Black robe, p.10
Black Robe, page 10
Laforgue felt his anger rise. He clenched his hands together. ‘So they have a world of the dead, a world of night when the dead come alive. And what do they do in the daytime, these dead things?’
‘She said, in the daytime they are blind. The dead Savages sit like this, she said.’ Daniel crouched on the ground and put his elbows on his knees, his head between his hands, mimicking the posture which Laforgue had seen the Algonkin adopt when a sickness came upon them. ‘When night comes, they rise up,’ the boy said. ‘They go to the chase.’
Laforgue shivered as with a fever. He felt cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck as the boy, squatting there like a Savage, repeated to him the foolish fantasies of these barbarians. ‘Forgive me,’ Laforgue said. ‘But do you realize what you are saying?’
‘I am telling you what they believe. I did not say that I believe it. I am telling you that you will never truly convert them to your teachings.’
‘You wish to distract me,’ Laforgue said. ‘As the Evil One has distracted you and filled you with a lust, so strong that it drives out the fear you should feel now. The fear of losing your immortal soul.’
‘Why do I talk to you?’ The boy jumped up and stood over Laforgue as though he would strike him.
‘If you die tonight, in your state of mortal sin, you will find out that there is a hell,’ Laforgue said. ‘A hell for all eternity.’
‘Good night, Father,’ the boy said and, turning, went along the edge of the pit of smoking kettles, mingling with the crowd of jostling, chanting, feasting Savages. Laforgue did not follow him. Instead, his shivering increased until his whole body shook as if in a fever. His limbs ached and his stomach, sated with half-cooked food, became queasy, making him feel he would vomit. He rocked to and fro by the fire, staring at the flames, his mind confusedly remembering what had been discussed. If I become ill and unable to travel, the Savages will show me no kindness. Even to their own, when sick, they pretend indifference. Father Bourque warned that if I become ill I must conceal it from them. I must be strong. I should pray.
Shutting his eyes, he willed his weary mind to prayer but, instead, fell into a doze. He started, catching himself, as he almost tumbled headlong in the snow. All he could think of now was the time when, their feasting over, the Savages would crawl into their habitation and he could at last, amid warm bodies, find surcease from his fever and pain in long weary sleep. Tomorrow he must rise and paddle with the others. Tomorrow, they would journey on.
*
Neehatin woke. He stretched out his arm to the pouch in which, before sleeping, he had placed some scraps of meat, as was the custom after a feast. He looked at the rooftop opening of the habitation and knew that the sun had climbed the first wall of sky. He ate slowly, chewing the meat and spitting out gristle. Then he crawled past the huddled bodies of others and left the habitation. Some were already up. He saw the Blackrobe kneeling by the river, washing his neck and face. Chomina and Amantacha and Ougebemat were cutting hunting poles as he had told them to last night. He went to them.
‘We will go down through the ravine to look for tracks,’ he said. ‘Then we will move to the high slopes. Are you ready for that, you silly cows?’
‘You find us moose and we’ll climb twenty fucking slopes,’ Amantacha said.
‘Neehatin,’ said Ougebemat, ‘we have been talking. Tell me. Do you think the Blackrobe’s spell brought moose to this island? Last winter and the winter before there were no moose here.’
‘There is a causeway on the far shore,’ Neehatin said. ‘At the end of summer, the water level is low there. A family of stupid moose might wander over here and then, when the water rose, find themselves blocked. No way back.’
‘What a wonderful fucking mind this man has,’ Ougebemat said, and all laughed good-naturedly. But they knew his explanation was the right one. And they prefer my explanation, Neehatin thought. They don’t want to think they are eating moose brought here by the spell of a Norman sorcerer.
‘So when do we start?’ Chomina asked. Chomina looked at Neehatin with respect but no love.
‘We’ll start now,’ Neehatin said. ‘Better send the children on ahead to camp on the other side of the island. The women can follow them with the heavy bundles and kettles. We’ll beach the canoes here.’
‘Have you told that fart of a Blackrobe?’ Chomina asked. ‘He’s going to shit himself.’
‘Fuck the Blackrobe,’ Neehatin said. ‘Leave him to me.’
