Her life was about her son now.
She thought about this after the funeral as she and Robby made their way to the car with groceries. Healthy food for her parents before she drove back to Smith in the morning. She was in Rae, Behcho Ko, an hour and ten minutes out of Yellowknife, ten hours away from Fort Smith. This afternoon a funeral for a boy who never woke up. A distant cousin’s son. The coffin was tiny. The community was lost in grief.
Robby had been at her side and had been quiet throughout the day.
“How are you?” she asked.
He shrugged. But then smiled. “Happy to be with you, Mom.”
He was becoming his father. His smile and charming eyes were the same. He would be tall. Her father had remarked on his feet and hands. Like a pup who’d one day lead. You could tell in the lope and hands.
Behcho Ko was still dusty. The town quiet but with graffiti all over the houses. Tonight a quiet feast with family. Tomorrow the ten-hour drive. It would be good to head back. Since arriving, she’d noticed that nothing but the names had changed: even though they called Rae Behcho Ko, and even though the Dogribs were calling themselves Tlicho, there was still too much gambling, there were still too many new trucks and empty cupboards. Children played late, late into the evening. There was non-stop bingo. Steady commutes to Yellowknife for bingo. And the drinking. Would it ever end? Where were the parents? “We have a problem with our youth.” She’d kept hearing that since she’d returned. She knew it wasn’t our youth; it was our parents. But she kept that to herself.
Running her tongue along her chipped bottom tooth, she thought about these things as she put the groceries into the trunk of the car and made her way inside. She got in first. Robby second. She took a big breath and squinted through the spider-webbed window, the dust, when Robby said quickly, “There’s an old man in our car.”
She looked up and, in the rearview mirror, saw the devil sitting in the back seat. That was what they’d called him all her life. The most dangerous medicine man in the communities. The rattlesnake. “Oh,” she said quickly. “Hello, Uncle.”
She cursed herself for calling him family but she did it for the boy. She did it for her son. She didn’t want him to be scared.
The old man nodded. He’d gotten skinny, she’d noticed. Sitting there in his suit and cap, you’d think he was like any other elder, but you’d know he wasn’t. You’d have to. How could you not feel the blackness bleeding out of him.
“Uncle,” she said. “I think you are sitting in the wrong car.”
“Ee-le,” he said. “I’m sitting in your car.”
Celestine glanced at her son and turned her body, placed herself between them, so Robby couldn’t fully turn to see him. Nor could they touch. They mustn’t touch, she panicked.
They can’t.
“How can we help you? Do you need a ride?” Again, she cursed herself for speaking quickly without thinking. But it was for the boy, for her son. He mustn’t know that within reach, within a quick pluck of a strand of hair, sat the man who could be paid to kill, cripple, or curse someone. Even as a girl, she’d seen half the town—including the priest—cross the street when he approached.
“I want you to drive me around,” he said. “Now.”
“Oh,” she said, looking around, looking for one truck or car she could hand him off to. But who would take him? She already knew. No one. It was a Sunday. The town was quiet, mourning. She glanced towards the lake and saw curtains close from a kitchen window. Who lived there and what had they seen?
“I have to take my son and the groceries home to my parents,” she said.
“Neezee,” he nodded. “Then we’ll go.”
“I’m staying with you,” Robby said and touched her arm.
“Robby,” she said but knew not to argue with him. Not in front of the old man. “Robby,” she said and reached in her purse for a five dollar bill. “Please go get us a drink. What would you like, Uncle?”
She did this to stall for time. She had to make it clear. She had to say what she needed to say before they went anywhere.
“Orange Crush,” he said. This surprised her.
“Huh uh,” she nodded. “Robby, get yourself a drink, okay? Ho.”
“What would you like, Mama?” Robby asked. He never called her Mama anymore until now. He must have known. He must have known she was in trouble or in terror.
“Coke,” she said. “In a can. Ice cold.”
It was going to be a hot day. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a Coke but she’d need something now, an edge.
Robby was gone but not before touching her arm softly. She nodded without looking at him because she knew if she looked she’d start to shake. To have something so dangerous and close to her son again was something she swore would never happen to them. And here it was.
Robby closed the door behind him and made his way to the Northern, swaying his head this way and that. He sometimes pretended he was a hippopotamus when he was alone. She’d asked him about it one day after they’d snuggled and watched a documentary on cable. That’s all they’d done that one blue day: snuggled, watched a show on hippopotamuses and eaten bowl after bowl of popcorn. Her son had brought her so much joy and she never forgot how hot and smooth the back of his neck was, at a week old, even now at eight. She loved to kiss the perfect warmth of his neck and her heart ached when she thought about how the love she knew transformed into everything good when she gave birth to her sons. A love she knew for the very first time. What else did you need in this life, she wondered, but a child who pretended to be a hippopotamus because he thought they dreamed with their eyes open underwater.
The old man was waiting in her backseat and she looked at him directly. “Why are you here?”
“I want to see the town. You will drive me.” His lips curled around his teeth and they were a yellow she’d only seen on tusks. He wasn’t asking. The bottom row was black, probably from snuff. Probably from grinding them down in his hatred
for everything.
She started to shake. “I want you to know,” she said. “My son is my life. If you do anything to him...” She pressed her tongue into the sharpest part of her chipped tooth. She didn’t care if it drew blood. She wanted him to see this. It wasn’t trembling in her. It was outrage. “If you touch him or do anything to us, I will kill you.”
The old man looked at her and grinned. It was an ugly grin. His eyes were dead, she noticed. No life and for a second she wondered if he was blind, if all these years the way he’d look through you or at you was a bluff. But he closed his mouth quickly and he said, “Your son looks like his father. He is safe…” and his voice trailed off.
