“Lare,” he asked, “what’s in your hair?”
I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. I knew he was gonna give me a lecture.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.
Floaters
Fort Simmer braces for two things in winter. The first is the cold. The second is the Floaters. Floaters are the town drunks who stagger around the community at all hours of the night. Hobo Jungle is where they camp. But when it’s cold out, they come into town to pass out in the alleys, or in the hotel lobby or at the taxi stand. Some throw bricks through the windows of the Bay so they can be charged and shipped off to Yellowknife where they can hibernate and clean up. They are the lost, and Johnny and I walked among them. The ice popped and cracked under our feet and we shimmied like we were wearing kimonos.
Johnny took me out to the back roads of town, by the landslide. We passed two men, one of whom shuffled slow with his head down; the other jumped around him, shadowboxing in old tennis shoes and a bright yellow sweater. His big belly bounced up and down, and he strutted up to us, away from his brother.
“I’m a boxer!” he said and raised his fists. His breath rose above him and plumed like a baby Hiroshima.
The other man was trying to say something in his raspy voice. He was drunk. I could smell the men downwind. They reeked of sweet Lysol and sour fish. The raspy man’s voice was haunting, as if he were a face screaming without a throat.
“Have you ever walked in the footsteps of Jesus?” he asked. I could see his long nose, which slid across his face like a snake off its trail. It had been broken many times. His eyes were black, as black as the eyes of a corpse. They were lifeless, staring at me.
“No,” I said.
Rasp Man shambled closer and raised his hands like the lord of the cross. “Have you ever walked in the footsteps of Satan?” he whispered. I stepped back instinctively. I did not want to touch the man or breathe the air around him.
“Great ! ” Johnny said and came between the Boxer and his brother. He handed the Boxer a smoke. The man stopped his fists long enough to accept it. Johnny lit it for him. Rasp Man floated towards them. I couldn’t see his feet move. He just floated. I heard a quiet thanks that sounded like a death prayer and both men shook Johnny’s hand. Johnny said something to them and they continued on their way towards town. Johnny put his hands in his pockets and walked over tome.
“Fuckin’ chronics,” he whispered.
I was cold and shivering. We started following the brothers towards the town lights. There were pockets of snow on the roads and the ice had glassed over in a thick skin. When the Floaters walked on the ice, it cracked, sounding like panes of glass.
“You really did it tonight, buddy,” Johnny said, changing his tone. “Now you’re in. Now you gotta learn the rules of fighting. When you broke Jazz’s nose—and you owe me one for wiping up the blood—you got brought into a circle. This circle is one for fighters, like Buddy X up there,” he motioned with his head.
The bigger man was shadowboxing his fists about his brother’s head without making contact. He was quick. His belly bounced and bounced. Rasp Man cackled back and started to call and cough loudly. It was a scene of shadow puppets, almost as if we were watching an ape and a lizard meet in an arena. Rasp Man raised his arms again and the Boxer held him.
Johnny snorted and lit up a smoke. “Pretty soon the word is gonna be out that you’re a scrapper. The next time you’re at a party and someone’s looking for a fight they might grab you. You’re fair game now. You’re in.”
He took a puff and passed the cigarette to me. I was smiling inside: I was in.
“This here’s unspoken. I’m only gonna say it once. If you get into a fight and you get hurt bad, stay down. Just stay down and cover your head. Whoever it is that’s scrapping you will take that as a surrender. It works 99 per cent of the time. If they’re drunk, you just run your Indian ass the hell out of there, ’cause drunks like to keep kicking. If they’re stoned, they’ll usually stop when you cover your head. You got that?”
I took a drag and handed the smoke back to him. “Yeah,” I said, goon.
The brothers stopped up ahead. They were arguing. The Boxer started to yell and Johnny and I stopped to watch. There weren’t any streetlights where we were, but the men were close enough to the Bay that we could make out their silhouettes. The Boxer planted his feet in the cold gravel. The raspy brother tried to walk away, but was grabbed and shaken by the Boxer. Johnny continued to talk, keeping a watchful eye on the two men.
