s grandmother returned to the table, carrying the tea and an array of mismatched mugs which she placed in front of each of them. She then put the jug down on the table
directly in front of Paul and sat down again.
“Are you sure we can’t get some medicine for Joyce?” Tom asked. “I’m getting a pay cheque next week.”
“We need that for the house and for food,” Tom’s grandmother answered simply. “We never have enough.”
Paul picked up the metal jug, tipping it sideways and pouring out a light-green liquid. It smelled like mint.
“We went over to the Agency office yesterday,” she continued. “All they had for medicine was some Aspirin and cough syrup.”
On Walpole Island – like every other reserve – an Indian Agent was the chief administrator. This meant that they had a huge amount of control over the affairs of the reserve. The Indian Agent essentially represented the government, interacting with Walpole Islanders on its behalf.
“They just don’t care,” Tom said. “We need our own doctors here – and our own schools.”
Paul took a sip of his tea. It was hot and bitter on his tongue, yet it still managed to taste refreshing.
“You’re right about that.” Billy poured himself some tea. “But not just that, we need to make our own decisions. You remember when they had that committee a few years back? ‘Bout changing the Indian Act?”
Tom nodded, while his grandfather pushed his chair back and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked momentarily over at Paul. “It was just a bunch of whites talking it over,” he said.
“Not entirely. There was a man from Sarnia – from the Union of Ontario Indians – he presented to the committee. And he talked about Walpole Island, saying that the land hadn’t been surrendered and that it was still ours. Before that, an Indian from British Columbia was a witness. And he brought up the idea of Indian self government. Just like what Tom here was saying.”
�
�Like that would happen,” Tom’s grandfather grumbled.
Tom ignored him. “What exactly would that mean?”
“We’d elect Indians from Walpole Island to make
decisions around here. It wouldn’t be government workers from Ottawa who know nothing about us,” Billy answered.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Self government was just being talked about. But when was the last time that the government listened to anything we have to say?” Tom’s grandfather countered. “Things will stay the way they’ve always been.”
“Not if we fight for it,” Tom said. He was sitting up straighter in his chair, eyes ablaze.
“There you go, Billy, riling him up. It won’t do any good. Just keep your opinions to yourself, will ya?”
“Shhh,” Tom’s grandmother said, looking at her husband. She then picked up the empty tea mugs and placed them in the basin.
“Tom’s got to stay focused on work. Not any of this nonsense.” Tom’s grandfather glowered at Billy. “It won’t get him nowhere.”
“It sure isn’t nonsense. Standing up for your people isn’t nonsense. Have you seen what’s been happening to our farmland around here? Most of it’s owned by non-Natives, now, and then leased back to us.”
“True – it’s too expensive to farm with the cost of equipment now,” said Tom’s grandfather.
“Yes, and too bad for us, right? What I’m saying is that it’s not wrong to want to be in control of your own life. I’d like to see self-government. I’d even like to see Indians owning their own land on reserves. There are things worth fighting for.”
Tom’s grandmother scrubbed the mugs vigorously with a rag with only a half inch of water in the basin. Paul realized it would likely be too much work to get more water from the well outside, just to do a few dishes. Or was it because they didn’t want to waste any more than was necessary?
“I think it’s time for you to go home, Billy,” Tom’s grandfather said, looking pointedly at the door. “It’s late.”
Billy stood up. “All right,” he said. “Before I go, I do have some good news. I heard that we’re going to be gettin’ electricity soon.”
Tom’s grandmother looked up from the basin.
“When?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re almost there. About a quarter of the homes have it on the reserve now. I bet we’ll –”
“Bye, Billy,” Tom’s grandfather interrupted.
Billy opened the door. “Okay. Okay. I’m leaving.” He looked at Tom before continuing. “I’m going to go watch the stars. Nice meeting you, Paul.”
Paul waved as Billy climbed down the cement steps to his pickup truck. Tom’s grandfather stood up, announcing that he was going to bed, while Tom’s grandmother finished drying the last mug and placed it in the cupboard.
“I’m sure Joyce’s happy you came, Tom,” she said, folding the towel and putting it on the counter. “She’s been asking for you a lot.”
“Yes, Nokomis.”
“Now, you boys should go to bed. Where are we going to put Paul?”
“I can give him my bed,” Tom said. “I’ll sleep on the floor in our room.”
Paul shook his head: “I can take the floor,” he stood up. “No problem.”
Tom’s grandmother grabbed a small candle from the kitchen counter and quickly sparked a match, lighting the wick. It caught immediately.
“We’re just going to go outside for a bit,” Tom said to his grandmother, who shrugged her shoulders and picked up the candle. She closed the bedroom door behind her.
The boys pulled on light jackets and stepped out into the crisp, dark night.
“Where are we going?” Paul asked, once they had reached the end of the road and turned left. The St. Clair River lapped against the shore.
“To see Billy. We used to always sit in front of a fire at his house and tell stories. Just me and him and sometimes my sister when she got older.”
The boys turned right at a small house and Tom guided them around the side and to the backyard where a cloud of smoke spiraled into the black sky. Billy leaned against a log, his legs propped up against the stone wall of a fire pit. His head tilted back, he gazed intently at the stars.
