Shuksi’em cannot help himself, and he snickers at this cunning child.
“But since my work is done, what I really want is to hear a story, one that I have never heard before.”
“Ah, now I see your true purpose. And since you are so clever, I shall tell you one — a true story about what happens when people are too crafty.” Sleek Seal’s eyes widen with anticipation. “This story was given to me by my elders when I was a young man and to them from many generations of family storytellers. It tells of a dark time when our clan had not learned the danger of greed and how it is the cause of shame and death. Are you frightened, Sleek Seal? I would not want to scare you.” Shuksi’em grins at his granddaughter.
“Oh, Grandfather! I am never afraid when you tell stories. Well, almost never. Go on. I want to hear.”
“Well, if you are sure then. It was fall and your ancestors were having a wedding potlatch. It was meant to be a happy time. And as is the custom, many gifts were to be distributed to the guests. The bride’s family decided they would scramble the goat-wool robes to the common people. During the game, there was much disorder as people grabbed and pulled at the beautiful coats. Two men were fighting over the same coat — neither generous enough to let go. The struggle ended when the older man slashed the younger one’s face with his sharp clamshell knife.
“That night the wife of the younger man thought to take revenge for her husband’s humiliation, and she searched the forest until she caught a frog. When no one was looking, she took some of the other man’s tea and a small piece of his sleeping mat and forced them down the frog’s throat. Then she sewed up the frog’s mouth and attached it to a long rod and planted it in the river’s mouth. She meant for the evil thing to be washed away, causing her husband’s enemy to choke on this bad luck until death.” Shuksi’em stretches his arms and yawns loudly. “Perhaps I should finish the story another time, Sleek Seal.”
“Grandfather, you are teasing me. You know I could not bear for you to stop now. And I am sure I will be haunted if you do not finish the story.”
Shuksi’em shakes with laughter until strands of his long grey hair loosen from their braids. Sleek Seal laughs herself at his nearly toothless grin.
“I would never be the cause of your haunting, dear granddaughter, so I will continue as you have asked. When the wife returned to the big house, someone overheard her telling her husband about what she had done. That night, when the older man began to vomit and choke, word of her deed passed quickly through the big house. The clan was angry and afraid that her witchcraft could be so powerful. Soon there was a frenzy and the people began to shout, ‘Kill the wicked ones before they kill us.’ The couple was taken to the shell mound where they were bound together in an embrace. Many of the men took their sharpest arrows and shot the man and woman until their bodies slumped to the ground. They were buried right where they died, while the clan shaman called on the spirits to cleanse the village of their evil souls.”
Shuksi’em pauses to let the details of the story sift deeper into his granddaughter’s mind. He watches as she considers these events. Only a few such stories of war and violence have passed down through time. His people are peaceful, and he has never known such strange happenings in his own lifetime.
“Did the older man die, Grandfather?” Sleek Seal asks. Shuksi’em smiles at her question. “No, Granddaughter. In the morning, when he felt better, he told his wife that he had eaten too many of the clams during the feast. One had some fine pieces of shell that lodged in his throat, causing him irritation. Then, when he had heard what had happened the night before, he collapsed on the spot and died of shock.”
“The life lesson is clear to me, Grandfather. First, had the two men found a fair and generous solution to the problem with the goat-wool robe, the matter would have ended peacefully. If the wife had used more sense and less craftiness, she would not have caused such alarm among the clan people. And finally, the ancestors were too hasty in their judgment. If they had waited, they would have seen that the older man was not harmed. Our people must never forget this story, Grandfather. It is good that you have told me.”
Shuksi’em strokes the girl’s head, silently approving her wisdom. Then he pulls his small deerskin pouch out from under his bed and unties the string. “Sleek Seal, I have something I want to give you.” He removes the small amulet and gives it a last few rubs until the little round face gleams. The pendant hangs from a thin piece of bear-gut string. “I have carved this charm from a rare stone brought by the traders. It has been blessed by the shaman and will give you courage when you go to your new clan. The goodness in your heart will only make it more powerful, so keep it close.” He wants to say more, to tell her she will be missed, but the sting in his eyes makes him turn away.
