I didn’t move, so he yanked my head and pulled me closer. “I said suck!”
My whole face was sore, and my lips were cut. He pressed his penis against my mouth. Sluggishly, I turned my head away and opened my mouth a bit to avoid the pressure against my lips. Suddenly, he moved my head back and brought it to him so fast that I almost choked on his penis, which now filled my mouth. I opened my mouth as wide as I could in an attempt to avoid touching his penis. It touched the back of my throat and I gagged.
“Suck on it, you little bitch!” he threatened again.
Then he turned to his two companions and said, “Boy, do I ever feel like taking a piss right now.”
I heard the driver say, “You wouldn’t, would you? Not right in her mouth? Well, for Chrissake don’t get the car dirty.”
I heard them saying this, but my sense of reasoning was numbed, and by the time the meaning of it filtered through to me, it was too late. Just at that moment, the leader tightened his grip on me and started peeing. Right into my mouth. I started retching violently, and I struggled but couldn’t move my head because of the viselike grip he had on me. I felt the urine run down my chin, soiling the rest of me as well as him. Thinking I was going to vomit all over him, he let go of me.
The driver was yelling, “You’re getting the car all dirty and she’s going to fucking puke all over the place. Get her the fuck out of here.”
The leader jumped out of the car, and he began putting on what clothing he had taken off. The driver jumped out of the car and reached in the back and dragged me out. Then he grabbed all my clothing and my purse and threw them out after me. I kept retching, although the intense need to vomit had passed.
When the three of them had straightened their clothing, the man from the front seat beside the driver yelled, “Fucking squaw!” I heard the leader laughing as the car doors slammed. I pretended I was still trying to vomit. When the lights came on, I was able to make out the licence number, just before the car sped off.
12
I was free—and I was alive! As I put on my clothes, I kept looking in every direction, fearful they might return. I would run for safety into the fields, even in the deep snow in my bare feet if I had to. Tears ran down my face, but I didn’t sob. I was finally dressed and started down the road in the opposite direction from the one they had taken, praying I wouldn’t run into them again. As I walked, I repeated the licence number. Out in the open, with no obstruction to impede them, the winds shrieked with icy glee. But they didn’t touch me. It must have been thirty below, but I didn’t even feel the cold. I was numb and beyond feeling. I strained for any sounds of an approaching vehicle, and often turned to look behind me. I had no idea where I was.
Finally, I saw a light in the distance. I felt fear, and hope, at the same time. When I neared the light, I saw that it was a farm yardlight. Then I heard a dog barking. As I walked down the driveway, a large German shepherd came out to inspect me. It continued its thunderous barking, all the way to the porch door. A porch light was turned on, and a man looked out cautiously. From the way he looked at me, I’m sure he at first thought I was some drunken squaw who had gotten into a fight and had been thrown out of a car. Begrudgingly, he asked me in, only after I told him I had just been raped and would he please call the police. His wife had come out, and she offered me a cup of coffee. I asked her where the washroom was, while her husband called the police.
After I washed my mouth out, and came out of the washroom, they asked me what had happened. The chill that hadn’t touched me outside caught up with me in the warmth of their kitchen, and I began to tremble so violently that the woman went and got a blanket and wrapped it around me. Tears streamed down my face and my teeth were chattering, although I still didn’t sob.
When the RCMP came, I expected that they would insinuate I had somehow provoked the rape. But the two officers were soft-spoken and kind. They wanted me to show them where the car had been parked, and on the drive there, I had the unreasonable fear that they, too, might turn on me. We soon came to the place where I had walked into the deeper snow to get my purse. When they finished examining the tire tracks and the area, they drove me to the hospital back in Winnipeg. I sat in the back seat, my teeth still clicking together from a coldness that just wouldn’t leave me.
