“Jesus. You okay?” Her left eye was puffy and half sealed shut, and her lip was cut.
“Fine.” She turned her back and I followed her down the hallway.
In the student den, a broken beer bottle was smashed on the table, the liquid spilling onto the floor. Donnie was slumped in a chair, hanging his hands in the sink, holding ice to his knuckles.
“You needn’t have come,” Sekwan said. “We’re fine now.”
“We should take you to a doctor,” I said.
“It’s nothing,” she said. I glanced at Donnie. I was so angry, I wanted to hit him.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Donnie. Get out.” He looked at her forlornly, and left. Once he was out of earshot, I offered her a cigarette. She took it.
“We should go to the doctor. You should get that checked out,” I said pointing to her eye.
“Ed. It’s nothing. Stop making a fuss.”
“I can’t believe Donnie would do this. Are you going to press charges?”
“No.”
“Do you want him to get away with it?”
She shrugged.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“It was just a fight.”
“You shouldn’t let him hit you. You should go to the police.”
“The cops,” she said, and then began laughing bitterly. I stared at her hard, angry that she was just giving in. Then I laughed bitterly too. The Cree word for police, okipwakhayso, means “the people who take you away.” As in never seen again. Just like my great-granddad, John Metatawabin.
“No outsiders,” she said. “We Indians should stick to our own.”
“Yeah, well,” I said. Then I remembered that I’d had the same reaction when Mike Pasko had raped me.
She turned away, like she wanted me to leave.
“I think the university is going to want to investigate,” I said.
“Not if you don’t tell them.”
“They are going to ask.”
“Then make something up,” she said, and got out her keys to open the apartment door.
“I …”
“We’ll be fine. I love him, you know.”
I stared at her. Then sadness overtook me and I had to get out of there. Why did they have to fight? I thought back to coming home from St. Anne’s for the summer, and pounding Alex until he could hardly breathe. Was that our destiny? Why couldn’t we break the cycle? It was embarrassing, shameful.
I got in my car and drove to the nearest bar.
Joan was awake when I crawled into bed.
“Where have you been?”
“I had to go and counsel some students,” I said.
“At this hour?”
“Yeah. They got into a fight.”
“Couldn’t it wait until morning?”
“No.”
“I can smell booze on you.”
“It was just a couple.”
“Just a couple! Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”
“Please Joan. I had a bad day.”
“Are you having an affair?”
“No!”
“You’re telling me that they suddenly needed your advice at eleven p.m.”
“Yes. Don called. It’s complicated.”
“What’s so complicated?”
Everything is complicated, I thought. “Joan. Please. Can I just go to sleep?”
“No, tell me.”
“I’m tired. Let me sleep.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No. I just had a couple.”
“Jesus, Ed. You’re unbelievable.”
“Come on, Joan.”
“Don’t come on, Joan me.”
“Please. I’ve had a hard time.”
“Fine.” She got up, taking her pillow, and went to sleep on the couch.
When things were calmer, Joan decided to invite her parents over. She said it was important, and I had to be there. I asked what it was about and she wouldn’t say. Still I knew something was up because she had asked Svetlana to take the kids to her house.
Her parents, Lloyd and Patty, still lived in Wilberforce, an hour away, but I hadn’t seen much of them since the wedding. She accused me of avoiding them, and although I denied it vehemently, part of me knew that she was right. They loved their daughter, and I suspected I hadn’t lived up to their expectations. Even when sober.
They arrived at ten o’clock on the dot. Joan had gotten up early to make them a special brunch with eggs, ham and fresh orange juice. I opened the door.
“Ed,” Lloyd said. He put out his hand. He seemed uncomfortable.
“Lloyd,” I said. Pattie followed him in and I kissed her on the cheek.
I didn’t drink much over breakfast—just a couple, in between courses. It was to take the edge off things; them staring at me, the weight of disdain. Of course, I was careful. I went to the bathroom, where I had stashed my Cree Helper. Vodka is the best for times like this; it doesn’t even smell. I looked at them when I came out. They didn’t even notice. After breakfast, we all went to the lounge.
“Ed. We’re concerned about you,” Lloyd said.
“What about me?” I wondered what they’d heard.
“Well, Joan says that you’re out at all hours of the night … and that you come back drunk.”
“I might have done that once or twice. I was helping my students.”
“They need your help drinking?”
“No, Mr. Barnes. They need my help coping after the reserve.”
“At the bars?”
“It’s not like that, Mr. Barnes.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is, Ed.”
“No it’s not,” I said. “I was just trying to help Sekwan and Donnie. They were in trouble.”
Why was he on my case? Always on my goddamned case. Made me so mad I needed a drink. “Look, why don’t we settle down. Let’s have some Irish coffees. Joan’s are the best.”
“You serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“We’re talking about your alcoholism, and you’re offering us an Irish coffee?”
“Jesus Christ! Relax already!”
“Fucking drunk,” he muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“What da fuck did you say?”
