“I almost forgot.” Jude rushed into the kitchen and returned with a platter of hamburgers. He handed it to Haven. “Take this out and offer it to Miss Charlotte sitting there.”
“What for?” Dressed as he was, Haven cringed at the thought of approaching any of the girls.
“She don’t eat no pork.”
Haven hesitated at the door.
“Can’t she eat it just this once?”
“No! Now go. I got to get the drums ready.” Jude pushed the screen until it opened.
“Why not?”
“You sure ask a lot of dumb questions,” Jude said and shoved Haven through the door. “Now you go and do as I tell you before I get Miss Nokomis in here to give you a talking to.”
Charlotte sat on an oak stump before the fire, balancing a plate of barbequed pork and a gnawed cob of corn on her knees. Mabel sat beside her, their heads almost touching as she murmured something in Charlotte’s ear until they both laughed. They wore headdresses and beaded leather smocks. Their cheeks were smeared with lines of crimson greasepaint, giving them the appearance of cat’s whiskers. Strings of brightly painted wooden beads lolled around their necks and rattled as they playfully nudged one another.
“Charlotte?” Haven spoke to Charlotte but his eyes lingered on Mabel.
“Yes?” Charlotte glanced up as he neared. Orange firelight danced off her glasses like approaching headlights. She smiled at him with a mouth still full and chewing. Mabel wiped the grease from her lips with the back of her hand and looked Haven over as though he was a mannequin in a shop window.
“Jude told me to bring this out to you.” He held out the platter to Charlotte and self conscientiously averted his eyes from Mabel.
Charlotte looked at the hamburgers and sighed.
“Thanks,” she said. “But I’m fine with the barbeque.”
“Jude says you don’t eat pork.”
Charlotte snickered and exchanged glances with Mabel.
“Is that why you two are always feeding me peanut butter?” Charlotte laughed. “Look, this is very sweet of him but tell him I’m fine. Really, I am. You guys go ahead and eat these yourselves.”
She gently nudged the platter back to Haven.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes,” Charlotte replied. “Tell him he needn’t make any special meals for me anymore. I’m getting sick of peanut butter.”
“I think I’ll have one.” Mabel reached across Charlotte and plucked a hamburger from the plate. Haven watched mesmerized by the way her delicate hand lifted the hamburger to her mouth and bit into the soft roll speckled with poppy seeds.
“Mmmm,” Mabel purred and skimmed her tongue across her lower lip until Haven’s knees quivered. “This is so good!”
“You can have as many as you want.” Haven cringed at the crack in his voice.
“Thank you.” Mabel licked the crumbs from her fingertips longer than was necessary.
Haven couldn’t take it any longer. He turned abruptly and dashed back to the lodge, almost tripping over his own moccasins.
Jude sat in the dining room and adjusted the feathers that decorated a well worn set of bongo drums and a tom-tom with a white leather membrane stretched across its frame.
“She doesn’t want these.” Haven dropped the platter on the table before him. “She says you don’t have to make any more special meals for her.”
Jude glanced up at Haven and chuckled.
“Lordy! You’re blushing so red I can’t hardly see the paint on your face no more,” he said.
Haven longed to tell Jude to shut his smart mouth before he shut it for him, but thought better of it.
“Never mind that!” he snapped and pointed to the drums. “What’s all that for?”
“This here is for the ceremony,” Jude replied. “You do know how to bang a drum, don’t you?”
“No.”
Jude clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.
“Well, you better learn within an hour,” he said and handed him a drumstick and the tom-tom. “It ain’t that hard. Just follow my lead and try not to skip a beat.”
Haven tapped the tip of the drumstick against the taut membrane, smiling at the sound. The droopy feathers trembled slightly with each beat that followed. Jude grinned and slapped his hands against the bongos.
“Good,” he said. “You’re getting it. Just keep it up.”
He smacked his hands against the drums so fast they became a blur. Haven struggled to keep up, but lost the beat. He tried again and managed to keep time with Jude a little longer before giving up.