Sleek Seal admires the stone. She has never seen such a charm as this, and she knows how hard it has been for her grandfather to carve such details. Her heart feels hot in her chest and is nearly bursting.
CHAPTER 11
Aunt Margaret and I decided that telling Eddy was the first step in trying to fix this mess. By the time her pickup pulled up to the house, my stomach was in such a tight ball that I could hardly stand up. Then, when I saw Chief Lloyd drive up and park his Mustang behind Eddy’s truck, my heart sank.
Aunt Margaret noticed the chief, too, and sighed deeply. “All right, Peggy, this is going to be tough, but we’ll do it together.” She marched over to the front door and opened it wide. “Good morning, Dr. McKay and Chief Lloyd.”
“Hello, Mrs. Randall,” Eddy said. “Today is an important one, and the chief wanted to be here to offer a prayer and observe the final removal of the burial. Is Peggy feeling up to participating?”
“Ah, well there’s something she and I need to talk to you about. Would you both be kind enough to come into the house?”
New waves of panic wrenched at my stomach. It was bad enough to have to confess to Eddy. Why did she have to invite the chief, too?
After they were both seated in the living room, my aunt began telling our story. “When we first discovered the remains in our backyard, I was pretty disturbed. You could even say I was horrified. I now regret feeling that way.”
Eddy smiled. “Actually, Mrs. Randall, your response wasn’t all that unusual.”
“Well, maybe not ... but there are some things you need to know.”
As Aunt Margaret explained everything that had happened, the happy expression melted off Eddy’s face and her normally warm eyes turned dark. It was harder to get a reading on the chief. His calm demeanour didn’t change at all.
Even though I felt like barfing up breakfast, I was also overcome with appreciation for my aunt. I could never have done this alone. She seemed so calm and cool as she took most of the blame, including the part when I sold the carving to Mr. Grimbal. After she finished, there was a long silence. I stared hard at the floor, afraid to look up and catch Eddy’s eye.
“I see” was all Eddy said. I expected to hear how disgusted she was ... maybe some yelling or even stomping. But I wasn’t prepared for silence. Then, after several minutes, it was Chief Lloyd who spoke first, breaking the tension.
“You think your story is a new one? Such things have been happening for a very long time.” He gazed out the window as he spoke. “Since the first white land agent showed up over a hundred and twenty years ago and claimed this place for the Dominion of Canada, Salish people have seen their land diminished and their culture reduced to collectibles for the curious.” His tone wasn’t sad or critical, just matter-of-fact. “But not everyone wants to see the ancient remains and possessions turned into bookshelf ornaments.” He glanced over at Eddy.
“That’s right, Chief,” Eddy said. “Not everyone is like Walter Grimbal.”
“Or me,” I added, feeling the need to take responsibility for what I’d done.
“No, Peggy, you don’t fit into that category,” the chief said. “No one who speaks so eloquently about my ancestor as you did yesterda
y could feel that way.”
The first knot in my stomach came undone.
“Chief Lloyd’s right, Peggy,” Eddy said. “I don’t excuse what you did, but given all the circumstances, I’d say your actions were misguided, not motivated by greed or disrespect. And, Mrs. Randall, I appreciate your honesty in coming forward with this.”
The next knot in my intestines unwound, and the feeling returned to my fingers when I finally relaxed my white knuckles.
“Peggy and I just want to do what we can to fix all this.” Aunt Margaret seemed as relieved as I was that everything was finally out in the open.
“Well, fixing all this really comes down to fixing Walter Grimbal.” Eddy’s eyes were now distant as if she were remembering something from long ago. “You might find it hard to believe, but there was a time when Walter was one of the fiercest advocates for preserving prehistoric cultural remains. His wife, Lily, and he first moved to Crescent Beach in the late 1950s. At that time there were few people who lived here year-round. It didn’t take them long to start finding arrowheads, bone and stone tools, and even human remains. Back then many artifacts lay right on the surface. Other times they turned up in a vegetable garden or when digging a hole to bury a family pet. At the time there was no Heritage Conservation Branch, no local museum, and people didn’t see a reason for being concerned about all these strange remnants of the past.