“Larry,” he said, “if I have to listen to my mom fuck one more guy, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
He went silent, and I felt sad.
“Johnny,” I said. “I didn’t know ...”
“Well, shit,” he said, blowing smoke in my face, “now you got the hunger; you’ll probably want to start screwing anything that walks. I’ll tell you something, Lare, and this is coming to you straight. Sex is a drug; once you start, you can’t stop. Sometimes it’s downright ugly what people will do to get it.”
“Man, I know that,” I said, thinking of my father.
Up ahead, Rasp Man was trying to get free of the Boxer. His hands fluttered like the wings of a shot chicken. The Boxer yelled into his face and shook him again. In the distance, from where I stood, they looked like lovers in an incredible dance.
Johnny continued with his grim message. “You wanna start screwing someone, you talk to Dean Meddows. His mom works at the hospital as a nurse. She knows all the girls in this town that have the dose. She tells Dean every name. I know it’s bad—you can just close your mouth—but this is a shit town and she’s just looking out for her own. I had Juliet checked out. She’s okay. You think you’ll remember that before you wet your wick? You pay Dean five bucks and he’ll give you a list of all the chicks who got the clap.”
“Yeah,” I said, watching the brothers. Johnny took a long drag and handed me the smoke. “What else?”
The Boxer threw his brother on the ground and proceeded to smash his sneakers into him. The younger man began to scream. I started to run towards them, but Johnny grabbed my jean jacket and held me with sudden tank force.
“Never fuck a friend,” he said, looking into my eyes. “That’s the golden rule.”
I looked back towards the two men. “They’re ghosts, Johnny.”
“Wha?”
“Nobody’s told them they died.” I took a big swallow. “Nobody told them they’re dead.”
Big Daddy Love in Free Fall
Johnny and I had been walking for a while when we came to the church. Johnny howled to the moon, and I could hear the scrape of claws on steel as a thousand ravens on the church roof steadied themselves in the wind. I thought to myself, “This is how death must feel, with its claws cold and sinking.”
The ravens snapped their black razor bills like a million crabs in battle. I couldn’t see the ravens but I bet they were sharpening their beaks and watching us, their life-steam rising like a thousand tangled arms. Johnny was walking ahead of me. I started to talk to myself so that anything out there would know we were coming. I just gave in to what I felt and started to free-fall inside. I guess I was babbling for quite a while, ’cause when Johnny stopped suddenly I bumped into him.
“What’s that?” Johnny asked. “What’d you say?”
“What?”
“You were singing.”
“I was?” I felt so incredibly tired and wanted to go home.
“Yeah, you kept singing, ‘In her tongue is the law of kindness, in her tongue is the law of kindness.’ ”
“It’s from the Bible. I can’t remember where.”
“You said Ewoks looked like burn victims. You said you hated their teeth.”
“Guess I’m just tired.”
“You guess? Man, you’re something else, you know that?”
“Whatever,” I said.
“You don’t remember any of this, do you?”
“No.”
; “You said the devil lives in a church.”
“That’s what they say.”
“That’s fuckin’ freaky, man. Explain that.”
I thought of my father. “Can’t say.”
“Shit, man. You’re a poet or something.”
Then why can’t I have Juliet? I wanted to ask.
We went back to Johnny’s apartment and I collapsed on the couch. I dreamed that night of stunt men doing cartwheels with dry assholes, ripping themselves in half, and ravens, all the ravens watching, their beaks spread, open.
The next morning, when I opened my eyes, Donny was watching me. He was wearing a black Guns and Roses T-shirt and a green gonch.
“Chief,” he said, “you got purple eyelids.”
It was true. Nobody else had noticed till now, thank God.
“What’s your point?” I asked, sitting up.
“My point, dick-smack, is you got purple eyelids and gum in your hair.”
I found a lump that tugged at my scalp when I tried to pull it out. “Fuck.”
