Maggie whispered into Crystal’s ear, “I’ve been thinking. I know you were going to speak first but maybe I should say a few words of introduction, just to set things up, and then you can speak. Is that okay?”
“Perfect,” responded Crystal, with her professional smile on full wattage, though she preferred being the opening act.
Maggie stepped up to the mike. “Excuse me, I suppose we should get started before all these trees die of old age,” she said. She had managed to get somebody from Otter Lake’s community centre to set up a mike and loudspeaker system, attached to a small portable generator. Though there were scarcely a dozen people there, this made things look more official. “I want everybody here to take a good look around them, at the trees, at the land beneath them. This is why we are here.”
Under normal circumstances, Maggie hated public speaking, detested it in fact. She considered it the least enjoyable, or perhaps a better expression was the most unenjoyable, part of the job of being chief. But today, before everything took place, she wanted these people standing before and beside her, and hopefully the people watching and listening later that night and reading the newspaper the next morning, to know what all the fuss was about.
“This is the land of our ancestors. We have been here anywhere from ten thousand years ago to time immemorial, depending on whose calendar you are using. We have always considered ourselves a part of the land, so you will have to excuse us if we get a little ornery when it comes to deciding what to do with that land. Our legends say the ground is Mother Earth’s skin, the trees and grass her hair, the water her blood. It’s hard to bargain away or discuss appropriating land when you think of it in that way. Otter Lake was originally founded almost two hundred years ago when…”
Crystal whispered to her daughter, “This is what you call a few words?”
Behind her, leaning hidden against a tree, stood John, listening. Even in this time, Native people still knew how to talk and think like the Native people he remembered. He nodded in agreement, and privately wondered how long it would take for these people to do what Maggie had suggested. Specifically they needed to take a good look around them, at the trees and, more important, at the land beneath them. Because unless somebody did that, he would have wasted an awful lot of time and energy.
“There’s been a lot of discussion over what to do with this land, both inside our community and outside. The issue has been controversial, and caused some disagreements. But remember, we are neighbours, and whatever happens, this land, this ground you stand upon, will be here long after you and I and everyone we know will have passed on.”
Terry Nash, radio reporter for CNDN, unconsciously glanced down when Maggie mentioned “this ground you stand upon.” He was off to the left, his mike held high, trying to catch cleaner sound as he had been taught in community college the year before. Arriving late, he hadn’t been able to leave his tape recorder on the lectern where Maggie was speaking.
At his feet, Terry saw something sticking out of the ground. It appeared odd, and very unlike a rock or root. He tried to ignore his growing curiosity; after all, he was a professional reporter here to do a job. But the more Terry looked at the strange, knobby thing near his right foot, the more suspicious he became. After all, he was a professional reporter. He nudged it with his foot, slightly loosening it from the packed dirt. Terry then kicked it, and the object came free and rolled over onto the surface of the land. Though unskilled in forensics, the young reporter was fairly sure, almost positive, that it was a human bone. A leg bone, if all those episodes of crime-scene investigation dramas he watched were correct.
Dropping his recording equipment, Terry screamed and backed away, knocking over a cameraman, whose training fortunately included knowing how to throw his body between the ground and his camera.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” said the prostrate cameraman.
Pointing, Terry backed away even farther. “Over there! On the ground. A bone. A leg bone. A human leg bone. I know it is. There’s a body under the dirt. Somebody should do something.”
Hungry for a more interesting story, all the reporters rushed to where the young reporter had been standing and, as he maintained, there was indeed what appeared to be a human leg bone lying half exposed in the dirt. Immediately the newspaper photographers and cameramen fought for space, desperate to take the first images back to their editors.
Maggie and Crystal, with Kait in tow, ran toward the disruption.
“What’s going on here?” asked Maggie.
The reporter from the local paper, The Leader, was kneeling down, looking at the exposed bone. “That kid over there found this. It looks human. I think maybe you got a skeleton down here.” Using a pen, he moved a few small chunks of dirt, and looked closely into the hole left by the disturbed bone. “Yep, there are definitely more bones down there. Now this is a story!”
At once, both officials were surrounded and harassed by the press, eager to get a quote on this mysterious happening.
“No comment! No comment!” said Crystal, as Kait vainly tried to shoo the reporters away.
Maggie, however, had no such assistant. Confused by what had just happened, she tried to find a way through the turmoil of media smelling the fresh blood of a potential exposé.
“Hey, look!” It was the cameraman from CDRW. “I think I found some more. Over here.” Indeed, he was recording a dark brown human skull, partially covered by leaves. “Somebody should call the police. We could have a killing field here!”
If the reporters had been excited before, now they were ecstatic. The sound of electronic and print reporters in full frenzy flooded the clearing. Somehow, through the confusion, Kait had managed to get her mother to their car and was manoeuvring the Saturn through the scrum, if nine could be called a scrum, of journalists. Finally, she found the exit to the road, and floored it.
Maggie’s last glimpse of Crystal Park was of her sitting in the passenger seat and pulling out her cell phone. A few seconds later, Maggie’s cell rang. It was Crystal.
