Reading the Bones (10 page)

I pushed back the chair and stomped out of the kitchen. I knew if I stayed there another minute I wouldn't be able to control what I said or did.

“What about your supper?” my aunt called after me.

I ran into my room and slammed the door. Aunt Margaret was so unfair, and she always treated me like a little kid. No matter how long I lived with her things would never be any different.

“I've got to get away from here,” I growled out loud. “I don't care what Mom says. I'm not going to live with Aunt Margaret anymore.” I turned over and buried my face in my pillow to stop myself from crying. Everything in my head was swirling around madly — visions of Mrs. Hobbs waiting for me, my aunt barking orders, Mr. Grimbal smirking. Then I remembered the little carved face I'd found less than an hour before. I pulled it from my pocket. As I held it between my thumb and forefinger, I wondered about the small hole at the top. It reminded me of the hole in the skull Eddy had shown me earlier. At that moment I realized the little carving was a pendant.

I imagined a leather string bearing the little face. Maybe the necklace had been around the man's neck when he was buried. Did men wear necklaces back then? He was a carver. Did he make it himself? Or was it a gift?

Soon I was enveloped by a wave of exhaustion and felt myself slipping down a dark hole like Alice in Wonderland chasing after the rabbit. I tucked the small carved stone under my pillow and closed my eyes.

Shuksi'em is surprised how well his hands feel today. He is glad, for this is the day he begins carving with the black stone. Carefully, he removes the fragile slate-like rock from the wet deerskin. His fingers tingle with excitement, for this strange new thing is just what he desired for the gift he is making for Sleek Seal, his granddaughter. He studies the

grain in the stone. Shuksi'em must first see the carving in his mind and then he will know where to make the cuts. The Chinook told him the stone came from far away, over the mountains and past the sea. They said that the people of the stone called it Kwawhlhal. Shuksi'em thinks it a strange word indeed. He traded a deerskin and many dried salmon to obtain the stone. But he does not mind. It is a small price to pay for such a jewel.

The stone is soft, and Shuksi'em must be careful as he carves. He is using his best shell knife to scrape at the course edges, slowly smoothing and rounding them. The vision in his mind grows clearer as the stone begins to take form. This small amulet will hang around the neck of his granddaughter, who is soon to have her passage to womanhood ceremony. Shuksi'em wills the protecting spirit to enter this gift with each careful stroke.

Though he must not speak of it, Sleek Seal is his special granddaughter. Shuksi'em sees in her the best of his people. He laughs inside as he thinks how often she surpasses her brothers at catching fish from the shore. Or how clever she is with hunting the small animals close to camp. No one taught her these things — for girls were not made for such work — but she always watches her uncles carefully and learns.

Even more unusual are Sleek Seal's stories. Many times in a day the young ones ask her to tell them tales. Some are the ones she has heard from him. But others are not familiar to their village. They come from inside her.

Shuksi'em remembers when Sleek Seal reached her ninth summer. The women turned her attention to new tasks. She was quick to learn their work — making flour from fern roots, weaving spruce roots tight enough to hold
water, fashioning string from nettle fibres and knives from mussel shells. Now she is very clever at making her own clothing of cedar bark, skins, and fur. And her aunts are very surprised at how easily she can beach a canoe without getting wet.

But no matter how busy the women keep her, Sleek Seal finds moments to slip away to visit her grandfather. And at night she never misses his stories.

Now Shuksi'em labours greatly over his gift. He wants its power to protect his young granddaughter who has been made an offer of marriage by a young man from another village. If her parents accept the offer at the fall clan gathering, Sleek Seal will leave her family's clan house to join his. She has objected to the match, but the matter is not up to her. Though this granddaughter is in her thirteenth summer, Shuksi'em thinks she may not be ready. He has spoken to the girl's father, who promises to consider the proposal carefully.

Nevertheless, Sleek Seal's passage ceremony will take place soon, and she is preparing for the dances. Shuksi'em will make sure the pendant is ready. Besides having protective powers, it must be beautiful. When his work is complete, he will take it to the shaman for a blessing.