“But Lily and Walter were fascinated by them. They kept every artifact they found and eventually built up quite a collection. There were a few others, including me, who realized the importance of these artifacts. When the Grimbals opened the Real Treasures and Gifts shop, they devoted an entire corner of the store to the display of artifacts and photos of the local Native culture. None of it was for sale, though they got lots of offers. Eventually, we were able to build a museum. When it first opened, the largest part of the collection was Coast Salish artifacts donated by Lily and Walter.”
“I can’t believe we’re talking about the same Mr. Grimbal,” I said. “What made him change?”
“Lily and Walter had a son, Thomas. He was born with Down’s syndrome. The kid was sweet, but because of his mental disability he was never able to look after himself. Lily usually doted on him. But one day she left him briefly to make a trip to the gift store — by this time he was well into his twenties. I guess he decided to go to the beach. He’d never learned to swim, but he always loved the water. By the time she and Walter found his things on the shore, it was too late. The boy’s body was found two days later, washed up on the mud flats of Point Roberts ...” Eddy’s voice trailed off.
“That’s really sad,” I said. “So you’re saying that’s what made him change?”
“No. It was what made Lily change. She became distant from everyone and just seemed to drop out of life. She wasn’t interested in anything — not in the museum or the store, not even in her husband. One day Walter came home to find her body slumped by the gas stove.”
That was a lot of sorrow to take in, and I didn’t need Eddy to spell out the rest of the story. I think a lot of people would’ve crawled into a hole, like Mr. Grimbal, and just stopped caring.
“Over the years the shop has gone downhill,” Eddy continued, “and so has Walter Grimbal. I tried to ignore him as well as I could, but now he’s gone too far. He’s got to be stopped, Peggy. From what you’ve told me, he may have already sold the carved artifact. The only thing left to do is bring in the police.” She pulled out her cell phone from one of the pockets on her fisherman’s vest.
“The Heritage Conservation Act permits only a qualified field director — that’s me — to remove or examine any artifacts or remains from a site. In other words, Walter had no business messing with the burial, even if you invited him, Mrs. Randall. Now the most I could do would be to slap him on the wrist with a fine. So that’s why you need to press charges against him for trespassing and coercing a minor to break the law. Peggy, you’ll have to be willing to be a witness.”
At that moment I wished this was the Friday night late movie and I could shut off the TV and go to bed. Exhaustion had crept back into every muscle, blood vessel, and bone in my body. But as I watched Eddy press the pads on her cell phone, I shot off the sofa with some hidden reserve of energy.
“Eddy, wait. I know you might find it hard to trust me right now, but I want you to give me a chance to fix this my way.”
She didn’t look too convinced. “Peggy, I’ve tried many times over the years to get through to Walter.”
“Look, there was a time when I didn’t feel anything for the old man buried in our yard. But then you showed me I could know him — in part — if I took the time to look closely. If I can do that for someone who lived thousands of years ago, maybe there’s a chance I can do that with Mr. Grimbal, too. Just give me an hour.”
After a few moments, Eddy’s frown dissolved and her face relaxed. “Okay, you’ve got one hour. That’s how long it will take us to finish removing the burial. But after that ...”
“I know. Thanks, Eddy.” I took off down the street at a jog. I didn’t have some amazing plan. I just wanted to try talking to Mr. Grimbal, to get him to give me back the ancient pendant.
After I got to his store, I gasped out loud when I saw the closed sign on the door. When I started banging on the window, I got odd looks from people passing by on the sidewalk. Then I tried the door and was surprised when it flung open. I stepped inside and got that familiar shiver as I passed Tsonokwa.
“What do you want now, kid? I told you already that our deal’s done. Finished. Over.”