“I will drive you around after we drop off the groceries. I can’t have anything else happen to him bad in this life. He’s been through enough.”
In his heart, he had to know what a son meant to a mother. And then she remembered the coffin at the funeral. It was so small. The boy’s father had carried it by himself as the pall bearers walked behind him with their heads bowed. His handsome face down and his shoulders shaking as the tears fell on the pine box. White shirts now at a funeral, she noticed. No more black suits. White shirts, for hope, she guessed. Life everlasting.
Robby came back to the car and jumped in with a smile. He’d grabbed everything he’d been asked to, plus a ring with a sweet jewel he could suck on. The jewel on the top was as big as a rock and she narrowed his eyes at him. Even in a time like this, he’d sneak something sweet. But she let it go. Today was about getting home safe and clean from medicine.
“Here you go,” Robby went to hand the old man his drink. Celestine snatched the can from him, placed herself once again between her son and the old man and handed the elder his drink, careful not to let her fingers touch his.
The old man nodded and she saw his fingernails. They were long, yellow. Filthy.
“Mahsi,” he said.
She looked at him and looked at her son and turned her back. She popped her can open and was about to drink when Robby said, “Cheers everybody.”
She quickly touched his can to his. She could tell Robby was going to ask the old man for a cheers, too, not to actually cheers the old man but to study him.
“Wyndah,” she said quickly. Look.
Robby’s bottom lip darted out quickly and he did.
Celestine started the car and looked around before pulling forward. She drove slowly, drove carefully. She wondered if this is what a police officer felt like with a killer in the backseat or the bomb squad felt like with a bomb that could go off anytime in their hands, in their faces.
They made their way home and the old man would sneeze after each sip of his pop. “Neezee,” he’d say and Robby started to giggle. He glanced sheepishly at his mother with a grin that he saved only for her when something happened he found funny and wanted to see if she found it funny, too. She didn’t smile. She focused on the road and her heart, she realized, was cold with fear.
Celestine could see her whole family standing at the window when she pulled up. Word had travelled. Word had traveled fast that she was driving the devil around.
“Robby, come inside. Ho!”
“I’m staying with you,” he said.
“Zunchlei,” she said and gave him the look.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to the rearview mirror and it was his eyes that gave him away. He was tired, lonely. His face was so foul, dark and bony, with those ancient teeth but his black eyes gave him away. Who else did he have?
She made sure to take Robby’s can of pop with her, and her own when she made her way to the house. She left nothing he could touch that was hers, but could he plant something? Could he slip something into the fabric of the seat that could hurt them?
“What’s going on?” her mother asked.
“How come you’re driving him, you?” her eldest brother asked.
“Celestine, what’s happening?” her father asked.
She explained that the old man wanted a ride.
Then they’d gone after Robby. “You’re staying here. We can’t talk sense into your mother. Did he touch you? Did he touch your hair?”
“No,” he’d said and walked to his mother’s side, no longer sucking on the ring. “I’m going with Mom. I won’t stay here.” His sticky hand had found his way into hers and the ring stuck to her hand, and she was suddenly strong.
“Tell him,” her father said from his chair. “If he wants to be a man today, tell him.”
The family grew quiet.
“Robby,” she said as she crouched to his level. She swept his bangs out of his eyes. “Robby, this is a dangerous old man. This man has power but he uses it for bad.”
Robby nodded. She looked into the eyes that were his father’s and her heart warmed with what she needed to say. “You,” she said. “You have power. You knew before any of us that Grandpa passed away, remember? Remember how he woke you up to kiss you goodbye?”
She could see the family make the sign of the cross and nod. Her mother leaned against the counter. Her apron was covered in white flour, a jam streak across the front.
“You have always had power, inkwo. But you use it for
good, right?”
Robby smiled. “I have power?”
“You have power,” she said. “So we have to be careful. If you’re going to come with me, you have to do exactly what I say, okay? No arguing, no being cheeky, okay?” Robby nodded and went back to sucking his ring. “I promise.”
Celestine turned to her family. “Robby promised.”
They shook their heads.
“Groceries,” she pointed with her lips, a Cree thing, she thought. I live with the Crees in Smith and it shows. “We have to go.”
“We’ll pray,” her mother said. “We’ll pray for you when you’re with him.”
She nodded, touched.
“Take this,” her mother said. A rosary. Her mother’s rosary. The one she was never allowed to touch. It was there. Warm and covered in flour. She placed it over her daughter’s neck and she was kissed on both cheeks. Her mother squeezed her hands. “My girl,” her mom said. “Be safe.”
Celestine took a big breath, ran her tongue over her chipped tooth and glanced at the wall where her wedding photos used to hang. Years after she’d left, the family had kept them up, despite her taking them down. As if to punish her for leaving. Finally, she burned them. It was never talked about. In the place of her wedding photos were the pictures of her two sons who weren’t with her: Francis and Jordan. She prayed that one day they’d return. They’d stopped wanting to talk with her on the phone, even on her birthday, even on theirs. Letters, parcels, presents—she’d lost count of how many she’d sent through the mail and she knew, instinctively, that they’d never be delivered by John.
• • •
Again, she ran her tongue along her chipped bottom tooth: a reminder of a savage hit when she least expected it one night in the truck on the way home as the boys slept only inches away. She’d bled quietly into her hands, in complete shock. A jealous rage from John after a night of dancing. One chief came up to ask how her father was. Her father had fallen through the ice on his machine and had climbed to safety and walked back to Rae before anyone knew he was in trouble. She’d answered quickly that he was good. But she caught the furious eyes of John watching from the kitchen, his coffee cup mid-chest. The hatred in his eyes. She held snow up to her face, in her mouth, over her eyes as John woke the boys. She’d stood outside for what seemed like hours as he put them to bed and she felt the chip in her tooth and did not want the sun to rise in the morning or ever again. She could not believe this was her life and was suddenly filled with shame. She had become one of the women she swore she never would become with a man she’d loved, had a family with, cooked and cleaned for. Adored.
