“What was that?” asked Danny.
“How would I know?” Joshua’s voice wobbled.
“I think I’d better find the light switch,” said Danny nervously. “I know I kicked a pail, but that slithering sound…. it was like something alive.”
Joshua stood very still while Danny shuffled backwards towards the wall.
There was a sudden intake of breath.
“What’s up now?” asked Joshua panicking.
“I stepped on something.” Danny’s voice was high and squeaky. “Something soft… I think it’s dead.”
Joshua groaned. “Geez, get a light on.”
Danny’s movements echoed uncertainly in the big room. He stretched out his hands and felt down the wall beside the door. Was the light switch on the right side or the left side of the door frame? He couldn’t remember and started to feel panicky inside. Somehow this escapade wasn’t fun any more. He ran his hands rapidly over the walls on both sides of the door until he felt the switch plate. “Got it!” he cried in relief.
Several fluorescent tubes flickered, then sprang to life, revealing a squashed floor cloth, an upturned pail and a slimy trail ending in a damp bar of soap.
“If it wasn’t dead before, it certainly is now,” said a relieved Joshua, poking the cloth with his foot.
Danny picked up the cloth and soap and dumped them in the pail. “Come on, let’s check out the lance points before someone comes to pick this up.” He led the way through the exhibits to the far end of the room.
They wound past cases of North West Mounted Police uniforms, and models wearing First Nations clothing. Joshua stopped and looked at them.
“Come on slowpoke.” Danny grabbed his arm. “You’ve seen all this Indian stuff before.”
Joshua shook his head. “No I haven’t. I’ve never been here before. These clothes aren’t Peigan.”
Danny peered at the elaborately beaded shirt, breeches and moccasins. “Guess it’s Cree. Their designs are flowers and things.” He looked at Joshua for corroboration. “Don’t Peigans do Blackfoot designs, patterns with squares and triangles?”
Joshua nodded, looking at Danny with interest. “How come you know that?”
“I told you I wanted to be Indian. I spent a lot of time in here last summer.”
Danny headed down between the cases. “Come and look at this,” he called. “It’s the best thing in the whole place.” And he pointed to a photo on the wall.
It was a blown up copy of a stark black and white photo showing a group of First Nations people standing in a circle, intently watching a young warrior. The young man, a dazed look on his face, was straining against two ropes tied around the top of a central pole. The end of each rope was threaded through the skin on the two fleshy parts of his chest.
“See,” said Danny eagerly. “He’s being tortured. They are making him pull the ropes out through his skin.” He pointed to the young warrior’s chest. “Do you reckon that’s blood?”
Joshua glanced at the photo and turned away. “That shouldn’t be here,” he said flatly.
“What do you mean?” said Danny. “It’s just an old photo.”
“It’s sacred.” Joshua turned and looked at Danny. “That’s the Sundance,” he said fiercely. “No one’s torturing him. It’s a sacred ceremony.” Joshua turned away again. “It’s just that you people don’t understand. My grandfather says the Sundance should never have been photographed.”
Feeling the tension between them, Danny grappled to understand. “Sacred? You mean like in church?” he asked hesitantly.
Joshua nodded. “It’s a sacred ritual. It isn’t talked about and it shouldn’t be photographed. Even the Sundance lodges are kept secret and are only used once.”
“The lodges?” questioned Danny.
“Trees are cut and made into a circular frame, like a giant wheel. The Sundance is held inside them. Then that’s the sacred site.” Joshua swung around urgently to Danny. “Look, this stuff’s secret. I’m only explaining so you understand. You are not to ask me anything more. OK?”
Danny nodded. “OK, but…” He hesitated. “You mean it’s still going on?”
Joshua walked away.
Baffled, but not wanting to wreck his new friendship, Danny followed Joshua. But now he wasn’t sure about the stone points. Maybe Joshua would get mad when he saw them. Danny stopped in front of the case where they were displayed. “Are these sacred too?” he asked hesitantly.
Joshua walked over and looked at the display. The arrowheads and lance tips were arranged in two circles, with a couple of stone hammer heads in the middle. “Don’t think so,” he said, then grinned. “I don’t think you’ll learn anything new here. There’s no information. The points have just been set out in a pretty pattern.”
Danny looked critically at the display. “You’re right. There’s not even any dates telling how old they are.” He pointed to the lower circle of arrowheads. “It doesn’t even say which are arrowheads and which are lance points. Do you know?”
Joshua peered carefully through the glass. “I can tell those are lance points.” He pointed to some elegant long tips arranged at the top of the circle. “The arrowheads are the small ones.” He pointed to some very small tips at the bottom of the circle. “But I don’t know enough to guess about the in-between sizes, they could be either. Let’s see yours again.”
Danny pulled out the lance tip from his pocket and the boys compared it with the ones in on display.
“It doesn’t look like any here,” said Danny doubtfully. “I guess it’s an in-between size. Where will I find out?”
Joshua looked thoughtfully at Danny. “Have you ever been to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump? To the Interpretive Centre?”
Danny shook his head. “I wanted to go last summer,” he said sadly, “but we couldn’t. There were so many tourists in town we all had to work in the store.”
