My supper had just been put on the table when two Indians rolled into Yang’s. I was in the community we call Outpost 1, British Columbia. It was Easter. I was the only customer there. The men looked rough: dark, dusty clothes, scuffed cowboy boots. They wore hoodies and had them up and over their heads with large sunglasses on. Short hair, though, from what I could see. A lot of the Indians I seen around town had long hair. I’d say they were in their early thirties. One was slim and the other was heavy, had maybe thirty pounds on me. Slim cradled his right arm in a fresh cast and had a bruise across both eyes, as if he’d been struck with a two-by-four. Both had tough faces and stared right through me, which was refreshing as my height usually brings out the Carnival Effect in everyone: astonishment, awe, suspicion. I’m quite fair and often invisible to other Indians when I’m out of the NWT. Sometimes, a lot of times, this can bum me out, but not tonight. I wanted to eat my meal and make the drop at nine o’clock. I had an objective. The brothers sat down behind me and started bossing Yang around: “Hey, how you’re doing? Remember us? How’s that iced coffee?”
A bear—or something like one—started growling outside the window. I jumped. What the hell was that?
Heavy started yelling at Yang: “You got fresh iced coffee?”
Yang said nothing. He only looked down. When I went to the bathroom to wash up I couldn’t help but notice a baseball bat under the cash register sitting ready for business.
“Chumps!” Slim called out. “It’s okay now. Go find some shade.”
“He’ll be fine,” Heavy said. “He’s not a pup anymore.”
“Never mind,” Slim fired back. “He’s my nephew.”
Nephew? I don’t get it. There was some whimpering from outside the window and the men started speaking quietly behind me. Shit, why did I have to sit here? Reuben would be mad if he knew I’d let myself get into this position. Not that I had enemies, but I had orders from the Coalition. This was my first trip where they weren’t checking up on me every half hour, so I had to prove that I could be trusted. Pistol had a cluster migraine, a “suicide headache” as he called it, and Reuben was delivering his haul to Prince George. Ever since the Night Crawlers mailed Pistol a picture of his wife and kids he’d become a child and started getting suicide headaches. Reuben and I didn’t have families so we were left to continue our business. I started to eat my chicken hot pot quickly in case things got ugly. These boys were trouble and Yang knew it.
“We want iced coffee!” they said again. “Iced coffee!”
“Okay,” Yang said calmly, as if he’d heard this a hundred times before. “I get it for you. Iced coffee to go, okay?”
I started sipping my Ginger Ale—Indian Champagne, I call it—but it was ice cold so I kept sneezing when I hurried. I was worried the boys would start into me, call me white and want to start something. I had to get to my meeting at nine and I could not be late. I had three kilos of cocaine in my trunk that I was to deliver to my contact here in Outpost 1. I had an address, a time, but I was two hours early. I pride myself in my work and this was my first time here.
Yes, ever since I became acquainted with the Syndicate life has been sweet. All my life I felt like I was living backwards, when all I ever wanted was to belong to something. Like for the first thirty years of my life I was in a daze. I never knew where I was going, as if I was on a hunt but I didn’t know what I was hunting. This led me to jail several times but I feel as though, at thirty-four, my life now has a plan before me. If it wasn’t for jail, I’d never have met Ghost Bear, our elder in residence. I used to be a mean dog that didn’t belong to anyone, but things are getting better for me. People don’t call me Flinch anymore. Not since I joined the Syndicate. It’s like Reuben, Ghost Bear and Pistol believe in me, and when I have that I am unstoppable.
Because of Ghost Bear, I now eat better. Also, I was too big to fit in the sweat so he asked me to be a doorman. How’s that for a positive? The Syndicate has also given me direction and purpose and I deliver, and all it took was stepping up when I saw what was coming. That was when Pistol and Reuben were in the sweat. The wardens had welded a bar across the points of the pitchfork I was using to bring the grandfather rocks with, so it could not be used as a weapon, and the spades had been shortened and blunted. I was the doorman for the sweat lodge and spotted two members of the Night Crawlers coming through the sage, squash, corn and beans other inmates had planted. As a doorman you protect those in the sweat lodge you are responsible for. When I saw the shanks I tackled both men before the guards came. I kept squeezing my hands up and down the arms and legs of the attackers, enjoying the pop and crunch of bone beneath me. It was like those long tubes of lights in cafeterias. The bone that shot through one of the men’s arms looked like a tooth.
There was no blood. There was no blood. Ever since then, Reuben and Pistol have been using me as muscle and I let them. But, you see, we are stopping people worse than us from coming to BC. There have been executions, torture, a mother shot to death in front of her four-year-old child—all organized by the man I’m to meet tonight.
Ghost Bear’s teachings have never left me. I am walking the Red Road. He told me once about contraries: those who live their lives backwards, “Like those who laugh at funerals and those who cry at weddings,” he said.
“That’s me,” my breath caught with emotion. “That’s what it feels like to be me.” I wondered if I was one and he shook his head. “You are a child of something else, and everything is leading you to something,” he said. And that’s all he said to me about that.