‘If the children start now, they should reach camp well before dark,’ Ougebemat said. ‘It is only a half day’s journey, even for the little ones.’
‘Give them some stuff to carry,’ Neehatin said. ‘Let the little fuckers get used to it.’ The others laughed. They loved their children, but he was right. They must be taught to carry.
‘What about the Normans?’ Chomina said.
‘They come with us. I want to keep those cows in front of me, not behind me.’
Neehatin left, then, and went down to the river. ‘Nicanis?’ he called. The Blackrobe came to him, smiling, nodding his head as the Normans always did when they met you after the night’s sleeping. The Blackrobe looked sick.
‘Are you all right?’ Neehatin asked. ‘You look as if you had shit yourself.’ He laughed and the Blackrobe laughed, but as always it was forced. He laughed as though his teeth hurt.
‘Yes, I am well,’ the Blackrobe said. ‘It was good to eat that meat last night.’
‘And we’ll find more today,’ Neehatin said. ‘There must be five moose in that family. We’ve only killed two. Now we’ll go after the others.’
‘But surely we should go on,’ the Blackrobe said. ‘The snows have started. I am very worried. We must go on today.’
‘No, Nicanis. First we will kill moose and eat moose, and what we do not eat we will smoke and take with us. Then we will travel fast for many days.’
The Blackrobe hesitated. Neehatin saw the sweat of a sick man on his brow. ‘Neehatin, my friend,’ the Blackrobe said, speaking, as always, like a little child who has just learned his first words. ‘If you must hunt today, I will stay here and rest.’
‘Fuck that,’ Neehatin said, laughing. ‘We’re going to camp on the far slopes tonight. You’re coming.’
‘But couldn’t I stay here and wait for your return?’
Neehatin looked up at the sky. The sky gave no sign. Why did this sorcerer want to stay behind? Was there some danger he knew would overtake them? ‘No,’ Neehatin said. ‘I’ll tell you what. Since you’re so fucking tired, you won’t have to carry a burden today. Mestigoit will be with you, and you’ll come with us, with the hunters. Get your shoes on. I must go.’
He did not wait for the Blackrobe to do any more complaining. The Normans always complained. They gave you good presents but then reminded you that they had given them. They worried about everything just like old women. They were full of shit. Neehatin went up the riverbank, calling, ‘Women with children, women with children.’
Families were coming out of the habitation. He looked back at the river. The river went its way. It said nothing of danger ahead.
‘Give them burdens,’ he said to the mothers. ‘Not too heavy. Make little sleds and have them drag them after themselves as you do. Start now. We will follow later. We are going to find moose.’
He heard the sorcerer’s chuckling laugh and turned to find the little man at his heels. ‘Did I hear you say moose?’ the sorcerer said.
‘Yes, moose. There must be at least three of them over on the farther slopes. I want you to travel in our rear. We will take Iwanchou with Chomina’s men, but you will stay close to the Blackrobe. We are going to move fast, and that cow cannot use his shoes. If you see him start a sorcery, leave him and come to tell me. He is sick with the shaking sickness. Did you know that?’
The sorcerer smiled. ‘Of course I know it. Two nights ago, in the forest, the She Manitou smiled on him. The flesh-eater.’
Neehatin felt alarm. ‘You saw Her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why are you not sick?’
‘I am a demon,’ said the sorcerer. ‘She will not harm one of Her own.’
‘You’re a great little fart,’ Neehatin said, laughing, although in truth he was always uneasy when he spoke with Mestigoit. It was true that Mestigoit was said to be a demon who had entered a woman and had been born through her cunt. Perhaps he lied about seeing the She. ‘Are you sure you saw Her?’ he asked again.
The hunchback smiled, showing teeth pointed like a dog’s. ‘I saw. She did not look at me. She looked at the Blackrobe.’
‘Well, fuck it,’ Neehatin said, trying to joke. ‘That makes it easy, doesn’t it?’
‘Easy?’ The wizened face no longer smiled.
‘If She eats him in a night or two, we will not have to go as far as the Great Rapids. We will have gained our presents from Agnonha for nothing.’