Robby had always been the one to stay with her. Her other sons had gone with their father during the split. They rarely called and she suspected that John had poisoned them against her with lies. What had the counsellor said? Shame the parent and shame the child?
• • •
They made their way to the car and Celestine said quickly, “Remember what I said, Robby,” she said. “Exactly what I said.”
“Roger that,” Robby said. And he used the voice they used when they pretended they were truckers. They did this when he was in the bath and she was preparing his lunch for the next day.
Her voice, she realized, was the voice she’d used the morning she left with him years earlier, after being tied up with a phone cord and beaten with a phone book over and over. She’d waited until John had passed out. He’d hit her so hard that he’d loosened the cord and she’d snuck into the room at the end of the hall. All night she’d whimpered and cried into her shirt so she wouldn’t wake Robby to terror. The other two boys, her other two sons, had already been shipped off to his parents’, but Robby wouldn’t leave. As a baby, he’d never been far from her.
Even when she used to bide her time through a beating, she learned to fall into a punch, a slap, a hit. To roll with it and put a picture of each son between a fist, a kick, a backhand. To bide her time until he passed out, waiting for the sunrise she hoped would never come after a night of hell, but looking forward to the freedom the day brought with his work, his drinking with friends, his mysterious two hour coffees with friends she knew were out of town.
She shuddered when she remembered crawling in her own blood to go get her son that last morning with John. There had been a baby. He never knew. She lost it. She lost it to a punch and a kick. In her dreams, it was a girl. A girl reaching for her. A girl with long black hair and, in her dream, it was her when she was younger.
They got back into the car.
The old man did not ask about her family. He did not pretend to care. They drove.
And she noticed the town already knew. Cars and trucks started to follow her. People stood on the corners waiting for her to cruise by so they could see the devil in the backseat.
The old man began: “Whose place is that?” “Who owns that lot?” “What are they building there?”
Celestine did her best to answer but it was apparent to her that Rae had changed. Behcho Ko was no longer her home. She used to know where everyone lived. Now, it was a guessing game. New houses. New lots. A playground left to rot. Children everywhere but no parent watching them.
Robby did his best to answer when she couldn’t, and she was surprised with what he knew. She marvelled at what a young man he was becoming, already at eight. So wise. So gifted with everything he tried. She could see how he spoke with his hands, like her mother, and he took his time between thoughts like her father. He’d sit through hours of storytelling, not moving and she could sometimes hear him repeating the stories in the bathtub to himself. And, at night, he’d sometimes sing in his sleep.
“Where do you live now?” the old man asked her.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. “Me?”
The old man nodded.
“Fort Smith. I go to school now.”
“Do you miss Rae?”
She thought about it. “It’s nice to visit.”
She glanced back in the rearview mirror and saw him looking at her ring finger. She’d thrown her wedding ring into the Rapids of the Drowned in Smith summers ago. The old man was quiet.
“Smith is fun,” Robby said. “We have pelicans and a little bat that sleeps in the church. He doesn’t care who sees him.”
The old man listened to Robby speak of Smith. Celestine watched him listen. She suspected he was hunting for something. This question was a lure. Celestine touched Robby’s knee. “Okay, so that’s Rae. Where would you like to go now?”
“Edzo,” the old man said and it was an order. She wondered if he was hunting someone now, gathering information for his next target. She worried she and Robby were being used for evil. But he was not asking. He was looking around and she watched him. She was sure that in his day, he must have been handsome but feared. His clothes were old, dusty. She wondered how long before the earth would have him? How long before he passed and took all he knew with him? She wondered what the moment was when he gave into it all, gave into the dark power of inkwo. What did it promise him? If it was wealth, she could not see it; if it was power, he had it, but the cost was no family, no friends, a life walking alone, no children.
• • •
Edzo was a ten-minute drive away. The old man was quiet as they drove. It was October. She could see the moon in the sky. Far away. The ancient moon. Full. The quiet majesty of her. What was happening on the land? She used to know these things. The little wolves who were too small would be left behind as the families with the stronger pups taught them to hunt and track. Same with the bison outside of Smith. The calves and the cows would make their way to the winter ranges. But what of the men—the bulls? What would they do? She used to know. She used to. And cranberries. Was it the low bush or high bush that were ripe now? There was frost on her shoes and on Robby’s when she walked him to JBT in Smith, and they loved it. The steam from their mouths in the morning and at night. The silver perfection of the frost, the quiet, the wood smoke starting to blanket the town with its sweet smell. Teaching herself to sew. Teaching herself to bake. Reading cookbooks. Eating good. And the peace of a bed where sleep was promised. A safe sleep. A glorious sleep. No waiting out sex she didn’t want. No crying or bleeding into a towel. No terror.
She saw the full moon and remembered what she’d always called it each time it was perfectly round: the moon of letting go. She’d always given the worst of her life to the moon. She trusted
her with it. She let it go and moved on. She moved on and gave it to her ancestors.
Soon they were in Edzo. The families who lived there were looking out of their windows, standing in their yards, waiting in their idling trucks for them. They knew. They knew the devil was where he never went. They must have sensed he was looking for something, someone. They watched the way she imagined dogs on chains waited for the wolves to come for them. Soon the questions began: “Who lives there?” “Whose land is that?” “What are those kids up to?”
“Swimming,” Robby answered.
“Where?” the old man asked.
“In there,” Robby said. “The swimming pool.”
“Eh,” the old man said. “Kids don’t swim there.”
“Sure they do,” Robby said. “They swim in there. It’s fun.”