What was funny was when I was driving into Outpost 1 I saw what looked like an angel engraved into the sides of the mountaintop. It was huge and made out of the snow that hadn’t melted yet from winter. Its wings were spread for what must have been miles up there through the beetle-kill and you could even see a tail with its head looking east. How I wish Ghost Bear was there with me. We could have prayed and dropped tobacco and he could sing a song to blanket me and I him. The best part of my incarceration was learning new songs and holy ways.
“I want Salisbury steak,” Heavy said.
“Make that two—to go,” Slim added, slapping his good hand down hard onto the table. “I’m paying.”
Yang nodded and went in the kitchen and stayed there.
The two men started whispering and then they raised their voices. “I don’t do that,” Heavy said. “You know I don’t do that. How many times I told you....”
“No, no,” Slim said. “Just keep it down.”
“I’m in charge of taking care of you and I say No,” Heavy said.
They started whispering again and Chumps started growling outside the window. He sounded huge.
Shit sakes, my hot pot was really frickin’ hot and I could tell that both men were getting edgier. Yang came back with two Cokes.
“Is this iced coffee?” they asked.
“No more ice coffee. Have Cokes.”
The men were silent.
Yang went to the window and looked for a long time. You could tell he was keeping one eye on the room ’cause it was tense. I knew exactly what would happen if Reuben and Pistol were here. Reuben would stand and block the door while Pistol turned around and told them to settle the fuck down before demanding to be compensated for being disturbed. But I couldn’t do that. I’m what you would call a gentle giant.
The men were quiet until I heard them crack their Coke cans open and they started to drink. I wondered what Yang was thinking about. Country was playing on the radio. I couldn’t make out the artist but it sounded pretty good. “God Bless the Broken Road” was the song. I think that’s what it was called. I tried making out the words. It was a stirring song, one that appealed to the patient hunter inside of me.
The men started whispering again. “No, no, no,” Heavy said. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me. Aunty said you’re not the boss of me.”
“Settle down,” Slim said. “Shhhhhh.”
I could feel them both turn around and look at me. Chumps started to growl again. Shit that dog sounded huge. If I had to leave in a hurry, he’d be waiting for me outside and I’d have to get through him to the trunk. I wouldn’t like to hurt a dog. Their bones feel like they belong in horses. When I gave my report, I’d have to leave this part of my journey out of it, as I was cornered. Pistol would never let that happen to him. Never.
I did my best to eat my meal but was wondering what they were talking about. Maybe they knew about the angel on the mountaintop and what it meant to the people of Outpost 1, so I listened. Pistol told me that Rule Number One as a Road Man is to “shut up and listen ’cause that’s how you learn.” You learn to sense the undercovers, the snitches and the players who play the killing role in things.
But you also find people on the Red Road from all races. How I love to talk with them and learn. I learned from someone in Mission that a bear always knows what you are thinking. I learned from a lady on Salt Spring Island that dragonflies are the revivers of snakes and can sew the lips shut of any child who’s just told their first lie. I even learned from a carver in Gibsons, that place where they filmed The Beachcombers, that butterflies are guardians for lost souls.
I always try to learn something about the land I’ve traveled through and the people I’ve met here in BC, and it seems to me that BC needs a good fire to take care of these pine beetles because they have eaten, from what I’ve seen, half the province’s trees. You can see the rust of where they’ve been carpeting the mountains and valleys. But I am always trying to learn. This way when I find my next wife and settle down, I can be the man who points out things to my family as we drive on by. I’m not going to be with Reuben and Pistol forever.
I have plans: start a family, settle down, spend the second part of my life over with the innocence that jail or past hunts
can’t touch.
Chumps started up again, growling at something. This time it sounded like he was really angry, getting ready to charge.
“No tail,” Yang said to him outside the window. “You big but no tail.” I caught him glance at where the register and bat were.
“He’s half wolf,” Slim said. “Likes to fight.”
Half wolf? I wondered. Everybody I know who had a big dog said they were half wolf, but this time maybe Slim was right. I’d love to see Chumps.
“How come he bit you?” Heavy asked. “I told you to shoot him.”
“Never mind!” Slim said. “I’ll shoot you!”
Oh great, I thought. Chumps was an attack dog. I could not miss my meeting. What the hell was I going to do? Good thing the cell was in the car. If Pistol called and asked for a report he would not be happy with how this drop was going. And then he’d put Reuben on the phone and I’d really get it.
“Hey,” Heavy called. I turned. They were looking at me. “You’re Indian or what?” he asked.
I nodded. “I am.”
“Holy shit,” they looked at each other. “Aunty said we’d meet a brother today.”
I smiled. “I’m from the north. Dogrib.”
“Dogrib no less,” Slim smiled. “You’re wolf clan?”
I nodded that I was. “Are you on the Red Road?” I asked.
They looked at each other and grinned. “Aunty spoke and she was right,” Slim said.
“We answer to her,” the other nodded and they both smiled.
“Are you on the Red Road?” I asked again.
“Brother,” Slim said. “We are the Red Road.”
I liked this. This felt good to my spirit. Now was my chance. “Do you know about that angel,” I asked. “On the mountain?”
They looked at each other and nodded. “She said you’d ask about that too and that would be the sign.”
