Black robe, p.5
Black Robe, page 5
She looked at him. ‘On the first night of a journey,’ she said. ‘Shit!’
‘It’s a warning,’ he said. ‘That is good, isn’t it?’
She did not answer this. ‘Tell me your dream.’
‘I was on a log. I paddled across a river and landed in an open place. I walked up to a meadow, and when I did, this fucking big serpent followed me through the grasses.’
‘Then?’
‘I went back to the river and again sat on the log. As I paddled away, a heavy man jumped on to the log behind me and made it rock. I fell in the water and a fish swam up and told me to follow it. It led me to the farther shore. That is all. What does it mean?’
She bent her head, thinking. ‘The serpent is a sorcerer. We must find a sorcerer to tell us what is the danger.’
‘So it is a danger, then?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. The heavy man is the Blackrobe.’
Neehatin was surprised. He had not thought of that. ‘So it is the Blackrobe who brings us danger?’
‘Yes.’
‘But we have taken him with us. What does the dream say I must do?’
‘It says you must find the fish. We must get a sorcerer to tell us what is the fish that will save us.’
‘Mestigoit is a sorcerer,’ Neehatin said. ‘He is the only one between here and the winter hunting place. He lives with the Montagnais in the middle place.’
‘How many nights?’
‘Eight.’
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Eight nights?’
‘We will drive hard. With any fucking luck we might do it in seven.’
‘You must try,’ she said. She looked at the forest. ‘The trees have wakened. It is time to go.’
‘First I must tell the senior men.’ He looked at her, then at the forest. A great fear came upon him. ‘I show no fear,’ he said. He spoke not to his wife but to the forest.
The trees murmured. He did not hear what they said.
‘What will I do now?’ he asked them.
Smile upon the Blackrobe, the forest said.
‘I will do that,’ Neehatin said.
*
Laforgue woke. Above him, in the opening of the roof of the Savage habitation, he saw the morning sky. He felt that he would vomit. Shutting his nostrils to the fetid stink of his sleeping companions, he stumbled over to the doorway. When he stepped out into the clearing, all was clean and still. Grass and leaves glittered with dew. In the nearby forest, sunlight struck down through the great aisles of trees, reminding him of the shadows in the nave of the cathedral of Coutances. He looked at the river, at that swift current which carried these waters thousands of leagues to the sea. Near the beached canoes, a small group of Savages squatted in a semicircle, listening to their leader. Laforgue saw Neehatin’s lips move but at that distance could not hear what was said. Not wishing to intrude, he walked in the opposite direction, continuing on until he was out of sight of the encampment. Then, alone in the morning silence, he knelt by the current and, undoing the buttons of his cassock, bathed his head and hands in the chill waters. When he had finished he wiped himself dry with tufts of grass, then knelt again to say his morning prayers. As so often, when facing a new trial he invoked the aid of the Virgin Mary.
O Holy Mother, he prayed, I ask for your solemn benediction on this journey. I ask your help in this weakness which has afflicted my ear. Unless this infection abates, I fear I will no longer be able to hear what is told to me. I do not ask your Son to lift this trial from me. I know that these afflictions have a meaning, that God does not allow Himself easily to be conquered and the more one gives, the more one gains, the more one loses, the more one finds. But God sometimes hides Himself, and then the cup is very bitter. When, afflicted by this deafness, I feel unable to carry out His work, I fear in my weakness that He has hidden His face from me...
At that moment a great shadow passed over him, and, looking up, his prayer stillborn on his lips, he saw, high above, a huge eagle of a sort he had never seen in France, its head white, its beak and talons yellow, its great blackish wings rigid as sails, catching the wind eddies as it glided back and forth over the trees. Suddenly, swift as clashing swords, the great wings shut. The eagle plummeted between the trees. And as Laforgue knelt there, his struggles, his deafness, the dangers of this journey were transformed miraculously into a great adventure, a chance to advance God’s glory here in a distant land. God was not hidden; He had shown Himself in the eagle’s flight. Laforgue saw the eagle rise from the trees, its great wings beating steadily as it carried off its prey. In the beauty of this wild place, his heart sang a Te Deum of happiness.