“Could you get a lift out there next weekend?”
“I might be able to, why?”
“My grandfather and my mom work there,” said Joshua proudly. “My mom will know about the lance point.”
“OK, I’ll try and come. Saturday or Sunday?”
“Saturday,” replied Joshua. “I’ll be there all day.” He looked around uneasily. “I heard something. Come on, let’s get out of here before someone comes.”
Too late. The door at the far end opened.
“Darn,” said a voice. “I thought I’d switched those off.”
There was a clink of the pail, a faint click of a switch and they were plunged into pitch darkness as the door slammed.
“Hey, Danny, I can’t see anything. How will we get out?” Joshua’s voice had a distinct note of panic in it.
Danny stuck out his arm and waved it around until he hit Joshua’s body. “It’s OK, I know the way back. We’ll just have to make sure we don’t knock anything over.” He placed Joshua’s hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let go. We’ll take small steps and feel our way past the displays, to the exit.”
They shuffled blindly in the darkness. Going past the display cases was fine, but brushing past the plaster models wearing clothes scared both of them.
“Yuk, they feel like dead bodies,” whispered Danny.
“Shut up, I don’t want to know,” said Joshua. “Just get us out of here.” He tripped on a low riser, stumbled and fell heavily on his knees. Something rocked and fell.
“Darn it… I hope nothing’s broken.” Danny helped Joshua up. “Come on.”
They twisted and turned uneasily through what seemed like an endless maze until a final corner brought them within the glow of the red exit light. Thankfully, both boys rushed for the door and flung it open.
Their nerve gone, they slammed it behind them and raced down the boardwalk.
“This way,” yelled Danny and he sped around a building, through a gap and onto a grassy field beside the fort. “Come on, over the fence.”
They raced across the grass and leaped up the fenc
e, digging their toes into the chain links. Swinging across the top almost in unison, they dropped breathlessly down on the other side.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” The shout was faint behind them. They dodged down a back alley and out onto a street beyond.
“Look cool,” Danny whispered out of the side of his mouth. Both boys slowed down to an easy walk and turned back into Main Street.
A truck stridently honking drew level. “Hey Joshua, move it. We’ve been looking all over for you,” called a young woman hanging out of the truck window. “Jump in the back, we’ve gotta go.”
Joshua ran to the truck and climbed over the tail gate. “See you next week,” he called as the truck accelerated off in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
Danny wandered happily back to the store. Now he had something to look forward to next weekend. All he had to do first was survive the week at school.
Chapter Seven
Monday mornings were always bad, but this was the worst ever. Danny’s head ached, so did his stomach. His eyes felt gritty and his tongue tasted awful.
“Seven-thirty,” called his father, banging on the bedroom door.
“I don’t feel good,” Danny protested and buried his head in the pillow.
His father opened the door and looked thoughtfully at him. “Bad night, eh?”
Danny grunted in agreement.
It hadn’t been easy to fall asleep. He’d heard his parents talking late into the night and he knew they were discussing his problems. He’d tossed and turned, worrying about what they were saying. Then he worried about the kids at school and what they would say. “I wish other kids liked me,” Danny had muttered in the darkness as he tossed and turned. “Maybe Mom was right. I should see if Mike is interested in my den. I’ll invite him over tomorrow.”
With a faint sense of having resolved something, Danny had finally drifted off to sleep, but then the dreams started. Not ’the chase’ one, but dreams with twenty-foot-high principals and teachers all yelling at him. Even the lance point under his pillow hadn’t helped stop those.
Now, being awake was worse. He had to go and see the principal for real. His stomach muscles clenched painfully. He groaned and curled up on his side.
“You’ll feel better when you’ve faced up to the situation, son,” said his father patting his feet clumsily. “Be a man. Explain to Mr. Hubner. He is trying to help.”
Danny rolled over and gazed miserably at his father. “Oh yeah, and what about Mr. Berg?”
“Danny, we all have teachers we don’t like, you just have to get along with them. Running away doesn’t solve anything, it just prolongs it.”
Danny wished his father would shut up. He quit listening and tried to concentrate on how he was going to make himself get out of bed, face breakfast, walk out of the house and climb into the school bus.
His father looked questioningly at Danny. “Well? Will that help?”
Danny guiltily realized his father had finished talking and he didn’t have a clue about the question. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m still not awake Dad, run that by me again.”
“Would a ride to school help?”
Danny nodded, relieved. A ride would postpone the barrage of questions from the other kids until recess.
They arrived at school early. The almost empty playground seemed endless. Danny, head down against the wind, concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and counting how many steps it took to cross to the school door.
“Hey. Save it!” A distant yell from a group of early morning hockey players made him swing round.
A puck shot over the ground towards him. He hopefully stuck out his foot but missed. The puck skittered past and plopped into a large puddle of dirty water.
There was a chorus of derisive groans.
“Gee, might have known. Dummy Danny! Can’t you even stop a puck?” The pack of frustrated players charged over, elbowed Danny out of the way and started fishing for the puck with their sticks.
Danny ignored them and headed into the school. His stomach clenched again.