“Sign,” I said curiously. “For what?”
“To tell you the story,” Slim said.
“Indian way, uh?” Heavy said and nodded.
“Tell you what,” Slim offered as his hard eyes softened. They rose together and Slim pulled out a crumpled up twenty, tossing it on the table. “Want to see a miracle?”
I nodded and rose. Both boys stopped and their mouths dropped when they saw the full size of me. People think I’m a big dumb Indian but I’m not at all. I used to measure how tall I was but now I measure it in the shock of those around me. Yang came out with their orders. He’d put their food in Styrofoam containers so they’d have to leave or in hopes that they’d leave. Slim held up his hand. “Uncle, got any plastic bags?”
Yang nodded and gave a look of relief that Heavy and Slim were leaving. He turned around and walked back into the kitchen. He glanced at me and gave me a look that said this happens all the time.
“What’s the name of that mountain with the angel?” I asked.
“Cheam Mountain,” Slim said.
The men walked towards me. “That’s right,” Slim smiled. He was actually quite handsome. “We’ll show you.”
Yang came back out, and this time the containers were in two plastic bags. “Here’s your supper,” he nodded and handed Heavy two doggy bags. Oh that Salisbury steak smelled good.
I looked at Yang and he and his cook stood in the doorway to the kitchen. I knew the cook wanted to get another good look at me. Shit! I had almost forgotten to pay my bill. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. The men looked away as I flipped it out. I had three twenties and left one on the table. “Keep it,” I said, at which Yang gave me an uncertain smile, nodding quickly, “Thank you. Thank you. Yuh. Yuh. Yuh.”
I glanced at the clock. I had an hour and forty-five minutes before the drop. This wouldn’t take long, I hoped. I made sure to walk behind both men in case things came to blows. I had to duck to get through the door. We walked out and where there was once a pitter-patter of smaller clouds they were now gathered in darkness. I rose to my full height again and stretched before flanking them. This was their territory and I was a guest, but I was also a trespasser who’d now deviated from my objective. I would be respectful but wary. If this was a trap I would kill the dog first before baptizing both of them and any others among them. The sky was gathering for something. Maybe rain was coming soon … or lightning?
There stood Chumps, a black dog of mixed breed. He was a medium sized dog: half wolf, maybe—you could see it in the snout—and his hair puffed out in all directions. Heavy and Slim laughed and walked with their suppers-to-go. Chumps had two little cinnamon dots above his eyes and a Chipewyan woman I knew once told me those were spirit eyes. Those dogs could see the spirit world more clearly than the others. Chumps came up to me and I held out my hand. He sniffed it once and raced ahead to catch up with the men. He ran circles around them as both men laughed.
I was nervous of thunder and, worse, of lighting. Lightning hunts my family to kill us. It killed seven of my ancestors. And that was one thing I hated about BC—the only thing really: storms of lightning, storms with reach. I glanced at my car sitting in the shade. It was armed with a disabler, an alarm, and a club. Pistol’s Taser and twelve gauge were in the trunk, but I just wanted to go, to be led to a miracle, by a holy way. The package was safe. It wasn’t going anywhere. I was sure I’d be fine, but where had this storm come from? I’d checked the forecast before leaving and it was supposed to be sunny and hot the whole weekend, and now I was being led to something—a miracle they said.
“We’ll take you up to the house,” Heavy said. “You can meet her there.”
“The light will hit in half an hour and her spirit will glow for you,” Slim added, pointing at the mountain. “You can meet Aunty.”
“You okay?” Slim asked, looking back at me.
I nodded but my eyes gave me away. I felt the air with my hands and I could feel it start to thicken with moisture as a warm wind picked up. Shit. A storm was coming. Maybe this campaign wasn’t a good idea. But the angel on the mountain was starting to glow pink against the darker clouds that filled the sky.
“Sometimes she turns to fire,” Heavy said. I looked at the angel in astonishment. Aunty or the angel? I wondered. Who turns to fire? Everything is leading me to something, and I suddenly wanted to be them. I don’t know. It seemed that they had something I’d never felt before—a quiet peace.
“Excuse me for asking,” I said, “but what kind of Indians are you?”
“We are the not-even-counted,” Slim said and looked away. He sounded sad.
“Did you ever hear that story in the Bible about Balaam and the angel?” Heavy asked.
I shook my head. Each time I tried reading the Bible it was only second-hand words of a man-religion, and men were victims of their own compulsions. It wasn’t my way. And I ended up not believing any of it. I always thought that God was a white fox watching the sunrise with you every day and to speak to him was to speak to a friend.
Slim cradled his arm and spoke: “There was this old man named Balaam, and he and his donkey were going towards a city, when all of a sudden the donkey locked up and wouldn’t move. Balaam had all of his goods with him, like to sell? So he started yelling at his donkey to get a move on. He had to make the market or his family would starve. He had to sell everything on the donkey to make money, and he had to do it fast because he was already late. But the donkey didn’t move. It just stared straight ahead. Balaam had quite a temper on him so he pulled out his whip and started wailing on his donkey. Well, the donkey took it—all of it. ‘Come on!’ Balaam kept yelling, ‘Don’t do this to me! We’ve got to make that market!’ The donkey stayed still and Balaam went to go hit him again when someone grabbed his wrist. It was an angel. And behind him was an army of angels looking west. ‘We are destroying the cities,’ the angel told him. ‘Had you taken one more step, we would have destroyed you.’ The angels looked west. ‘Go home,’ the angel ordered and the angels moved on in the thousands. Those cities they destroyed were Sodom and Gomorrah.”