‘There are no presents given by the Normans which are not paid for,’ the sorcerer said.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Neehatin said, still trying to make a joke of it.
‘I mean what I mean and you know what I mean,’ the sorcerer said. ‘We are two nights from the beginning of danger. The Blackrobe may not die. He is a sorcerer, a Norman sorcerer. And they are hard to kill.’
‘Normans shit and eat and bleed and die just like other men,’ Neehatin said. ‘Want to bet on it? I have two beaver skins who say if the She looked on him, he will not last two nights.’
‘I have no beaver skins,’ the sorcerer said. ‘I have this knife.’
‘My knife against yours, then, you little prick.’
And, at last, the sorcerer laughed.
*
It had snowed again in the night. By the time the hunters reached the high ground on the far side of the ravine, the tracks of the moose which had escaped them yesterday were completely obliterated. But the snow was now deep, even on the high ground. Moose, which could run fast as deer on hard ground, were helpless in deep snow. Chomina took one slope, Neehatin the other. The moose could smell hunters from a great distance. As the Algonkin advanced, the moose would seek the shelter of trees to hide.
The hunters covered both slopes and then fanned out in a long line. The moose must have gone down to the far end of the island. The land narrowed there. The hunters moved their net all morning, walking on and on in their snowshoes over the deep soft snow. It was late afternoon when they saw tracks. The tracks were like long thin holes in the snow. The hunters stopped and smiled at each other. All were silent. The tracks led them towards a wooded place. Chomina moved his men into close formation as they approached the trees. Neehatin did likewise. Moving in a semicircle, the hunters entered the woods. The wooded place was not large. The hunters raised their long javelins and, silent, went through the dark spare aisles of trees. By now, the wind was in their faces. The wind was kind. The moose might not even scent them until they were close. But then, ahead, they saw a male and two female moose, blundering through the trees, plunging in panic, making for the open snow at the end of the woods.
The hunters began to run, swift on their unwieldy snowshoes. There was no longer a need for silence, so they began to yell in order to panic the moose. The moose blundered into the open, sinking to their bellies as their long thin legs plunged into the drifts. The hunters now closed the circle, moving closer their net of spears. Chomina saw that one of the females had turned and was now nearest to the Norman boy, Iwanchou. It was to Iwanchou that he gave the command to strike. The boy struck well, his javelin entering the moose’s neck at a place where the blood ran thick. Within minutes, all three moose lay skewered; the male had plunged its antlers into a snowdrift. The hunters raised their javelins and shouted to each other. Chomina, seeing Iwanchou with the others, went up to him and put his arm around him. ‘You silly pale prick,’ he said, laughing. ‘I think your mother was Algonkin.’
The boy laughed. ‘Maybe she was,’ he said. ‘That would make me stupid like you. But that’s all right. I like to hunt and eat just like the rest of you. Maybe I’ll become Algonkian myself.’
Chomina looked at him. He knew this boy was fucking Annuka. He had seen the presents he gave her, necklaces and other goods. ‘Why would you become one of us?’ Chomina asked. ‘When you work for the Blackrobes in Québec, they say you eat every day. You build wooden habitations for them and you have no need to hunt.’
‘I like to hunt,’ the boy said. ‘I love you fuckers, don’t you know that?’
‘Better than the Blackrobes?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re full of shit,’ Chomina said, laughing. ‘Come. Let’s get these moose out of here.’
*
The sun was low on the horizon when Mestigoit and Laforgue, moving in the wake of the hunters, saw them ahead, dragging their slaughtered prey. The moose had been cut into sections and placed on narrow makeshift sleds of wooden runners covered by peeled strips of bark. The hunters, harnessed like pack animals by cords bound around their foreheads, dragged these heavy sleds through the deep snows. Laforgue, half delirious from fever, wondered how the hunters could move their legs under this heavy burden. His own snowshoes had become weighted with snow, and each time he stumbled in a drift, it seemed as if someone beneath the snow pulled on his ankles as though to wrench them from their sockets.