“Maggie, you sure know how to throw a press conference. Call me when you figure out what’s going on. And also, if you ever want to consider turning that Chrysler in for a Saturn, at cost, give me a call. I’m sure we could work something out. Good luck.” Then, click.
Maggie was alone with the media. Like sharks circling a hemorrhaging tuna, the reporters gathered around her, asking questions far too quickly for her to comprehend. Recording instruments were thrust at her.
“Is this why your people wanted the land back? Because of the bodies?”
“I grew up in this area and I always heard of campers mysteriously disappearing in the woods. Do you know anything about this, Chief Second?”
“Didn’t the federal government and several Churches try to ban First Nations religions? Do you think it had anything to do with these newly discovered human remains?”
“Chief Second, is this an ancient Indian burial ground, or perhaps the dumping ground of the first Aboriginal serial killer?”
Maggie struggled to be heard above the din of the excited journalists. “I… please keep in mind that we have just taken possession of this land today. These bones were obviously here prior to our interest. I can’t comment on something I don’t know anything about.”
It was as if they didn’t hear her. She kept trying to get away but everywhere she turned there was another microphone. Nearby, she could hear one reporter calling his bureau chief, telling him to send more reinforcements! The noise was overwhelming. Almost too loud for her to hear the sound of a motorcycle revving up.
The helmeted John roared through the story-hungry crowd to Maggie. Journalists and photographers and cameramen jumped left and right, out of the way, and suddenly John was at Maggie’s side.
She heard the muffled words “Hop on!” as he tossed her his spare helmet.
Grateful, she did as she was told.
“Here, hold this,” he added, giving her a detached headlig
ht. “Now, hold on tight!”
As he fed the carburetor all the gas it could take, the crowd parted like the Red Sea to let him and the ear-splitting machine through. Two seconds later, all that was left of them was the exhaust that the milling media was breathing in.
As they barrelled down the road at a dangerous speed, Maggie held on tight to John’s forearms. She had never been so happy to see anybody in her life. But where had all those bones come from? She’d walked through that area many times. A lot of people had hunted deer and pheasant in those woods, or gone camping. While the land was fairly wild in nature, it wasn’t exactly unexplored. What the hell was going on?
The man driving, however, smiled under his helmet, content in the effectiveness of his plan, and the pleasant feeling of having Maggie close to him once again. The welcome to otter lake sign flashed by them. He was taking her home. It was time Maggie learned the truth, and he was just the man to tell her.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the Second house. Maggie was almost afraid to let go of John, but he gently helped her off his machine and onto the porch step. As she sat there removing her helmet, she smiled. And once again, he couldn’t help thinking it was the best smile in the world. Almost as pretty as her mother’s.
There was something different about him, she thought, but for the moment, she didn’t care. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she said, jumping up and hugging him.
“You politicians, always doing everything in triplicate.”
“What the hell happened back there? Those people were pulling bones out of the ground! Did you see that! I saw a skull, half buried in the…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
“Pretty cool, huh? Maggie, let’s chat.”
Calmly, John led her to the back of the house and sat her down in her lawn chair, making sure she was comfortable.
She barely noticed. Her mind was still on the press conference, trying to reason things out.
“An ancient Indian burial ground, one of them said. Couldn’t be. We know where that is. Could we really have a serial killer here? Oh God, that’s all we need. But nobody’s missing. John, something is all fucked up. This was supposed to be a simple press conference about us taking possession of the land and…”
Then she noticed that John, who was sitting beside her, was smiling. Not a supporting “I’m here for you” kind of smile, but more like a “I know something you don’t know” kind.
“John,” she asked hesitantly, “why are you smiling?”
“Well, your problem is solved.”
Maggie knew problems were seldom solved by mayhem, and even less seldom by the discovery of human bones. “It is? My problem? And what is my problem and how is it now solved?” Just a few minutes ago she had been so happy to see this man. Now, her rising pulse rate was telling her something different.
“You were wondering what to do with the new land. You were getting all these silly suggestions, and…”
She swallowed once, quite audibly. “And…?”
“You told me you didn’t want anything done with the land. Just leave it the way it was, as it was created. A smart and, in a very special way, a long-range plan. It is something your ancestors would agree with. I certainly agreed, and wanted to help.” There was that maddening smile again. “So I did.”
For the second time in half an hour, she could feel her world beginning to shake and crumble. This man was smiling much too broadly, speaking much too calmly, with much too much confidence for this confession to bode well.
“John, what did you do?”
Practically beaming, he took her hand. “What I did, I did for you,” he said with what seemed to be genuine caring. Seven words that have started more fights and caused more divorces than “I was drunk,” “She meant nothing to me” and “If you’d just calm down”—all put together.
“John, those were human bones in the ground. At least they looked like it. Human! What do you have to do with that? Tell me before I start screaming.”
“You’re right. They are human bones. I know. I put them there. Thankfully the ground was soft and muddy after the rain last night or it would have taken me forever.”
Now would be a good time for screaming, Maggie thought, but she found she didn’t have the energy.