Both men looked down for a bit and we kept walking. I remember this story. The donkey had spoken the words of God to the man. I remember this but I have forgotten those words. Ghost Bear had once told me that west was the direction of death, and I wished I knew more about this. I had recently gone to Denman Island to find two foot-soldiers of the Night Crawlers. This was retribution for the executions here of two young brothers in the lower mainland. You see, the NCs were moving into BC and allies of ours—the Coalition—had hired us to let it be known they were not welcome. What happened was I found both men and threw one through a wall after punching the bigger of the two so hard his ribs caved.
“Look,” I said after I tied them up. I showed them the waterproof box I’d rigged up and said, “This is the box I am supposed to mail your hands, feet and braids in to your boss.” They were weeping as I showed them the label with their boss’s address. I then showed them my axe and let out a long, tired sigh. “I can either do this or you can leave BC. You’re bad people. What’s worse is you are Indians. Your mothers never raised you for this. Leave now and I’ll let you go. If I ever see you again three of the people you love the most will be mutilated in front of you and it will take days. Days and days and days,” I said. “Don’t let me do what they can order me to. Please don’t. I’m a doorman. I’m a good person. But I’m also an attack dog. We are all soldiers in the wrong war.” I tapped where my heart was twice before holding my hands above my head, grizzly style. “Don’t unleash me upon you.”
They promised to leave, begged to leave, swore on the Bible and on their children that they would never, ever come back to BC again. After, we sat and smudged. The one whose chest caved had pink guck coming out of his mouth, so we fanned the smoke over him. The one who could still speak promised me through the smoke of the sweet grass that they were out, that they would quit this life forever, so I left them like that in their room.
To wash the blood and smoke off, I’d gone for a swim in the ocean alone to baptize myself clean. When I dove in, the water caught fire around me in a holy light. It was phosphorescence. I never knew about it. No one told me. Even with my eyes closed I could see the water ignite around me. The fish I scared bolted, leaving trails of light behind them. Even though the ocean was freezing, I felt like God looking down on Baghdad with thousands of tracers firing below the sky. It was the closest I’d ever gotten to a quiet lightning or feeling like this was where I belonged, and the mighty weight of me knew grace.
The funny thing about the phosphorescence was when I talked about it to the ferry worker, he said he’d gone swimming the night before and watched a sea lion chase fish for an hour in the water, and it was like a comet roaming the earth. Oh I wish I could’ve seen that. How I wish I could tell my children I saw that. How I wish Ghost Bear was with me. I would have loved to see his talon-pierced chest and the trails of light his braids would have left behind.
The storm was hours away, I was sure, but it wasn’t helping my mood. The wicked wicked man I was to meet would call Pistol as soon as we met to confirm the exchange. I looked at my watch. “I have a meeting at 8:30,” I said. “I can’t be late.”
“Don’t you want to hear the story of the angel you asked about?” Slim said.
I wanted to learn this story for my family, perhaps the daughter I see in my dreams sometimes. “I do.”
“Then who better to ask than Aunty?” Slim asked.
“I do know,” Heavy said, “that when the snow of the angel’s wings melt it will be the beginning of the end times. The snow in the wings was low in the sixties and that brought a flood they still talk about today. Every time her wings have been low, tragedy has struck this valley. Families were swept away.”
I looked at the snow: there was miles and miles of it, but how deep, I wondered. In Penticton, the Okanagans believe that when the snakes come down and speak to the people, that’s it—the world is over. The white raven already flew to the people of Haida Gwaii and now Langley; the Crees believe those who see the white raven will be shown that the Big Wind is on its way. Those were the same ones to tell me to never wear red in the summer or I would call lightning to me, so this is why I wear black, black and black.
“Come on,” Slim urged. “We’re having a feast. Aunty’ll
tell you.”
The only ancestor I had who survived a lighting strike was my great-grandfather and they say that was when he became a medicine man. He lived four years to the day after being hit and what he did during that time was terrifying. Lightning created him. They said he could talk with the animals, mend spirits and bones. They even said he could almost bring the dead back to life. Almost.
The grass to my left started to sway with the breeze and the sky continued to darken. I hope wherever we were going was insulated. Lightning can arc and kill you through your plug-ins or windows. It just about got me four summers ago.
We walked down the railroad tracks and made our way towards an older-looking house. There was a sandbox in the front yard filled with toys and a gorgeous Indian woman sitting on the steps having a smoke. She wore a black dress and sat barefoot. Oh her hair was nice and long and her features were sharp and fine. She looked fierce. Her hands and feet were delicate, unpainted. I needed to see her smile. I had to.
