Totem (9 page)

Photographs

The villagers stared at Miss Agnes Atkinson when she strode by them the next morning in trousers and a sou'wester. She climbed a large rock along the shore and sat down staring out at the waves. “The water is so blue,” she said with a loud sigh. “If only I could catch it in my photographs.”

Sister Bernice sat on top of a log. She held her bible as if she was about to give a sermon. Father Luke covered a rock with an embroidered cloth to make an altar and dressed it with a little bell, his bible, and candlestick.

The Chinese man busied himself at the mouth of the river that flowed down from the mountain. He scooped sand into a flat pan, held it below the surface, and shook it, looking for gold specks. “No!” he yelled as the cloud of sand that floated away left nothing but rocks.

The soldier laughed out from the beach.

Sister Cecile handed out rosaries on the beach. “The rosary,” she explained to a group of young mothers examining the beads, “is what you say to the Mama of
neiska
Papa.”

One of the children snatched a rosary from his mother's hand and ran off down the beach giggling. The mother turned to watch and smiled.

“These Indian parents are too easy on their children,” Sister Bernice complained in a loud voice. “A critical part of any child's rearing is breaking their wild nature.”

From her perch Agnes spied a woman lifting a cedar plank from a big hole in the sand. She climbed down, walked over, and peered into the pit of hot coals and rocks covered with steaming seaweed and grass. The plank had three grooves carved into it. The woman bent the soft wood along the grooves to form three sides of a box. In fascination, Agnes watched the woman as she pegged in the fourth side. “That's ingenious,” she remarked, as the woman fitted the base and attached a lid.

“It's a cooking box,” Tommy-Two said from behind. “When she puts hot stones in, they boil the water.”

“You mean the box is water tight?” Agnes asked. “I'd give the shirt off my back for a box like that.

Tommy-Two glanced at Agnes's striped shirtwaist blouse fastened with tiny pearl buttons. “That would be a good trade,” he said with a glint in his eye. “My mother would be happy to find you one with a decorated lid.”

“I'd like to photograph the process,” Agnes said. “This is a far more interesting subject than Miss Mary Elizabeth Buckingham next to her music stand,” she murmured.

The half-naked child carrying the rosary kicked sand up against her trousers as he dodged a playmate. “Or,” she added in a loud voice, for the benefit of the nuns, “children in clothes so tight they can't breathe.”

Agnes kicked apart the legs of the tripod and planted them firmly into the sand. She lifted the polished mahogany box from its oilskin cover, removed the top panel, and mounted it. Using the small brass knob, Agnes pulled the camera into place. A hush came over the crowd when she raised the hinged panel at the front and reversed the large round lens.

“It's just like a big eye,” she said to Tommy-Two. “All the chief has to do is look at it.”

Tommy- Two watched his adopted father adjust the carved bone clip that fastened his cloak. He smiled with affection as the chief leaned forward to stare the eye down.

“He looks too fierce,” Agnes said as she raised the back panel and lowered the first glass plate. “Tell him to smile.”

Agnes lifted the black cloth and stuck her head into the box. As she turned the focus knob, she gave muffled directions out to Tommy-Two.

“Tell Mrs. Chief to get closer,” she said. “And tell her that her hat is a bit crooked.”

Finally, all was to her liking.

“Ready?” she asked as she clicked the shutter.

“Wonderful,” she said to the chief's wife. “Why would I want to spend my day posting letters and playing the piano when I can take photographs like this?”

Meanwhile, Sister Cecile withdrew a carved figure of the Virgin Mary from a blue velvet bag, and placed it on a rock. “
Sagalie Mama
,” she told the women watching.

The women caressed the bare feet of the splendid carving and gestured to theirs. They stroked her blue tunic and touched her crown of stars.

The chief's wife moved away from Agnes to see what the women were praising. Her face filled with pain as the nun explained, with the help of Tommy-Two, that the woman held her empty palms upward because her son had been taken from her. The chief's wife turned to Tommy and issued orders.

“My mother wants to build a small house for this unfortunate woman,” he said. “She does not want her to be left to the weather like the other carvings in the village.”

“A shrine,” Sister Cecile exclaimed clapping her hands. “Yes, we will build a
Sagalie illahhee
for the Virgin Mary, Holy Mother of God and Queen of the Angels, a shrine, right here on the beach.”

The women spent the afternoon erecting a platform of wood, walls of smooth beach stones, and a roof of evergreen on the beach. The nuns, followed by a procession of villagers, carried the statue of Mary to the small home on the pebbled shore.

“We will now say the Lord's Prayer,” Sister Bernice instructed them once the Mother of God was in residence. Folding her hands in prayer, she began, “
Neiska Papa,
klaksta mitlite kopa saghailie
.”