“Classy, man,” he said, “real classy.”
I heard the clank of dishes in the kitchen. I thought it might be Johnny’s mom but it was Johnny. He was wearing the same clothes as last night, and his hair was wet.
“Wanna shower?” he asked.
“Naw,” I said. “I gotta go.” I stumbled around looking for my jacket.
“Over here,” Donny said, pointing. Shit. It was on the floor in the corner.
“You okay?” Donny asked.
“Yeah.”
Johnny didn’t say anything. I pulled my shoes on. “What time is it?”
“Dunno,” Johnny answered.
“You gonna come by today?” Donny asked. “Maybe we could play some cards.”
“Don’t think so. I got a lot of homework to do.”
“Yeah,” Johnny added, “and a lot of thinking.”
I was up and out the door, sniffing the back of my hands for hash smoke. I needed a shower.
I stood outside, blinded for a minute by the cold red sun. It was windy, and snow was glittering on the grass. The ravens were out and I watched them. They climbed the sky, climbed it to the top. They allowed themselves to be held, to be blown back, let go.
There was the terrible stuck of Bubblicious gum in my hair, the chocolate stain of Jazz’s blood on my fist. There was a rash on my face where I had shaved, and the words “I’m a boxer” bounced around my twisted skull.
Jed
School dragged on. My marks dropped, but I didn’t tell my mom. She worked hard and didn’t need to worry about me. She’d ask, “How’s school?” and I’d say, “School’s school.”
We took a cab when we went to pick up Jed at the airport. I was excited. While we were waiting for him to get off the plane, my mom told me, “I don’t know what happened, but Jed’s in rough shape.”
It was true. Jed was different. I could see it as he walked along the runway to the building. He wore his greasy Husquavarna Chainsaw cap over his salt and pepper hair, but he kept his eyes down. He hadn’t been off the plane for five seconds before he lit up a smoke, holding the butt too close to his face. This was crazy. He had quit about three years ago, and it didn’t look good on him. When Jed got into the terminal, my mom walked up ahead of me and hugged him. I stood back. Something had changed.
For the first time, I noticed how short he was. He stood about five nine, but I was getting taller. Then I noticed he had cut his hair. He used to be so proud of it streaming down his back. Whatever had happened since he left sure had taken its toll. His gargoyle nose bulbed beneath his slow watery eyes, and he looked tired. He must have felt me watching him ’cause he turned and looked at me.
“Excuse my Slavey, Lare, but I feel like six pounds of shit stuffed into a five-pound bag.”
He shook my hand and handed me a big brown bag of dry fish.
“Well, I’m glad to see you, Jed,” I beamed.
He nodded. He turned and hugged my mom again. “Verna,” he said. “Baby, I missed you.”
She hugged him for a long time while I kind of looked away. When they finished, Jed called, “Look at the champ, he’s started shaving.”
“Take it easy,” I blushed. I couldn’t wait to have some dry fish.
“Negha dagondih” he said.
“Neghadegondee” we answered.
In Slavey, in his language, this was how he always greeted us.
“You remembered,” he said, and hugged us both for a long, long time.
God Gives Me Little Gifts and These Are Some of Them
Jed’s orange safety vest in the closet, Jed’s huge green gumboots in the porch, Jed’s two rifles in moose-hide sheaths behind the couch, two Buck knives on the counter, one skinning knife on the fridge. Jed’s sun-yellow rain gear on a hanger, his two sleeping bags rolled out to dry, his tent in its tiny little bag, his Birds of North America and Plants of North America books on the table, his moccasins being worn in the house, his binoculars on the bookshelf, big gobs of dry meat in the butter, the smell of the bush in every room in the house. Jed is back ! Jed is back ! Jed is back !
Itchy Bum! (No Butterflies for Jesus)
“... here that ole-timer thought it was toilet paper he wiped his ass with, but it was fiberglass!” Jed roared. “You should have seen him on the boat when we were hitting those six-foot waves! Just ouch! ouch! ouch!”