There was a bonfire in the distance. Three Indians and a boy stood facing it. One turned our way and nodded. His hair was long, jet black, free. He touched his wrist twice and raised the back of his hand to his forehead. This was a signal to me but I did not understand. Was he deaf or a mute? He nodded to the two men beside him and they approached. The brown boy who walked towards me only had jeans on. His little brown belly looked so cute and his eyes sparkled with a light of their own. He whispered something to the older man who took his hand. The child waved excitedly at me, like he knew me already. I smiled and waved back. What a handsome boy, I thought. The Indian who passed by glanced up to me and nodded. There was something wrong with his right eye. It looked like it was made of glass and was smaller than the other. I returned a nod and smiled at the child. As the boy passed he watched me for as long as he could before the Indian beside him scooped him up to sit on his shoulders in one go. The boy waved with both hands and grinned, blowing me kiss after kiss with a smile.
There I stood, hand mid-air, completely humbled by
his beauty.
Chumps stopped and listened for something beside me. The woman’s face hardened as she spoke to my hosts. “You’re late.”
Heavy held out the goody bag and said, “Brought you some hot food, Sister.” She appraised me, not surprised or fascinated by my height. Her eyes, her features and her voice softened as I moved close. It was like she’d been waiting to meet me, somehow. “They’re praying downstairs,” she said to the men.
The men walked ahead and I followed, eager to meet Aunty. As I walked by the gorgeous Indian woman, I smiled. She looked at me and gave me a nod. Her face sparkled with freckles like cinnamon, and her nipples betrayed her. They hardened as I passed by. “Hi,” she said. I saw her eyes brighten, like she was relieved to know I was here now, to protect her, to learn from her. “Hey,” I nodded, playing ’er cool. I had to see her smile. I just had to. She was traditional. I could tell. There was a dignity to her, a way of knowing that I wanted to learn more about. And I would. I would give myself to her after I met this Aunty and learned more about this people’s holy way. Her hands were so dark. Her beautiful skin. She had three hair ties with her, wrapped around her wrist: one red, one blue,
one green.
I followed the men into the house and ducked under the door frame before a waft of hot dogs and corn cooking in the kitchen made me hungry again. A large TV dominated the front room; cartoons were on and the kids were laughing. Mattresses had been pulled out as couches for six kids. Paper plates littered the place, filled with half-finished hot dogs and potato chips scattered on the carpet. The boys were watching TV and didn’t look to see who we were. Two beautiful girls turned to look at me and they started waving, like they were happy to see me. I smiled, waved back. The girls were adorable. Perhaps when we were done here I could speak with them, make them giggle. Oh my arms suddenly ached to hug them.
Slim stopped and pointed to two of them. “Beautiful, hey?” he beamed and winked. “Twins.”
“Really?” I nodded. I did not want to leave them. Oh they stole my heart!
There was a poster of an old Indian standing in a bearskin looking at us as well as a Canadian flag tacked upside down on the wall. There was a huge aquarium in the hallway to my left and the lights were on. The aquarium was filled with hundreds of little lobsters. “Crayfish?” I asked.
“We’re having a feast after,” the lady said behind me, and she gently touched the small of my back to guide me forward.
We walked into the kitchen and corn bubbled in a giant pot. A few bloated hot dogs sat in the wiener water on the stove. A fresh pot of coffee was brewing. That’s what I needed. I’d have a cup after meeting Aunty and make my way to the meeting, before doubling back later to ask this woman for a date. It would be fun to kiss every little freckle she had good night and good morning. Ho Ho!
Heavy and Slim put their doggy bags on the counter and invited me to follow them into the basement of the house. I hesitated but when I heard singing I just had to see what was going on.
That’s when I heard the drum. In the basement. “Oooooo,” a man’s voice sang before again striking a hollow boom out with a drum—deerskin it sounded like. People were singing Indian songs in the basement. My skin rippled with excitement. What I was about to see I could tell my kids one day. I just knew it.
Heavy and Slim made their way into the basement. The woman was right behind me. I ducked as I made my way down the stairs and a smell hit me: wet rust? Sage? Something heavy and human. And what I saw next was beyond belief.
Thirty Indians at least, young and old, woman, man and child, stood around an old steel bed in the middle of a huge room. They were praying for an elder. All the Indians were holding long reeds of some kind in front of them, in front of their faces, the same way one who leads a funeral procession carries a cross. Their eyes were closed and it looked like ash had been smeared across the elder’s face. The women wore long skirts, the men deer hide vests and dark pants. Two elders twirled long stalks of a plant I’d never seen before, smoking the room with a thick smell—buffalo sage? Burnt sweet grass?
Something felt wrong with this. They called themselves the not-even-counted and something felt wrong with all of this. “Oh.” I stopped.
The woman put her hand gently at the small of my back and motioned for me to continue, so I did. Heavy and Slim made their way to the circle around the elder’s bed and I joined them. The people around the elder kept their heads bowed and were all singing a song that went, “Oooo Ooo Oh Oh Ooooo” over and over. A huge man with a drum looked at us and nodded to me before closing his eyes and bringing his drum up into the air and hitting it with a padded drumstick that had everyone singing again. The design on the drum was a black wolf looking up with light shooting out of its mouth and eyes.