Paul and Tom approached the fire and plopped down beside Billy. He inched over, making room for them on the log, never taking his eyes off the sky. Paul watched the thick, oranges flames swirl like water over the shelter of wood that Billy had created. They crackled and hissed each time they penetrated a new layer of skin.
“Glad you came,” Billy said, his voice quiet. “I’ve got a good story for you two.” He began the tale without preamble, light shimmering on his wizened face as he spoke.
“A long, long time ago, Gitchie-Manitou created Mother Earth and the birds, plants, animals, fish and people. These first Ojibway people had a lot to learn,
so Gitchie-Manitou sent them a manitou to act as a teacher. This manitou, called Nanabush, was in the form of man, but was a great magician. He could transform anything around him. So, over time, he gave the turtle his shell, the bison his hump, the birch bark its marks.”
“One day, Nanabush was roasting meat over a fire and he decided to go for a walk while it finished cooking. He sang as he walked, which caught the attention of a pack of wolves. The wolves rushed over to eat his meat. When Nanabush got back, he was upset to find his dinner stolen. It was way too dark to do any hunting, so he decided to go and see his good friend, the Giant Woodpecker.”
“After hearing Nanabush’s story, the Giant Wood-pecker said that he would get them some raccoon for dinner. In these days, woodpeckers didn’t have beaks, so he picked up two pointed bone pins and put them in his nostrils. The Giant Woodpecker then flew to a tree and tapped until two raccoons fell out of the branches. He cooked the meat over a fire and the two enjoyed a tasty meal together. When he was leaving, Nanabush thanked the Woodpecker and invited him to have dinner at his camp sometime. When he got home, Nanabush made two pointed pins out of wood.”
“One evening, the Giant Woodpecker flew over to the manitou’s camp and they talked for a long time. Then, Nanabush announced that he would get them some raccoon. He grabbed his wooden pins, stuck them in his nose like the Giant Woodpecker had done, and climbed up a tree. He started tapping and tapping, but nothing happened. Nanabush tapped harder until he got really dizzy and fell out of the tree. The Giant Wood-pecker found him lying on the ground, unconscious and with blood dripping from his nose. He sat Nanabush up, leaned him against a tree, and tapped some raccoons out of the tree.”
“Later, Nanabush woke up and the Giant Wood-pecker told him never to do that again, because it was a woodpecker’s secret. The manitou thanked him for saving his life and admitted that he had been taught a lesson this time. To thank the Giant Woodpecker, Nanabush gave him a red crest by putting some of his own blood on the bird’s head feathers. He told the Giant Woodpecker that all woodpeckers would wear this crest because of him.”
Paul and Tom continued looking into the fire while Billy’s voice trailed off and the legend ended. Billy got up and prodded the embers with a long stick.
“Nanabush was trying to be something he wasn’t,” Billy said. “That’s why he got in that mess.” He placed a log into the pit. “Now, you boys had better get back home.”
“Thanks, Billy,” Paul said, as they got up. Billy nodded and sat down by the log again, looking at the stars, smoke swirling around his face.
Chapter 10
The River
After a quiet breakfast of bread and tea, Tom went to spend time with his sister. Left on his own, Paul decided to explore Walpole Island. He jogged down the steps, continuing along the street until he realized that there wasn’t exactly much to do. No one was in sight and the road appeared to simply lead to more billowing fields. He kick
ed a pebble with his foot, sending it in the direction of the grasses bordering the St. Clair River.
The pebble hit something hard, clanking loudly. Paul turned off the road and down a slight slope, where a series of docks – arranged like a maze – floated on the river. He climbed up onto the closest strip of wood and walked to the very edge where a small motorboat was docked. The metal tub swayed in murky waves, trying to free itself from a rope tied into a sturdy knot. Tall grasses growing out of the water moved to the same rhythm while, farther out, the river reflected the glow of the sun.
Standing on the dock, he imagined himself gliding over the river, the wind blowing and water splashing his face. Paul looked down at the boat, noticing a thick layer of rust on the edges and films of spider webs in its corners. Maybe the boat hadn’t been taken out in a while. Or maybe it had been abandoned.
He heard what sounded like the rustle of grass and leaves behind him and turned to face whoever had arrived. But no one was in sight. He scanned the area carefully. A pair of black eyes peered out from behind a bush. Just as Paul registered this, a large brown dog came charging out of the shrubs, its tongue hanging between jagged teeth. Realizing that he was cornered, Paul knelt down and dug his fingernails into the knot.
Come on…
He pried desperately at the rugged rope.
The dog gained ground.
The knot loosened and Paul steadied the boat with his foot and slid in, still holding the rope securely in his hand. He rushed to the motor, stealing a glance at the dog. Paul grasped the starter cord on the Champion 3HP motor and yanked.
Nothing.
The dog ran to the edge of the water and barked wildly, its ears laid back. It hovered, one paw over the water and Paul realized it was going to jump. He yanked the cord again, pushing farther away from the dock with his foot. The dog leaned on its back legs and pressed its paws into the dock, propelling itself toward Paul. At the same time the motor started and Paul grabbed the tiller and gave it gas. He propelled the boat forward, watching the dog land in open water, right where the boat had just been.
Showdown at Border Town Page 6