This one guy told me of a time in his life when he would go out with his flute to play in the forest, and a little porcupine shyly climbed out to the branch of a tree to watch him, one eye at a time, as the man played his heart out. I think this was in northern Ontario. This man told me he played for the little guy every day, and each day the porcupine came out on the same branch. It was a little game for them, hey. Well, one day this man was showing off and took a bunch of kids and the kids were loud and rowdy and so the porcupine came out but was very scared. He looked at the man only once with both eyes and what the man saw was so sad, as if the man broke something special.
The porcupine never came back.
The man felt such loss.
And that got me thinking, if you have something special that sometimes it’s best to just keep it for yourself. Like if you fool around with someone, that’s a good secret, hey? What you shared together was magic, special, fun. That’s a good one. Your secret is held in two hearts. This will give you strength for the tough times ahead and when you see each other it’s okay if you can’t stop smiling. That’s a good life, when you have a few of those. Not too many, though. I think if you fool around with too many honeys then you’ll have weak kidneys. I think I heard that once. Weren’t there some priests somewhere that thought if you don’t ever fool around once that when they dig you up one hundred years from now that in between your rib bones there will be a pearl? It lets everyone know you were the patron saint of something. Well, I think that’s a hard road, myself. Aren’t we here to have a good time and help each other through the night? I think so.
Someone told me that Indians can only keep a secret for five years tops and then everyone spills the beans. Well, maybe that is true for all the races in our atmosphere: a five-year moratorium on the goods, hey.
• • •
My friend, let’s call him Freddy, told me one night that he was painting a drum and one of his co-workers called him.
“Hi, Freddy,” Stella said.
It was late. He glanced at the clock. It was after eleven.
“Hi,” he said. His son was asleep and it was a work day tomorrow. “Is everything okay?”
“Um, yeah,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Oh,” he said. “Having tea, painting a new drum.”
“Oh,” she said. “I was wondering if you could come over and help me out.”
“Help you out?” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Well…” she said.
“Is Sam giving you a hard time? Want me to come over there and tune him up?”
(Stella had been having problems with her ex, eh. The whole town knew about that.)
“Oh … no … no … Sam’s outta town.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is your power out?”
“No … I was just wondering if you could come over and help me out?”
“Help you out,” he repeated, putting his paintbrush down. “With?”
“Well,” she said. “You know….”
And that’s when it hit him: she was asking for help in the Love Me Tender Department.
“Oh!” he said. “Oh. Oh! Oh….”
“Well?” she asked with a smile that he could hear over the line.
“Oh, ah … whoah … Whew!”
“……”
“……!”
“…..?”
“…..!!”
“So?”
“So?” Freddy stood up. “So, ah, well, ah … my boy’s asleep.”
“So what? He can sleep on my couch.”
“Oh well, ah, it’s a school day tomorrow. I think they’re taking pictures or something?”
“That’s next month,” she said flatly.
“Oh, well, ah … this is a bit sudden, isn’t it?” Freddy asked. “I mean, well….”
“Sudden?” she asked. “For who?”
“Well, come on,” Freddy said with his low secret voice. “We work together.”
“So?” she said. “Just come over and help me out.”
Freddy shook his head. He’d worked with Stella for over a year and, yes, they enjoyed each other’s company. Yes, they shared a few good laughs, but he was so surprised.
“So?” she asked.
“I can’t,” he said. “Really….” He tried hard to think of what to say. “This is very flattering, but I don’t think of you that way.” This wasn’t necessarily so. Stella had been hitting the gym pretty hard and was letting her hair grow out, so he’d had some Dirty Town thoughts these past few months.
“Oh come on,” she said. “It’ll be our secret. No one has
to know.”
“Ah,” Freddy started pacing. “Ah. Ummm. Ah….”
“Please?”
“Oh that’s so sweet,” Freddy said. “But I have to say no. My son’s sleeping.”
“I could come over there,” she said.
“Ho-la,” he said. “You’re a brute, eh?”
“I can be,” she giggled.
