Crow winter, p.26
Crow Winter, page 26
I carefully and slowly push myself into a sitting position. Gus puts a few extra pillows behind me to prop me up comfortably. “He’s not wrong about that.”
“Yeah, I didn’t disagree with him.” Gus grabs the envelope sticking out of the bouquet and hands it to me. “He visited yesterday. Insisted that I give you this when you woke up. Here.”
I rip it open to find a handwritten letter. His penmanship is a bit messy, but his ancestor’s was worse.
Dear Hazel,
I need to start by saying I’m sorry. I should have listened to you, taken you seriously. It was foolhardy and stubborn of me to forget to properly consult with the people on whose land I was working. For that, I’m deeply sorry.
Please take this letter as my solemn vow to work to heal the scars that I helped to reopen and the new ones that we created with this unfortunate venture. If there is anything that I can do for you as things move forward, do not hesitate to contact me. I am in your debt.
Rest up. Get better. I hope to talk to you soon.
Kindest regards,
Thomas
Must’ve been hard for him to write this. Even if we were on two sides of a blurred line, I do feel bad for him. That night in the sweat, he was open and honest about wanting to make things right between our communities. I can only hope he’ll follow through with his promises.
I look over at Gus. “Wanna read it?”
He nods. “You have to ask?”
I’m quiet as I let him look it over.
“Huh,” Gus says when he finishes. “What are your thoughts on this?”
“Depends,” I say. “What did he look like when he came in to visit?”
Gus snorts. “Terrible. Sort of like he hadn’t slept a good night in a while. Probably from the stress and guilt of all his wabi-jishkish bullshit eating away at him.”
“Good. Then he’s taking this seriously. We better make sure we keep this letter. Might have to call him up in the future to cash in that vow of his.”
“Can do. I’m great at filing.”
“What happens with the land now?”
Gus shrugs. “I’ve been looking into it since you bugged me about it last month, and it turns out that it never belonged to Dad. Not the back part with the quarry and that freaky clearing, anyway.”
“Okay, what does that mean?”
“It means that the lot we’re on is unsurrendered, which, in turn, means that it still belongs to the Band. It’s Rez land and no one can move on the quarry without proper authorization and leasing, plain and simple.”
“So, what to do with it is up to the Chief and Council? Shit, they’re just going to give it back to Gagnon and charge him extra for its use.”
But Gus is shaking his head. “Nope. You see, in my digging—because I’m so good at my job—I found some old letters between the surveyor and an elder that state that everything back there is sacred ground. I have already taken the liberty of sending those documents to chief and Council as well as the rest of the Rez—you gotta love small-town post offices, just tell them you want this going to every Indian and they go ahead and send it off.”
“Wow, you’ve been busy.”
“I told you, I’m great at my job,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “I got a call last night from old Chief Brian Howard himself saying that they’ve elected to leave the final call up to us. Since it’s close to our house and any decision will likely have a pretty big impact on our family.”
I click my tongue. “You get knocked out for four days and you wake up to a different world.”
“Yeah, not the best time to take a leave of absence.”
I relax into the pillows, fold my hands on my lap. “What do you wanna do with it?”
“Robby and I were talking about it and he suggested—”
“Robby was here?”
“Hm? Yeah. Those lilies are from him.”
“Gee, that’s nice.”
“Are you blushing?”
“What? No. It’s hot in here. Open the window, will you?”
Gus eyes me, but he gets up and walks to the window anyway. “Now, what I was going to say was that Robby suggested that we go with a cultural centre. Or a camp. I’ve thought about it a lot already. We could use that big open space as the main campsite, maybe put up a few rough buildings. Then reopen the road that leads down to the water in the quarry, so people could use that for canoeing and maybe even swimming eventually.”
“Did you have any time to worry about me at all?”
He shrugs. “I hate not being busy. And, yeah, trust me, I was worried. Which is why I needed something to fill all the time I spent here. Hospitals are depressing as shit. If I was thinking about the quarry, then I wasn’t thinking about how my little sister’s brain was swelling.”
Instinctively, I reach up to touch my head.
“You’re okay now,” he says. “Recovered pretty quickly. Which is why you’re not wearing a breathing thingy. They said you were strong enough to go at it on your own.”
“And I slept through all of that?”
“You were sedated.”
“Oh, okay. That makes sense.”
Gus stretches and then looks at his watch. “Shit, I told Mom I’d go and get her the second you woke up. She’s going to be so pissed when she realizes you’ve been awake without her here.”
“Aha,” I say. “You’re gonna be in trouble.”
“Pfft, that’s nothing compared with how much trouble you’re in.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe take your time going to get her?”
He laughs and comes over to the edge of the bed. “Sure, I’ll try to buy you a few extra minutes.” Gus leans in and carefully wraps his arms around me, squeezes. His voice is quiet and serious in my ear. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
I hug him back. “I won’t. I promise.”
He pulls away and smiles, making his way to the door. Before leaving he turns to me once more: “It’s good to see you again, nishîmej.”
“K’zaagin, niseyens.”
Gus nods and shuts the door behind him.