They took me to the Emergency of the Health Sciences Centre, where Cheryl had been taken just a few days earlier. The doctor on duty examined me and took all the samples that would be required for court purposes if they ever caught those rapists. As he was preparing to swab my mouth, I told him I had washed it out. He chided me for doing so, saying they needed all the evidence. I couldn’t believe his words. I was supposed to go around with the residue of piss in my mouth for the sake of evidence? I figured he had enough evidence. Before he sent me for x-rays, he asked me if I was related to Cheryl Raintree. When I told him I was, he informed me that he had been on duty when she had come through.
The x-rays showed no fractures or broken bones, so the police took me to their headquarters to take my statement. They told me to recount everything, exactly as I remembered it. The whole thing took a long time, and it was taxing. While I talked, tears rolled down my face but, again, I didn’t sob. It seemed to me my voice droned on and on and on, but at last I was finished. They told me they would be talking to Cheryl in the morning to see if she had any ideas on possible motives, since I was initially picked up at her door. As they drove me back to the hotel, they informed me they would later have me look at some pictures to see if I could make any identifications. They also said they would have to take all my clothing for purposes of evidence. They waited outside in the hall while I changed into a nightgown and robe.
Once they had gone, I took a long bath. My whole body felt sore and I seemed to ache all over. Although I stayed in the bath for a long, long time, thinking about the rapists, I couldn’t get rid of their smell. I tried to fathom why they would do such a thing, but I couldn’t. It was beyond reason. Later on, in bed, every once in awhile I’d give a shudder when the visions of the night became too clearly realistic. It was a long time before my tensions eased off, I stopped shivering, and I finally drifted into sleep.
I was awakened by the sound of someone knocking on my door. It was Cheryl and two officers, although not the same ones as the night before. Apparently, they had picked up Cheryl and brought her to the hotel. Cheryl at first was going to throw her arms around me, but as she saw me brace for the pain, she stopped.
“Oh, April, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault you came here in the first place. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Cheryl. I’m okay. Really.”
I looked at the two officers. One of them said they would like me to go with them to look at a car. They said they’d wait for me in the lobby while I got ready.
After they left, Cheryl again said, “This is all my fault.”
I was dead tired and I snapped, “Oh, Cheryl, stop it; it’s not your fault. It just happened.” I felt awful for using such a tone of voice, so I added in a lighter tone, “Come and help me get dressed. I can barely move.” She did so in silence.
Before I left, I asked her to wait for me, and then we would go together to get her things and the rented car.
On the way to the Public Safety Building, one of the officers told me they had seized a car and arrested the owner, and I would have to identify both the car and its owner. Some of my buttons had been found in the car, so my identification was merely routine. But a little while later, I saw the driver of the car in a police lineup. He looked very scared, almost like a little boy. Even though he had taken part in the heinous crime against me, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. All I really wanted to do was hate him. Then I remembered that he, Stephen Gurnan, had done nothing to try to stop what had happened. My feeling of sympathy instantly disappeared.
When I returned to the hotel, Cheryl was waiting for me.
“April, you look exhausted. Maybe you should try and get some sleep, and I
’ll go and get the car and that. Do you want something to eat?”
“Yes, I’m starved. And I need some coffee. Are you sure you want to go back alone?”
“Oh, sure. After this, I don’t care if Mark does make a scene.”
After we had eaten, and she made sure I was comfortable, Cheryl left. I got out of bed and ran some water into the tub. I got in and then ran the rest of the water as hot as I could stand it. I lathered myself with lots of soap. I had to get rid of that awful smell on me. I could smell it as if they were in the same room with me: their dirty, stinking bodies. I could feel their hands all over me. I had to get rid of that feeling, too. I scrubbed wherever I wasn’t sore or bruised, sometimes hitting a sore area that brought back new pain. But no matter how much I scrubbed and lathered, I still felt dirty and used. It was no use. I cried, my tears rolling down my cheeks into the water, because I couldn’t get myself clean. I would never be clean again, free from the awful smells, free from the filthy feelings, free from the awful visions.