“I said you’re a fucking drunk. You remind me of those bums you see in Toronto!”
He was calling me a drunk Indian. I couldn’t believe it. I got up. I’m going to punch out his lights, I thought. He pushed me back down. I got up again.
“Stop it!” Joan shouted. “Stop it!” and she started to cry.
SIXTEEN
Joan wanted me to get some professional help. I tried to explain to her that I didn’t need it. I agreed with her that I needed to grow up and take responsibility, but there weren’t any native therapists in Peterborough. I didn’t want to explain my problems to a wemistikoshiw man who didn’t know about the Seven Sacred Teachings or the Red Road. I didn’t need another white man calling me a drunk. And even if we found a native therapist, how were we supposed to pay? We were already stretched to the limit.
I said, “I’ll try harder, I promise.”
“At what, Ed?
“Everything. Whatever you want.”
“You don’t understand.”
I was sitting on our bed and she was standing, and with these words she slumped down, as if someone had suddenly removed her spine. She put her head in her hands. I felt overcome by love and remorse, and wanted to scoop her up in my arms.
“I do understand. I made a mistake with your parents and I’m sorry.”
“That’s not it.”
“I love you,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
“Joan. Please.”
“Maybe that’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m scared,” she said.
What happens when your wife is scared? You
do your best, I guess. Pick up the kids from school and kindergarten. Wash the dishes. Help her with the laundry. Try to make love. Christ, I don’t know. Just try to stop your head from spinning. Work hard to stop the voices. They’re always there anyway. Always telling you what you’ve done wrong. Try to focus, that’s all. And you wait. Wait for the news. You know it’s coming. The moment of reckoning. In my case, it came on a Tuesday afternoon. It began with a conversation with Don. He called me into his office. Said he had some bad news.
“Really?” I waited for him to tell me that I was a disappointment to my race and the department and was fired.
“Yeah. It’s about Sekwan.”
“Sekwan?”
It was my fault. I knew it.
“Yeah. She’s in hospital. She has a cut hand. She has to get stitches. We think Donnie might be involved, but she isn’t saying anything. What happened on that night that I sent you over? You said you had it covered.”
“I … uh … not much.” I felt caught. Was it worse to betray Sekwan’s trust or to refuse to cooperate? I sensed that Sekwan wasn’t going to say anything, no matter what I said.
“So, nothing happened,” Don said.
“I … not much.”
“What do you mean ‘not much’?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened.”
“The university will want to investigate this new incident.”
“Okay.”
“If there’s something you aren’t telling me, it will come out, and then, well, I can’t protect you, Ed.”
“Okay.” I didn’t know what to say.
“You can go.”
I left Don’s office, and cancelled the rest of my student appointments, too upset and confused to be of much help to anyone. Maybe I should have told Don that Donnie had hit her but she wouldn’t press charges. If I had told him, then maybe Sekwan would have left Donnie and nothing more would have happened. Did that make me responsible? What if she went back to Donnie? What if something else happened? Would I be accountable? Would I lose my job? What would happen to Joan and my children? They would be so ashamed of me. Jesus, they already disliked me. I felt sick with shame. I should have done more to help Sekwan. I had let her down.
I went to the Commoner bar. After a few drinks, a girl came up to me.
“Hi, Counsellor,” she said.
“It’s Ed,” I said, barely looking up.
“I know,” she said.
“Course you know.” My vision was a bit blurry, but I recognized her as Sarah, a nineteen-year-old from Curve Lake First Nation. “What will you have?” I asked.
“A gin and tonic.” I ordered two and a vodka shot for myself. I looked at her. “Rough day?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“What happened?”
“I …” I hung my head. “I let people down.”
“Who’d you let down?”
“Everyone. Sekwan. Don. My wife. My family. Everyone.”
“Why?”
I laughed, bitterly. “Because I’m bad news.”
“Bad news, how?”
“Jesus, you don’t let up, do you?” She looked hurt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. Have a drink. It will do you some good.” As she drank, I watched her face. She was so pretty. Funny I never noticed such things when I was sober. “Let’s not talk about me. It’s boring. Tell me about your day.” She started talking, telling me about getting a B in Native Studies 100. I half listened as she talked. It was easy to get lost in her voice. It flowed like sweet wine. Her brown eyes looked like she was offering me something tender. What was it? A helping hand? Hope? I smiled. She had the same look as Joan before we married.
“Are you even listening?” she asked, finishing.
“Absolutely.” I repeated back most of what she had just said.
“For someone drunk, that wasn’t bad.” I smiled. A song came on about feeling the warmth of a woman’s body, and I began singing to the chorus. She laughed.
“Flirt,” she said.
“Do you dance?” I asked.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
“Sometimes.”
“You wanna dance with me?”
“With you?”
“Sure. Why not?”
