Wake The Stone Man (6 page)

chapter six

“You look like you're wearing fishnet stockings.”

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

Anna was in a wheelchair after her operation and her legs were a crisscross of scars.

“Let's celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“I don't know. You getting sprung from the hospital,” I said. “Let's take the day off and hang out down at the river.”

We went down to the Kam River with a pack of smokes and a bottle of 772B. You had to fill out these forms in the liquor store and I'd memorized the cheapest brew, 772B — Old Sailor Sherry. We knew how to have a good time.

“What if a train comes?”

I was pulling Anna's wheelchair backwards over the tracks. “It won't,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Two trains a day. One in the morning and the other about ten at night.”

“You sure?”

“Have I ever been wrong before?” I said.

“I'm dead.”

“Seriously. They hardly use these tracks since the elevators closed.”

“Christ Molly, go easy. Do you want me to end up back in hospital?”

“Sorry. Just one more track and we're home free. Don't drop the wine.”

“You're shaking me out of my freakin chair and all you care about is the wine.”

“Right,” I said, “hold on to the wine.”

When we got down to the waterfront I had two brilliant ideas. The first was that Anna should put the brakes on her chair because the wharf was on an angle and if she rolled into the Kam I would be in deep shit. The second idea came when I was lying on my back looking up at Sask Wheat Pool Number
7. We had just polished off half a bottle of 772B and everything had a rosy glow.

“Hey, look up there,” I said.

“Where.”

“Top of the elevator.”

“Yeah. So what?” she asked.

“The square building on top.”

“Yeah.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“That's the electrician's office. My uncle used to be the electrician and that was his office. He took me up one day — very cool.”

“No shit. How'd you get up there? The fire escape?”

“No idiot. There was an elevator.”

“An elevator in an elevator! Good one! You know, this place has been closed down for a few years.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So that office is empty.”

“Yeah. So what.”

“So it's perfect,” I said.

“Perfect for what?”

“A studio,” I said.

“What?”

“A painting studio. Lots of windows, good light.”

“Lay off the Old Sailors,” Anna said.

“Philistine.”

“Asshole.”

“I hate your face pretty much.”

I got up and walked toward the rusted ladder that went up the side of the elevator. Worth a try. I began to climb.

Near the top some screws that secured the ladder to the concrete had come loose.

I hung on tight but my legs started vibrating with the ladder. Not good. I kept going and at the top stepped onto a flat gravel roof and walked toward the door of the wooden building. I figured it would be locked but it wasn't. Inside was a long room about six times the length of our house. There were windows all along one side — the side that looked out to the Kam. There was a lot of crap on the floor — pieces of wood, broken furniture, some weird electrical stuff — but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Along the front of the room under the windows was a long workbench. I cleared some of it off, pushing all the stuff into a metal garbage can. I found a stool upside down under some wood and pulled it out, dusted it off and pulled it up to the workbench. Not bad. Not bad at all.

After a bit I climbed back down and bummed a Cameo menthol off Anna.

“So?” she asked.

“So what?”

“What's it like up there?”

“Great. I'm moving in.”

“Oh yeah. