Nish, p.11
Nish, page 11
I get to the net, fake a first shot, and the goalie raises his glove. I take advantage of the moment to shoot between his legs. The puck ends up in the back of the net. It’s 4–4. There are ten minutes left in this last period. That’s when I understand the expression “you can cut the air with a knife.” The atmosphere in the arena is so intense, it’s as if you could cut it into small pieces. I notice my father’s and grandfather’s caps on the ice. It’s my third goal of the game. The referees pick up the caps and bring them to the coach saying, “These are yours, I believe.”
“Sam, Leon, you’re resting on this one.”
“I want to stay, Coach. I feel great.”
I feel the north wind supporting me. My legs skate with a lightness I have never felt before. If only my mother and Eloise were here …
Center faceoff. The player of the opposing team throws me a “You again?” look. In response, I smile at him, tilting my head to the side as if to say “Yeah!” I have my father’s face in mind. The faceoff is fiercely contested. The puck slides to the left. The opposing winger grabs it and goes to the net. Our defender stops him by pushing his stick, and the referee whistles a penalty for obstruction to our player, who goes to the penalty box. No time to wonder if the penalty was really deserved. It’s still 4–4.
The faceoff is in the opponent’s zone this time. I grab the puck without giving the Wendake center a chance to blink. I go around the net and pass to Elliott, who goes to the goal. The puck is stopped by an opposing defender, who passes to his center. Unfortunately for them, I’m between the two players, and I grab the puck. The two defenders rush me, and I can barely keep the puck. Sam, who is back, gets involved and manages to take it. I break free. A pass to the right to Ambroise, and the puck finds the back of the net once again. It’s 5–4 for us. I hear a drum in the stands, but I don’t knowing where it’s coming from. This time I go to the bench.
“Okay, guys, let’s focus!” says Joce, who is getting used to his role as assistant coach.
Sam is in the middle, in a five-on-four that goes on forever. I can see that the guys are tired against an opposing team that still has all its resources. At that moment, I tell myself that whatever happens, we’re winners. The opposing center grabs the puck, goes around our players one by one, and takes a slapshot that must be going 100 kilometres per hour. The puck finds the back of the net, past our goalie, who was a bit overwhelmed by the force of the shot. It’s 5–5.
“Leon, are you ready?”
“Yes, Coach!”
To be honest, my thighs are hurting, but I think about my father and I’m okay. There are less than six minutes left in the game. Coach tells us to play defence. That’s what we do. The regulation time ends with a score of 5–5. Overtime will begin in one minute.
I barely have time to take a sip of water.
At the drop of the puck, Sam is still at center, with me in the wing position. He wins the faceoff, passes to me on the left. I take the puck back and give a few pushes to center ice. I pass back to Sam, who tries to pass to our other winger. The center, blond, curly-haired “You Again” sneaks in between the two, grabs the puck, and races into the opposing zone. He shoots. He scores!
The crowd roars like a lion, and the cheers and shouts go on and on. Everyone is on their feet. I look at my family, also standing, cheering loudly. I hear a few sticks from my teammates hit the ice as a sign of resentment.
Coach approaches us. “Guys, I’m proud of you! You did everything right. We played together and had fun. That’s what matters.”
Both teams come to center ice for the presentation of medals and trophies by the Grand Chief, a short, balding man in his late sixties. He asks for a microphone, which is a bit unusual, judging by the looks of the fans and organizers.
“My friends, first of all, I would like to congratulate both teams for their excellent play and, of course, Wendake for its victory. I must acknowledge the four goals by number twenty-one of Matimekush, who also happens to be a Wendat, Leon McKenzie. You have a lot of talent, Leon! For those who don’t know, this is the first year that the Matimekush Innu have played in a minor hockey tournament. Four years ago, many of these players had never played hockey. Some had never even skated. It is very impressive to see how far they have come in such a short time. I would like to thank them warmly for their participation and tell them that they can go home with their heads held high. We expect them next year for their rematch!”
After the handshakes and trophy presentation, the entire team heads to the locker room. No one talks, and the guys look really disappointed, heads down as they take off their gear. Little Sam is even crying. The coach closes the door.
“I know you’re disappointed. We came very close. But we can hold our heads high. Earlier, I was listening to the Grand Chief speak and I want to tell you this. I want to talk to you about the difference between equality and equity. You will understand what I am getting at. Old Arthur taught me this, a good Elder’s lesson, and I think it’s time I taught it to you.”
The coach pauses for a moment, taking on a solemn air, before continuing.
“You’ve all seen the races at the Olympics on TV. Let’s take the example of runners sprinting on an oval track. You know what track I mean? Normally, all runners would have the same starting point. Obvious, right? Actually, no, because the track is oval. Runners in the inner lanes have some advantage over runners in the outer lanes. In this example, starting from the same point, being equal, does not give fair results. What does this have to do with us?
“As the Grand Chief said, we haven’t played hockey since we were four years old like they have. We didn’t even have an arena five years ago. We’re starting from much, much farther back. It’s like we’re in the outer lane, but we crossed the finish line a thousandth of a second behind our opponent, who won by the tip of a sneaker. Isn’t that good?”
The coach is now wearing a big smile. He continues. “At the beginning, we didn’t have the same opportunities, we didn’t have the same shoes and we had a longer lane. It wasn’t equal. If we had skated like them for ten years, if there had been fairness, because that’s what fairness is, everyone in the same lane and the same practice, what do you think would have happened? Well yeah, we would have won. Now, I don’t want to see any more sad faces. I want you guys to be proud of yourselves. I’ve never been prouder to be your coach than I am today. And Leon, your father should be proud of you. You’re not only a passer, you’re a scorer! Joce, watch your post next year! Elliott, Sam, everyone else, I am so proud of you.”
With that, Joce motions for me to take my side of the Gatorade barrel, and we pour whatever is left over the coach’s head. The floor literally turns orange, and the coach’s jersey too. Good thing there wasn’t much left in the barrel! All the players come up to congratulate the coach, and Joce turns up the volume on the radio while the assistant coach mops up. The coach opens the door. I see my father, who grabs my hands, his eyes shining with pride. One, two, then three players start clapping, followed by the coaches. The moment is magical. I wish my mother and sister were here.
19 We know each other better than they do. We always play together. Let’s go, let’s use this!
20 Come on!
21 Let’s do this for my dad!
ELOISE
Tonight Espaces autochtones, a division of Radio-Canada dedicated to Indigenous news, is featuring our story and video on its website. The journalist, Mr. Biron, even emailed me to thank me and congratulated me for the video.
To mark the event, which has become the talk of the community in just a few hours, my mother takes the sisters and me to dinner at Blabla. As we arrive, people turn to look at us. We know everyone at least by sight, but it’s still cool!
“Are you the ones who made the video we’re seeing everywhere?” says a man sitting at the counter.
“Yes, that’s us,” says Ati, stopping in front of him.
“That’s great work! It’s time they clean up after themselves,” the waitress adds, before bringing us Cokes that we hadn’t even ordered.
I look at my mother, who raises her eyebrows, as if to say, Fine, just this once, and I pull the can toward me.
After Mom and I drop the sisters off at their houses at the end of the evening, she turns to me and says, “I’m proud of you, Elo.” I don’t tell her that it was my dream, like a feeling, an impulse, that made me go and see this site. It’s too weird.
As I enter our house, I hear the phone ring. I rush to answer it.
“Wow, sis, you’ve got everyone talking about you, eh? You don’t want me to forget you, is that it?”
“Funny …”
“Wait, I’ll put Dad on. I have to get ready and find a place in my luggage for the finalists’ TRO-PHY from the tournament,” he says, emphasizing each syllable.
“Leon! I forgot. I’m sorry. Tell me all about it.”
My brother is already off the line. I hope he’s not angry. It’s just that with all that’s going on, my mind is elsewhere.
“Hello, sweetheart! Wow! What a feat! Your video! You’re practically a journalist!”
“Thanks, Dad. How are you doing?”
“I’m just like new! Or almost. How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine. We just got back from Blabla.”
“Great! Did you hear about your brother’s final? It was something.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t really had time to talk to Leon about it. Is he still there?”
“Leon, tshitaimikaun!”22 yells my dad.
22 Leon, phone!
Chapter 8
The Honours
ELOISE
The class is a little restless this morning in anticipation of the video presentations. I’m also quite excited. Our video was seen all over Quebec, and I’m pretty proud of us. The teacher saved us for last. I’m sitting impatiently.
“And now, last but not least, the video by Eloise, Atikush and Melina. We’ve seen some of it in the media, but we’re all looking forward to seeing the rest of your work. Melina, can you give us an introduction?”
Melina gets up and heads to the front of the class, and then Ati and I join her.
“Yeah. We decided to make a comparison between the North and the South. There are funny bits and parts that are more …”
“Dramatic!” I say.
“Yes, that’s right, Eloise, dramatic, as you all know.”
“Elo, can you start the video?” asks Meli with a wave of her hand.
I do it right away.
“Kueï, friends from the South! Today we are going to introduce you to our community, Matimekush-Lac-John. First of all, what we just said was ‘Hello, friends from the South,’ in our language, the Innu language. Here, people speak Innu, French, English, and even a little Naskapi. Our village is located north of the fifty-fifth parallel, as you can see on the map …”
Just as Atikush says this, my brother, Joce, Sam, Elliott and the others enter the classroom. All the students start to applaud them. The coach has arranged for them to have a day off. They’ve just come back from the band council, where the Chief and councillors have congratulated them.
“Welcome back, boys. Congratulations on your medal! We were watching Atikush, Melina and Eloise’s video. You have been given a little reprieve, but you’ll have to present something too! Let’s say next week? Okay, let’s try this again!”
“Can we start from the beginning so the guys can see it too?”
“Yes, good idea!”
