“Do I get a say on where well live?” she asked, turning back to me.
“Of course. I don’t have any strong preferences. I only know where I don’t want to live.” I was glad she was interested.
Two weeks later I was enroute to Toronto, a day before my divorce hearing. I went to my place on Woodbine and settled up with the landlord, telling him that after the twenty-seventh, I would no longer be needing the place.
On Wednesday morning, plastered with make-up 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 an acquaintance testified about the extramarital relationship between Bob and Heather. But when it was over, I felt almost smug since I was now financially independent, more so 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 all and say something terribly sarcastic and possibly cruel, 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. When I got back, she had found 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 spend those long hours by the river when I was at the DeRosiers, I had found that 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, diving now and then for morsels of food. I had spent many times on the shores of Lake Ontario, in the beginning, with Bob, and then later, by myself. I thought Cheryl’s choice was a very good one and I asked the saleslady what the earliest possession date would be. Unfortunately, she said it wouldn’t be until the first of March. That meant another month of living in a hotel room.
That same evening, Cheryl and I both settled in our room to watch television. I happily thought that things were shaping up. I interrupted Cheryl another time, to ask, “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? You could have the one on the main floor.”
“For the fifth time, April, yes, 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. Right?”
“What? No morning paper beside your plate?” I asked.
“Oh yes, and the morning paper beside my plate,” she answered.
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 the 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 favor. 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. 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 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. I had read that somewhere, once. So, where was the justice of it? The only 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. Roger Maddison came out of his office just then and he seemed not at all surprised to see me. I was wondering if he remembered me, his old verbal fencing partner, when he said in a pleasant voice, “Hello, April, how are you?”
“Hello, Mr. Maddison. I’m fine, thank you. And what about you?” I half expected that he would say something sarcastic.
“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?”
“Sure, okay, I’d like that.” I said, successfully hiding my astonishment.
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 lady I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” He was about to say more but I interrupted him.
“That’s funny. When I first saw you, I thought almost the same thing, except in a positive way…” I stopped, suddenly embarrassed that I would tell him that. “Sometimes, not often, though, my mouth doesn’t quit.”
Roger was smiling.
“Well, I guess I’d better let you get back to the office. Thank you for the lunch.” I told him where I could be reached.
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 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 drinking. Maybe drinks to her were what coffee was to me. I couldn’t get a day started without at least two cups of coffee.
On Thursday morning, Roger phoned to ask if Cheryl and I would like to have dinner at his place Friday evening. I told Cheryl about it, excited that he really had called.
“I really didn’t think he’d call me.”
“Isn’t this the same guy whose guts you used to hate when you worked at the law firm?”
“The same one. He’s such a terrific person. Oh, you’re not going to tell him about that tomorrow night, are you?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not even going to be there tomorrow night,” Cheryl said, winking at me.
“Oh, but you have to.”
“
Oh, but I don’t. He really wants you there. I’ve got things to do. Besides, you don’t need me to hold your hand.” I tried to change her mind but she wouldn’t budge.
Friday evening started out with both Roger and I trying to make polite conversation. It wasn’t like the lunch, where I only had a little time to say a lot. We had the whole evening ahead of us and this was more formal. I guess he was as uncomfortable as I was. After the meal, over coffee, I asked Mm, “Roger, how come you were so nasty to me when I worked there?”
“I liked you,” he smiled. That made me feel good. He added, “But I thought you were kind of snobbish, overly self-confident and…”
“All right, stop already. I get the idea. If you’re going to give me a compliment, don’t take it back. Anyways, that was no way to treat someone you liked.”
“I had to cut you down to my humble size. Teach you some respect. Then, we could have fallen madly in love.”
“There you go again. A replay of the past.”
“Well, the important thing is that I liked you then and I like you now.” I just knew he was chuckling inside.