Heavy and Slim started singing along. They had taken their glasses and hoodies off and stood like little boys with the crowd. Slim pulled his cast and sling off, and his arm looked fine. Had this been a trick to fool me?
I snuck a peak at the elder in the room and she did not look good: she was just bones and her skin was yellow. Someone had combed her whispery hair out and it was as long as her legs. Around the bed were hundreds of tobacco ties all wrapped in red, black, yellow and green. And there was a blanket of reeds braided like sweet grass to make an altar under her and what was on her face was not ash at all, but a tattoo. I made sure no one could see me and I studied it. Her face was covered with a huge tattoo of a dragonfly, as if it had landed on her face and was laying eggs in her mouth.
“Holy,” I said. What society and ceremony is this?
The woman nudged me and made a motion for me to bow my head. It took me a few lines to learn the song but I caught on and sang, too: “Ooo ooooo oh oh ooooooo.”
At that, the drummer stopped and pointed his drumstick in my direction. I looked around. It was for me. He smiled and invited me forward. Heavy and Slim smiled back at me and motioned for me to follow. I did. I was a bit worried as I did not know the protocol here, but I was calmed, filled with a peace I have only known twice: that swim in the ocean and when I was a doorman and I knew everyone was safe inside the sweat.
I walked ahead and I smiled at all the people I passed, and they all nodded, tipping the reeds they held out towards me. Every single one. I was royalty, an honoured guest. How I wished Ghost Bear was with me, to share this, to see how my life was leading me to good places and good people. He told me that the doorman was the most honoured of all in a sweat, that because I was a protector the spirits honoured me more than anyone. I approached the drummer, cursing myself that I did not bring any gifts to honour the hosts.
“A ho!” he said. “Welcome.”
Heavy and Slim nodded and held their hands out and up as if giving thanks for my arrival. I nodded.
“Stand here,” the woman whispered and stood beside me. I felt her long thick hair sweep against my arm and was immediately dizzy with her woman power. Our kisses will create a home as I stab her with pleasure. She will understand that I killed bad men for a reason, that I squeezed them until their kicks became little and their mouths opened like children at peace. She will understand me as a child of something else. She will understand me and all the wickedness I put to sleep.
I looked at our elder and her eyes were rolled back and her toothless mouth was open as if in a death mask. Her skin was a sick yellow and my legs began to ache. She was dying.
The drummer pulled a long bone from under his drum. He held it high and looked to the ceiling before handing it to Heavy. Heavy took it and did the same. Slim approached the elder and gently pulled her sweater up. The elder’s stomach was so bloated her belly button popped out like a black thumb. She wasn’t pregnant. Whatever she had had completely engorged her stomach cavity. It was thick and lumpy, like something small and evil kneeling inside of her getting ready to jump out.
The elder heaved, as if the mere brush of fabric against her skin was agony. She looked left and right. Her yellow eyes started to flutter and she began breathing hard, like a dog without a voice box: “Hach hach hach.”
“Haaaaaaaaaaaaccccccccccccccccccccccccccch,” she exhaled. Her eyes rolled back and forth in her skull, like they couldn’t get a lock on anything in front of her. I winced and instinctively backed up. The smell that rolled off her was dank and wrong for a human. This was the hot smell of death.
The drummer raised his drumstick and brought it down hard once. Boom! It rang and I winced. Heavy raised the bone up again and this time I knew what it was: an eagle whistle. I’d seen one in lock up. But it had been sharpened like a shank.
The drummer raised his drumstick again as Heavy raised the whistle like a knife, gripping it like a dagger. “What?” I heard myself say.
The drummer brought his drumstick down onto his angel drum—Boom!—as Heavy punched the whistle into the elder’s stomach and we heard a huge “Whoomp!” like a blown tire.
“No!” I yelled.
I heard hissing. At first I thought it came from the old woman, but it sounded like it was coming from under the bed, as if something was alive under there. Then I realized it was emanating from someone standing behind me. The people, including the long-haired beauty who’d guided me here, had their heads bowed. They were shaking their reeds to create a wind and they were all humming now. I saw the shirtless boy who had blown me kisses sitting at the top of the stairs. He looked to me and grinned. He held up his hand as if to wave and I saw he had a large feather. I felt immediately weak and wanted to run, but I looked back to see what was hissing behind me now.
Slim walked forward as Heavy stepped back and something black started to bubble out of the top of the whistle. At first it was dark bubbles, but then it spurted, up into the air, on the sheets—like lumpy oil—and that’s when Slim moved quickly and put his mouth over it, sucking with all he had, using the whistle as a big straw, to catch what Aunty had coming out of her.
“No,” I said and tried to move.
“Watch,” the woman said. Her hand pushed against my back.
“This is bad,” I panicked.
And that’s when Slim raised the eagle whistle towards me, slick with blood, and sprayed it in my face. “Fuck!” I yelled and fell back, tripping. The sick blood was hot, rancid and slick.