For the first time I wondered if the deep and furrowed creases on his forehead and at the corners of his mouth were really from being an angry curmudgeon, or just from being sad and lonely. I noticed his shoulders were stooped and that his fingers were gnarled. And he had no laugh lines around his eyes like Mrs. Hobbs’s. Still, I gazed carefully into them to see if there was something I could recognize.
“I just want to talk, Mr. Grimbal.” I hoped he hadn’t noticed that my hands were shaking.
“I only have time to talk business,” he snapped. “And unless you’ve come here to do business, I’m not interested in talking.”
Desperately, I tried to think of something clever to say, but in the end I just opened my mouth and words tumbled out. “You pretend you don’t care about protecting Crescent Beach’s prehistory, but I don’t believe that’s true.”
“Oh, I’m not pretending. I really don’t care.” He waved at all the artifacts in the store. “All these things are just junk from the past — stuff to clutter up shelves and collect dust. And I’ll tell you something, nobody else really cares, either, about the prehistory of Crescent Beach, about dead cultures and dead men. They’ll never understand that their pretty little beachside homes, gardens, and lives are only one more, tiny stratigraphic layer in a deep midden of human experience.”
For some reason, at that moment I remembered something Mrs. Hobbs had said. She was quoting a writer named Ralph Waldo Emerson. At the time I was more interested in how a guy with such a dorky name like Ralph Waldo could possibly write anything that would be relevant to me. But the line kind of stuck in my mind. Actually, it was a question: “Why do we grope among the dry bones of the past?” And just as suddenly I thought I knew the answer to Mr. Emerson’s question.
“Mr. Grimbal, you’re right. There are a lot of people who don’t care. But I do. And so does Eddy and my aunt. And so did Mrs. Hobbs. And if we look really hard, I’ll bet there are others, too.” My face got hot when he sneered and laughed callously. I tried to ignore him and went on. “I think it takes courage to look at the past. A lot of times the things we find are scary, or make us sad, or just remind us that we won’t live forever. But if we don’t look back, then we’ll lose all the good things and the lessons the ancients can teach us.”
I remembered the look on his face when he first held the tiny carving. “You care, too, Mr. Grimbal. I saw it on your face the day I
brought you the stone.”
Mr. Grimbal glared through narrowed eyes. “Ha. The only thing you saw when I held that scratched-up rock were fat old dollar signs in my eyes. So if you think you can sweet-talk me into giving you back that artifact, you can forget it. Now get out of here and quit wasting my time.”
“Okay, I’ll go. But there’s something I want to ask you first. If all this stuff is just worthless junk, why do you keep it? Why don’t you actually sell any of these ancient Native artifacts?”
“What? Of course, I sell this stuff. What do you think I am ... nuts? I’m running a business.”
“I’ll tell you what I think, Mr. Grimbal. All of these things aren’t just pieces of the ancient past. They’re part of your past ... and Lily’s.”
He waved my words off as if they were annoying black flies.
“Mr. Grimbal, what do you think your wife would want you to do? Would she want these important pieces of pre-history tucked away on your shelves for only you to enjoy? Or would she want everyone to have the chance to learn from the past, to know what you know?” For a moment I thought I saw the hardness crumble and something soften in his eyes. But just as quickly his face stiffened again.
“Okay, kid, you gave it your best shot. Now it’s time to get lost.” He nudged me the last few steps out the door and bolted the lock.
Mr. Grimbal was right. I had given it my best shot, and it failed ... again.
For some time now Shuksi’em has been unable to leave his bed. Sleek Seal sits next to him feeding him fresh deer meat she has chewed into soft, tiny morsels. He is sorry the illness kept him from enjoying the celebration. The visitors have left the big house now, and Shuksi’em is glad that his granddaughter did not go with them. He thinks her father made a wise decision to give her another season with her own clan. But the union with Hulutin next year will be good for making bonds between the coast people. The clan is happy because the young man’s parents left many gifts of wealth to secure the marriage between the two young people.
Reading the Bones Page 11