When, at last, their caravan came to the new campsite, the women had already arrived, lit the fires and cut the poles for the night’s habitation. The children, weary from their long journey, sat uncharacteristically listless on their bundles but now rose and ran yelling towards the hunters and their prey. Because of the deep snow, the habitation must be built in the true winter manner, and so, laying aside their harness, the Algonkian men removed their snowshoes and, using them as shovels, began to clear a large circle in the snow, digging into it to a depth of three feet. Even the hunchback helped in this work for, as Laforgue was to discover, it would take three hours in the shivering cold to prepare this place where they would sleep. The pit dug by the Savages made a white wall like the wall of a small house, surrounding the sleeping place on all sides except where a break was made for an entrance. Some twenty poles, which the women had already cut and trimmed from the surrounding woods, were then planted in the snow to form the scaffolding of a roof, converging loosely at the top. The long strips of bark, sewn together, which formed the roof of the previous habitations were now placed over this frame. The floor and walls of the habitation were then lined with small branches of fir, and a skin was draped over the entrance. Only when this work was finished, at a time when the sky was already dark, did the Algonkin return to the fires and begin to cook the slaughtered moose.
Laforgue, shivering although he sat close to the flames, was astonished to see that the Savages who had worked for hours in the freezing snow pit sweated on their return as though the night were warm. Merriment and the usual insults began as the first pieces of meat were thrown into the kettles. Laforgue, who had been reading his office by the light of the fire, sat apart. His hands, icy in their mittens, stung as though he were a schoolboy who had been caned. Indeed, there seemed no part of his body which did not suffer its own particular torment. He sat alone. He did not look for Daniel, nor did the boy come near him. All around him he heard the Savages shouting their obscenities, the dogs barking, the chants of the lugubrious Savage songs of triumph and the rattling sounds of the sorcerer’s drum.
‘Nicanis.’
He looked up. Above him, holding a bark plate filled with meat, was Neehatin. ‘Eat,’ said Neehatin, handing him the plate. He took it, but his hands, frozen and stiff in their mittens, let the plate spill, the meat falling on the ground. At once, two dogs came bounding over. Neehatin kicked them away.
‘Are you sick, Nicanis?’
‘My hands are cold.’
‘Let me see.’ The leader squatted down and slipped off Laforgue’s mitten. He felt his hand. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘They are cold. Here.’ From his tunic he took his own mittens and put them on Laforgue’s hands. The mittens were warm from the heat of his body. ‘I will take yours,’ he said. He laughed. ‘Nicanis, let me give you some advice.’
‘Advice?’
‘You must not travel with us in winter. We are going to kill you.’
Neehatin was smiling, and so Laforgue felt he must smile too. ‘I am stronger than you think,’ he said.
‘A sick man on a sled is heavy baggage,’ Neehatin said. ‘If he’s going to die anyway, why drag him along? Better to put a hatchet in his head.’ He laughed uproariously, throwing back his head, showing his perfect teeth.
‘I’d better not get sick, then.’
‘Eat your meat,’ Neehatin said. ‘Tomorrow we will smoke what is left of these moose; then we’ll go back to the canoes and continue our journey.’ He walked off with no farewells. Laforgue looked at the meat and felt he would vomit. Carefully, making sure he was not seen, he wrapped it in a cloth and hid it in his belongings. Then, feeling as though he would faint, he got up, left the fires and went to the newly built habitation. When he crawled inside, the place was empty, save for two of the older women who tended the smoking fire. Laforgue lay down close to the fire, drawing his cloak around his shoulders. Although his face was seared by the heat of the flames, his back shivered from the cold of the snowpacked wall behind him. Huddled in a foetal crouch, he sought sleep.
*
At dawn her mother tugged on her hair, waking her. Together, they crawled towards the door. The other women who had been chosen last night were already outside and starting the fires. When the fires were burning well, her mother went to call her father. He came with six men. They took the male moose which had not been eaten last night. They removed all the bones, as was the custom, and, where the meat was too thick, slashed it with their knives so that the juice would come out. After that, the women helped to pound the carcass with stones, and at last the men trampled it underfoot to squeeze out the last of the juice. By then, the others were up. She saw Iwanchou standing nearby, pretending to watch the work. She did not look at him.