“As I accidently said before, I liked you, too. But I also detested you. I detested liking you. Of course, if I had known you liked me then maybe things would have been different.” I thought I was sounding nervous, so I stopped.
“Yeah, a few more years, and I could have taught you all the respect you needed to know. But then that man, Robert Radcliff, was it, came along and swept you off your supercilious feet.”
“You can’t use that adjective with feet. What kind of a lawyer, are you anyways?”
“A humble one, one unacquainted with high and mighty words. So tell me, why didn’t Cheryl come tonight? Have you been telling her tales about me?”
“No, she just figured we ought to be alone, I guess. It was a very good meal. Where did you learn to cook?” I asked.
“I’ve been a bachelor for a long time. You were telling me about your marriage, care to tell me why the divorce,” he added, “while you do the dishes?”
“I don’t do dishes,” I said in a haughty tone.
“There you go again, snobbish as ever, huh?” We both got up to do the dishes while I talked. I returned to being serious.
“Well, I divorced Bob on grounds of adultery. But that’s not what had bothered me the most. It was my mother-in-law, actually, that I feel I really divorced. She didn’t want to be grandmother to a ‘bunch of snivelling little half-breeds’, as she put it.” By now, my mood had turned completely serious.
“Why would she say a thing like that? You’re not Indian, are you?”
“No. I’m… a Metis.” I had to force those words out.
“And from the way you said that, I gather you’re not real proud of it.” Roger had a hint of an understanding smile on his face but his eyes were serious.
“I’m not. It would be better to be full-blooded Indian or full-blooded Caucasian. But being a half-breed, well, there’s just nothing there. You can admire Indian people for what they once were. They had a distinct heritage or is it culture? Anyway, you can see how much was taken from them. And white people, well, they’ve convinced each other they are the superior race and you can see they are responsible for the progress we have today. Cheryl once said, ‘The meek shall inherit the Earth. Big deal, because who’s going to want it once the whites are through with it?’
So, according to her, the progress is questionable. Even so, what was a luxury yesterday is a necessity today and I enjoy all the necessities. But what have the Metis people got? Nothing. Being a half-breed, you feel only the shortcomings of both sides. You feel you’re a part of the drunken Indians you see on Main Street. And if you inherit brown skin like Cheryl did, you identify with the Indian people more. In today’s society, there isn’t anything positive about them that I’ve seen. And when people say, offhandedly, ‘Oh, you shouldn’t be ashamed of being Metis’, well, generally they haven’t a clue as to what it’s like being a native person. And those are the people who usually show discrimination. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I meant the words, I didn’t mean for them to come out all at once.”
I was really embarrassed. I had held those words in for such a long time and now, I lay them on Roger, of all people.
“Well, believe it or not, I understand. And there will always be some form of discrimination, whether it is someone discriminating against an Indian on Main Street or your Church telling you you have to teach your children its beliefs because theirs are the only right ones. I’ve got a brother, an adopted brother who’s Ojibway. Joe thinks it’s not important what others think of him. It’s what he thinks of himself that counts.”
“Well, Cheryl lives pretty much by that philosophy and even so, she’s come down with a drinking problem, I think. I’m not really sure. Anyway, only she has the right to tell me I ought to be proud of what I am because she’s worked so hard to do something about the native image.”
“Your sister sounds remarkable. If you think she’s drinking, maybe she’s just impatient to see the changes.”
“I think my being back in Winnipeg will help a lot. It’s funny, you’re the last person I thought I’d be able to talk to about these things. Thanks for listening.”
“I found it interesting. I find you interesting. I’m not going to tell you to be proud of what you are. Just don’t be ashamed.”
CHAPTER 13
On the possession date, Cheryl and I moved into our very own home. By the second day of March, most of our furniture and appliances had been delivered. The following Saturday, we gave a house-warming party but only Roger came. Cheryl had not invited Nancy or any of her other friends.
