Walking in Two Worlds

by Wab Kinew

  She turned to face Frank.

  “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.” She glared at her father, wishing her eyes were capable of shooting lasers.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Everything was bad and you made it worse.” Bugz seethed. The look of bewilderment on Frank’s face only made her angrier. “And instead of helping, you’re talking to Waawaate about dying?”

  “I…I didn’t say that.”

  “Why did you say anything?” Bugz turned and stomped off. She heard Frank’s footsteps behind her. “Stay the hell away from me.”

  “I know you’re mad, but can we just talk?”

  “Talking ain’t going to help the way I’m feeling right now!”

  Bugz bolted for the tree line at the edge of the parking lot. But her father chased after her and, when he caught up, wrapped her in a bear hug. She thought of the Clan:LESS horde that had cornered her in the forest. She struggled against him furiously and broke free.

  “Get off, get off, get off!” she shouted. Her father glanced nervously at Stormy, who was watching from a distance. “Get away from me!” Bugz shouted again. “I hate you!”

  Bugz hated how he’d grabbed her; she hated everything about how she felt right now. Her father stepped forward.

  “Stop!” Bugz yelled. Frank ignored her. “If you come any closer, I swear…” She pulled her knife out and held it to her forearm. She thought of her cousin Ally. Frank stopped in his place. Bugz could see the tears forming in his eyes. He bit his lower lip.

  Bugz studied her father. For a split second, she felt sorry for him. But her pain swallowed her again. Pain for her brother, pain for Feng, pain for losing the way things were just a short time ago.

  She turned and ran into the dark forest.

  CHAPTER 57

  A resolute Bugz plunged her carving knife into the bark of a cedar tree. She peeled the outer bark and ran the knife along the trunk to tear off a long strip of inner bark that resembled a six-foot piece of string. She reached as high as she could and cut off another strip. As she peeled the long, thin stretches of bark from the tree, she exposed the wet, naked core beneath. Bugz set the ribbon of inner bark aside and peeled off another, then another, and another still. She had to work deliberately because the bark peeled much slower now than it would’ve in the spring. This gave her time to listen to the thoughts swirling in her head.

  After Bugz had collected a score of these bark streamers, she carried them into the clearing where the Thunderbird’s Nest had once stood. It was now just a small field pockmarked with seemingly random rocks and stones. She sat on top of a large gray fragment of a boulder. She carefully selected three strips of cedar and tossed the rest into a pile within arm’s reach in the tall grass beside her. She lined up the tops and began to braid.

  As Bugz’s fingers navigated between the strips of bark—pushing, pulling, and weaving on autopilot—she let herself relax. The repetitive task set her mind free. She wondered whether her dad really meant to counsel Waawaate to take a shortcut to the Spirit World. She wondered why Feng had lashed out at her. She wondered what her brother could do to heal himself.

  If each bead laid into a piece of beadwork was a prayer, Bugz decided that each twist of the braids she tied could represent one of her memories. She remembered all of the beautiful moments she and her brother had shared. She picked up more strips of bark and wove them into the pattern of the braid, both lengthening it and ensuring its strength. She thought of her family and her parents, and worried they’d never be the same if her brother didn’t recover. She completed weaving a strand of braided bark more than twenty feet long and placed it next to her on the rock. She drew three more strips of bark from the pile, lined up the tops, and began braiding those as well. She tried to picture a future without Waawaate, but she couldn’t see anything. The thick fibers calloused her hands.

  Bugz thought of Feng. She felt a pang of hurt wrestling her from her zen state. Why did he betray me? She grimaced. Why did he pile on like everyone else? Bugz noticed she’d tensed up. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and returned to braiding. She shook her head at the ideas she’d held of Feng. Simple ideas of him being a man she could trust. One to live up to the example set by her father and her brother, or at least the examples she’d believed in earlier. The infallible father. The invincible older brother. Even those notions now disappeared from her mind like sand eroded from the earth. She added more strips to the braid. She happily remembered the beautiful ride she and Feng had taken through the Floraverse, all laughs, flower power, and fun. She finished braiding this chain and placed it next to the first. An image of this rope hanging from a tree flashed in her mind. She studied the cords she’d already completed.