The old man looked at Celestine, puzzled. She found herself smiling. She nodded at him and, for a second, for a second they could have been a family: an ehtse and his daughter with a grandson cruising on a Sunday. But she caught his eyes and he was looking for something. She knew it. He flashed his eyes at her and she looked away.
“Where’s your wife?” Robby asked suddenly, directly to the old man.
“Robby,” Celestine snapped.
“No wife,” the old man said and raised his hands up simply. “Dowdee.”
“Robby,” Celestine said. “That’s not polite.”
“Well, where’s all his grandkids?” Robby asked and popped the jewel into his mouth.
“Robby,” she scolded and glanced back. The old man closed his eyes.
“I’m ready for home,” the old man said and she made her way back.
• • •
Her kidneys had ached every day for two years after that. She never told anyone, not even her doctor. It was as if her body punished her. She worried John had sent bad medicine her way for leaving but she knew inside it was the grief: the tension leaving her. Her body letting go.
She remembered something no one else would ever believe. When she was younger, her family had traveled to Wekweti. How old was she? Fifteen? There were hand games, a drum dance, the annual Dogrib Assembly. It was there one night that her mom had asked her to walk with her to play cards at an old man’s house. That’s where the community went. It was there that her mother told her that the man who owned the house wasn’t a man at all. He was a bear. Oh her blood turned to gasoline when she heard that and she wanted to run. She wanted to be safe. But her mom told her that he was the last of his kind, the last of the old ways. And that her mom was just as scared but wanted to see him, wanted to shake his hand.
“You see,” she explained, “the man could not leave his house for eight months. But he missed the people and the people honoured him. They brought delicacies for him and his wife. Ducks, moose nose, caribou, rabbit brains, blood soup, fish. They fed him and his wife, his poor wife. She cooked for the community and the people visit, talk, sip tea, play cards for matches. No money. No sombah. They do it to keep him company because he misses the people, and you will meet him so you see the last of his kind. He was born a bear; he was born a man. He is the last of the old medicine, and he is our relation.”
And so she went and walked in with her mother and her mother held her hand as they walked in and the house rose quietly to meet them: hugs, handshakes, people pulling her hair gently with a smile, telling her to let it grow, let it free. Get it nice and long like how her mother used to wear it, and she was young and proud to see everyone and then they nodded towards the kitchen. They looked with pride and respect towards the kitchen. Respect for the man and his wife. The man who was a bear. The man who was the last of everything, the last of the old magic that the earth remembered, and she went with her mom, hiding behind her and she saw him. She saw the man. He was black and big and round. A giant. He rolled his head back and forth and smacked his lips. He was spotted with large freckles the size of tear drops, and she had never seen a Dogrib so black before and his eyes were yellow, yellow as the old man’s nails. Ancient.
And her mother walked forward carefully, holding her hand out and the man’s wife stood to shake it. Celestine watched the man who was a bear and her heart grew cold with fear. To see him so close. He was a giant. His hands were the size of polar bear paws. Huge. He had jowls like a bulldog but his eyes were kind. His eyes. She could still see them because he did not seem to look through them. He breathed through his mouth and his chest heaved but it was his nose. He continually took in the room through his nose, his scenting the room, and the smacking of his lips. He smacked his lips loudly and there was a plate in front of him: a brisket. It had been boiled. The meat was still steaming. The man looked pleased.
Her mother shook his hand and he did not take it. Not like a man. No. He used his paws to cup her mother’s hand and, though she heard her mother speak, the man answered in a voice so low she could not make out what he said, and he spoke to her as he smacked his lips. They spoke and Celestine listened. She listened to her mother speak Dogrib, not the kind they use now, but the old kind. The ancient kind. The tongue they must have spoke in Nishi. The kind her grandparents sometimes spoke before they passed. And Celestine was surprised that her mother did not shake, did not tremble.
And then it was her turn. Her mother introduced her and the bear’s eyes roamed about her, the ceiling, the wall, but she watched his nose. He was drinking her in through his nose and she watched herself hold her hand out, as if in a trance. He cupped it, and he was gentle. She said hello, Dante’e, and he smiled. He was happy to meet her and he told her she would have three sons. He told her Rae would not be her home. He told her to watch the moon. It would tell her everything that was to be, that she was ancient, and she did not know if he meant the moon or her but she was too scared to ask. And she saw the eyes of his wife and she saw a sadness and a duty. A duty to serve the people. She had married the old magic and to do that was to live for the people now, to serve, to honour the people who showed respect to her husband.
Then she was gone. She was back in the crowd. She could not remember how he or she said goodbye. She was pulled into the crowd with hugs, with smiles, with gentle hair pulling, with the embrace of the people. She tried to turn back but there were new guests with fresh ptarmigan. They had brought him plump ptarmigan and snowshoe hare. Soon she and her mother feasted on dry meat, dry fish, fat, pemmican, bannock. The women played cards for matchsticks and the men smoked outside. The man did not like smoke, didn’t trust it, he said. It hurt him, the women remarked. That and cats.
Who would believe what she saw? One day she would tell Robby and her sons about the old man, how he took her hand gently. The last of his kind. The last of the old ways. The last of all the earth remembered. And she wondered about his wife. What was it like to live with a man who couldn’t leave the house for eight months? What was she without her husband? Who was she without him? Who was any woman without a man? A family? Who was a woman without duty?
• • •
“I want you to clean my house for me,” the old man said as they pulled into his driveway.
“Momma,” Robby said and touched her arm.
She knew. She knew she would. She wanted to. She wanted to see how the old devil lived. She’d keep Robby close but she knew this was the same thing. He was the last of the old world, the old medicine, and she could one day tell her grandchildren about this. This was a gift. A dangerous gift. To earn this story could cost her everything. “I will,” she said. “I will if you have the cleaning supplies.”