As I opened my mouth to yell, he sprayed me again and I gagged, swallowing the blood spew as I tried to breathe and that was when it twisted deeper inside me, popping my rib cage. My eyes were immediately sealed shut by something hot and sticky. I couldn’t speak. What I had under my tongue was now in my throat. I couldn’t even gag. It thickened and moved like a hot muscled tongue working its way to my stomach. Ghost Bear, I wanted to yell. Help me!
Hands went through my pockets grabbing my keys and wallet. “Stop,” I wanted to say, but nothing came. I tried swinging and kicking but my body was locked as if in seizure. I felt a hundred hands around me, lifting me, kissing my stomach and feeling my hair. “Thank you,” they said. “Thank you. You are the way. You are the way.” I felt soft reeds grace my body like sharp feathers. I felt myself being lifted up the stairs, through the kitchen and into the living room. I tried smelling the hotdogs and corn and only one nostril worked but all I smelled was a sweet rotting, and it was coming from me. All the while the people sang, “Hoooooooo Hoooooooo Ho Ho Hoooooooooooooo.”
They carried me outside. Again I tried kicking, hitting and biting but my body was not my own anymore. My muscles and size were useless. Soon I felt the heat of the bonfire and could hear the wood popping and the rush of fire snapping upon itself, eating the air around it, breathing with tongues of light and lashing.
I was laid to rest on grass. I could feel that much and I felt as if a hundred people were around me. I could hear the wind pick up and branches in the trees started to snap. Thunder started to rumble across the sky.
“Husband,” a voice said.
I tried to look around but I was blind. What had sprayed me had hardened inside me. I was frozen.
“Husband,” the voice said. “I am here.”
“Help me,” I tried to say. “Lightning. I can’t—”
“You are the way,” another voice whispered.
“Husband, I am going to wash you,” the woman said. I could hear Chumps panting beside me, like he was thirsty and excited. I felt his hot breath against my hair and he licked my ear.
“I have to go,” I tried. “I can’t be outside—”
She said nothing. Instead, I felt a hot washcloth spread across my eyes and nose. I was filled with the smell of mint and rust. It took all my strength but I opened one eye to see her looking down on me. She was smiling with tears in her eyes. She was beautiful as she wept and her tears were tears of happiness. She wiped my face gently one more time and what was on the cloth was bloody and black.
“She comes,” she said. “Look.”
She positioned my head in such a way that I could see the house and the angel on the mountain. My body was filled with something brutal: something completely inside me, and it was bubbling, growing, reaching. I felt sick, felt like throwing up. My stomach started to roll.
The old woman was now a woman in her twenties walking towards us, in a red star blanket carrying the drum. How I knew it was her was because she had the dragonfly tattoo across her face. Her hair was longer, sweeping behind her, and she looked at me with a peace and grace and command. I felt my body growing cold with every step she took.
I looked up to my left. Heavy and Slim now had the faces of otters. They looked at me and nodded. “You’re a wolf who’s been limping your whole life,” one said. The other nodded. “The smell of humans has kept you weak.”
Even though they had otter faces, their hands were human. The firelight flickered off the black orbits of their eyes. Three figures approached me from the shadows of the bonfire and they were men who had otter faces, too. They looked at me and tilted their heads left. One looked to Slim and handed him the three bags of cocaine.
“Wait,” I tried but my voice started to leave me. What was inside me was now pushing up, trying to stand, causing me to arch my back, pushing my heels against the earth.
“Hey!” I said and tried to raise my arm.
Something started to bubble in my stomach. Cancer? Was it cancer tumoring inside of me? I felt it push my lungs and voice box up towards my throat. One otter handed the black leg bone to the other and he started to slice each bag of cocaine open.
“Don’t—” I tried to warn them. The wicked wicked man will drown the kids first, making you watch before he takes a blowtorch to the women’s faces—I’m to pop his neck and kill him when he calls Pistol because he is bad.
“Look,” the woman said as she sat behind me, easing my head up gently to face forward, as if we were lovers, sitting in the park, watching our children play together. Heavy threw the cocaine that was in the bag up into the air, and it flew, catching itself, exploding into a spirit of white that held itself in the air. Each grain of white glistened like snow back home in a field of perfect light.
“We’ve been calling you home for years. We had to know it was you, but I knew. I knew it was you when I saw you.” She kissed my forehead and her lips were burning with cold. “You’ve come home. Your family is waiting for you. Our children are waiting to be born with you.”
Slim grabbed the second bag and walked to my right, doing the same. When he threw the cocaine into the air, it caught white fire and that’s when I saw the wings blossom behind them.
“Angels,” she whispered behind me.
The otters walked together to my left. They ripped open the third bag and they threw the cocaine up in the air, and before us three angels uncurled in the air. The mountain was east. The angels were around us in a circle of south, west and north. I looked to the faces of the angels and they were looking at me with curiosity, waiting to see what I’d do. The wind gathered around me and I heard thunder again, this time closer.
“You are the way,” the dragonfly lady whispered and knelt beside me, placing the drum she carried upon my chest.
I tilted my head and I felt something start to seep from beneath my fingernails. I coughed. “Cah….”
“You’re going to come back as our leader. This woman is your wife. Your children are waiting for you. It is our time once more.” She motioned to the woman behind me. I rolled my eyes up to look at her. My wife was now a red fox, crying. She brought something iron and sharp up, under my chin. The blade caught my stubble.