In bed, I realized just how much I had learned to hate. It wasn’t a natural emotion. I had known deep resentments, but if I had been given choices, I would rather have been friends with people like the DeRosiers, Mother Radcliff, and Heather. But a real, cold, deep hatred had crept into me, and I knew that I wouldn’t want to let go of it, not for the rest of my life. I wanted those two men, in particular, dead. By my hand. Yes, I wished with all my might that I could be the one to kill them and make their deaths prolonged and painful. I knew what I’d do. I’d castrate them. Then I’d watch them bleed to death, in agony. Oh, I wanted them dead! I had been touched by evil, and from now on, it would always be a part of me. Wanting three men dead was evil in itself, but, nonetheless, I wanted them dead.
Finally, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I saw the suitcases and the keys to the car, but Cheryl wasn’t there. She must have gone to get something to eat. I got dressed and went to the restaurant. She wasn’t there, but I had something to eat, anyway. It was almost 11:00 pm. When I got back to my room, Cheryl still wasn’t there. Maybe she had gone for a drink. I looked in the mirror and hoped that most of the bruises would disappear within the week.
Cheryl came back about fifteen minutes later.“You’re awake. How long have you been up?”
“Almost an hour. How did it go?” I asked, purposely not asking where she had just been.
“Mark wasn’t even there. He moved out, I guess. I was just down in the lounge. Are you hungry?”
“No, I just had something to eat down in the restaurant. I had a good sleep and I feel much better. I bought a newspaper, and I was going to look through it, but I wanted to talk to you first.”
“About what?” Cheryl asked, in a guarded tone, as if she had read my thoughts.
“Well, I’m supposed to get some money from Bob once the divorce goes through. We could buy ourselves a house. What do you think?”
“You mean you’ll get enough money from Bob to buy a house?” she asked incredulously.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure how much it’s going to be, but I’m sure there’ll be enough for a down payment.” I retreated to half-truths. I didn’t know yet exactly how much I would be receiving, but I was sure I’d be able to afford two average-sized homes.
“Why not? Beats renting,” Cheryl shrugged.
“Good, we can start looking tomorrow.”
I started looking through the ad section of the newspaper while Cheryl turned the television on. “Do I get a say on where we’ll live?” she asked.
“Of course. I haven’t any strong preferences. I only know where I don’t want to live.” I was glad she was interested.
Two weeks later I was en route to Toronto, a day before my divorce hearing. I went to my place on Woodbine and settled everything with the landlord, telling him that, after the twenty-seventh, I would no longer be needing the place.
On Wednesday morning, plastered with makeup to cover my bruises, I met with my lawyer, Mr. Feldman, and we went to the courthouse together. Bob, Heather, and Barbara Radcliff were all waiting outside the courtroom, so I made a special effort to be busy talking to Mr. Feldman to justify my ignoring them. Inside the courtroom, everything went smoothly, although I was nervous when I was on the stand. I also experienced feelings of hurt and regret when a former “friend” testified about the relationship in which Bob and Heather were involved during our marriage. But when it was over, I felt almost smug, since I was more independent, money-wise, than I had ever been before in my life. I wasn’t quite as smug as Heather, though. She had a possessive hold on Bob’s arm as we left. Remembering the rage I had felt on that day of revelation, I was tempted to go up to them and say something terribly sarcastic, but since I couldn’t think of anything, I left quietly with Mr. Feldman. He told me that his fee could come out of the settlement, as we had agreed, and then I would receive the balance of the money through my bank within three weeks, at the latest. Later that evening, I was on a flight back to Winnipeg.
Cheryl had continued looking for a house while I was gone for the few days, and when I got back, she told me about a house she liked on Poplar Avenue. It was close to Henderson Highway, Watt Street, and the Red River. Come summer, we would be able to take walks and watch the boats. Ever since I had spent those long hours by the river when I was with the DeRosiers, I had found areas by water had a soothing effect. Sometimes, if I watched the water long enough, I got the feeling that it was I who was moving. I also loved to watch the birds circle overhead, swooping down now and then for a morsel of food. I thought Cheryl’s choice was a very good one, and I asked the saleslady what the earliest date of possession would be. Unfortunately, she said it wouldn’t be until March 1st. That meant another month of living in a hotel room.