When we get to the part where we show the dump, Joce straightens up, his eyes full of questions. Even like this, he’s handsome. It’s probably because he didn’t see this sequence on TV — he was too busy with the tournament in Quebec City. Then comes the ice cream scene. Everyone in the class is laughing. And honestly, it really is funny. Atikush is a real clown! Then there is the visit to the clinic and the band council. It looks like the employees are almost hiding. I should have added something about the shyness of the Innu. I’m not shy. I don’t think Ati is either. It doesn’t run in the family, I guess.
Mr. Théberge gives out the marks after each presentation. He gives us twenty out of twenty, with special mention for originality and enthusiasm. He insists on repeating that this is the kind of video that should, with your parents’ permission, be put on YouTube so that people from the South can better understand life in our northern community.
I’ve thought about that a lot …
The day ends with the same joy as it began. The sun is beating down as we leave school, and Joce is walking home with my brother and me.
I have a plan to get my mother to agree to let me put the video on YouTube — and then some others maybe.
As I help my mother with dinner, I initiate the conversation. “Mom, you know the video that Meli, Atikush and I made for our geography homework, the one about the dump?”
“Yes, of course!”
“Well, the idea, was to introduce our community to the rest of the world. We got twenty out of twenty.”
“Well done, my dear! It’s well deserved with all that you’ve done.”
“Thank you. But that’s not what I want to tell you. In fact, Mr. Théberge suggested that with parental permission, we put the best videos online on YouTube on a channel that he would create for our school. Is that okay with you?”
“Uh, well … I’d have to see the video first.”
“Well, yes, Mom. You would.”
“It’s a good idea though, presenting Matimekush to the world,” she added, taking a large dish out of the cupboard.
With that, Leon comes up from the basement, followed by Joce.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Hello, Charlotte!” says Joce.
“Elo, can we see your video again?” my brother asks, searching for my tablet with his eyes.
“You need to get inspired, right?” I reply, grabbing my bag.
“Yes, that’s right, by the best,” adds Joce. “We need to get started. We’ve hardly done anything.”
“What are you going to talk about?” asks my mother.
“I think we’ll talk about sports.”
“Oh yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“Well, where’s your video?” my brother insists, trying to unlock my tablet.
“Wait, I don’t want you to know my password.”
I take my tablet and type in my password.
“Okay. We’re going downstairs, Mom,” says my brother, already on the stairs.
“Uh, no. I’m going with you guys.”
“Do you have something to hide, Elo?” Joce teases me. I feel myself blushing up to my ears.
“Well, okay, but you’re just watching the video, right?” I warn them as I pull myself together.
“Jocelyn, are you staying for dinner?”
“Yeah, I’d love to. Especially since it smells like lasagna.”
“You’ve got a good nose!” my mother observes as the two guys go down to the basement.
I stay upstairs to set the table. There’ll be four of us for dinner and I’m very happy. Joce will sit in my father’s place. I wonder what my father is eating tonight. Probably nothing because he had chemotherapy today.
I haven’t seen him in over a month. I miss him. Everyone is always asking me when he’s coming back, telling me they’re waiting for him to fix this or that, to change the shingles on the roof … I miss his smile, his warmth and his teasing the most. My mother is more serious. My father is always in a good mood, as if there were never any problems.
“Elo, can you come?” my brother shouts from the basement.
“Okay!” I say quickly as I run down the stairs. “What’s the matter? Joce, you’re white as a sheet. Did you see a ghost?”
“Stop fooling around and sit down, Elo,” my brother orders me, waving me on.
“Come on! What’s wrong with you? It’s Dad, isn’t it? He’s not well and you wanted to wait until you got here to tell me?” I say, a little panicked.
“No, Dad’s still fine, under the circumstances. I told you the truth. It’s your video that’s the problem.”
“The video? What’s wrong with it? What’s the problem?”
I don’t understand. I’m waiting for the next part, curious to know what’s going on. It seems that my brother is stretching the time on purpose.
Joce speaks up. “In Quebec City, we slept in the school gym, so when your video of the dump was on the news, I didn’t see it. Leon told me about it, but it was only earlier in class that I saw it. I thought I recognized something.”
“Something like what?”
“Look here, the yellow thing,” Leon continues, pointing to the image.
“We took a screenshot and enlarged it. Look at this,” says Joce.
“Yeah, it looks like a piece of a snowmobile,” I concede, still not understanding what the guys are getting at.
“Yes, the hood especially,” says Joce.
“And?” I ask them, raising my hands in a questioning manner.
“You see that long grey star there?”
“Yes, the logo?”
“No, that’s just it. There’s no logo on this kind of snowmobile. The only time I’ve ever seen that was on my cousin John’s snowmobile.”
“John? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve driven his snowmobile a few times.” Joce seems confident.
All sorts of questions are running through my head. “Well, what’s it doing there if it’s his snowmobile?”
“That’s what I want to know, Elo.”
“And so do I,” adds my brother.
“We need to talk to Mom about this,” I say, standing up with a jerk.
“Hold on, Elo,” Joce says, placing his hand on my arm. “I want to be absolutely sure first. My mom has at least one picture of John on his snowmobile. Maybe the star is in it. We can compare.”
