OK, says Coyote, all the Enemy Aliens back in the truck!
Let’s not be too hasty, I tell Coyote. The party is just starting.
No time to party with Enemy Aliens, says Coyote. I got a new job.
Another job! Boy, that Coyote is one busy Coyote.
What is your new job? I ask Coyote.
I got to take the Enemy Aliens to their new homes, says Coyote.
They can stay here, I says. We got lots of room.
Oh, no, says Coyote, that would be too dangerous. We got to take the Enemy Aliens who look sad and the Enemy Aliens who look scared to the Sugar Beet Farms. We going to give them jobs.
OK, I says, working on the Sugar Beet Farms is pretty good money.
We’re not going to pay them, says Coyote. Those Enemy Aliens have to work for free, so they can show us that they are loyal citizens.
Boy, I tell Billy Frank, those citizenship tests are tough.
What’s a citizen? says Billy Frank.
What about those Enemy Aliens with the targets painted on their backs, who look pretty angry?
Oh, says Coyote, those are the Dangerous Enemy Aliens. Those Dangerous Enemy Aliens are going to Angler, Ontario.
Holy, I says, those Enemy Aliens must be real dangerous to have to go to Ontario. Have any of the Enemy Aliens caused any troubles?
Not yet, says Coyote, but you can’t be too careful.
So the Coyote goes to the centre of the party and stands by the drum, and that one holds up his hands.
OK, says Coyote, all the Enemy Aliens back in the truck.
But you know what? Nobody gets in the truck.
Maybe they didn’t hear me, says Coyote. And this time he says it really loud. All the Enemy Aliens back in the truck!
But nobody gets in the truck.
OK, says Coyote, we going to have to do this the hard way. And Coyote and the RCMPs grab Billy Frank.
Enemy Alien, says that Coyote and those RCMPs.
Silly Coyote, I says, that’s not an Enemy Alien. That’s Billy Frank.
Are you sure? says Coyote. He certainly looks like an Enemy Alien.
I’m Billy Frank, says Billy Frank.
So that Coyote and the RCMPs grab another Enemy Alien.
No, I says, that’s not an Enemy Alien. That’s my friend Napioa.
Nonsense, says Coyote. I know an Enemy Alien when I see one, and Coyote and the RCMPs grab everyone they see. Those politicians stand behind that important-looking car singing O Canada and waving flags.
Enemy Aliens.
No, I says, that’s Leroy Jumping Bull’s cousin Cecil.
Enemy Alien.
No, I says, that’s Martha Redcrow. She’s married to Cecil Jumping Bull’s nephew, Wilfred.
I wouldn’t stand too close to this story if I were you. Coyote and the RCMPs might grab you. Yes, I’d sit in the corner where those ones can’t see you.
Enemy Alien.
No, I says, that’s Maurice Moses. He’s Leroy Jumping Bull’s grandson. Leroy’s daughter Celeste had twins.
Enemy Alien.
No, I says, that’s Arnold Standing Horse. He takes those tourists into those mountains to go hunting.
That silly Coyote even grabs me.
Hey, I says, let me go.
Oops, says Coyote, oops.
You got to stop grabbing everybody, I says.
But Coyote and the RCMPs don’t do that. And pretty soon that Coyote has that pretty good truck filled with Enemy Aliens, and that one has that pretty good truck filled with Indians.
I have more Enemy Aliens than when I started, says Coyote. I must be better than I thought.
You got to keep the Indians and the Enemy Aliens straight, I tell Coyote. Otherwise you’re going to mess up this story.
And just then the RCMPs grab that Coyote.
Enemy Alien.
No, no, says Coyote. I’m Coyote.
Enemy Alien, shout those RCMPs. Oh Canada, sing those politicians. And everybody drives off in that important-looking car and Coyote’s pretty good truck says “Okada General Store” on the door.
And I don’t see that Coyote again.
So that Coyote comes by my place. My good place by the river.