“They left them,” he said. “At my door.”
“Mahsi,” he said.
And she could tell he meant it. Something was happening. She knew. She knew she was to do this. If he’d planted something or took something in the car to work medicine, it was already too late.
She knew that this was her chance. Her chance to see how he lived. To be the invited spy. The old man couldn’t live forever, she thought. And this is how stories begin. She would wait years to tell someone this and she knew it would be her grandchildren. To kiss the perfect warmth of the back of their necks and nuzzle their ears and to hold the story in, to keep it until they were older, and to share it.
The old man let himself out of the car and made his way to his little room at the old folks home. It was in the satellite building, the farthest one away from the main building and other homes.
“Robby,” she said. “We are going to help this man.”
“Why?” he asked. He wasn’t sucking the ring anymore.
“Because he’s asked us to,” she said.
“He’s bossy,” Robby said.
“He is,” she said. “And this is why you have to do exactly what I say. You are to stay close to me. Wyndah. You are not to step over any of his things: moccasins, moccasin rubbers. Nothing, okay? And you are not to touch anything of his. Not even his cap. Not even his gloves. You stick with me and I’ll do the work. You are a boy. One day you will be a man. Today you will see something you will never forget. You will see how a medicine man lives. One day you will tell your family about this. It’s good that you learn now. It’s good that you do this with me. One day he will be gone but you’ll have this memory. You’ll say you helped your mom clean an old medicine man’s house.”
Robby nodded. He looked out the window and nodded again. This was how it started, she thought. How boys turn to men. It’s in moments like this and she knew she and only she could do this for the old man. If the old man asked, then he couldn’t harm them, could he?
She turned with her son and walked towards the old man’s house. He’d lit a small pipe made of red willow and was smoking, looking off towards the sky. She could see the cleaning supplies: a mop, a broom, a dustpan, a two pack of yellow gloves, sponges, Mr. Clean, bleach, rags.
“I keep my medicine in an old wooden box in my bedroom. Stay away from that. Tell your son.”
Celestine froze. Ice trickled into her heart. He’d given her something. Where he kept his medicine. She could feel eyes on the back of her neck and turned. Again, curtains closed. The elders were watching. She knew everything she used to clean the house would later be burned.
“Mahsi,” he nodded but stared straight ahead.
“Heh eh,” she said and made her way in the house. And it was pitiful how he lived. The smell was of piss, old dry meat, boiled fish, something stale, something rotting. He slept in his living room. There was no couch. There was only an old cot and a radio. There was a calendar from Arny’s store from years ago and pictures of the Pope’s visit to the north. An eagle fan made of feathers hung on the south side of the room, and it looked old. Once beautiful but old now. Ancient. A moose hide handle. The room was filthy. Dust, dried mud, spider webs.
She opened the pack of yellow cleaning gloves and handed a pair to Robby. “Put these on. Ho.”
He started to shake his head.
“Robby,” she said and opened the windows. “Stay close. Put these on but don’t touch anything, okay? Wyndah.”
Robby nodded and put them on. He covered his nose with his hand and she got to work. She started to sweep.
Oh it was pitiful, she thought. To live like this. It was filthy; the place stunk. Most of all, though: there was no life. There were no photo albums, no feelings of a home. This could have been an apartment for strangers. She immediately walked around the house with Mr. Clean and put some in the toilet without looking in, squirted some in the tub without looking, put some in the sink with a little bit of water, put some in a bucket of hot water. She wanted the whole place to smell like lemons. She swept and cleaned and worked fast. She couldn’t wait to mop the house and wash the walls. A small place wouldn’t take long but she was worried about that trunk in his room.
“Robby,” she said again. “No going near that trunk in his room, okay?
“Roger dodger,” he said and sat down on the single chair at the man’s supper table.
She swept and used the dustpan to collect everything. Strange, she thought. In the dust, she saw three glass beads, all black, and a small earring. Her heart froze. There. In the corner: a finger.
A child’s finger. Black. Gnarled. Twisted.
She knelt, made sure Robby couldn’t see. Got closer.
No.
A root. Ratroot?
She wasn’t sure.
She left it.
She didn’t know what to do with the beads and the earring, and she didn’t want to touch them, so she walked outside and showed them to the old man. “Na,” she said. “Wyndah.”
The old man looked at them and shook his head. “Dowdee.” He motioned for her to dump it all. She walked to the bushes and dumped everything. She looked up. There was the moon. The beautiful full moon. She could see what seemed to be a wolf sitting on the moon. She studied it and took a big breath. She turned and saw Robby was looking at the old man. The old man said something to him and Robby was smiling. She walked quickly back. “Robby,” she said. “Zunchlei.”
Robby followed her back in.
“Celestine,” the old man said and she stopped. “Keep the boy away from that box.”
She nodded. She made her way towards her son and ran the water so the old man wouldn’t hear them. “What did he say
to you?”
“Nothing,” he said. But she could tell.
“Robby,” she said. “Tell me.”
Robby swallowed. “He wanted to know when we were leaving.”
“And what did you say?”
“Tomorrow. After breakfast.”
Was this bad? Was this bad that he knew?
She shook her head. “Stick close to me. You wanted to stay with me and I let you. Don’t speak to him. And do not go into the old chest in his room, okay? Do not even go near it.”
“I promise,” Robby sighed. He was getting bored. She could see. There was nothing for him to do.
“Go find us some music,” she said.
He looked at her.
Celestine pointed with her lips to the little radio and Robby pounced on it. He fiddled with the dials and soon turned on CBC. Norbert Poitras was on: the Trail’s End. Straight country.
The kitchen. There were hardly any dishes, so she ran the water and filled the sink with soap to bring a lemon scent throughout the house. She filled it with hot water and began to wipe the counters. Again, she swept and Robby leaned against the counters.