I take time to stare at the flowers. There are cards that I can’t reach because of my IV, but I’m content to look at the blossoms for now. There’s a weight in my bones, aching from the stress and the trauma of my fall. Gus said I’m fine. I gingerly touch my head anyway. It’s ridiculous, but I keep thinking that it should feel big and swollen. Out of the corner of my eye I see a dark shape as it moves by the window. Nanabush pushes himself through the small open space and then flutters over to my bed. He folds his wings along his back and walks toward me. I smile.
“You’re still a crow.”
—And you’re still alive. You’re welcome for that.
I chuckle. “It’s very much appreciated.”
He hops a bit closer and inspects me, his head twitching left and then right. The light from the window catches in the silver streaking his feathers.
—It was worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Turns out you’re worth saving, Kotàganez-i Minisinòkwe.
“So are you, Nanabush Trickster. You have been the best teacher. All of this, I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He looks down to hide his face. I can feel him smiling.
—I think, perhaps, you’ve taught me more than I have you. Because of you, I know what it means to be human. He lifts his head, his grey eyes alight.
—Thank you, Hazel.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
He nods.
—A trickster’s work is never done.
“But what about your deal with the Seven?”
He shrugs.
—That is for them to decide.
“You earned it. You deserve the life that you asked for.”
—Time will tell.
“That’s a cliché. Time doesn’t tell us anything.”
—Perhaps that is because we aren’t patient enough?
“Ah, you sound like one of Them.”
—I’ll take that as a compliment.
We share a laugh and then one last silence. I reach out for him and he moves closer to me. Gently, I let my hand glide along his smooth feathers. They’re cool to the touch. I look down at him and smile despite my sadness.
—Màdjàshin, nishîmej.
The door opens and Mom explodes into the room and pulls me into her arms. I’m so startled that I hardly have time to bring my arms up to hug her back. I hope she hasn’t squished Nanabush.
“Oh my god, you crazy kid! Thank the Creator you are alive! What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Ow, Mom. You’re tugging on my IV.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry!” She leans back quickly, readjusting to sit on the bed beside me. “Hey, you spend all that time knocked out and now you won’t even look at me?”
I don’t see Nanabush. I look around the room, checking the shadows for movement or some sign that he’s simply slipped away, but there’s nothing. It’s a normal room in the ICU. He’s gone.
“Hey,” says Mom, reaching out to put her hand under my chin. She lifts my gaze to hers. There are tears in her eyes and she looks older. “I was only kidding with all that crazy talk. I’m just glad you’re okay. You are okay, right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” I give her a smile. “I’m okay.”
“Good.” She lets me go and leans back to look me over. “What’s that you got there?”
I look down. There’s something dark between my fingers. Slowly, I open my hand. A single inky black feather is sitting on my palm. Mom starts to laugh as I pick it up, twirling the feather between my thumb and forefinger.
“Looks like I’ll be putting some tobacco down for a trickster. That old Nanabush took good care of you, didn’t he?”
A real smile parts my lips. I nod. “He did.”
I bring the feather up to my eyes and watch the way the silver shimmers like lightning in the night.
Epilogue
An Old Crow
Smoke rises from the earth of Spirit Bear Point First Nation. It billows into the sky like thin, dark clouds from flames that are carefully watched over by keepers of less-than-sacred fires in nearly every backyard of the community. The annual burning of the grass has become a ritual for the people of the reserve. Something that they do every year to mark the change of the seasons. The snow may have melted, but the Algonquins know that the winter isn’t truly gone until the first fires have been lit.
Spring has arrived.
The sun beats down from a clear sky, making the shadows of the budding trees dance along blackened grass. For what feels like the first time in months, the air is warm and smells of fresh earth and running water. Black-capped chickadees sing gleefully from the treetops.
Hazel Ellis steps out of the Band Office and into the sunlight. She smiles and waves goodbye to her co-workers as they head home for the day. She doesn’t hear them whisper about her as they step into their vehicles. As with most things on the reserve, feelings toward her actions have been divided. Some view her as a hero who did what was necessary of a modern-day protector of Mother Earth. Others think she’s batshit crazy.
More importantly, Hazel is happy. Leaving the dusty boxes and old letters behind is her favourite part of the day. She buttons up her denim jacket, stuffs her hands into her pockets, and begins her walk home. The co-workers who drive to work from their homes down the street think it’s a bit of a trek, but Hazel doesn’t mind. She likes the time to herself. And now that the spring grass fires have officially begun, she enjoys being outside.
The past few weeks of work have been the best Hazel has ever had. She splits her time between filing the archives of the Lands and Memberships department and consulting with the new project manager in charge of building the cultural centre. Joni Kitchisabek continues to repair the accidental rift she created between herself and Hazel by working closely with the young Anishnaabekwe on all new projects. Hazel has long since forgiven her missteps, knowing full well that Joni acted innocently and with good intentions, even if those actions almost caused a spiritual cataclysm. Fielding daily apologies is nothing new for Hazel, as she now works alongside her one-time adversary Thomas Gagnon. He has since become an integral part of the construction of the new cultural centre. As a means of reparation, his company offered to do all they could to ensure a safe and sustainable build. Gagnon et Fils lost a fair bit of money to their failed development of the land, but to the young CEO, investing in the proper future of the community provided more than enough reason to continue. Thomas apologizes to Hazel at every chance he gets since he still feels responsible for the way things unfolded at the quarry. She’s accepted his apology countless times but is considering taking it all back should he continue to annoy her with his constant I’m-so-sorrys.
