“Sorry, Sam, but you lost me.”
“I’m not surprised. The premise of circle sentencing is based on remorse and redemption. The perpetrator admits to the crime, expresses genuine remorse with both a letter to the victim, and a public apology. Then, if the Council and the victim is convinced the remorse is genuine, the circle surrounds and the whole damn thing is hashed out.”
“So, Dan would have to admit to sexual assault, apologize to Sharon, then the community would talk about it all together and then decide what Dan’s fate would be?”
“You got it. Circle sentencing is not automatic. The Council may decide that they don’t want anything to do with the perpetrator because the perp then becomes the responsibility of the whole village. Dan’s afraid to confess unless he’s guaranteed the circle sentencing. Who the fuck does he think he is...God?”
“If he got the circle sentencing would it go easier on him?”
“He thinks it will because he’s got a lot of friends in the village who are guilty of the same crime.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that the times they are a’changing. Oprah is in everyone’s living room now. I think the Council will let white man’s justice prevail and lock the son-of-a-bitch up. That will let Dan’s cronies off the hook. ‘Gee, Dan, we did everything we could for ya buddy. It’s a pity they wouldn’t go for the circle sentencing. Worst you would have got would have been banishment to Devil Island for a year.’ ”
“Won’t it also set a precedent? From what you’ve told me sexual assault happens on a regular basis.”
“Not anymore. The social workers, and Oprah, have done a good job. Besides, a lot of circle sentencing is done by the family. Remember that nice new house that Garry built for his daughter?”
“Yeah. Are you saying that the gift of a house forgives years of assault?”
“I’m not saying it does, but you’ve got to remember that this is a small island. You either learn to live here in harmony or you have to leave.”
China couldn’t wrap her head around a way of life that was foreign to her. Life with Sam on this island frequently tested her tolerance and way of looking at things. How did these men, women and children, walk down the street every day and see the person that beat or raped them strolling on the other side? They were taught to respect their elders. The old people knew the old ways and taught the young ones. How could you hate your father or grandfather or uncle or auntie if the laws of the village insisted that you also respect them, forgive them, pay them homage, and bury them with great ceremony?
More and more China understood what made Sam who he was. He didn’t talk about his childhood with fondness. He had about four good memories that he constantly repeated. The rest was bad. He was beaten up at the school in Halifax for being an Indian. Now there was an elementary school on the island and the young ones were taught the Grimshaw language. Sam’s father was an alcoholic with whom Sam lived, after a fashion, during the school year. His relationship with his mother, who had abandoned him, was very complicated. Sam had loved his grandmother and tolerated his grandfather, but they were old when Sam was small, and God only knows how Sam was dragged up during his summers with them. For all China’s understanding of Sam, that she had gleaned slowly by listening and observing, it didn’t make it any easier to live with him.
~ ~
Grimshaw Scrabble
China picked up Jane and Tina at the seaplane landing. The weather was cool and clear, and so far they’d had just an occasional snow flurry. She watched with eager pride as they clambered out of the plane and hopped over to the wharf with the pilot’s help. Tina’s braids flopped every which way in the wind. Her hair was longer and her face a little thinner. Despite China’s vow to visit Toronto more often, life with Sam and her operation had interfered; another eight months had passed without seeing her babies. She’s not my baby anymore, mourned China, she’s a little girl now. Tina was growing up too quickly, without her, while China remained in exile on Grimshaw Island.
“Tina,” said China with mock severeness. “I thought I told you to stop growing.” Tina looked at China with shy eyes for about two seconds and then she flew into China’s arms.
“I can’t help it Grandma. They didn’t have any food on the plane. We could see everything. It looked like we were flying only as tall as you.”
Tina chattered on, hyper with the excitement of the trip and seeing China. Jane put her arm around China as they walked towards the car and waited for the luggage cart to come up to the parking lot.
“The flight was amazing, Mom,” said Jane. “From the air, all I could see was water and beach and trees.”
“You were lucky to get a fine day. It’s a different kind of amazing when it’s raining and the winds are high.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in that dinky toy unless it’s perfectly calm,” replied Jane looking back at the airplane bobbing near the wharf.
The next day they went to the grocery store and watched the heads turn as they walked down Main Street. China was the pale-skinned, fading beauty grandma. Jane the olive-skinned, long-legged, amazon. Tina with the caramel skin, beautiful, exotic face, and the amazing braided hair. When they stopped for an ice cream, China overheard one of the native children ask her mother, “What kind of hair is that?”
China had discovered, when Tina was born, that being a grandmother was a beautiful thing, a feeling that only grandmothers knew. She was appalled that she had forgotten so much of bringing up Jane. Perhaps because she had grown up along with Jane. Perhaps because the fatigue and the mind numbing, repetitive demands of a small child precluded being objective. Children were relentless. Not so grandchildren. Being a grandmother was about the wisdom of survival and knowing everything she could possibly find out about herself. Her self did not get in the way of discovering Tina. Her self had definitely got in the way of mothering Jane. China was so intent on growing up, she was sure she had somehow shortchanged Jane, not that Jane had ever accused her of being less than a wonderful mom.
