Karen arranged a settlement at 72% of the merchant’s declared replacement cost value. The stolen items themselves were not replaced yet as the vendor planned to attend Frobisher Bay later that year and at one time purchase an extensive stock to last another year. Opinions in the office suggested the payment should have been no more than fifty percent until he actually replaced the goods.
In spite of the employee’s fundamental decisions, and that the supervisor generally did not disagree, the issues had to be mentioned if only to affirm the reality that no employee is perfect.
Her exclamation was brief and concise, but it was not the end. Should her supervisor have expected any other response? The place of her birth was unknown to him. Her early life had clearly not been his interest. Even that she was born and raised in Thompson, Manitoba was unknown to him. The application for employment always remained within her personnel file to which a supervisor never had access. All he knew of Karen’s past was her employment for a couple of years with Manitoba Public Insurance.
That provincial government insurance plan began in 1971, being the pledge of the New Democratic Party to control the cost of claims. Insurance claims were inevitable, and elsewhere the costs were escalating beyond all reasonable expectation. Labour rates for auto repairs in Ontario had increased more than six hundred percent in ten years, while Manitoba was able to control that labour rate as well as the cost of treatment and medication for injured persons. There was much to be said for the insurance plan that many called a ‘scheme’, but it was effectual in its ultimate design. Accordingly, insurance employees in Manitoba were well-trained, had the assurance of employment and union benefits, and had reasonable expectations for their future. As to why Karen left Manitoba, her supervisor never asked.
Karen continued with her response, clearly suggesting the interview would not be quick.
“They’re tired . . . tired of being falsely accused.”
Her supervisor candidly could not disagree with her conclusion in the case of the torched vehicle as the police investigation had nothing to offer conclusively regarding the culprit.
“I understand them.” Karen considered it necessary to repeat the obvious.
The supervisor was about to mention that they always had to consider the ‘motive’ and who had the most to gain.
Before he could say another word, she continued, “I saw it all. This is nothing new.” She then controlled the conversation with dramatic commentary of several claims she handled in Manitoba.
The first she accomplished using the shock factor. This also involved a torched vehicle. However, in that case, there was a child still in the rear seat. “Do you know what it’s like to see pictures of the remains of a dead child covered in lye? Just to control the smell? Tell me, do you?”
He was silent.
Karen’s description continued focussing on her Manitoba supervisor’s disdainful opinions. “He told me to tell the family that it was our decision that the child’s father set the car on fire. Bullshit! Could you believe anyone would have ever done that? There isn’t a man alive that would do such a thing!”
The present supervisor’s shocked expression was firm.
“There was no police report. No gas can. No motive. The father was not well off, but he was employed. Why would he kill his daughter? Even the police had no interest in the investigation.” Karen identified the police force as the RCMP.
Her disgust with false accusations seemed clearly understood. To make sure there was no misunderstanding, Karen continued. She chose to justify every decision she had ever made.
Regarding the merchant’s stolen goods, she was adamant telling her supervisor that there was no motive for that vendor to have arranged for the theft of his stock noting he had to replace the stock to continue his business. “However,” she added, “it was never going to be the same quality.”
His slightly puzzled expression conveyed his need for more.
“You know ivory is scarce. There’s no more to be had. A carving with any ivory is definitely more valuable than one with plastic replicas. Second quality never sells as well.”
He couldn’t disagree.
“I went there to his store, at lunch time, about two weeks before he settled. To carry away that much stock of Inuit carvings, whoever it was would have needed a truck. There was construction with many workers in the area at the time. The boxes he had in his store would not have been strong enough to cart away those goods. Someone, whoever took them, had to have their own containers. There’s no evidence that he ever had such containers in the back room.”
The supervisor was satisfied with the response, and ready to move on. The office cleaning staff had arrived. Regardless of there being an ongoing meeting, they had no trouble running the vacuum cleaners at full thrust.
“Ya, okay, about paying close to replacement without receipts, he needs the cash on hand to buy the replacement stock. He couldn’t do that with the amount that others have suggested.” Karen then extrapolated on the wholesalers and marketing venues for Eskimo carvings near Thompson. Clearly she was very erudite on the issue. She obviously deeply embraced that entire region, or so he thought.
Ultimately her comment that she was happy to leave changed the entire tone of their conversation. To that point she had very much held the upper hand with him being attentive to her description and comments supporting her decisions. This was a compassionate and understanding person whose heart was more expansive than the frailty of her physique.
With the change in tone, Karen suddenly became hushed. It was a worrisome silence. The cleaners had completed their chores in that portion of the office. Their vacuum cleaners were mute. Karen’s silence started to resound.
Suddenly the tears appeared. He was stunned. Quickly they flooded her cheeks. She shivered, clasping her palms to her face. His comments followed, but they were inconsequential. He felt most feeble. Karen continued in her morose state, her face dipping forward to the boardroom table. Reacting, he stepped outside the office for a box of tissues. He never brought the tissues to any meeting as he always figured their absence would not encourage tears of anger or frustration. This time, he was clearly not prepared.