“Relax, Maggie. Those bones are quite old. Ancient, in fact. You are getting stressed out over nothing.”
Now he was laughing, apparently finding the whole situation quite amusing.
Maggie grabbed her chest. “I’m having trouble breathing. Why did you bury bones, ancient or otherwise, in our woods? What possible logic would explain that? And where did you get bones?” Then it hit her, about John. “And… what the fuck’s up with your eyes? I know for certain they weren’t that colour when I last saw you. The part that isn’t bloodshot is amber.” In all the excitement, she only now noticed the dried blood and dirt on him. “And why do you look all beaten up? You look like you’ve been in a brawl. John, what the hell have you been doing?”
“That’s a long, unimportant story, except for the fact I won. I’m sure of it. Listen, Maggie, those bones I seeded will guarantee the independence of those woods for a very long time. First of all the police will close off the area for a criminal investigation.
And trust me, I’ve buried enough bones all through the three hundred acres to keep them busy for a very long time. Two big saddlebags full. They’ll be digging up knee caps, and humeri and ribs and stuff forever. Cool, huh?”
Maggie took a deep breath, the kind she often took before lecturing Virgil. “If it’s a crime scene for several years, then we won’t have access to it. So what’s the point in appropriating it if we can’t use it?”
For a second, John’s victorious smile flickered. Then he smiled more brightly. “A minor detail I will deal with later. Now here’s the beauty of the plan.”
“This plan has beauty?” One of her throbbing headaches was beginning.
“Definitely. Once those bones are properly analyzed, they’ll realize how old and ancient they are. Like they belong to an ancient…”
“… Indian burial ground.”
“Bingo! Exactly. And every organization, governmental or private, has their hands tied with ancient Indian burial grounds. Nobody will want to build there, even your own people, even if you begged them. Too much bad karma. You’ve seen all the movies. Get it?”
Somewhere in her future, Maggie was already anticipating a lot of awkward and embarrassing questions being asked. And she, being the chief, would have to answer them. For a long time, if she decided to run for the next election, and managed to survive the democratic process. And she thought she hated her job before.
“John, they have scientists that can tell the difference between a fake burial ground and an authentic one. People have spent their lives studying this stuff. Oh, John, what have you done?”
“Maggie, trust me. I know a few things about how the Anishnawbe used to live. More than a few things. Believe me, I know what I’m doing. They won’t know anything I don’t want them to know.”
Maggie wasn’t responding in the manner John had been expecting. She was not thrilled. She was not happy. She was not smothering him with kisses of gratitude.
“Um, I can’t help but notice a certain lack of enthusiasm here. I thought you’d be overjoyed.”
“John,” she said wearily, “in a couple hours, the entire country will know the Otter Lake First Nations has a forest full of human remains. I bet the phone in my office is ringing off the hook right now. I can’t see how you possibly could think this was a good idea.”
Just then, the phone in her house started to ring. It seemed unusually loud and incessant, but that could have been Maggie’s imagination. For the sake of her sanity, she decided to ignore it for the moment.
“Maggie, I think you’re lacking a little imagination. Perhaps if you…”
“Where did you get those bones anyway?”
“The museum in town. They have lots. Boxes an
d boxes full. They won’t miss a few. Like I said, I know what I’m doing.”
“You just grabbed a handful of bones, just like that?”
“More or less.”
“How do you know they’re Native bones?”
Now John was becoming angry. “Give me some credit. I can read. Ojibway remains, pre-contact. Circa thirteen hundred to fifteen hundred. All collected within six hundred and fifty kilometres of here, so the soil traces should be roughly compatible. Smart, huh?”
Maggie’s headache seemed to be getting worse.
“Of course, just to keep things interesting, I did throw in some… variables, just to make sure those scientists are on their toes and don’t doze off.”
“Variables?”
He nodded, once more eager to share his brilliance. “Yep. I wanted to make sure this caught their attention. Ninety percent of everything I buried out there is pure Anishnawbe.”
“And the other ten percent?”
“A more, shall we say, eclectic mixture.”
Maggie knew immediately that she did not like anything described as “eclectic” in her life. “And what exactly does that mean?”
“Once they gather up everything they can find hidden out there, and once they get around to analyzing and testing and categorizing all them bones, there are a few surprises.” John stopped, as if playing a game, making Maggie wait for every little nugget of revelation.
“Oh, John, you’re killing me. What fucking surprises?” Her loud voice startled a nest of crows in a nearby tree.
“The other ten percent…”
“Yes, John, yes.”
“A mixture of other bones I found in the museum. A little of this, a little of that. Kind of like a skeletal potpourri. Those scientists will find a wrist bone from an Eighteenth Dynasty Egyptian nobleman, a fragment of pelvis from a three-thousand-year-old Australian Aboriginal woman, the bottom jaw of a pre-Columbian Mayan warrior and a couple of toes from somebody called Homo erectus. That should keep them guessing for a while, huh? I mean those scientists and forensics people must have lives that are so boring, they probably would welcome a little mystery into their lives.” Once more, the man smiled proudly. “Just one of my little jokes.”
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