“I can’t do it as fast as you,” Haven complained. “Slow down!”
“I’m just teasing,” Jude laughed. “It ain’t going to go so fast when we’re out there. It’ll be more like this . . . ”
He slapped his palms deliberately and rhythmically against the bongos. Haven caught the beat and tapped the drumstick against the tom-tom in sync with him.
“Good,” Jude nodded. “You’re getting it. And you ain’t half bad either. This’ll be easy.”
Haven collected the dirty plates from the girls and stacked them in a pile by the kitchen sink; they would have to wait for their wash. Jude hauled more logs onto the fire until flames as tall as him burst up into the night air and mounds of smoke spread like an umbrella across the speckled starry sky. Wetherby sat on a stump by the flagpole, his trumpet sparkling in the firelight. He was the only one not donned in Indian attire, though the hatband on his bowler was festooned with brightly coloured feathers. Jude and Haven settled on a fallen log, their drums nestled between their knees. A sudden burst of sparks erupted from the fire and the congregation fell silent.
Miss Nokomis appeared from the darkness; a bubble of smoke enveloped her like a chrysalis. Her solemn face was cached in smoke and shadow. She raised her arms from her sides until they were level with her shoulders. Rows of wooden amulets dangled on leather thongs from both elbows, making her look as though she had wings and would lift off into the night at any moment.
“Now!” Jude whispered.
Haven rapped the tom-tom with the tip of his drumstick in time to Jude’s bongos. Wetherby lifted his trumpet and blew a string of tight notes against the beat. Miss Nokomis began to chant as though in a trance:
“Then they said to Chibiabos . . . to the friend of Hiawatha . . . to the sweetest of all singers . . . to the best of all musicians . . . ‘Sing to us, O Chibiabos . . . songs of love and songs of longing . . . that the feast may be more joyous . . . that the time may pass more gaily . . . and our guests be more contented!’”
Jude fell into a chant, grunting and forcing the syllables from his chest until they melted seamlessly with the notes from Wetherby’s trumpet. Haven continued a steady beat against the tom-tom while tapping his foot. He felt the rhythm meld in time to the cadence of his own heart, knocking against his chest until he thought it would burst through and fly into the heavens like a dove released from its cage. Miss Nokomis, her eyes glazed and fixed before her, wandered round the fire, the medallions swaying to her step.
“First he danced a solemn measure . . . very slow in step and gesture . . . in and out among the pine trees . . . through the shadows and the sunshine . . . treading softly like a panther . . . then more swiftly and still swifter . . . whirling spinning round in circles . . . leaping o’er the guests assembled . . . eddying round and round the wigwam . . . ”
The girls rose and joined Miss Nokomis, tapping their moccasins in time to the beat of Jude and Haven’s drums. They began to dance, chanting and twirling like dervishes through pillows of smoke until they appeared to Haven little more than vague shadows. Miss Nokomis tossed a handful of powder into the flames and a massive plume of smoke and sparks ruptured the air.
Jude quickened the pace and Haven struggled to keep up. The notes from Wetherby’s horn danced over the beat like stones skipping over water. The girls joined in the chanting, their high pitched voices rising through the air and dissip
ating over the tips of the pines. Jude increased the beat, raising it faster and faster until his hands bleared against the bongos and Haven’s drumstick rolled fast across the tom-tom. Haven felt as though he was on a freight train cut loose from its engine and careening faster and faster toward its doom.
“Stop!”
Miss Nokomis’s voice cut through the din and an abrupt silence sliced the night. Haven dropped his arm, grateful for the respite. He didn’t think he could keep pace with the beat much longer. Jude leaned on his bongos, panting and grinning until his teeth glowed like pearls in the firelight. Wetherby lowered his trumpet and mopped his brow with his sleeve.
“Take your seats!” Miss Nokomis commanded in a booming voice and the girls obeyed, their breaths heaving from the exertion of the dance.
Miss Nokomis stood before the fire and gazed up at the studded sky, smiling as though an old friend was looking down upon her.