“Take our sickness with you,” Dragonfly Woman said as she nodded to the fox.
“Wait—” I tried as she pulled. My skin split and blood sprayed out of me in a jet I heard slap my boots.
Dragonfly Woman took a long torch that had ignited from the fire and made her way past me. Hundreds of people with the faces of otters, goats, foxes, deer and bear now started to follow her. One by one they all took the reeds they were carrying and they dropped them onto the fire. Each reed went up, almost like a firework taking off. I heard Chumps start to whimper beside me. As the people walked away, they crouched and dropped to four legs, their skin becoming coats of fur, the firelight catching their silvery muzzles and throats.
“You’re going to lead us all, husband,” my future wife said as a red fox and kissed my forehead softly. “Do not fear this.” My pant legs and shirt started to soak through with my own blood. I looked up and saw her sweet eyes looking down at me. Her breath was of sage, berries, smoke. Her muzzle twitched as a tear made its way down her snout. “You’re going to take us home,” she whispered and kissed me softly on the lips. Her cold nose brushed my face.
Heavy and Slim walked through the angel wings and stood on either side of me. Each pulled out a drum and started to play, singing the song they’d sung in the basement, “Ooooooo oo oh oooooo.” And there was the design of the black wolf with light coming out of its mouth and eyes on both of them. I could see now that its body was being struck by lightning. This was the same design as the one on the drum that lay across my body.
A little otter wearing blue jeans came forward. He had an otter face but a human body. I saw his little brown tummy and nipples. He seemed afraid to speak to me but he held onto the large feather of a spotted eagle, which he touched to his forehead before kneeling. Our eyes met as he reached out and placed the feather in my hair. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” He kissed me. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you.”
Son? My son? My wife as a red fox looked at me with tears in her animal eyes and nodded. She dipped her head and sent out a low call from her throat, a “whip whip” to our child. I looked and two small girls with the faces of foxes—the twin girls who’d been wearing dresses—stood behind their brother. They too held large, spotted feathers in front of their faces. They knelt by me, before taking my hands, their eyes catching the light.
“How?” I wanted to ask. “How can this be?”
“A deal was made for you,” my wife said, touching my forehead with her wet nose. I felt her hot tears spread along my ears and neck. She began to wash my face with what smelled like tanned hide soaked in rain water.
“Come home, Papa,” one of my girls said, brushing my arms with her feather, before she placed her hand over my heart. Thunder started to rumble above me.
“Take your skin off,” the other said, brushing my chest with her feather. This was a washing ceremony. I knew this. It must have been to wash all my wickedness away. “I have missed you for so long.”
“We’re waiting for you,” my boy whispered, sweeping his feather over my legs. He was strong. He placed my legs together like Jesus on the cross. They began to wash my throat and hands. With each sweep, the air felt cool upon me.
“The sky has to touch him first,” my wife said, kissing my forehead so tenderly that tears filled my eyes. “All your life you’ve tracked us and now we’re here.” She looked up at the thundering sky and pulled the three hair ties off her wrist. “Come inside,” she said to the children. “Sky fire is coming.” She knelt, leaned close and tied all three feathers into my hair. “You are our resurrection.” She kissed me softly on the lips. “You’ve been gone too long. Our children wait with me for your return. I love you. We love you. Our people wait.”
My children started to wail. Long cries from the back of their throats and under their tongues. I heard them leave with their mother, taking their pitiful cries with them. Her cry was a low longing moan, deep from her chest, a trill of sorrow. How I wanted to comfort them all. But I was sinking inside.
I felt my hands rise from my sides as my vision started to fade. Sheet lightning arced over me as thunder tore the sky. The angel on the mountain turned to fire while the three angels watching me became a beautiful blue. The air sizzled and whipped around me. The people of the earth—earthworms—swam out of the ground and I could hear them whisper with their ancient tongues: “You are the way. You are the resurrection.” The grass charred and started to smoke around me as the electricity snapped and sizzled in the air above. The sky blackened. I could see stars.
The angel on the mountain exploded into fire. The three angels above me turned towards the city. I could feel their wings fanning me in hot drafts as they flew, and the earth trembled in their path. After them swarmed thousands more, and more, and with them their children. All of them held what looked like swords in each hand. Birds in the thousands swirled in clouds above me before bursting into horrific flame. And so did the mountain. All that beetle kill caught fire and began its way. I felt the earth rise up from under me to hold me, to cradle me, and I felt a heartbeat, the heartbeat of the earth, as I started to float. As my skin tightened, as my teeth fused, I finally—the sky had gathered for me. Flashes and flares started to pop and catch around me as my fingernails caught fire. I finally—a great rush blew through me. I closed my eyes and arched my back and the land became water. I finally—I started to sink and felt the hair on my body erupt with electricity, the feathers in my hair ignited to flames as a blue bolt from heaven tore through the sky towards me, blowing voltage through me, annihilating everything white. I was born a giant to become this—a child of something else—and, oh, my Maker, as I burst into flames I have finally found my way home….