Yes, this is still the same story. Yes, that Coyote has been gone a while, but now that one is coming back. Sure, I know where Coyote and the Indians and the Enemy Aliens go. No, they don’t go to Florida to play that golf with that alligator. No, they don’t go on that cruise to those islands, everybody sits in the sun and drinks out of big nuts. No, they don’t give those Enemy Aliens back their Enemy Alien property either.
Hello, says that Coyote. Maybe you have some tea. Maybe you have some food. Maybe you have a newspaper for me to read.
Sure, I says. Sit down. Where’s that pretty good truck says “Okada General Store” on the door?
The Whitemen took my pretty good truck, says Coyote. And they took all my Enemy Alien Property. And they took all my Enemy Aliens.
Holy, I says, those Whitemen like to take everything.
Yes, says Coyote, that’s true. And that one drinks my tea. And that one eats my food. And that one reads my newspaper.
Hooray, says that Coyote. I have found another job.
Boy, I says, it is dangerous to read newspapers.
This job is better than the other one, says Coyote.
You going to round up more Enemy Aliens? I say.
No, says Coyote. I’m going to that New Mexico. I’m going to that Los Alamos place in New Mexico, help those Whitemen want to make the world safe for freedom.
OK, I says, that sounds pretty good. That New Mexico is mostly that desert and those mountains. Nothing much in that Los Alamos place that Coyote can mess up.
Yes, now Coyote is gone. Yes, now those toes are safe. Yes, that’s the end of the story. Well, you should have asked Coyote while he was here. Maybe if you hurry, you can catch him before he gets to that New Mexico.
No, I’m going to stay here. That Coyote will come back. That one always comes back. Somebody’s got to be here to make sure he doesn’t do something foolish.
I can tell you that.
Yvette Nolan
Scattering Jake
One
David, Yvette, DM, and Naomi are standing on King and Church, in the yard of St. James cathedral.
D: This is so illegal.
N: We haven’t done anything yet.
DM: Where is – he?
N: David’s purse.
D: It’s a man-bag.
N: Purse, man-bag.
DM: At least you didn’t call it his—
Y: David’s sac.
DM: Jeez!
Y: You don’t mind when I call mine my sac.
DM: That’s because you— never mind—
D: Don’t have one?
DM: (putting fingers in ears) La la la la la la
Y: Sac is a perfectly acceptable name for it. Besides, I am saying sac, not sack. Sac, the French way. Mon sac a dos… my backpack.
D: But so much more elegant.
Y: Exactly.
DM: This is not what we should be doing with his body.
N: It’s not his body. It’s his ashes.
DM: I am probably going to hell for this.
D: More like jail.
DM: Jail?
D: You can’t just scatter human ashes anywhere. There are laws.
David takes the box out of his bag and hands it to DM, who takes it and holds it gingerly. He takes a package of cigarettes out of his sac and removes one.
N: I wish you wouldn’t smoke.
D: You and my mother.
N: Don’t you think it’s disrespectful of Jake? Seeing as he—
D: Died of lung cancer?
Y: Technically, he didn’t die of lung cancer.
N: Hush.
DM: So light.
Y: He was this light near the end.
N: Hush.
Y: Still, this is no way to finish the journey.
D:
The journey? When did you get all-wise Indian?
Y: Always been Indian.
DM: What did his people do?
D: Who were his people?
N: We are his people, people. That’s why we are doing this, why he asked for us to do this. ‘Cause we are his people.
D: Wow, that’s sad.
N: That’s not sad. It’s an honour.
D: No, there is no way when I died I would want me to be in charge of whatever ceremony or ritual or disposal.
DM: Youch.
D: What? That’s what it is…
N: You’re not in charge, David, you’re just—
D: Here for comic relief?
N: No, comic relief is funny.
D: The dispassionate witness?
DM: Dispassionate?
D: Unruffled, cool.
DM: I know what it means, jackass. I just don’t think you are dispassionate. I think you’re just in denial.
D: Denial? Of what?
DM: Of everything.
N: Alright, that’s enough.