“No,” he said with his whiny voice. “My son could wake up.”
“I’ll be quiet if you will,” she said.
Freddy blushed. “Holy!”
“Come on,” Stella said. “I could come over there and help you….”
At this, he started laughing and she started laughing, too. “Come on,” she urged. “You’ve been on your own for how long now?”
“Oh,” he thought about it. “Eight months now.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Don’t you need a little help?”
Freddy’s face flushed with embarrassment. He secretly called Stella The Hickey Monster as Sam’s neck had always been covered in monkey bites or passion bruises when they were still married. And Freddy was no fashionista, but he knew that he was all out of turtlenecks. “Well, ah….” What could he say to that? “Well, I….” What could he say? “I, ah, am taking some time to take care of me.…”
“And I could help,” she said. “I could help you take care of you very nicely.”
“I’m sure you could,” he grinned.
It had been eight months all right. Eight months of learning to bake cookies for his son’s fundraising events. Eight months of meetings with teachers and the optometrist to get glasses for his boy. Eight months of learning to cook supper and prepare sandwiches for his son’s lunch every day. Eight months of waiting for his wife, to see if she’d ever return.
“Stella,” he said. “I want to thank you for calling me. It’s been a tough go.”
“I can tell,” she said.
“I’m really honoured that you called. Can I think about this?”
“You may,” she said and she said it sweetly. Sometimes a woman can be tough on a man in a moment like this, but she could tell she’d disarmed him in a good way.
“I really need some time to think,” he said. “I’ve been so focused on being a single dad and taking care of my boy that I’ve just gotten in touch with me.”
“I’m really proud of you,” she said. “You’re a great dad.”
“Thanks,” he said. Because of his son’s swimming lessons, Freddy had gotten over his own fear of the water. Because he was a single parent, he was now learning new recipes from his aunties. He could now cook a mean stir-fry and prepare salmon and halibut just the way his boy liked it.
“You’re a real catch,” she said. “I wanted to make my intentions clear.”
“Well, they’re greatly appreciated,” he said. “Thank you.”
“So?” she said. “Will you call me sometime when you know what you want?”
“I will,” he smiled. “I will. I really want to thank you for
the call.”
“Okay, good night. It’s nice to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too,” he said.
And she hung up softly.
And that was when Freddy decided that he wasn’t waiting for his wife anymore. That was the night he decided that it was time to move on, that any woman who would leave her family behind without any explanation was a woman he could no longer trust for himself or for their boy, and that was the night Freddy went from being a passive good-hearted guy to an active participant in his life, a real mover and shaker.
So, did they ever get together? That’s a secret. We just have to mind our own beeswax on that one. But let’s get back to the spirit of this story: the medicine of secrets.
My buddy Trevor told me once that a long time ago the Crees used to go into the forest with a spear. And what they had to do was they’d sneak up on a bear and tap him on the bum with it—not the sharp side, but the flat side, I guess, and the bear would scoot away in fear. Then you would come out of the forest and never tell anyone about it. But that’s what made you a man. If you could do that then you were a man. But the key was to never tell anyone, not even your wife. You keep it inside and you know it yourself, that you did that, hey.
So, my question to you all is do you have any secrets that you haven’t ever told anyone? Good. Keep them inside you. If not, you better run out and start gathering some so they can keep you warm inside when you’re in your golden years. The bad secrets should be talked about, I think, but the sacred ones, the special ones, the good time ones, I think you should keep them inside—not all, but some. Because they are medicine. They’ll get you through the hard times. Plus, no one wants to fool around with you if they think you’ll tell all your buddies and coworkers, hey! And whatever happened to kissing but not telling? Now that’s a dying art (right up there with flirting, the four-hour makeout session and French kissing, in my opinion).
Me? I don’t think I have too many secrets. Every five years I spill the beans to somebody about something, I’m sure, but I live a good life: I’m not out to hurt or take. The only secrets I have are my PIN numbers and the love songs that I sing into the wind for someone I haven’t even met yet, but I know I will meet one day.