“To each soul is granted a totem,” she said. “An animal spirit to guide thee through the trials of life. A totem is sacred and must never been taken for granted. The great god Gitchee Manito has spoken to me. He has told me to whom each animal spirit belongs and has given me these . . . ” she raised her arms higher until the amulets rattled like bones on their leather strings, “infused with the spirit of each animal. Wear them well and wear them with pride. Their spirits are a part of you and shall follow you the way annemeekee, the thunder follows waywassimo, the lightening. We shall begin with the Puk-wujies, the little people.”
The four youngest girls gasped and sat more erect, their eyes shining with anticipation. It was their first totem ceremony.
“Madeleine Griffin!” Miss Nokomis turned and pointed to the little girl with the pigtails. “Rise and approach!”
Madeleine rose from her stump and, with head bowed, approached Miss Nokomis. She was so small she barely reached Miss Nokomis’s waist.
“Madeleine Griffin,” she said. “Your totem is the wah-wah-taysee, the firefly, because you are swift and your light burns bright. Wear this well and may her spirit guide you.”
Miss Nokomis draped the amulet around Madeleine’s neck. It clattered against her chest. Madeleine picked it up and peered at the filigree. The amulet was made of a circle of wood sliced off a sapling or tree limb with bark ringing the inscription. She looked up at Miss Nokomis and smiled.
“You may sit,” Miss Nokomis said and turned toward the next little girl. “Annabelle Cox. Rise and approach!”
One by one each girl sauntered toward Miss Nokomis to receive her totem. The younger girls were given mostly insects such as Suggema, the mosquito, or small birds such as Omeme the pigeon, as their totems. The preteens were given totems of larger birds, such as Keneu, the eagle, or fish like Okahahwis, the herring; the oldest girls were granted larger animals. Mabel was given Wabasso, the rabbit, as her totem and Haven’s heart surged when she lifted her long hair off the back of her neck so Miss Nokomis could drape the amulet around her. Charlotte was given Shuh-shuh-gah, the heron, as her totem and Haven thought it appropriate considering her long legs, slim and white as candlesticks.
One amulet remained after each girl had received her totem. Miss Nokomis turned and looked down at Haven, the last medallion swinging from her hand. She pointed at him and he crouched deeper into his seat.
“Haven Cattrell! Rise and approach!” she commanded.
All eyes turned on him; a few of the older girls who had been through the ceremony before gasped. Haven glanced at Jude who nodded and took the drumstick from him, nudging him with his other hand.
Haven placed the tom-tom beside the log and rose to meet Miss Nokomis. She draped the amulet around his neck.
“Haven Cattrell,” she said, her eyes burning blue in the dark. “Your totem is Mishe-Mokwa, the great bear, for you are strong and deliberate yet gentle when left to yourself. Wear this well and may his spirit guide you.”
The wooden amulet swayed across Haven’s chest. He lifted it and peered at the inscription. A rough image of a bear had been burned into the disk; below it the words Mishe-Mokwa had been inscribed in black ink.
“You may sit.” Miss Nokomis nodded toward the log where Jude sat grinning among the drums. She addressed the rest of the congregation. “This concludes the totem ceremony. May your totems protect and guide you all. Lights out in fifteen minutes.”
An abrupt shower of sparks shattered the sky. A few of the younger girls screamed and covered their heads. A rocket whizzed over the lake and exploded in mid flight, raining pink and green sparkles into the water.
“Look!” Charlotte pointed toward the lake. “What’s going on?”
Everyone rose and rushed toward the shore, jabbering and gasping as another burst of yellow light ignited the stars and spread across the night sky like a giant shimmering umbrella. Jude and Haven stood on the dock and watched. Haven had never seen fireworks before; to him it looked as though the heavens were splitting apart under the weight of all their stars.
“It’s coming from Camp Hiawatha!” Mabel gasped.
Miss Nokomis, smiling in the darkness, strolled across the dock and rested her hand on Haven’s bare shoulder. A series of blue flames spiralled from the far shore, banged against the darkness and plummeted into the lake.