D: No, I wanna know what DM means—
N: Well, this is not about you, David.
D: Of course it is. Everything is always about me. How do I fit in this picture? Do I fit in this picture? How did I get in this picture?
Y: Can I have a pair of scissors to cut myself out of this picture?
N: Don’t encourage him.
Yvette shrugs.
DM: Strangely, I don’t think you are here for the picture, David, I think you are here for the words.
Y: A thousand words maybe.
N: You’re the chronicler.
D: Why do I have to be the chronicler? Why can’t Yvette be the chronicler? I’ll turn it into fiction.
N: Yvette’s not the chronicler this time. And she’ll turn it into fiction.
Y: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
D: What are you saying? That I don’t make art? That I only document? That my writing is only so much public journaling? Now I think that I will kill myself.
DM: David, for god’s sake, stop it! Stop making this about you.
Y: Hush, he’s just— we’re all just— a little wrought. I think we are all feeling the responsibility, and it’s scary.
DM: That’s what she’s here for.
David goes to speak. Yvette looks at him. He doesn’t.
DM: How long?
N: A couple of minutes now.
DM: Maybe we should open the box.
N: Yeah, you’re right.
D: You haven’t opened the box?
N: No.
D: Well, how are we gonna divvy him up?
DM: What do you mean?
D: Well if we are supposed to put his ashes in four spots, shouldn’t we divvy them up first? Or do we just open and shake, like parmesan cheese, and kinda estimate what a quarter of the ashes look like.
N: I don’t know.
Y: Well, we better figure it out pretty quickly because we are coming up on the hour and if we don’t do it today, we’ll have to come back tomorrow.
D: I can’t do tomorrow.
DM: Me neither. I moved everything from today to do this, my tomorrow is completely booked.
Y: I am sure Jake will be fine if he isn’t scattered right on the noon bells.
D: You think?
Y: No, I don’t think. But I also don’t think this is for him. Like I don’t think he is hanging around watching us execute his last wishes. If he wanted to hang around, he –
N: Give me something sharp.
DM: Not your tongue.
D: Ha ha
DM: Not your head.
D: Ha fuckin’ ha. I’m not packing.
DM: Ha
N: Your pen, wiseass. Give me your pen.
D: Ah, you metaphor-maniac. Here.
Naomi slices through the tape and opens the box.
N: Oh.
DM: Oh what.
N: More plastic.
DM: Oh.
N: Time?
Y: About 30 seconds by my watch.
D: You’ll wreck my pen!
N: I’ll get you another.
D: It was a gift.
N: Oh for god’s sake.
D: How am I supposed to chronicle if you wreck my pen? Here, give it.
David rips the plastic with his hands. Shakes the bag into the box.
D: Now what?
DM: Yvette?
Y: I think we should all take a handful. And when the bells start to ring, we should scatter the ashes to the four directions.
D: This is so illegal.
Yvette shrugs.
She reaches into the box, takes a handful.
N: You gonna say something?
Y: You want me to?
N nods.
DM: Cops. Cops. Slowing down. Oh shit.
D: Well, don’t look guilty.
DM: I can’t help it! I’m Black!
David puts his arm around her neck.
D: Look at me. DM. Look at me.
DM does.
D: Look deep into my eyes.
DM looks at him.
D: Deep. Like you mean it.
She does.
DM: Are they gone?
David pulls her towards him and whispers in her ear. DM laughs.
Y: Okay, they’re gone.
N: What’d you say?
DM: Secret.
D: The DM whisperer.
Y: Right, everyone take a handful.
David does. DM does, squeamishly. Naomi just stands there.
N: I – I don’t know—
Y: It’s okay, Naomi. It’s all part of it. It’s a good thing. This small good thing we are doing.
Yvette goes to her with the box. Takes Naomi’s hand, opens it, puts some ashes into it. Closes it.
Y: Our friend Jake loved this city, the dark alleys, the graffiti’d alleys—
DM: The theatres.
D: Especially the theatres.
Y: He loved the bells of this church.