Now she tried to be a perfect grandmother, or at least she had been until Sam and sex had clouded her mind and body, and distance had come between her and the people she loved best in the world. Conduct unbecoming a mother and a grandmother.
~ ~
When Tina was finally settled in for the night, China brought out the scrabble game.
“Jane, do you want another drink?” asked Sam.
“No thanks, I’ve had enough,” replied Jane.
“We’ve all had enough,” warned China.
“One more won’t hurt,” said Sam cheerily.
China shrugged and hoped it wouldn’t. All went pretty well with Sam only occasionally making up words.
“Guunt?” queried Jane. “What’s a guunt?”
“It’s a Grimshaw word meaning,‘to kill with foot sideways.’”
“We’re using the English language Sam,” explained Jane.
“There’s about 40 different words for killing in Grimshaw,” continued Sam. “They’re very specific. Shraakuuth is killing with knife in the heart. Shraacuul is killing with knife in the throat. Shraakaath ciil ugdenballs is the cutting off of balls and shoving......”
“Sam,” hollered China. “That’s enough. You’re making it up.”
“Killjoy,” accused Sam, as he quieted down for a while.
Sam was winning and rubbing it in constantly until China had the nerve to challenge the spelling of a word.
“What’s that?” asked China.
“Zepelin. An airship. That’s eighteen tripled. You guys are shraak!” said Sam gleefully.
“Are you sure of the spelling Sam?” questioned China.
“Yup,” said Sam smugly.
“Okay then, sorry, but I have to challenge the spelling,” replied China firmly. “Zeppelin is spelled with two p’s. It’s wrong Sam.”
“Are you sure?” asked Sam.
“Yes, I’m sure. Look it up in the dictionary if you don’t believe
me. Jane deduct fifty-four points from his score. Remove the word Sam and you lose your turn.”
“Wait,” said Sam removing the word. “I’ll do another word.”
“It’s too late,” said China. “You put the word down, called out the score, and I challenged. You’re shraak!”
Sam angrily threw the letters down, tipped the board all over Jane and China and stormed out of the room.
“Sam!” protested China with disgust.
“Jeez,” said Jane. “What a sore loser.”
“He doesn’t like being challenged. I gave up playing scrabble with him because it always ended in a huge fight, especially if I was winning. I thought he’d behave with a third party. I’m sorry Jane.”
“It’s not your fault, Mom.”
China and Jane finished cleaning up the kitchen and went to bed. When China entered the bedroom, Sam was snoring on top of the blankets. He heard her open the door and watched her prepare for bed. Just looking at her made him feel inadequate. If only she weren’t so goddamned good, so righteous. He much preferred her wanton behaviour in bed. Wanton was Sam’s favourite state of mind.
“Hey sweetie,” said Sam. “Come here.”
China lay down beside Sam. It was always best to lecture Sam when lying in the horizontal position. Anger was harsher when vertical and usually led to more anger. Sam at least gave the appearance of listening when lying horizontal.
“Sam, I expect you to behave yourself when we have guests. I want you to apologize to Jane.”
“Okay,” agreed Sam quickly. He was usually very agreeable if nooky was close at hand.
“And, I want you to stop drinking so much. You become obnoxious when you drink more than two.”
“Whatever you say, my little trout,” said Sam obediently. “How about putting on your schoolmarm outfit and beating me with a ruler?”
“How about if I just kick you to death with my foot sideways.”
“Whatever turns you on,” growled Sam, licking her toes sideways. He slowly licked his way up China’s inner thigh as she graciously allowed him to apologize in the only way he knew how. Sam had a very penitent penis.
Dec. 22/92
Scrabble
Here, in bed
I trust you with my life
to make the right decisions
as to my joy and fulfillment;
Out of bed, well...
Ok, so you’re imperfect,
but better to be mostly perfect
in one area
than almost never
anywhere else,
and when we play Scrabble
you’re a totally perfect nutcase,
cheater, liar, manipulator,
fucking hooligan!
I’m glad you don’t play Scrabble
between the sheets.
The next day they all went to the beach to cut down a likely Christmas tree. China had seen a couple near One Mountain Beach that looked pretty symmetrical. Tina immediately got very busy gathering shells and enjoying the freedom of running on a beach with no traffic or traffic lights to stop her.
“Mommy, look, I found another shell,” yelled Tina. “Look China!”
“Very pretty, sweetie,” China yelled back. “Jane, maybe you should explain to her that the beach is covered in shells and.....”
“China, look, I got another one,” yelled Tina again. “It’s not broken!”
“Tell her yourself Mom,” laughed Jane. “I’m on holiday.”
“Is this the one you want China?” asked Sam.
“Yes,” said China touching the tree. “Ouch, it’s really prickly.”
“It’ll probably soften up a bit when we get it inside,” said Sam.
Sam chopped the tree down and hauled it to the car as China and Jane walked down the beach to retrieve Tina who was having difficulty lugging her bag full of shells.