Slowly and painfully Danny bent over, took off his boots and laced on his runners. Even his extra long glow-in-the-dark laces didn’t comfort him today. Carefully he stood upright and hung up his coat. He felt dead and disembodied so he concentrated on his feet. To the staccato accompaniment of his lace tips tapping on the polished floor, he watched his feet carry him down the corridor. He had never felt so small, so sick, so isolated. But no matter how slowly he walked, Mr. Hubner’s office appeared to be approaching at the speed of light.
“Come in Danny,” boomed Mr. Hubner. “Let’s see if we can make some sense of all this.”
Frozen but fascinated, Danny gazed earthward and watched his feet walk him through the principal’s door and lead his body to a chair. That was when he noticed an extra set of feet. He looked up. They belonged to Mr. Berg.
Danny threw up.
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Somehow he was propelled into the staff washroom and his head held over the toilet bowl. When he’d finished retching, burly but gentle hands wiped his face with a damp cloth. His shivering body was wrapped in a blanket and he was led to a chair in the sick room.
“Feel better?” asked a voice he knew only too well.
Danny nodded, though his thoughts were in turmoil. He still felt scared and shaky but Mr. Berg… Mr. Berg had helped him. Danny looked up and for the first time in weeks, met his teacher’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said.
Mr. Berg drew up another chair and sat down opposite him. “Danny, you and I have to talk.”
Danny nodded.
“You threw up because you were scared?”
“I dunno.” Danny shifted uncomfortably. “I guess so. I couldn’t help it though,” he added anxiously.
Mr. Berg nodded. “You ran away because you were scared of the mental arithmetic test, and the Social Studies project,” he continued.
Danny looked at his feet again.
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
Danny eyes widened and flew up with amazement. “About what?”
“What are you going to do about being scared of me and school?”
Danny hunched resentfully back into the blanket. What could he do about anything?
Mr. Berg got up and and paced around the room. Danny watched surreptitiously. Somehow Mr. Berg trying to be nice was almost worse than Mr. Berg yelling in class. It made him feel guilty.
Mr. Berg took a deep breath and swung around. “Look Danny, there’s no need to be scared. I yell and tease everyone don’t I? Do I treat you any differently than the other students?”
Danny shook his head but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how many times Mr. Berg yelled at the other kids, only the times he yelled at him.
“And I only yell when you do dumb things, right?” Danny huddled miserably on the chair, hope fading. Everything he did at school someone called dumb.
Mr. Berg patted him on the shoulder. “So come on Danny, face things with courage. You’re a real bright kid in some ways. You know plenty, you’ve got some great ideas and can express them well when you’re talking. If you concentrate on your handwriting, spelling and math there is no reason why you shouldn’t be in the top group. Lots of people panic in math. No big deal. Just make sure you practise your tables so that they become second nature. As for the socials project, you’ve got six weeks to do it. Even a grade 2 could produce it in that time. Pull yourself together and work steadily, and you and I will get along just fine.”
Danny tuned out. Here was just the same old stuff. “Pull yourself together, concentrate, practice your tables and learn your spellings!” He’d heard it all before. Why did no one understand that he tried to learn all those things and it still didn’t make a difference?
Danny switched over to fantasy.
Astronaut Daniel Budzynski of the Canadian Moon Base comes back to visit his school. “You’re our hero,” the kids yell as he strides across the school
grounds. Then they cheer as he towers over Mr. Berg saying, “And I still don’t know my multiplication tables.”
Danny came back to the present with a jolt to find Mr. Berg towering thoughtfully over him.
“Do you find it difficult to tell me if you don’t understand things?”
Danny almost laughed. Did he find it difficult? He found it impossible! What kid is going to admit he doesn’t understand, to a teacher who then uses the problem as an example of how not to do things? Danny would rather die.
“Well, do you?” insisted Mr. Berg.
“You go too fast in math,” mumbled Danny desperately screwing his courage to the sticking place. “I don’t get it.”
“Well in future come and see me at recess and I’ll go over it with you. OK?”
“OK,” Danny agreed uncomfortably. He’d give that a try. Being dumped on at recess was better than being dumped on in class.
The morning buzzer interrupted them. It was instantly followed by the dull roar of feet pounding through the hallways.
Mr. Hubner appeared at the office door. “All finished?” he asked brightly. “Think you can handle class, Danny?”
Danny stood up with a small sigh. He dragged off the blanket, folded it carefully and handed it to Mr. Berg. “Thanks” he said. “I’ll try.” And straightening his shoulders and stepping out like an astronaut, he walked determinedly down the long corridor towards the classroom door. Maybe a miracle would happen. Maybe things would be different.
Chapter Eight
The classroom noise level was worse than usual. Brett Gibson had rigged up a model helicopter hanging by a string from a stick. He was manipulating it to dive bomb the girls. They were yelling at him and covering their hair with text books.
Danny tried to sneak through to his desk unnoticed.
“Hey, the Dummy’s back,” announced Brett loudly and sent the helicopter swinging over Danny’s head.
Stoically Danny ignored it, sat down and turned to the desk beside him. “Mike, do you want to come over tonight? I’ve something to show you.”
“Sure.” Mike looked over at Danny. “Did the IceBerg get you this morning?”
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