With the late-afternoon sunlight on her skin, Hazel takes in a slow, controlled deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs with the scent of rainstorm and fiery grass. She has plans to head into town with her mother this evening, rekindling their shared love of new books and old memories. Nora has found a peace in her solitude that she had been missing since losing her husband. Having her daughter home has helped. The Ellis women are not fully whole, but they are healing. Together.
Hazel heads home along her favourite route, through the trailer park. Last season’s dead yellow grass is already peppered with tiny green shoots. The dust of the gravel from the dirt roads curving around each of the long homes is weighed down with water from the spring rains. A little white dog on a porch barks at Hazel as she walks by. The old woman sitting on a rocking chair next to the dog gives the girl a wave. Hazel waves back.
A small cloud glides past the sun, shining light on the trailer at the far end. Until recently, it sat empty, left to gather dust year in and year out. It’s true, there was a housing shortage on the reserve, but no matter how desperate the people might get, no one wanted to live in the trailer park. The roofs leak and the windows let too much cold inside in the winter months. But to someone who has been without a home for so very long, it is perfect.
An older man is sitting on the front porch of the last trailer on the lot. He has long, black hair streaked with silver, high cheekbones, and a prominent nose that sits on a face with rich copper skin. There are lines on his face, but not enough to tell his age. When he smiles, crow’s feet walk next to his eyes, which are both wise and youthful. Tobacco smoke rises from the ornately decorated pipe between his teeth. Above him, perched on the eaves of his trailer, two crows keep watch. The black birds stretch their talons. The larger crow adjusts on the eave and preens the feathers of his sister bird. They open their beaks and caw, sending their strong voices echoing into the spring air.
Hazel meets the man’s gaze and she stops. He needs no introduction.
She smiles and nods.
He nods back.
The crows take flight, soaring higher and higher into the sky until they are little more than two black pinpricks against a sheet of blue.
Wayekwàshkàn
Author’s Note on Language
The language spoken by the people of Spirit Bear Point First Nation is Anishnaabemowin and, where possible, follows the dialect of my home reserve, Timiskaming First Nation. We don’t speak the Language like we used to at home, but through the dedicated work of elders and teachers at Kiwetin Kikinamading, we are helping cultivate that knowledge in future generations. Hazel’s Anishnaabemowin might not be perfect, but it is present and eager to be heard. The translations are taken from the Anishinabe Kegonan Masinazowin Mazinahigan (Algonquin Picture Dictionary) compiled by the Algonquin-Anishinabeg Nation, the Algonquin Lexicon compiled by Ernest McGregor, accessed from the collections of the Algonquin Nation Secretariat, and with great help from elder Bertha Chief. Chi’Meegwetch!
àgawàdiz-ikwe: crazy woman (roughly)
Anangininî: Star-man (roughly)
àndeg: crow
anganeshà: Englishman
animizie: bothersome (literal translation); playful, scamp (chiding term of endearment)
Anishnaabe(g): the People (plural)
Anishnaabekwe: woman
Anishnaabemowin: the Language
binòdjish: kid or child
dodem: clan
enhenh: yes
G’tchi Manitou: The Great Spirit
gashkenindam: sorry
gôkom: grandma
kakagi: raven
Kakone gîzis: September
Kaye Mâmâ: Mom
Kaye We’osimidj: Dad
kòpàdiz-i: stupid
Kotàganez-i Minisinòkwe: Fierce Warrior-Woman (roughly)
k’zaagin: I love you
màdjàshin: goodbye
madòdison: sweat lodge
madònewàbik: heated stone used in a sweat lodge
màg: loon
makwa: bear
manidò: spirit
meegwetch: thank you
migizî: eagle
minwa pijawok: welcome
nibi: water
nidànis: my daughter
nidijinikaz: My name is (introduction)
niseyens: older brother
Nish: shorthand slang for Anishnaabe
nishîmej: little sister
noshis: granddaughter
ogâs: pickerel
ogima: chief
onadotân: listens
sasàgiwichígewin: sacrifice
semà: tobacco
tagwagin: Fall
tcinedagan: relatives, family
wabi-jishkish: White asshole (slang)
Wabi-Mahigan: White Wolf (roughly)
Wàwàsamòg Kekinàmàgedji: Lightning Teacher
Wâwâshkeshîkwe: Deer Woman (roughly)
wayekwàshkàn: to reach the end
wemitigòji: Frenchman
wîgwas: birchbark
THE SEVEN GRANDFATHER TEACHINGS
Gweyâkwâdiziwin: Honesty
Kaye Nibwâkawin: Wisdom
Manadji’idiwin: Respect
Sagi’idiwin: Love
Sôginijiwin: Bravery
Tabasenimidiwin: Humility
Tebwewin: Truth