“Hello, Grandfather,” comes the sweet, familiar voice from behind.

Shuksi'em manages to slip the precious stone and his carving knife under his cedar blanket quickly.

“I've brought you some of the fresh salmon berries you like so much.” Sleek Seal says, placing the small wooden bowl filled with the delicious pink pearls into her grandfather's lap. Gently, she slides herself close to his side and pulls from her leather pouch a ball of matted hairs from the woolly
dog. She plucks at the fine hairs, then begins twining them into long, soft strings. The two sit silently side by side, happy in each other's company.

I woke early to the sound of fat raindrops pelting against my window. I couldn't go back to sleep because the resentment I'd gone to bed with the night before was still there, filling me with a darkness blacker than the clouds outside. So I stayed in bed, feeling tense and raw, wishing as never before that I was far away from here and back with my mother.

The phone rang, and I waited for my aunt to answer it. I was afraid I'd sent thought waves to my mom and now she was calling. I knew if I talked to her she'd hear something in my voice and start asking questions.

I tensed when I heard my aunt cross the hall and open my bedroom door.

“Peggy, that was the sailing instructor on the phone. He says it's too stormy for sailing today and cancelled the lesson.”

My hands relaxed, but I didn't say anything to Aunt Margaret. I turned over in my bed and heard her quietly back out of the room and shut the door.

When I decided to get up and dress, I opened the top drawer and was surprised to see rows of clean, paired socks. The other drawers were full of neat piles of pants and T-shirts, too. I remembered taking the large mound of dirty clothes down to the laundry room the other day, but never gave any thought as to how it would get clean
and back in my drawers. Now everything I owned was tidy and folded — just the way my aunt liked it. I pulled everything out and mixed it all up, then stuffed the heap back into the drawers.

I decided to go over to Mrs. Hobbs's house first thing and explain about the night before. I hoped she wouldn't feel disappointed with me. I wondered if I should tell her about finding the ancient pendant and Mr. Grimbal's sudden visit — and the big fight I'd had with Aunt Margaret. Maybe if she knew how unhappy I was she'd invite me to stay with her.

As I slipped into my clothes, I had visions of Mrs. Hobbs adopting me as her granddaughter. We could collect shells together and make necklaces. And she'd always bake double chocolate chip cookies and berry pies for me. And I would live happily ever after. “Right!” I said out loud as I snapped myself out of the daydream. “Things never work out that well for you.”

When I entered the kitchen, I heard my aunt's and uncle's hushed voices coming from the living room. I pulled on my old windbreaker and quietly slipped out the back door. When I stepped out into the chilly wind and steady drizzle of rain, I realized my worn-out jacket wouldn't keep me warm. But there was no way I was going back inside the house.

As I walked down Kidd Street and over to Agar, I felt as if I were wandering through a ghost town. All the streets were deserted, and even the gulls were nowhere to be seen. I tucked my arms close around me and ducked my head low. When I got to Mrs. Hobbs's front door, there were no warm smells of fresh cookies or a kindly voice talking to Chester. I rang the doorbell twice
and heard it echo inside the house. When there was no answer, I tried pounding the door with my fist.

After waiting a long time, I walked back out to the road and headed toward Blackie's Spit, even though the storm was now whipping at the trees and rattling windows. I knew it was unlikely, but I still hoped I'd find her out on the sandbars looking for shells, with Chester waddling behind. When I reached the end of the narrow finger of land, I wasn't surprised that no one was around. I turned back into the full force of the cold wind. For a few moments I opened my jacket and held my arms out wide to see if the gale would lift me into the sky like a kite — an unanchored kite tossed around the atmosphere, being pulled farther and farther from Earth.

With nowhere else to go, I went back home. When I came into the kitchen, I noticed a book sitting on the table. A wild, stunning wolf on the cover jumped off the jacket at me. I read the words framing the eerie mask:
Cultures of the North Pacific Coast
by Philip Drucker. It was an old book, worn at the corners, and many of the pages had been dog-eared with pencilled notes in the margin.