I woke up with a splitting headache. I wasn’t sure how or what time I’d gotten home. I looked at the clock. Ten a.m. Shit. Everyone already out of the house. School, daycare, and university courses for Joan. I remembered Don talking to me about Sekwan. Feeling ashamed. The bar. The girl with the hopeful eyes. It was slowly coming back. Her friend had a camera. We had kissed and posed together. Oh no. Takye. Shit. I had to get a hold of that camera and stop her developing those photos.
I drove to school and hurried to my office. In the hallway, I bumped into Nancy, Dr. Couture’s assistant. Dr. Couture was the chairman of the Native Studies program and Don’s boss.
“Can I have a word, Ed?”
“Sorry, Nancy. Can it wait?”
“No.” She pulled me into a storeroom that was stacked floor to ceiling with books. It was cramped and we stood face to face. “You know, there’s a rumour going around about you.”
“Really?” I said. I was falling. I felt sick. “What sort of rumour?”
“Something to do with a girl. A student of yours. And some photos.”
“Did you see them?”
“You mean there are photos?”
“Yes. No … I …” Shit, this would ruin everything. I had to stop it before Joan found out.
I had some counselling appointments that afternoon, but I put a notice on my door that said I had to cancel unexpectedly. Then I went to look for Sarah. I needed to destroy the photos and stop her telling anyone. I asked around and heard that she had gone back to her reserve early.
I debated driving there. If I went, would that look like sexual harassment? She was my student. She lived on the reserve with her parents and extended family. But if I didn’t go, then surely she’d tell more people and I’d lose my job. Who was I kidding? If Nancy already knew, that meant that Dr. Couture knew, which meant I had already lost my job. Joan would want to know the reason why I had been sacked, which led me back to the photos.
How had this happened? There had been only one person who had truly loved me. One person who had accepted me for who I was, who wasn’t afraid to touch my shameful, broken body. Joan had believed in me and trusted me. She had loved and accepted me. She had come to Peterborough to help me get my degree, and we’d started a family. She had supported me in my first job off the reserve. I had let her down. Time and again. So many broken promises. I hung my head in my hands. I was a disgrace. Less than worthless.
I went to the bar.
I got home a few hours later. There was a note on the kitchen table.
Don phoned. He told me everything. Have moved out. Please don’t call.
I read the note a few times. I looked in the closets—she had taken only about one third of her clothes. Somehow I found this comforting.
I waited an hour and had some coffee to sober up. It wasn’t perfect, but good enough. I just needed to speak to Joan and make everything better.
Lloyd answered the door. I could tell from his tight lips that she had told him at least some of what was going on.
“Can I speak to her?” I said.
“You have some nerve, coming here.”
“Please.”
“Why should I let you in?”
“I just need to say goodbye.”
“You should have thought of that before.”
“Please. Just for a few minutes.”
He let me in.
In the bedroom, Joan was propped up with some pillows, with Albalina and Shannin on either side. Jassen was sleeping in a fold-out cot.
“What are you doing here?” Joan said.
“I needed to see you.”
“How could you?”
“I made a mistake.”
“That’s what you call it?”
“I wasn�
�t thinking.”
“Oh my God, Ed. You don’t get it, do you?”
“Joan. Please. I’m sorry. I’ll change.”
“Get out,” she said.
“Joan, please.”
“GET OUT!”
Next morning, I drove to the university and walked to Don’s office.
“I’m sorry, Don.”
“You have a problem.”
“I know.”
“I’m putting you on leave.”
“Thank you.”
He shook his head.
“Are you getting help?”
“I will,” I said.
“I already called around. There’s an in-treatment centre that has a good record at treating native people.” He handed me a Post-it with a phone number.
“I’ve talked to the rest of the staff. They should have some spots free in a few weeks.”
“I don’t deserve this,” I said.
“Who knows what we deserve.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“I wish things had worked out differently,” he said.
“Me too.”
SEVENTEEN
It was one of those January mornings when the sun seems too tired to get up. I took the bus to the airport. Then I stood around and stared at the flashing lights on the departure board for my flight to Calgary. I was finding it difficult to keep down the contents of my stomach, so I went to the water fountain, washed my face and drank deeply.
We flew over the prairies and landed in Calgary, and I took a taxi to the edge of town.
The centre was a bunch of brick buildings that had been converted from a boy’s school. A few steps from the entrance I had one final swig of vodka from my water bottle. What would Joan think? She’d given up on me. She’d tried so goddamned hard, and she’d finally quit. I thought about how crushed she’d looked when I’d gone to see her that last time. The memory hurt enough to warrant another swig, but there was none left.
There was a payphone out front and I thought about calling her. She wouldn’t want to hear from me. What if I called but didn’t say who it was? I could hear her calming voice without having to explain myself. No, that was just creepy.
I slipped the empty bottle into my pocket, pushed through the door and into a large room with a reception desk, where I was directed to what looked like a doctor’s waiting room. A woman wearing a green coat sat behind a high circular desk, and facing her was a row of chairs.
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