The office clock chimed seven times before she said a word. Karen stared straight ahead and then slowly shook her head from side to side.
“He raped me.” She could barely offer the words. Then her silence caused him to be even more concerned. “He raped me,” she continued.
The supervisor immediately thought it was an office issue.
“I told my mother, but no one believed me.”
Her tale with every uncomfortable expression consumed nearly half of a box of tissues. Her tears remained incessant. Her voice shook, barely audible at times.
Karen was ten years old at the time, being twelve years before that interview. Her mother was Métis. Her father worked in the saw mill. She was only eight years old when he left home. His departure was expected and even well-received. He had been offered a better job with another firm. “Supervisor,” she was told. Frequently, at times twice per month, the cheques arrived. Then suddenly they stopped.
Her first impulse had been to run away from home and complete her own search for her father. Her mother was in no position to look. Most times she was drunk, or almost asleep in a depressed stupor. When it was learned that he had abandoned his wife, the number of their ‘Ikwe’ (care providers) suddenly increased. Everyone seemed related to everyone even though they were not all Métis. The local food bank was an absolute embarrassment, but they had to eat. Several men cut wood prior to that first winter so there was fuel for the metal stove. They barely survived. As weeks became months, all of the remorse was being expressed to her mother. That Karen was now without a father, no one seemed to care. Her hope for his return never died.
The supervisor was expecting her chest to explode with the redness of Kare
n’s complexion. She returned to her story after collecting her thoughts. Then she described her schooling, her academic grades, and how she used school sports to mask the betrayal she felt. She had few friends and even fewer once the family’s destitute condition was known. There was in fact an inverse relationship between her friends and government officials. As the former decreased, the appearance of the latter increased.
One of the government workers told her mother that she should not expect her husband’s return. The manner of his departure continued to hurt them even more than news of his sudden death would ever have. Many men in the community worked in the mines, and unfortunately there was always the risk of fatal injury. Groups of other men worked on the bay. Ice, currents and waves could be equally perilous. “But to just leave!” Her mother constantly repeated the exclamation having been violated by her estranged husband’s choice.
“Tom,” he called himself with the initial introduction. Somehow he was associated with the government officials who were regular callers. He had a program for girls like Karen, and for youth wishing to become involved in sports. The play ground, behind one of the schools, was the venue for their activities. She was there among her classmates, and their presence always provided assurance.
Karen celebrated the return to baseball. Soccer too was invigorating. They were not exceptionally skilled. No one was, but they enjoyed themselves. The older boys and girls accommodated the younger ones. Winning was important but not essential. Participation was the key. If the federal government was trying to convince Canadians of the ‘Participaction Program’, Canadians had to look no further than that field in Thompson.
Of course it was beneficial that by early August, most of the mosquitoes had gone. That was one of the issues never considered for people fighting poverty. For them there was never enough money for repellants or pesticides.
Karen described herself as being devout. Her Métis mother continued the practice of her Catholic faith as often as she could. After receiving top marks in an arithmetic test, she was presented with a rosary from the parish priest. That relic still hung from the corner post of her wood-frame bed. With their church being named for St. Lawrence, Karen maintained a devotion to that saint. His feast day was August the tenth. She was also born on the tenth day of the month, but in January of 1959. The tenth day of every month was important to her. Good things always happened on the tenth day of the month.
It started raining during their baseball game on that tenth day of August. Some of the children left. Karen was so enjoying herself that she remained behind. When the downpour increased, the game was discontinued. The five children still there raced to Tom’s vehicle. He took them home. Karen was the last child in the car, alone with the athletic group leader who had brought so much enthusiasm to her life. There, parked beyond a row of fir trees at the far end of the lot, she was introduced to the brutality of sex.
Karen went straight to bed after thoroughly washing herself. The stain suggested she had entered womanhood. Every time she wanted to talk about the incident, she stopped herself.
“Ladies should listen and not speak.” Her mother’s words from years before became vile, as if they were intended to always silence her fears.
It was well after ten o’clock before the employee interview concluded. Karen accepted the supervisor’s ride to the far end of the city. The dark sky thick with ominous clouds suggested it might not have been the best idea to have her wait more than a half-hour for the next city bus. In the car, not a word was spoken. When the supervisor eventually arrived home, the explanation to his spouse was minimal. “Major meeting tomorrow,” he offered.
The supervisor and employee said very little to each other for several weeks after that. On the first day, nothing was said at all. Simple greetings were the extent of their exchange for the next week. He wanted to help her more, somehow; but he was her supervisor and there were rules. Embarrassment forced her to say nothing more.
During that week, the supervisor spent lunch time hours in the library researching the basic information on Thompson, Manitoba. Therefore, if Karen ever mentioned anymore, her information might not radically shock him.