“How’s it going with Sam, Mom?” asked Jane.
“Pretty good. The operation kind of shook us up. When your life is threatened everything else seems like small potatoes. I was hoping to start counselling again after Christmas but Nathan is on holiday in January and then Sam has to leave again.”
“Are you still moving to Halifax?” asked Jane hopefully.
“As far as I’m concerned we are, but don’t say anything in front of Sam,” cautioned China. “He’s so weird. He hasn’t mentioned it. It’s like he won’t talk about us and future plans unless I bring it up. I’m always the one stirring the pot and putting out the fires he causes. He thinks everything is fine unless I point out that it’s really a total disaster.”
“Mom, I’m worried about you,” said Jane.
China looked at her daughter and resisted the urge to just melt into her arms and let Jane mother her for a while. Instead she smiled and slipped her arm through Jane’s and squeezed her close.
“That’s a nice change. I can’t begin to tell you how much I worried over you, and you know who,” said China using the code name for Tina’s father, as Tina came bounding closer.
“We’re not going there Mom,” said Jane defensively. I don’t want to hear your I told you so. You know who, is no longer an issue.”
“I know who you know who is. It’s Daddy,” said Tina with an accusing pout on her face.
Jane and China looked guiltily at each other and then burst out laughing. Jane grabbed Tina and spun her around.
“You’re such a smart little cookie, aren’t you? Let’s call you know who when we get back to the house and wish him a Merry Christmas, okay?”
“Okay,” said Tina scrambling out of her mother’s arms and running towards the car. Jane ran after her and China followed at a more sedate pace, her belly aching from the long walk.
Unfortunately the tree they found on the beach, although looking great, smelled like cat piss, and its needles did not soften up in the warmth of the house. They were all scratched and fed up by the time the tree was decorated. It looked like a pine, but it didn’t act like one. China felt that perhaps the tree’s struggle to survive on sea salt and sand had rendered it nasty.
~ ~
Where The Heart Is
Jan. 27/98
Dearest Sarah,
I’m miserable and missing my babies and I'm munching on blue corn tortilla chips dipped in Hellman's mayonnaise. I don't give a tinker's damn for bananas dipped in chocolate. I love Hellman's mayonnaise. Even though I'm eating these here genuine all natural blue tortilla chips, I don't exactly trust them as genuine. Have you ever seen blue corn?
So much of arting (if the Grimshaw Lierary Society can call it journaling, I can call it arting) is staring into space, eating mayonnaise on blue corn chips. Maybe farting is what I’ll be doing after this disgusting menu, but I digress. I digest? An artist has to think and do many things to avoid arting. A button must be sewn on, surely a bookcase needs to be dusted, and baking chocolate chip cookies is definitely the recipe for producing an award winning sculpture.
I yearn for
a sand between the toes
walk, on a sun-blinded beach
bare feet in the sea
sand shifting, tide tugging,
balance wobbled by ebb and flow,
Memories I haven't lived
grow frail and sad when
I yearn for
what I don't have.
The weather has been despicable. Horizontal rain for three weeks. The wind is so strong the seagulls are flying backwards. I think I need a grilled cheese sandwich. Journal writing is too much like housework. It's never done, no one sees you do it, and you don't get any money for it. I’ll never be a writer because computers make everything too neat. I’d need ink-stained fingers, wads of crumpled paper strewn all over the floor, and an empty bottle of booze to proclaim a painful patch of prose. Sculpting and painting is fabulously sloppy. Paint all over my hands, on my clothing and on a canvas says something. The sensual smell of sawdust, wood chips strewn on a paint-bespattered floor, the feel of the rough wood talking to
my fingers. The smells and the mess holler this is an artist at work! Words on paper - what do they say? I like your words. Send me some soon.
Love, China.
~ ~
“Get off, Sam! I can’t breathe,” gasped China.
Sam rolled onto his back as China took great gulps of air.
“I’m going crazy!” she complained. “I get to the point where I’m about to tip over the edge and then I can’t.”
“Maybe I need an extension,” said Sam gloomily.
“That’s not the solution. Any further and I’d be choking to death. I guess it’s the scar tissue. The muscles in my vagina have gotten lazy or stiff or something. I can feel you but it’s like I just can’t grip you the way I used to.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll happen,” said Sam thrusting his way back to his favourite place.
Sam was about to come when China once again felt the throbbing, a little more strongly this time.
“Sam,” gasped China. “Don’t you dare come yet. I can feel it. I’m going to have an orgasm tonight if it kills both of us.”
Sam dutifully thrust. China wriggled and thrust back and maneuvered her hips, and finally, achieved the release she’d been praying for ever since the operation.
They both lay on their backs gasping and soaked with sweat.
“Praise the lord,” said China.
“You’re welcome,” said Sam irreverently.
“I’m assuming the next time will be easier, now that the muscles have re-learned what to do.”
Sam looked at her with astonishment.
“Don’t worry Sam,” laughed China weakly. “Tomorrow will do. I think we both need a bit of rest.”
Liar Page 16