We laughed and shook our heads. We were at the Chinese restaurant, the classiest place in town.
“But boy,” he said, wiping his eyes, “no one told us about the killing we’d have to do.”
Mom and I stopped laughing and listened.
“You know, after a fire, there’s lots of animals that don’t make it. They’re burned bad and die slow. I lost count of the bears I had to kill, the deer, rabbits, all them animals that suffered. I started to carry a gun with me in the bush just for that. Before, I just used my shovel.”
I winced when he said that, and Mom saw. We didn’t say anything about it but it was on our minds. My mom sure looked pretty sitting there next to Jed, and I could tell they wanted some time to be alone.
“Hey, little buddy,” Jed said, “I noticed that woodpile’s pretty low.” He eyed my mom. “Hon, you want us to go out and chop six cords?”
“What? The last time you and I went out and tried to cut six cords we ended up setting half the park on fire,” I teased.
“How was I to know it was gas in that jerry can?” he said. “I thought it was water. Here I try to put out the little brush fire we got going for tea and the next thing you know I’m hopping around with smoking eyebrows and a bald spot!”
My mom began to laugh, which was surprising. She hadn’t been too happy when the park warden had showed up to take our statements and issue Jed a fine. “You guys are a couple of sad Indians.”
I studied Jed when he wasn’t looking. He had these huge arms he called “the pythons.” He sure got his jollies showing them off in shirts with the sleeves hacked off. He was wearing his classic “Denendeh: One Land One People” T-shirt, and it needed a wash.
“Speaking of which, did you start taking drum lessons?” he asked me.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know any instructors.”
“Well, what about the Friendship Centre? Just go and ask. They’ll show you.”
“Naw, Jed. I don’t know. It’s not my thing.”
“Well, pardner, what about jigging? Didja learn how?”
“No.”
“Dja try?”
I shook my head.
“Well, what’s it gonna be ? The fiddle or the drum ? You gotta take a side. It’s just like the old-timers say, ‘How can you know where you’re going, if you don’t know where you’ve been?’ ”
My mom watched for my response. I remembered my dad taking me in the shed to teach me how to play the drum. I got a chill in the expanding second and scrambled to divert the attention away from me.
“So what happened up in the barrenlands?�
� I asked.
“Jesus,” Jed said, taking a big breath. “Where do I begin? How’s my coffee? I ain’t tellin’ this until I have a full cup.”
The woman who had served us was having a smoke in the corner. We tried to wave the other waiter over but he didn’t see.
“Hey, Bruce!” Jed yelled. “Hey, Bruce Lee!”
The waiter looked and Jed raised his cup.
We all started giggling. Man, he was fearless.
The waiter came over. “Hey, Jed,” he said.
“Howdy, Thomas,” Jed said and shook his hand.
“How long you in town for?” the waiter asked.
Both my mom and I looked at Jed for an answer.
“Well,” he placed his hand over Mom’s, “as long as she’ll have me.”
Wow!!
Thomas filled our cups. “Dessert?”
“How about some apple pie with ice cream? You want some, Larry?”
“Sure.”
“Verna?”
“I’d love some.”
“Ice cream?”
“I better not.”
“Come on, baby. Winter’s coming. You got too skinny without ol’ Jed around.”
“Oh, all right.”
It was so great to see him. I missed him so much. I could feel the weight he was carrying, and it sure was heavy.
“Let’s hear this story before we get our pie,” I urged.
“Okay,” he said, taking a sip of coffee and holding the cup with both hands. “Okay.”
Locked in Death
“Verna, you remember how you told me about that Dogrib woman who drowned her girls?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Does Larry know the story?”
“No,” I said.
“Well.” He took a deep breath. “Dogrib woman, I guess. I don’t know which community she was from. Her old man took off on her. Said he was going to go on the land and get her some caribou or musk-ox, but he never came back.”
The Lesser Blessed Page 7