DM: He loved this neighbourhood.
D: Before it got all gentifried, pre-condo, pre-Starbucks.
Y: Our friend Jake wanted to be put back onto the streets of the city he loved, back into the ground and the air and the water of Toronto.
N: He said Toronto saved his life.
Y: And so we put all that is left of Jake back into the city, that he becomes part of the life of—
The bells start to ring. And ring. Yvette faces east and throws ashes. DM faces north and flings. David sprinkles west. Naomi stands. Lifts her fist to her face.
David goes to her, puts his arm around her, takes her hand in his, faces south with her. She opens her hand, turns it over, ashes fall.
N: Pink.
D: Yup.
She cries. He holds her. Yvette puts down something.
DM: Pink.
Yvette nods.
DM: Who knew?
Y: Not me.
DM: What next?
Two
David, Yvette, DM, and Naomi are standing on the ferry going over to the island. DM is hanging back.
D: This is so illegal.
N: I don’t think it is, David.
D: There are rules. You can’t just go scattering human remains any old place. Not into Lake Ontario. This is where they get our drinking water.
DM: Yum yum. That’s why I don’t drink tap water.
Y: Where do you think we go when they bury us in the ground?
D: DM, why don’t you join us?
DM: That’s okay.
Y: Are you afraid of the water?
DM: No.
Y: Have you ever been on the ferry before?
DM: No.
N: You haven’t?
D: DM, come here.
DM: That’s okay. There’s too much.
N: Too much what?
DM: Nature.
David grabs her, holds her in front of him à la Titanic.
David whispers to her. She laughs.
DM: I’m flying!<
br />
N: Maybe we should move further back to do this.
D: They shut the Pirates of the Caribbean Ride in Disneyland because someone scattered someone’s ashes in the water in there.
Y: That’s dumb.
DM: Who would want to spend eternity in a stupid theme park ride?
D: Either he really liked the ride, or it was revenge on his people.
N: At least he didn’t ask for a Viking funeral.
Y: Why would Jake want a Viking funeral? Weren’t his people English from way back?
D: And American.
DM: Well, that would explain the Viking thing.
Y: What Viking thing?
DM: Invaders, plunderers—
Y: I thought he didn’t ask for a Viking funeral.
N: I’m sorry I brought it up.
D: Hey, did you guys ever hear that story about Chocolate’s Viking funeral?
DM: They had a funeral for chocolate?
D: For a dog named Chocolate. Put him on a raft and set him on fire and set him afloat, right around here, I think…
Y: That’s gotta be urban myth.
DM: I’ve always wondered how something can be both on fire and on water.
D: No really, someone wrote about it. I read it in – oh, Geist, I think.
Y: Bless you.
D: Ha. Anyway, it didn’t work. I guess it didn’t burn –
DM: See?
D: And a few days later commuters on the ferry were treated to the sight of the hairless bloated corpse of Chocolate bumping up against the jetty.
DM: Gross.
N: David.
D: Sorry. Sorry. Just trying to support you—
N: You’re doing a fine job.
D: Don’t be sarcastic. That’s my job. Or maybe DM’s.
DM: I got nothing.
N: Sorry. I— I’m finding this all—
Y: Yeah. (beat) You’re doing good.
N: I thought it would be easier by now.
DM: Naomi, it’s barely been four months. Four months is not very long.
N: But I’ve been fine. I’ve been good.
DM: Yeah, you’re doing great.
D: After great pain a formal feeling comes—
the nerves sit ceremonious like tombs
N: But I feel— I feel—
She touches her chest.
Y: Okay, gang. I think it’s time. David?
David reaches into his sac and pulls out the box.
D: Careful now. Don’t want him escaping before his time.
N: I forgot about the wind. That it would be windy.
DM: Yikes. Don’t want him flying back in my face. No offence, Jake.
They reach carefully into the box and take some ashes. Yvette takes some tobacco from her pocket and adds it to her ashes.
The Exile Book of Native Canadian Fiction and Drama Page 15