That evening, Cheryl and I settled in our room to watch television. Things were shaping up.
“I can’t wait for March 1st, eh? We’ll have to go shopping for furniture and make sure they can deliver it by March 1st. Let’s see, that’s a Wednesday. Yeah, there shouldn’t be any problems. Are you sure you want to take an upstairs bedroom?” I asked.
“I’m sure. That way, you’ll be close enough to the kitchen, and when I come down in the morning you’ll have coffee and breakfast all ready for me.”
“Oh, yeah? Thanks a lot,” I threw a pillow at her.
Then she looked at her watch and said, “Hey, April, you want to go down to the lounge with me and have a few drinks? To celebrate finding ourselves a new home?” I had noticed that she had grown fidgety, and only then did I suspect why. An instant decision was required. “Sure, sounds like a good idea.”
Later that night, when we were both in bed, I was unable to go to sleep. I had no idea on how to deal with Cheryl. It appeared she really needed those drinks. Maybe she was an alcoholic. And what would have happened if I had refused to go along with her? She’d been like a child asking me for a favour. Would she have reacted like a child and thrown a tantrum if I had not gone along? I thought that, from now on, I would have to be careful with my words and reactions, and that was the only way I knew how to deal with Cheryl.
I was also caught up in my own problem, and spent hours thinking over the rape and its consequences. What would I and other “squaws” get out of my going to court? Maybe two years of safety from those particular rapists. Probably less, because hardly any criminal ever served a full sentence anymore. Rehabilitation, today, meant coddling the prisoners to the point of giving them every down-home comfort. Cheryl had told me of a lot of Native men who did something illegal so they would land in jail for the winter months. So what was the big deal about going to prison? I sighed at the hopelessness of so-called justice, mostly because there was nothing for the victim. Nothing—especially for victims of sexual assaults—except humiliation in and out of the courtrooms. Nothing but more taxes to put more luxuries into the penal institutions. To keep a single prisoner for a year cost more than what a security guard earned in that year. So where was the justice of it? The o
nly consolation I could derive was from killing them over and over again in my mind.
I had an appointment on February 8th to see Mr. Lord, who was handling the real estate transaction for me. He was very happy to see me, and despite my fears that I would be embarrassed because of my divorce, everything went smoothly. When I came out of his office, it was almost noon. At the very same time, Roger Maddison came out of his office, and he seemed not at all surprised to see me. Just as I was wondering if he remembered me, his old verbal fencing partner, he said in a pleasant voice, “Hello, April, how are you?”
“Hello, Mr. Maddison. I’m fine, thank you. What about you?”
“Fine. Alex told me you were coming in today.”
“Oh.”
“I was looking forward to seeing you again,” he smiled, and then asked, “How about lunch?”
“Okay, I’d like that.”
I did most of the talking over lunch. He listened, and drew more out of me with appropriate questions. He asked me if I would go out with him sometime. This gentle, concerned side of Roger I hadn’t seen before. I wondered why he had never gotten married. Then I wondered if he had gotten married.
“Have you ever been married?” I asked.
“No. I never found the girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Once, I thought I had found her.” By the reflective way he looked at me when he said that, I wondered if I could have been that girl. But I didn’t have the gumption to ask that question.
“Well, I guess I’d better let you get back to the office. Thank you for the lunch. You can reach me at the Maryland Hotel. That’s where I’ll be staying until we move into our house.”
Before I headed back to the hotel, I bought several books for Cheryl and me. There wasn’t much that one could do in a hotel room. I picked up a book called Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown. Cheryl would like that. Maybe it would keep her from going down to the lounge. Like, that morning, she said she was going over to visit Nancy, but then Nancy was supposed to have a steady job, so how come Cheryl was visiting her during the day? Maybe Nancy worked nights. Or maybe Cheryl was out drinking somewhere. No. Although Cheryl had a drink almost every day, she’d never been drunk or even appeared to be close to being drunk. Maybe drinks to her were what coffee was to me. I couldn’t get a day started without at least two cups of coffee.
In Search of April Raintree Page 14