  Bugz thought of the Floraverse. She withdrew three more strips of bark, lined up their tops, and started braiding again. She thought back to the first time she’d realized she could respawn at will, in this very spot. It felt so long ago, though only a couple of years had passed since then. She’d come here to get some quiet after someone at school said something racist to her. She hadn’t felt like telling her parents because they would’ve turned it into some big thing. Meetings, phone calls, standing up for yourself. Bugz didn’t want to be a hero that day; she just wanted to get away from the hurt. Instead, she found her destiny: a source of nearly unlimited power. She wove more strips of bark into the braid. Within a few weeks of her discovery, she’d figured out how to bend the Floraverse to her will. And a few weeks after that, she’d built many of her creatures. Soon, the views on her streams took off, and the money and fame followed. It’s all gone now. She laid down her newest braid.

  Bugz collected the three braids and examined them from top to bottom, pulling on them length-wise to test their strength. She lined up their tops and tied the bundle together with a shorter piece of bark. She weaved the three braids together, working slowly, diligently, and with great focus.

  Bugz’s thoughts traveled to the Floraverse. She flew over Lake of the Torches again. She saw flames burning contentedly along the shores. Everywhere she looked, her creatures lived again in her mind’s eye. Sturgeon swam leisurely amidst the black waves. Thunderbirds swooped back and forth in the sky. Scores of animals frolicked along the beach. In the center of it all was Mishi-pizhiw, corkscrewing his serpentine body over and over again in a never-ending loop of pure joy. She’d raised Mishi-pizhiw as her first creation and had invested every new insight and technique she learned from the Floraverse into his development. He was the pinnacle of her prowess and the greatest recipient of her affection. “My baby,” she caught herself whispering. She finished braiding the strands together and examined her creation.

  Bugz held the thick cedar rope in her hand. It looked like sisal, cowboy rope, right down to the frayed edges. She ran her hand over its rough contours and pulled on it hard. It had very little give. Bugz sighed. She felt an unrelenting ache at the center of her soul. She wanted it to end.

  Bugz thought again of her cousin Ally. She took her curved knife and sliced into the skin above her bicep. She gasped, grimaced, and shut her eyes tight as she pulled the blade forward. She stopped and dropped the knife. She couldn’t continue. Bugz exhaled slowly through clenched teeth as the searing hurt coursed through her body. She felt tears run down her face. She hated herself so much for doing this. It felt wrong. With blood trickling down her arm, Bugz looked to the sky and shuddered as she exhaled a long, soft cry.

  CHAPTER 58

  Feng walked up the gravel driveway to Frank and Summer’s house, rubbing his hands nervously. He could feel his stomach somersaulting through his T-shirt. He made his way up the steps, steadying himself against the guardrail. He replayed the speech inside his head again for the millionth time. Just say sorry. No matter what she says, just keep saying sorry. He took a deep breath and reached out to knock. No. Tell her you love her. Like family. You’ve never felt this before and�
��like family? That’s terrible. Just tell her you love her and that’s it. No, just tell her you’re sorry.

  “Feng?” Frank opened the door, looking worried. “What are you doing here? Bugz said we wouldn’t see you too much anymore.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Feng’s voice trembled. “I want to make it right.”

  “Listen, I’m sure you can work it out, but right now I need your help. Bugz took off and…it was bad,” Frank said. “I’ve been driving around for hours. I have no idea where she is. I talked to everyone on the Rez. Stormy. Her mom. Nobody’s seen her.” Frank sighed. “Waawaate’s getting worse. I’m really worried.”

  “Why?”

  Frank’s mouth appeared to sour.

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. Feng could tell he was trying to stifle tears. “I’m just worried…I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “Like self-harm?”

  Frank refused to answer.

  “I think I know where she is,” Feng said. “I was just there.”

  “Okay, let me grab my keys.”