Thompson was known as the ‘Hub of the North’. It was situated more than four hundred miles north of Winnipeg, and quite distant from Churchill on Hudson’s Bay. The city candidly seemed too remote to offer any certain future. The alarming statistics concerning crime were degrading. Several articles suggested the city had the third worst crime rate per capita in Canada. The major industries were mining, logging, and social welfare. Assistance was less than $150 per month in a setting when basic foods cost three to five times the price in the provincial capital. As a consequence of all the pressures and lack of any future, addiction was a constant social nightmare. The city even had to establish the position of “Community Safety Officer” to address the needs of the many who could not escape the realm of booze, drugs and poverty. The position’s name alone spoke volumes of the dire needs.
Permanent jobs in established locations were extremely minimal. Government jobs or office positions existed, but these were generally occupied by many who were sent north from the provincial capital.
Thompson was called the ‘Hub’ because it was the focal point for so many aboriginal nations. Ten percent of the entire city was Métis. Twenty-five percent belonged to native tribes.
It appeared that every aboriginal community in northern Manitoba had a meeting house within Thompson. Thus, besides the Keewatin Nation, Thompson had become home to members of other tribes that included: Barren Lands, Brochet Community, the Cross Lake Band, Flin Flon Aboriginal, God’s Lake Narrows, Island Lake, Keewatinowi Okimakanak, Mathias Colomb Band, Manto Sipi Cree Nation, Nikan Awasisak, Nisichawayasihk Cree, Norway House, O-Pipon-Na-Piwin Cree, Opaskwayak Cree, Red Sucker Lake, Sayisi Dene, Shamattawa, St. Theresa Point, Swampy Cree, Tataskweyak Cree, Thicket Portage Community, Waasagomach, War Lake Tribe, and York Factory.
The supervisor readily understood Karen’s quandaries with respect to family life, the lack of hope and prospects, and how devastating the abandonment by a parent could be. They had little, and anything they lost became monumental.
It wasn’t until the Thursday after Labour Day that they engaged in any meaningful discussion. “Making sauce this weekend,” one of the employees mentioned before a team meeting. Karen knew all about that and eagerly joined the conversation mentioning how she used to do that with her mother. Interest was displayed when she talked about the different types of tomatoes and herbs they would use. Listening to Karen once more enthusiastically join a conversation was wonderful.
Days later in the cafeteria, the lighthearted conversation again returned. One of the employees had a jam sandwich. There was much ribbing as that person had always been prone to spend his lunch hours with adjusters or lawyers at some ritzy restaurant. The sight of jam cued Karen into the conversation where she described the various fruits and methods of making jams and preserves. Sugar was not so plentiful or economically feasible at the best of times, so having to use alternatives was a necessity. It was later that afternoon that Karen approached the supervisor and apologized for saying more than she should have. In turn he, as a friend not as a supervisor, offered his time and ears to her concerns.
It was in early December that she once again opened up with the rest of the story. She had tried a cautious relationship with one young man. However, that failed. She could not be free with her emotions and intimate expressions. “You can’t escape your past,” she confided.
Men would never again have their way with her. She convinced herself of that. She boldly advised that she never confessed the incident as sin because she was the victim. Karen added that immediately after the rape her energy disappeared, and was replaced with distrust, anxiety and recurring fears. Academic marks started to fail. She eventually was able to graduate from grade school, and barely made it into high school. With male tea
chers she was reluctant to participate. Women teachers were reassuring but they seemed to be looking through her. God was to blame at first. That attitude mellowed with time knowing that this ‘Tom’ was not doing God’s will. Returning to the immediate anguish, Karen mentioned that during that first night she clutched her rosary and when the solace was not immediate she threw it in the corner.
Her openness on all of her past was becoming uncomfortable. Her supervisor was clearly assuming the role of her appointed psychologist. On one occasion just before Christmas she invited him and his spouse for dinner. She never forgot how to say, “Thank you.”
It was abundantly clear that the issues she had with her aboriginal past were just as overwhelming as the sexual invasion. Karen asked about the parents of her supervisor and his spouse, ultimately adding that, “It must be so wonderful to have such good parents.” That prompted her to immediately return to her mother’s problems. Comments about her father concluded with her conjecture, “I still wonder if he’s alive.”
Karen repeated her personal history and all of the problems in the last years of grade school and throughout high school. She never attended any school dances and was most reluctant to engage in any social activities. When invited to participate in native gatherings, social events, or even just bake sales, she was at first most reluctant. It wasn’t until the last year of high school that she realized there was some comfort in aboriginal activities. “They brought me home. I seemed to understand.” Her words were simple regarding the positive effect of culture.
Although she lamented the limitations in their creative arts, participation was beginning to mean something. Trinkets, feathers, and wood carvings—these were all insignificant compared to the progress and commerce in Winnipeg. Taking the opportunity, she ventured with several students on a one-week outing. This was very much the last and only academic outing in her high school years. The trip on the Nelson River to the northeast toward Hudson’s Bay was candidly most exhilarating. Her description years later conveyed such enthusiasm. That the leader and teacher was a woman was essential. The other five students were girls. She discovered more about herself, an independence that allowed her in part to escape her past. She proved to herself that she could do more than Thompson allowed her.
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