*
‘The other Norman is now awake,’ Chomina said.
Neehatin, who had just told his dream to the senior men, looked up and saw the boy Iwanchou come across the clearing. Unlike the Blackrobe, this boy had keen ears. Neehatin made a sign of caution to the others. The boy came up.
‘When do we leave?’ he asked.
‘We leave now.’
‘Good. Nicanis will be pleased.’
Neehatin pointed downriver. ‘Nicanis is awake and went down there. Find him and tell him we are ready.’
‘I will do that,’ the boy said.
The senior men watched him go. ‘Why did you say we will leave?’ one of them asked. ‘There is good hunting here.’
‘Because the dream says we must.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ asked Ougebemat, an old man who, years ago, had fought with Agnonha against the Iroquois. The senior man turned to him. Ougebemat was one who read dreams.
‘I am sure,’ Neehatin said, but he felt the sweat of fear trickle from the hair at his neck.
‘The man who made you fall off the log is the Blackrobe,’ Ougebemat said. ‘Am I right?’
Neehatin looked at him, alarmed. He says what my wife said. ‘Yes, you are right,’ Neehatin said.
‘Then to obey the dream we should leave these Norman pigs and go on alone.’
Neehatin shook his head. ‘It does not tell me that. Besides, we have made a promise to their leader. Do you not fear his anger, you who fought beside him?’
‘I shit upon his anger. I shit upon all Normans,’ Ougebemat said. ‘I fear the dream.’
‘I, too, fear it,’ Neehatin said. ‘And I obey it by taking these Norman turds in our canoes. The dream told me that the serpent is a sorcerer, and so we must keep the Blackrobe with us until the sorcerer tells us what to do with him.’
He saw at once that his words had won the argument. There was agreement among the senior men. If the dream said the serpent was a sorcerer, then Ougebemat was overruled.
‘If the dream tells you that,’ Ougebemat said, ‘then it must be obeyed. For it is not dreamed by some useless prick, but by a leader.’
The others made the sound of approval, for of course Ougebemat spoke the truth. The dream of a leader must be obeyed. A dream is more real than death or battle.
‘We must leave at once,’ Neehatin said. ‘The sorcerer, Mestigoit, is seven nights, maybe eight, from here. We will be in danger until we find him. We must travel as if there is a fire at our back. Agreed?’
All gave the guttural of assent. They rose. The parley was over. Neehatin felt the muscles of his neck tremble with tension and pulled his chin down lest Chomina notice, Chomina who watched other men as a hunter watches for a movement which will tell him when to strike. But Chomina did not know that the dream had told Neehatin nothing, that it was Neehatin’s wife who said the serpent meant a sorcerer.
And at that moment, aware that – while these men did not know he had not spoken the truth – the river, the forest, the animals they would hunt all knew his lie, Neehatin looked again at the forest and felt great fear. And again the forest spoke, reassuring him. Smile upon the Blackrobe, the forest said.
I have done so, Neehatin told the trees. He turned and signalled to the women who had come up. ‘Take down the birch bark. Load the canoes. Hurry.’
3
In the next four days, the Savages paddled from dawn to dusk. They did not stop to eat or even to relieve themselves; to Laforgue’s disgust, while in the canoes they urinated into the kettles used for cooking food. When Laforgue wished to defecate, the Algonkin who acted as lead paddler in his canoe signalled him to do so off the rear of the craft. And so, in shame among the gibes of the children and to the amusement of the women, he must bare his buttocks to the wind. The Savages, foul-mouthed as always, called out jokes and insults, some of which he did not catch, but those he heard made him wince; one woman yelling, ‘Look at his white bum,’ and another, ‘Show us your prick, Nicanis’; and yet, with all this banter, their paddling did not cease and the canoe was not allowed to fall behind the others. The Savages’ strength amazed him; they paddled in relays, never shirking their turn. His shoulders ached and his arms felt as though they had been wrenched on a rack. But he remembered Father Brabant’s warning: ‘When you take up a paddle in their canoes, do not lay it down until you have done your share. If you do, they will despise you.’ And so, hour after hour, in pain, he toiled with them, smiling as they insulted him. There was no harm in these insults. They insulted each other ceaselessly but did not take offence. In Québec, when he had first studied their language, he had been warned by Father Bourque of their habit of answering questions about the word ‘God’ or ‘heaven’ by giving as the equivalent some foul word like fuck or cunt. And so, said Father Bourque, we must be constantly on guard against this and learn well all the filthy words they employ. Now, to his shame, these words were often the only part of a Savage sentence which made sense to his failing ears.