  As Frank disappeared inside the doorway, Feng turned and ran. He was at the end of the driveway before Frank could yell after him.

  “Wait!”

  It was too late. Feng ran straight into the forest behind the houses on the far side of the road. Feng could hear Frank’s tires spinning in the gravel in the distance, but he knew he’d put too much distance between the two of them. Feng felt like it was all up to him now.

  The sun set.

  CHAPTER 59

  With her cut arm stinging, Bugz stood and walked to the tallest cottonwood tree at the edge of the clearing. She looked up to the branches. She’d expected cutting to make her feel so much better. That’s what her cousin told her—that it felt good to feel something—but all Bugz felt now was guilt and sorrow. It didn’t make anything better. This felt nothing like the sacrifice she’d seen her father and others make at the Sundance. When they were cut, the whole community watched. It became holy, a selfless act. What she’d done here alone felt only selfish. Bugz’s world continued to spin out of control around her.

  Bugz took the rope she’d made and tied it in a loop. She suddenly recognized what she’d created—she’d braided a noose. The realization scared her.

  As though on autopilot, Bugz walked to the tree, wrapped the free end of the cord around the tree trunk, and threw the noose over a thick branch. She stared at the rope dangling from the monstrous cottonwood. It looked so ominous. She trembled. This isn’t who I am.

  In the ocean of her heart and in the land of her spirit, a deep rumbling began, and it drove Bugz forward. Her brother. Her father. Feng. Stormy. Mishi-pizhiw. The nest. Clan:LESS. All of her feelings cascaded and roiled with an unstoppable momentum. In her head, she knew she didn’t want to harm herself any more than she already had. But the force of this moment in her life propelled Bugz on. She held the noose in her hands as she walked backward, away from the tree, like a child playing tug-of-war.

  Bugz looked up at the branch and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the end result of the course she was on. She could not. Teardrops raced down her cheeks. She wondered whether anyone was looking for her and whether they would find her in time. Who will it be?

  Bugz said a prayer in Ojibwe. She mumbled the words as her breath shuddered under the weight of tears. Ni-noonde-pimaadiz, I want to live. She completed her prayer and spoke to Waawaate.

  “I want to see you again.”

  Bugz stood motionless. The evening summer breeze picked up and rustled through the tall grasses on the edge of the clearing.

  “Brother,” Bugz said.

  CHAPTER 60

  Sister, Waawaate replied in his mind, miles away. They’d sedated him and moved him into an intensive care unit. To the nurse caring for him, he appeared as though in a fever dream. Though intubated, he tossed and turned in the hospital bed. The nurse checked his vital signs. He grimaced.

  In his mind’s eye, Waawaate stood surrounded by cottonwood leaves in a cold and gray Sundance arbor. He looked to the tree and saw its dry, dead branches clawing the sky. He turned. Bugz stood in front of him. Her arms were marked for the piercing ceremony. He found himself trapped in the mirror image of Bugz’s Sundance dream.

  Waawaate looked to his hand and saw he was holding a scalpel. He walked to Bugz. He knew she expected him to cut her, but he didn’t want to. Waawaate reached out and pinched the side of Bugz’s shoulder, gathering skin and fat between his thumb and index finger. Her flesh felt elastic. It would be hard for her skin to break. She would suffer. Waawaate looked back to Bugz’s face. They made eye contact and held each other’s gaze for what felt like a long time. She stared straight ahead at the craggy tree in the center of the darkened Sundance circle. A tear flowed from her eye and traced its way slowly down her cheek.

  Waawaate raised the sisal rope that would tie her to the tree. It ended in a noose. He panicked. This wasn’t right. She needed a forked rope. A noose was a bad sign. He had to cut the loop in half.

  Waawaate took the scalpel and tried to cut the rope, but he couldn’t. He struggled and struggled but couldn’t find the strength to sever the braided cord. He felt weak and powerless. He couldn’t escape this nightmare.