“Are you excited to go back to Smith?”
Robby shrugged.
“What is it?” she asked.
“He’s lonesome,” Robby said and she paused. He was right. The old man was tired. Lonely. She looked around. What was his life like? What did he think about at night? Who and what haunted his memories? How long could you work black medicine for? How long could you plot? What was promised for a life lived like this? Who did he serve? No kids. No family. No friends. Who?
She cleaned and lost herself in thought. After, the bathroom. Oh it was filthy.
“Wait in the kitchen,” she said and gagged. Even though she’d poured Mr. Clean into the sink, toilet and tub, the stench of piss and offal was too much. She turned the fan on and her eyes watered. Oh it was pitiful. Pitiful. She cleaned. She used bleach and a toilet brush, bleach in the tub, bleach in the sink. She cleaned fast and worked hard. Strangely, there were no fingernail clippings or strands of hair anywhere to be found. The medicine man had cleaned his home in his own way for anything of his that could be used against him in a medicine war.
After that, his room. In the middle of the room was a large wooden box. It looked like an old-fashioned grub box, one you’d see in dog sleds. One that was supposed to be filled with pots, pans, grub. It looked beat up. But it sat alone in the middle of the room and she made the sign of the cross and kissed the cross around her neck. She cleaned around it and said Hail Mary over and over. In the closet hung his clothes: two shirts. Two pants. Two pairs of socks. They were all filthy. She threw them in the washer and got to work. In the closet, his parka. No moose hide, no beaded gloves. Pitiful.
But that was it. That was all he had.
She got to work and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. Robby helped her wipe the walls. They listened to country and, because it was a small place for one person, they were done. She placed the man’s clothes in the dryer and put it on a timed dry that she was sure would be perfect.
She was done.
Celestine kept her gloves on in case there was more to do.
“Nehko honti a tsee lah,” she announced to the old man.
He looked ahead and she studied his profile. He’d gotten skinny over the years. Not frail. Not yet. But skinny.
“Mahsi,” he said and looked to her. “You’ve always taken care of the people.”
She nodded.
“Zunchlei,” he said and waved her towards him.
She walked slowly, aware that Robby was behind her. She could hear him taking his gloves off with a snap. He waved her closer. “Zunchlei.”
Soon she was standing close. His pipe was gone and he stood to face her. Celestine grew shy.
He looked into her eyes. “Someone is trying to kill you.”
She backed up, reaching for Robby. “What?”
He nodded. “This was medicine from long time ago.”
“Robby,” she said over her shoulder. “Go inside and wait. Ho.”
“Roger that,” Robby said and went into the kitchen where it was clean, where nothing could hurt him, where he could listen to music.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “This better not be a trick.”
“No trick,” the man shook his head. “It was a woman who called this for you.”
And she knew. Celestine knew who it was. She knew: Therese.
It was John’s lover. The whole time they were together, Celestine knew a woman loved John. It was an ex who John never quite got over. Celestine liked the competition. In fact, it was the ex who made the hunt for John so exciting. It was a game. Because of her, Celestine became a better wife, mother, lover and friend. Celestine did her best every day for her and her man and her family to show John that he’d chosen well. And on her wedding day, she remembered thinking as she walked into the church, “I’ve won.”
She also remembered the quick fear when the priest asked if there was anyone who wanted to challenge the ceremony. She wondered for a second if Therese was going to come forward and say something and, to her shame, she could see it in John’s eyes, too.
Therese was the one who never got over John—at least that is what John said. Celestine learned a year after they were married that it was the other way around. Therese also came from a family from Wekweti who had a lot of medicine and she made Celestine’s life miserable. There were late night calls to the house with no one on the other line. There were calls to John’s pager in the middle of the night. There was always a reminder that he was a wanted man.
“Go on,” she said.
“This medicine couldn’t touch you when you were in Smith. The second you came back here … it’s been waiting.” He then lifted his hand and pointed over the trees facing south. “The woman who set this up hired a pipe man from Alberta. I can see him and his family. He’s young. Strong. I can’t touch him but I can kill someone he loves if you want.”
Celestine heard herself take a huge breath. “What? No. No….”
He nodded. “I can kill her for you if you want.”
“No,” she said and moved closer to him. “No killing.”
He thought about this. “I could—”
When she looked at him, she saw him as weak. This was all he had. This was all he could offer. She was struck with the image of the father earlier this morning carrying the coffin of his son, how his shoulders shook as he wept, the sound that pierced them all as he started to moan as he cried.
She became furious. “You will not kill anyone. No killing. No cursing or killing anyone. Do you hear me?” And she thought about it. She was free. Her lips were quivering but she was free. They were all free now. “She can have him.”
“It’s too late,” he said. “It’s too late for that.”
Her heart froze. “What?”
“The medicine,” he pointed again to the south, “is coming. It’s on its way. You leave tomorrow back to Smith. It will come for you then.”
She closed her eyes. This was a nightmare. To return home to a funeral and for the threat of open medicine hunting her. Robby, she thought. We have to head home. A new job. A new chapter. She had to be there. She could not be late.
“Na,” the old man said. “Look.” And his voice changed. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a necklace made of moose hide with a little pouch at the base. “I made this for you.”
She stared at it. It looked ancient as if it had been worn by many people over hundreds of years. The moose hide was stained with what looked like grease, sweat, oil from hands and earth. She could smell it. It smelled strong, ancient. Yarrow?
“This will take the hit for you,” he said. “When it comes. Do not look inside the bag or your son will go blind.”
Celestine winced at the thought of that kind of power. She was shaking.
He went to put it over her head. Her skin suddenly came to life in fear. She rose her hands to stop it. “Don’t touch me,” she said.