The women put their hands together like hers and repeated her words.

When they were finished Sister Cecile turned to the other nun. “Their love of Mary is so evident,” she said. “I wish we had a statue of her for every house. She could preside over and govern these dear innocent people.”

“They might even cease production of these wooden idols,” Sister Bernice remarked.

Mr. Cameron, like all graduates of the Woolich Military Academy, drew topographical maps with the utmost care. The villagers watched as he worked on his survey of the coast.

The youngest nun glanced at his map. “I have such a remarkable inability to draw,” she said as she fanned her face with a branch of aspen. She turned to Agnes. “I assume you travelled to the Alps and Italy sketching.”

“I am incapable of reproducing the slightest fragment of the universe using a pencil,” Agnes replied. “As a girl, I was not allowed to venture far from the courtyard of my family manor. In the winter, the cold kept me close to the fireplace in the library.”

“Whatever made you decide to travel?” the wide-eyed young nun asked.

“My father's books taught me that there were a thousand different places in the world and I ached to see just one. When I found
The Pencil of Nature
by William Henry Talbot, I thought, by the title, I would teach myself how to draw. But the book was about photography. From then on, all I wanted to do was travel the world taking photographs.”

“We travel to bring the word of God to the wilderness,” Sister Beatrice said in a cold voice. “It is our duty.”

“It is my duty,” Agnes responded, “to bring the wilderness to God's people.”

Seeing Silver Cloud approach, Agnes called out. “Cookie, bring me a pail of salted water.” She took the branch of aspen from the young nun and said, “Sister Cecile, get me a sheet of your writing paper.”

Agnes bathed the sheet of writing paper in the salty solution as Silver Cloud, the nuns, and the villagers looked on. Then she took a vial from her biscuit tin and covered the paper with a solution. She laid the aspen branch on the paper and put it on a rock to dry. Within moments the paper darkened. When Agnes removed the leaf, an exact replica of the branch remained behind.

Silver Cloud's eyes widened at the sight of such magic.

Sudden sounds of whistles from the woods startled those enraptured with Agnes's paper magic. They looked up to see some of the village men run out from the forest making lightning quick thrusts with their spears as if they were attacking. “
Chako,
” they called out to those pulling up on shore. “
Chako
,” one of the men said as he dragged Ernie from the canoe.

“What's going on?” Jonny called out in alarm, seeing his friend dragged into the forest.

He looked to the men unloading the canoes, but they paid no attention to what was happening. No one seemed bothered that the village warriors had just abducted Ernie in broad daylight.

“Looks like your friend is wanted somewhere,” Old Tom said, scratching his head.

Fire Dances

That night, after a meal of fish, to the relief to the nuns, the fire burned down to red winking coals and dark shadows moved about the walls of the lodge. Jonny watched the chief fill his carved pipe. The hollow at the top of the Chief's wooden headdress once again held soft, fluffy eagle down — a sign of peace. Whenever he moved, it floated about his head like snow. The chief raised his pipe into the air. After moving it from side to side and saying a few words, he passed it to Old Tom.

Everyone but the sleeping priest looked up when they heard stomping sounds coming from the roof.

“Sounds like you got some big birds in this part of the country,” Old Tom remarked.

Sister Cecile huddled up in fright to the guard. The old nun shot her a disapproving look. The guard brought his pistol into to his lap, while Mr. Cameron, the surveyor, mopped the never-ending beads of sweat from his brow.

Large masked figures suddenly dropped from the roof to the floor beside the fire. The dancers wore carved headdresses of animal snouts, bird heads, frogs, and other forest creatures. The young nun shrieked at the sight of their bulging eyes and curling tongues.

Agnes's eyes came alive with excitement as the dancers, wearing long yellow strips of shredded cedar at their waists and elbows began their performance.

“What are they supposed to be?” Agnes asked Tommy-Two.

“Forest spirits,” Tommy replied. “That bird monster cracks open skulls and eats brains,” he said with a huge grin.

“How exciting,” Agnes shouted over the sound of the shaking rattles.

“How heathen,” Sister Bernice commented.

The dancers moved around the fire, their grass-like skirts swaying. The beaks of their huge faces opened and shut with loud clacks.

When they had finished the dance, they removed their giant heads. One of the dancers was Ernie.

“I was worried about you,” Jonny whispered to his friend. “What happened?”

“I was invited to be a dancer,” Ernie bragged. “Not everyone is asked, you know.”

“You weren't exactly invited,” Jonny pointed out. “You were dragged off.”

“Just their way of doing business,” Ernie said with a grin. “By the way, I'm taking your advice and hanging out here while the rest go to summer camp.”

The chief rose from the box he was sitting on and carried it to the fire pit. He removed the lid and poured its oily contents directly onto the flames. The fire roared and the entire lodge filled with light. Then he tossed the box and lid in as well.