Each night at the onset of darkness, the canoes landed. A fire was lit and the foul corn gruel called sagamité was cooked over an open fire. It tasted, to Laforgue, like watery glue, yet he must eat it or starve. The Savages no longer thought of hunting. When they had eaten, they crept into the night’s makeshift habitation and slept until the hour before dawn, when they rose, ate some of the cold sagamité left over from the night before and, collecting their belongings, knelt again in the canoe. Laforgue and Daniel, although weary and often faint, quickly accustomed themselves to this rhythm of travel and, like the Algonkin, passed the day mainly in silence, paddling, staring at the lank hair and tawny shoulders of the paddler ahead, travelling through landscapes which, hour after hour, day after day, never seemed to change.
On the evening of the fourth day, shortly before the canoes landed for the night, it began to rain. The Algonkin, on landing, at once put on the garments they wore in cold weather, long tunics and stockings made of moose skin which they tied around them with many thongs. Laforgue, stiff from his day’s work, stumbled and fell as he came up the riverbank. Daniel at once ran to him.
‘Are you all right. Father Paul?’
Laforgue smiled. ‘Even though I was trained to kneel for hours in the chapel, it seems I have lost the habit.’
As he and Daniel went on they saw, in a small knot near the trees, Chomina, Neehatin and the senior men, a strange sight in their moose-skin garments, their heads close in a parley. Neehatin turned and looked at the priest. His lips moved.
‘He is calling you,’ Daniel said. ‘Do you not hear him?’
‘Yes, yes, I hear him,’ Laforgue said, but saw only that the Savage moved his lips.
‘Come with me,’ Laforgue told Daniel. ‘You can help me speak with him.’
Neehatin came towards them in the rain, saying something Laforgue could not catch.
‘What does he say?’
‘He says they have paddled hard so that we will reach the rapids early, as Agnonha wishes. He asks that you give them thank-yous.’
‘Thank-yous?’
‘It’s the word they use when they want you to give them a gift.’
‘What thank-yous do you want?’ Laforgue said to the leader.
‘You have tobacco,’ Neehatin said. ‘We do not. With tobacco we will paddle hard and you will be pleased.’
‘But we are keeping the tobacco to trade on the Ottawa.’
Neehatin smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. ‘Khisakhiran,’ he said.
Khisakhiran was a phrase the Savages used to criticize the French for not sharing with others. Khisakhiran meant ‘You love it, you love it more than us.’ The Savages shared everything, even with strangers. But Laforgue remembered the Superior’s warning: ‘If you give to them what you have, they will ask and ask until they have taken all you own.’
‘What if I give a pipeful to each?’ Laforgue asked Neehatin, smiling to show he was not offended at the insult.
But the Algonkin shook his head and said contemptuously, ‘Sakhita.’ It meant, ‘Since you love it, then love it.’ He walked away.
‘He is offended, Father.’
‘I know he is offended. I am not deaf.’
‘If we do not share with them,’ Daniel said, ‘how can we expect them to share with us?’
Laforgue felt himself flush. Why is it that this boy, barely twenty, feels he can lecture me on how to deal with the Savages? ‘All right,’ he said angrily. He called after Neehatin. ‘Neehatin, forgive me. Please take the tobacco.’
The Savage stopped, then turned around, staring at Laforgue. Inexplicably, he burst into laughter.
‘I am sorry,’ Laforgue said again.
‘We will smoke,’ Neehatin said and smiled. He called to the women. ‘Get the tobacco from Nicanis’s canoe. Now we will truly smoke.’