Next, Cheryl and I went looking for a car. It was wonderful to have money to be able to pay cash for a car. The salesman really catered to us, even offered us a two car deal. But Cheryl aboslutely refused my offer to buy her a car of her own. I really wanted a big expensive luxury car but because of Cheryl, I bought a little Datsun which I never did like very much, not after the Radcliff automobiles. Cheryl asked me again in an accusatory manner, just how much money I did have. I counter-attacked by saying, enough to send her back to finish her university courses if she liked, adding that was about it. Of course, I had no idea how much that would have cost. But it was convincing and made Cheryl change the subject. She insisted she had no intentions of being a social worker.
It was the middle of March and as usual, I was half-watching the evening news, when a news story came on about an armed bank robbery or something. I’d been reading the newspaper at the same time so I wasn’t sere. If I hadn’t glanced up at that moment, I wouldn’t have seen the picture of one of the men who had raped me. Apparently, he had been shot to death by the police earlier that afternoon. It wasn’t the leader and it wasn’t Stephen Gurnan. It was the one who had helped grab me and had sat beside the driver. I was positive. I paced back and forth in the living room, wondering if I should call the police immediately. Since I was positive, I called the police right away.
I was told someone would be sent down to see me. While I waited, I thought about it. If only it had been the leader. Maybe the leader had been with him. Maybe they’ve got the leader. I looked through the paper again but the story wasn’t in the paper. If they had arrested the other man, I would probably have to go to police headquarters to identify him. I was sure that those two would hang around together.
Then I hoped Cheryl wouldn’t return while the police were there. I had never talked about the rape to her in detail because she had initially blamed herself. So far, I hadn’t even told her about Stephen Gurnan. For that matter, she had never told me what questions the police had asked her. I had wished those men dead and now that one was dead, I was glad. But it should have been the other one.
Almost two hours passed before two officers showed up. They had brought some pictures for me to look at and I picked out the dead rapist immediately. They asked if the other rapist was among any of the other pictures but he wasn
’t. None even looked like the third man.
At the end of March, while Cheryl was out job-hunting in the afternoon, I got a call from the police asking if I could come down to the Public Safety Building Immediately. They must have arrested the third man. After I got there, I had a wait of about forty-five minutes. Then, there in the line-up was the leader! He looked arrogant. He looked evil! It gave me great pleasure to be able to pick him out so easily without any fear of being mistaken. At the same time, that cold chill came over me again. I began to tremble, just as I had that night. Not being able to control myself, scared me. I really feared the possibility of losing my mind. Going crazy. Rapists abused their victims spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally. Some victims’ minds really did snap after brutal sexual assaults. So far, I’d been lucky. I was driven home in a police car and I was grateful for that. The thought of being out alone, especially in the dark, was now terrifying for me.
Cheryl hadn’t yet returned, so I again went through my ritual of trying to exorcise the evil within me by bathing. I poured half a bottle of perfumed oil into the hot water and then spent the next hour, scrubbing vigorously. When the water would get cold, I would just add more hot water. All the while, I thought of the rapists, laughing crazily, pawing at me, coming down on me, putting their smell on me, putting their dirt on me. And no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t get rid of the smell of their awful slimy bodies, the awful memories. I wanted to scream aloud that long silent scream I had kept in my head that night. I wanted them to feel my anguish. I wanted to gouge their eyes out I wanted to whip the life out of them. Mutilate them. Kill them. Because bathing never worked.
I always got worked up like that whenever I would take a bath, although it had never been with such intensity before. Back in the bedroom, I paced the floor back and forth, cursing Fate for having placed them on Elgin Street that night, cursing the judicial system because those two, if they went to jail, they would get out again to rape again, When I had cooled down somewhat, I began wondering for the hundredth time why they had kept on calling me squaw. Was it obvious? That really puzzled me. Except for my long black hair, I really didn’t think I could be mistaken as a native person. Mistaken? There’s that shame again. Okay, identified.
April Raintree Page 15