The old priest, startled by the crackling sound of the blaze, woke, pulled the hood of his cassock down over his eyes, and went back to sleep.

“Where on earth did he get all that oil?” Agnes asked.

“You never heard of the candle fish?” Old Tom replied.

“What's a candle fish?” asked Sister Cecile.

“More nonsense,” said Sister Bernice.

“The candle fish swims upstream in the good weather,” Old Tom told them all. “It is so oily you can stand it on one end and set it on fire, just like a candle.”

“That's not true,” Sister Bernice said. “It's just another heathen tale.”

“Well, where
do
you think all that oil came from?” Old Tom snapped back. “The Indians boil the fish and skim off the oil. They save it to add to the taste of their food in the winter.”

He looked at the Chinese cook sitting away from the circle. “Hey, Cookie,” he called out. “You should get some of that stuff. It would help your cooking.”

The cook nodded his head up and down so fast, his pigtail flew about.

“I hope you don't plan on filling the ship with that smelly stuff,” Mr. Cameron said, brushing the dirt from his trousers as he stood.

“Don't worry about that,” Old Tom said. He rose from the ground and saluted the chief. “I plan to lighten your load in your hold,” he said. “I'm getting off here.”

The bay shimmered with the glow of the beach fires, as the visitors made their way to their tents. Jonny grabbed Ernie's elbow and pointed to the ring circling the full moon. It was the sign they had been waiting for, the sign Kalaku told them about, the sign that meant it was time for them to dance in the cave.

A light rain pitted the grey water as they raced to get their bundles out from beneath Tommy-Two's bunk in the lodge. Each boy designed the costume he would wear to perform his spirit dance. Ernie pushed a canoe into the water as Jonny lifted his arms in prayer. “May the great serpent let us cross without harm,” he said before they placed their precious clothing inside. They did not know who waited for them in the cave, or what was in each other's bundle. They would reveal the identity of their guardian spirit only when they performed.

Leaving the canoe on the pebbly shore, they followed the path up the mountain. In the entrance cave, beside a small fire, a masked elder waited, as they had been told. He indicated Jonny was to go first and went into the next cave.

Jonny donned his carved wolf mask and the necklace of claws given to him by Kalaku. He made his way down the passageway singing of his dream of the wolf pelt coming to life and showing him the way to the river. When he entered the ceremonial cavern, the drawings on the wall flickered in the torchlight. Dancing in a circle spiralling toward the centre, Jonny told how the wolf called to him when he first arrived in the cave. When he reached the centre of the circle, Jonny sang of how he waited on the cliff, gave the wolf a drink of water, and looked into its eyes.

Jonny then began a new dance. He moved in the opposite direction, spiralling away from the centre, imitating the animal's posture, his clawed feet, and his walk. He whimpered, whined, growled, and gave a great wolf howl at the end.

The man sitting under the torch nodded.

Bathed in sweat, Jonny moved into the shadows so as not to distract Ernie. His heart filled with anxiety for his friend. Had Ernie found a guiding spirit?

Ernie emerged from the shadows wearing a mask of cedar, pounded so thin, it took the shape of his face. The scaly salmon skin that covered it gave it a silver glow. Ernie stood naked but for a small skirt of shredded yellow bark at his waist. Red dye mixed with grease covered his body. Large fish scales glittered along his arms and fingers.

Ernie placed the toes of his feet with care as he crossed one foot over another and sang his song of how he had taken the footpath that led from the village to the top of the cascading falls to watch for the great
Tyee.
A sudden cloud of mist made it difficult for him to see. When the fog broke, the legendary old Chinook swam along the bottom of the chasm.

The Chinook jumped the first fence and then the second and showed no signs of weariness. Ernie knew the great fish was about to make its way up the waterfall. He knew the plunge from the cliff amid the projecting rocks was dangerous, but he jumped.

The boy dressed like a salmon danced with his chest out and his head held high. His arms moved in swimming motions in time with his legs under the wild, furious water.

“Let me catch you,” he said when he faced the fish. “I will tell of your greatness in song and dance,” Ernie promised the fish. “I will use your spirit power to teach those who hunt to take only what they need and not kill without cause.”

He opened his arms wide to show how the ancient salmon swam into them. He then demonstrated how he staggered out of the water and laid his heavy bundle on the shore. When finished, Ernie, glistening and tired, also moved into the shadows.

The figure at the fire did not move. He stared out of the mouth of the cave.

Both boys stared into the fire and waited.

The elder broke into an energetic session of drumming, singing his thanks to the spirits of the wolf and the salmon people.

Ernie and Jonny looked at each other and smiled.

They had passed their test and had become men.