“Peggy, have you been out wandering around in this storm?” Aunt Margaret gasped when she came into the kitchen. “I thought you were still upstairs in bed sleeping.” Then she noticed me staring at the book on the table. “Dr. McKay dropped that off for you. She thought you might be interested in looking at it.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“Not much, just that she'd wait until the weather improved to come back and finish the excavation. Do you feel better now that you've had a chance to speak to Mrs. Hobbs?”
“She wasn't home,” I said without looking up from the book.

“That's too bad, but I'm sure she'll understand when you get a chance to explain.”

“Yeah, you're right. She'll understand because she gets me.” I avoided my aunt's hurt expression and opened the book to the index in the back. There was a long list of references to the Coast Salish, like dance ceremonies, kinship structures, potlatches. I flipped to the section on potlatches. I already knew that the word meant
gift
and that they were traditional gatherings where people of different villages came together for days of ceremonies and feasting to honour someone who died or a chief who wanted his status to be recognized. I always thought it was cool that the true sign of a wealthy chief was not how much he had but how much he could afford to give away.

Under my breath I read: “Some Coast Salish were fond of the ‘scramble' as a method of distributing goods to commoners, but never to chiefs.” I imagined men, women, and children playfully racing around to gather bone fish hooks, awls, and baskets to take home. I riffled through more pages to see what other things I could learn about potlatches. I skimmed over the subheadings: “The Formalities of Potlatches,” “The Potlatch and Loans of Interest,” “Rivalry Potlatches.” The last title caught my attention. I read the first line of the paragraph: “The spectacular rivalry potlatches were all to humiliate a rival.” That was when I remembered Aunt Margaret was still there staring at me.

“Peggy, I'd like to talk with you.” She nervously cleared her throat. “I realize you've been unhappy. It's
natural that you want to be with your mom. But the fact is she can't care for you right now. I know she wants to, but if she's going to get on her feet she needs to —”

“Make sure I'm out of the way, right?” I interrupted.

“That's not what I was going to say.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn't!”

I hadn't noticed before, but my aunt's face was all pink and puffy.

“Look, Peggy, I admit you haven't exactly been a joy to have around. But I know it's because your life is all upside down. I also admit that I'm strict and —”

“Unreasonable? Demanding? Unfair?” I fired back.

“Okay, maybe there have been times when that was true. But then you've been disobedient, irresponsible, ungrateful, unforgiving, cold, and secretive.”

My aunt's words were like blows to my head and stomach. Now her face was glowing red, and her eyes were moist.

“I promised your mom that I'd look after you. And that's what I want to do. But if this is going to work you need to cooperate ... and show respect.”

“Mom always taught me that respect is a two-way street, Aunt Margaret,” I spat back.

“That's true, but sometimes parents know what's best and the child just needs to trust and be obedient.”

I felt as if an explosion had gone off inside my head. “Parents? You're not my parents and you never will be. My real mom loves me no matter what I wear or say or do. But you'll never think I'm good enough. You don't like my clothes, my hair isn't combed enough,
I don't sit straight enough. How do you think it feels living with someone who picks at every thing you do?” When the words stopped shooting out of my mouth, Aunt Margaret covered her tear-streaked face with her hands and left the kitchen.

I ran upstairs and accidentally kicked Duff, who was sitting in the middle of the landing.
“Yeowwww!”
he screeched.

“Shut up!” I cursed, and was glad I'd kicked him. There was only one person in the world who really cared about me. And if I wanted to be with her, we'd need money. I reached under the pillow and found the smooth little disc. Without glancing at its tiny face, I put it in my pocket and dumped Eddy's book onto the bed.

Outside, the rain had slowed to a sprinkle. When I marched as far as Beecher Street, I felt calmer. I decided to stop and catch my breath in Heron Park and think about what I was going to do next. I'd passed by the little park at the entrance of Crescent Beach many times but had never walked through it before. In the middle of the park was a huge rock deposited in the last ice age, a stinging reminder of my insignificant existence. As I followed the little path that led around the boulder, I spotted a bronze plaque. It read: “These petroglyph symbols were carved into this rock by the prehistoric inhabitants of this area.”