“They’re congratulating us for obtaining our totems,” she said and gave his shoulder a light squeeze.
“How did they know?” asked a girl in the rear.
“Their shaman must have told them,” Miss Nokomis replied.
More fireworks dazzled the air, whirling and corkscrewing until spent and leaving behind trails of white smoke. The sharp smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the night and stung Haven’s nostrils; he resisted the urge to sneeze. Jude whooped and laughed beside him while the girls gasped, oohing and aahing after each eruption.
“I’m very proud of you, Haven,” Miss Nokomis whispered in his ear.
Haven smiled, feeling like a member of a community for the first time in his life.
The only time Haven removed the amulet from his neck was on Sunday afternoons when he was permitted to swim in Lake Manito. The girls piled into the school bus wearing their best dresses and Miss Nokomis drove them to Davisville to attend church. He thought it odd that she preached of pagan spirits during the week, yet insisted they attend services every Sunday morning. Jude and Haven packed six picnic baskets with sandwiches and cookies and bottles of lemonade for their weekly afternoon picnics in the churchyard where everyone in town gathered to eat and gossip and play in the sun-warmed grass.
The camp was deserted and peculiarly quiet. He could stroll through the grounds unencumbered, relishing the twitter of the birds and the whisper of the wind as it wafted through the pines. Jude and Wetherby remained behind in the lodge, attending to chores they didn’t have time for during the week. Haven wandered to the edge of the dock, peeling off his clothes. He laid them in a neat pile and placed his amulet on top. The image of the bear had already begun to fade and he loathed getting it wet lest the picture wash out entirely.
He dove into the rippling lake and swam long strokes along the shore, luxuriating in the freedom the water allowed. The water was warmer and shallower than he had remembered. His bare feet brushed against boulders lodged in the mucky bottom and stirred up swirls of silt. When he finished he crawled across the dock and lay supine across the splintered boards while the sun warmed and dried his body. Jude’s voice echoed from the opened kitchen window followed by Wetherby’s baritone laugh. Haven sat up and shook the water from his hair, deciding he was adequately dry to help them with whatever needed to be done.
He looped his amulet around his neck, gathered his clothes and bounded up the porch steps, thinking that perhaps he could wash his dirty clothes in the sink; if he did it now they would be sufficiently dry before the girls returned later that afternoon.
He ran into the dining room and nearly slipped on the wet floor. Dropping his clothes he grasped the back of a chair to keep from stumbling.
> Charlotte was on her hands and knees directly before him, a bucket of sudsy water beside her and a sharp bristled scrub brush in one hand. She wore a simple blue house dress with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Fingers of soap drizzled down her arm and dripped onto the floor; steam from the bucket clouded her glasses so that Haven couldn’t see her eyes, and — he hoped — she couldn’t see him.
“What are you doing here?” he gasped and clutched his dirty shirt against his groin. Not again!
“Praying to the Great Kitchen God, what else?” Charlotte laughed and straightened until she was leaning back on her hunches. She pulled her glasses from her nose and squinted in Haven’s direction.
“You don’t need to be shy,” she chuckled. “I’ve got four brothers at home. You don’t have anything they haven’t got.” She paused and continued thoughtfully, “Well, maybe you do. They’re all circumcised.”
“You’re not supposed to be here!” Haven ducked behind another chair so he could pull on his boxers and pants without her seeing him.
“I’m exempt from church,” she replied and pushed the brush across the floor. “Why are you here?”
“I work here!”
Jude pushed through the kitchen doors carrying a tray of silver cutlery. He stopped short when he saw Haven struggling with his pants that knotted and twisted against his wet legs as he tried to pull them up. He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disgust.
“Lordy, you just can’t seem to keep your bare-naked behind covered up,” he said and placed the tray on a table.
“I thought we were allowed to swim here on Sundays.” Haven rolled his shirt down over his head and pulled his braces over his shoulders.
“We are,” Jude replied. “But we still have to stay decent with a lady in the room.”
The Spoon Asylum Page 6