Two young girls ran down to Laforgue’s canoe and began to undo one of the bundles. ‘It’s the wrong bundle,’ Laforgue said to Daniel. ‘What if they find the altar wine?’
At once, Daniel ran to the canoe and, laughing, slapped a tall slender girl, who was undoing the bundle which contained vestments, missals and the altar wine. Laughing, the girl hit Daniel, who caught hold of her and pulled her to the bundle in which the tobacco was stored. Neehatin walked down to the canoe and took possession of the small bale of tobacco which Laforgue had counted on to help them pay the Allumette people for their help in portages on the upper river. A cry of joy went up.
The priest turned, walked away and, under the shelter of the trees, took out his breviary. The rain had almost ceased. As he read his office, his weariness was such that his eyes closed and he fell asleep. When he woke, the fires were lit and the cooked sagamité was being apportioned. The men and the older women lay around smoking their pipes. Laforgue pulled his cloak around him. He was hungry, but the thought of sagamité repelled him. He rose and, taking his knife, began to cut some spruce branches and arrange them in a pallet under the shelter of a large tree. As he did, someone came towards him in the darkness. It was Daniel.
‘What are you doing, Father Paul?’
‘I thought I would sleep out here for a change.’
‘Why?’
‘I have trouble with my sleep in the habitation. The stink, the noise, the things that go on in there.’
‘What things?’ Daniel stared at the priest.
‘Have you not seen? Better you should not. I am not happy that you sleep there either. Especially you.’
‘Why especially me?’
‘The Savages are like dogs. They have no—’ He felt himself flush. These were things he did not want to put into words.
‘But we cannot sleep outside,’ Daniel said. ‘It may rain again. If we fall sick, the Algonkin will not help us.’
‘They would not leave us.’
‘But they would not help us. We must fend for ourselves. That is their way. And something is wrong. Haven’t you noticed?’
‘Wrong?’
‘Why are we travelling like this? I heard Chomina’s wife say that we must travel like this for three more days.’
‘Merciful God,’ Laforgue said. ‘Can we stand it?’
‘We must,’ the boy said. ‘Besides, it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You told me we are late in starting on the journey.’
‘By my map,’ Laforgue said, ‘in three days we should reach the first falls. Perhaps that is what they have in mind.’
‘I don’t know,’ the boy said. ‘But they are worried about something. Look, it’s raining again. Let’s go in.’
And so, in company with Daniel, Laforgue entered the stinking habitation. Within minutes dogs scrambled over him, walking on his stomach. He struck out, crying, ‘Aché, aché,’ the words the Savages used to drive dogs off, but it was useless. The Savages did not feed their animals in any regular manner, and these last days, with no hunting, there were no scraps and so, hungry and restless, the dogs stuck their snouts in and out among the sleeping bodies. A child bawled. Laforgue drew his cloak over his face and covered his ears with his hands. As on previous nights, his whole body ached with grievous pain. I will never be able to sleep.
And, at once, he fell asleep.
*
When he woke again it was pitch dark. He uncovered his face and looked up at the opening which showed the sky. The moon had hidden itself. The habitation now slept the sleep of the predawn hour, the Savages huddled in a cohesive mass, like some great animal, twitching as though dreaming a collective dream. Laforgue moved stiffly, his shoulders in pain from his labours in the canoe. As he did, he saw that Daniel was no longer his sleepmate. In Daniel’s place a Savage woman lay, her face within inches of his, her mouth open, her breathing sonorous in a fluttering snore. Laforgue squirmed around and sat up, looking for Daniel. But in the darkness it was impossible to tell one body from another. Again he was nauseated by the smell. Perhaps Daniel went outside? Laforgue rose and, stumbling, trying not to walk on others, made his way to the flap which screened off the entrance.
Outside the night air was fresh as new wine. The great silence, the immensity of the sky, the clean smell of the forest, all were the delicious obverse of the cramped, fetid habitation. Above, amid trailing leaves of cloud, the moon slipped in and out of sight like some plump, mysterious fruit, its cold rays lighting the dark floor of the forest in a steely sheen. He looked around. He was alone.