He looked at her and his eyes softened. “My girl, I am protecting you. Your son is your life. Na.”
She felt her hands fall gently to her sides and he placed the necklace over her head and around her shoulders. She could hear him praying, chanting. It was soft and beautiful what he sang. It was the same phrase over and over. She felt safe. She could feel her mother’s rosary under the medicine bag and she could feel the old man’s hands touch both of her shoulders and then the top of her head.
My hair, she thought briefly, and then it was over.
“My girl,” he said.
She had a quick flash of the man who was half bear looking into her eyes and saying something so low she couldn’t hear but could feel. The man who was a bear had blessed her in the old way.
She opened her eyes. What he’d placed in the pouch at the base of the necklace smelled of yarrow, yes, boiled yarrow, bear grease and something thick and deep: caribou tongue?
“This will take the hit for you. It knows what to do. After it’s done, after it comes for you, burn it.”
The old man looked at her and nodded, and then he looked past her shoulders and his eyes widened.
Robby!
Celestine turned around to see that Robby standing wearing the old man’s moccasins, the old man’s moccasin rubbers, his moose hide vest so old the beadwork looked like dull plastic, his gloves and his hat. “I don’t understand what all the fuss is, Mom,” Robby shrugged. “These clothes feel just like Grandpa’s.”
“Robby!” Celestine yelled out of fear. The old man had just touched her. She’d trusted him. And now Robby had broken the most sacred promise of not touching a medicine man’s things. “Robby, you take them off right now!”
Robby looked at his mom and pointed at the old man. “But you said he had power. I have power, too. I keep waiting to feel something but it’s just cheap, boy. Wah! I don’t feel nothing.”
Celestine was furious. Where did he get these clothes from—the trunk? The trunk where the old man kept his medicine? She raced toward her son. She was enraged. When she heard it: laughter.
Laughter from behind her.
Laughter from the old man.
The old man started to cackle.
She stopped and looked at him and the old man started to slap his knees. It was a belly laugh and the old man laughed and laughed and laughed. Robby started laughing, too, and Celestine watched it all. She realized that she was still wearing her yellow cleaning gloves. She watched it all with her mother’s rosary around her neck and the old man’s medicine pouch on top. She was protected, wasn’t she? But soon she found herself laughing along with Robby and the old man. It was relief and release and each round of laughter started a new one and they laughed and laughed and laughed. Celestine thought for a second that if anyone walked in, they would think: “Oh what a lovely family: a grandpa with his daughter and grandson.”
She laughed and walked towards her son. She pulled her gloves off and ordered Robby to take off the old man’s things properly, with respect. She touched the old man’s moose hide vest and looked to him. “I am sorry, Uncle. Forgive my son.”
The old man wiped his eyes and shook his head. “Your son is going to be a great leader,” he said. “He will bring you three sons and one daughter.”
Robby gulped loudly with his throat. “Sick.”
Celestine beamed at the thought of this. “Mahsi. Robby, let’s put this all back for our uncle, okay?”
“Okay,” Robby nodded. “Sorry everybody.”
Celestine looked at the old man who made his way out to his porch to have another puff on his pipe. He was shaking his head and laughing. “Robby,” she said but shook her head as well. “Let’s go home.”
As Celestine put everything back, she looked around: the place was spotless, his clothes would be dry in minutes. She was happy.
“Am I allowed to shake his hand?” Robby asked.
Celestine thought about it and nodded. “Well, you already wore his clothes. Why not? Show respect and be polite.”
She watched Robby approach the old man, the most dangerous man in the north. Robby was growing. He’d filled out this summer but now it was gone. He had longer legs, arms. His skin was getting darker and she was proud of him.
She looked at the old man and thought, “I have seen your life, old man, and it is lonely. I have. I have. I have seen where you keep your medicine. If anything touches my son, I will know where to go and I will know what to do.”
Robby made his way outside and held his hand out. “Mahsi cho, Uncle.”
The old man smiled and put his pipe down. “Mahsi cho, nephew.” The old man chuckled and pointed at Robby with his free hand. “You will be a great leader for the people. Lots of trouble for your mom. But you will be a great man. Take care of your mom. She is also a great woman.”
Celestine blushed at the generosity.
Robby looked to her and smiled. Oh her heart ached. She would never forget this. Robby shook the man’s hand and bowed and made his way to the car. He started swaying his head like a hippopotamus as he got in and buckled up.
Celestine held her hand out and the old man stood. “Mahsi cho, Celestine. Travel safe. Remember: do not look into this bag. It will take the hit. It knows what to do.”
“What do I look for?”
“You will know,” he said. “It will show you.”
Celestine nodded. “Mahsi.”
“Are you sure?” the old man asked and his voice went low.
“I am sure,” Celestine said. “No killing.” She knew what he was talking about.
He nodded. “What about this woman? This one who sent it your way?”
She thought of the beatings she took, the phone book, the telephone cord, holding snow to her face to stop the swelling. “She can have my ex,” she said. “They deserve each other.”
He nodded. “Travel safe.”
She nodded and shook his hand. It was ice cold. She started but shook it once, gently. “Mahsi.”
Celestine made her way to the car and got in. Buckling up, she looked at her son who was fiddling with the radio dials. She was suddenly tired. “Let’s go home,” she said. And then she remembered the box. “Robby, did you go near that wooden box in his room?”
“No way,” he said. “It was spooky.”
She knew he was telling the truth.
“So where did you get his vest and gloves?”
“In his dresser.”
“Dresser?” she asked. “I cleaned that whole house. There was no dresser.”
Robby began munching on his chips. “Mom, there was a dresser in the room with that chest. That’s where his vest was.”