  As Waawaate struggled to cut the noose, his hair fell forward. Still focused on moving the blade through the sisal, he blew the hair from his face. He stopped for a second and looked to the darkened sky above. He blew through his lips again and whistled a traditional melody, watching the sky spring to life.

  In his hospital room, the nurse watched with concern as Waawaate struggled against the ventilator tube in his mouth. He puckered his lips and blew and blew, appearing to try to blow the tube out of his body.

  CHAPTER 61

  At the Thunderbird’s Nest, Bugz closed her eyes and saw her brother miles away. It devastated her to see him like this, a shell of his former self, with a tube running down his throat.

  “Help me,” she asked of the image in her mind.

  Waawaate leaned forward slightly and attempted to blow the tube from his mouth. It was so sad.

  “I’m praying for you, brother. Pray for me too. I need your help.”

  He puckered his lips again and blew harder.

  Bugz shook her head. “I’m selfish to ask you for help. You’re suffering so much.”

  He made the blowing gesture a third time. Bugz furrowed her brow, eyes still closed. In her mind, Waawaate’s breath caught the edge of the ventilator tube and made a faint noise. She realized he wasn’t trying to blow. He was trying to whistle. He just couldn’t find the tone with his mouth and airway blocked.

  The tears returned and pulled the sides of Bugz’s mouth toward the ground. It made it harder for her to form her lips into the proper shape. Bugz struggled to move her jaw to the right position. Somehow, she smiled. Her brother had come through for her again, just like he always had.

  Still standing alone in the clearing with her eyes squeezed shut, Bugz finally pursed her lips and let out a very soft whistle. She blew harder and harder until the sound of the whistle pierced the stillness of the forest. She blew through the whistle until all of the air escaped her lungs. She closed her eyes.

  She heard someone whistling back.

  CHAPTER 62

  Feng sprinted through the forest toward the clearing. Through the distant cedars and cottonwoods, he saw Bugz. She stood holding a rope in her hands. But in his panic and from this distance, his mind couldn’t make sense of the scene. He imagined he saw Bugz hanging. Tears flooded his eyes. I’m not going to make it, he told himself. I won’t be able to save her. He sprinted harder. His lungs burned, but he pushed through it. He heard her make a very gentle sound in the distance, a soft whistle. He shuddered as the whistle grew louder and louder. He picke
d up the pace once more as he realized the meaning behind the sound.

  Bugz was calling for help.

  As Feng ran at full sprint, he ripped the eagle whistle from under his shirt and blew it as hard as he could. He took a deep breath, still running, and blew on the whistle again and again. The shrill noise pierced the night sky, peaking high above the clouds. As he blew on it harder, the pitch rose and flew even higher into the heavens.

  High above the clearing, the northern lights roared to life. The clouds parted and the aurora borealis stretched its arms across the sky. Iridescent storm clouds rolled in from another dimension and enveloped the forest. Their green glow cast everything in an eerie, shimmering light. As the northern lights grew, they lowered themselves to the earth like a Day-Glo fog. As they descended from their heavenly perch, they transformed from green to pink. The spots that appeared to burn brightest turned white and smoldered with pink and purple. The Ancestors danced.

  Feng kept blowing the whistle as he ran closer to the clearing. Suddenly, the electric storm illuminated his face with a flash of light and blinded him. When his sight returned, he could see figures. The Ancestors. Feng wasn’t running anymore. Nothing moved except the northern lights around him.

  In the glowing clouds, Feng saw his parents. Their features took shape in the luminescent shroud: his mother’s loving eyes, the very eyes he’d first stared into as a newborn; his father’s rugged, smiling face. He remembered how the stubble tickled him when they used to hug so long ago. As the light cascaded around him, he drew closer to their embrace. He felt something release within himself.

  “Mother,” Feng said. “Father.”

  “Farouq.” His mother said. Feng’s chest expanded. The apparition of his mother had spoken his birth name. His heart beat faster at hearing it again. He’d been called Farouq until he’d been taken from his home. He could still remember the exact moment at the re-education center when they’d renamed him “Feng.” He was overcome, but he managed to ask the question that had tormented him for years.