Celestine thought about it. She could not remember a dresser. She was puzzled. She shook her head. Perhaps this was a trick the old man had played on her. She did not know. She would think about this later, but, in her heart, she knew there was no dresser.
They drove home and, as they did, Celestine could see people standing on the road, standing on their porches, standing in their yards. They were all watching her and her son. Celestine stared straight ahead and drove home to where supper was waiting: caribou stew and hot bannock with lots of tea and jam. Coffee. Ice cream and apple pie for dessert. The TV was on. How she hated to eat with the TV on. But she was too tired to say anything. After, a hot shower for her, scrubbing herself raw and a bath for Robby. She hugged him and sang to him and he fell asleep like that and she beside him. She woke in the middle of the night to Robby turning over.
She got up, made her way to her room and her father waiting for her. He’d been waiting. He stood and hugged her and told her they’d prayed all day. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” she shook her head. “No.”
“Your mother was worried,” he said.
“I know, Dad.”
“Get some sleep, my girl,” he said. “You have a long drive. Thank you for coming home.”
She nodded and wiped tears from her eyes and undressed in her room, climbed into fresh sheets. A Bible fell on the floor. She’d missed it coming in. She picked it up and placed it on the dresser, showed it respect and slept with a dream.
• • •
In it, she stood in the old man’s room, at the base of the old chest. A voice told her, “His medicine is not here. It is behind the eagle fan in the living room.”
She flashed awake. Whose voice? She wondered. Her father’s? Or was it her grandfather’s—or Robby’s?
She fell asleep after listening to the house, the house she grew up in, her family dreaming together.
• • •
The next morning the family was gone: perhaps to church, perhaps to pray on the land, perhaps to keep away from her. It was her mother’s birthday next month so she knew she’d be back, but she had to leave. Her boss was expecting her and this was a new day, a new job starting tomorrow. It would take her ten hours to drive to Smith, and she would take it one second at a time. She saw the packages that had been set aside for her: ham and cheese sandwiches, a large water jug, dry meat, dry fish, pemmican, fat, and an eagle feather to hang off her rearview mirror. The stem had been beaded with Dogrib blues, reds, and a single bead of yellow. Who had made this, she wondered. Her mother?
She got into the car, gassed up, asked the attendant to check her tires, her oil, her washer fluid. She asked Robby what he wanted for a drink and snacks and he said apple juice and barbeque chips.
She let him. How could she say no on a day when it would come for them?
She bought a pouch of Drum tobacco and pulled over on the bridge, across from the Blackduck camp, and dropped tobacco.
“Robby,” she said.
Robby got out, rubbed his eyes and took a pinch out.
“Let’s pray for a safe journey.”
“I pray for my dad and brothers,” he said and quickly dropped the tobacco and deftly grabbed some more, “and for my mommy and for every hippopotamus who is dreaming right now.”
Her heart ached and he went back into the car.
“For the old man,” she said. “For John and for my boys. For my family. For a safe journey. I need to get home. For the man who sent medicine my way and the woman who asked him to. I pray for you.”
• • •
Robby started blowing kisses at the full moon and she smiled. She’d taught him to do that when he was a baby and it was something they did together every full moon. She joined him and they started to laugh. “For our aunty the moon,” she said. He nodded. “For our aunty the moon.” They walked together. She brushed the top of Robby’s hair as he made his way to the back. She buckled him in and surrounded him with blankets and sleeping bags and laundry.
He went right to sleep.
She drove and took her time.
• • •
It came for her over the trees. Robby was asleep in the back seat.
She was watching the full moon as it raced alongside her car far away in the trees. She felt the medicine hunt her before she saw it as the medicine bag around her neck heated. And that’s when everything slowed.
She saw it as a comet with a tail of yellow fire. It came for the car to get her and Robby. It struck the rear end of the car, blowing out the tire, lifting the car half off the ground with a shock wave.
She looked back and saw Robby sleeping. She lifted her feet off the brakes and gas as the car lifted entirely off the ground and she watched the rubber of the tire blow out across both lanes of the road.
Her instinct would have been to slam on the brake but she knew: she knew that whatever medicine they sent was counting on this. She calmly kept her feet off the gas and steered towards the ditch where the grass had grown wild. Never, she thought. Never would she have done this and time slowed, it slowed, time slowed and when the car landed, it landed with a bounce. She braced for a solid crunch, but the car raced, the car raced and it slowed, it slowed, it slowed, the belly pan of the car swept with the slowing hands of the grass and earth beneath it.
She looked back and saw Robby sleeping and the car was gently cradled in the ditch where it rested.
As if in a dream, Celestine watched herself stand outside the car. She watched herself jack the car, use the tire jack to remove the bolts, roll the spare from the trunk and replace the tire without a word. The whole time Robby slept. The whole time. She replaced the nuts and tightened them, just as John had shown her.
And the whole time she heard herself singing. Perhaps it was the old man’s chant. Perhaps it was the man who was a bear’s song. Perhaps it was his wife’s. It was somebody’s song once and now it was hers. Her body hummed with this song and it was a chant. She sang and was comforted. She watched her hands work the same way she watched her hand reach out to the old man’s and to the man who was born a bear. The same hands that had raised three boys who were becoming men. The same hands that were free now.
Celestine dropped tobacco and gave thanks for the old man. She gave thanks for his protection. She ran her tongue along her chipped tooth and dropped tobacco for her parents and for the little boy who never woke up and his family. She thought of her ex-husband, his easy smile, his hands. The way he loved his sons with everything he had, the way he used to love her. Her heart ached with the memory of him holding their boys when they were babies. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I give you back.” She got back into the car, watched Robby sleep and drove the car slowly back onto the road and kept driving.
One day Robby will be a man, she thought. One day he will look back and I will tell him this story. One day….
She kept driving, watching the patient moon, and never, not once, did she look back.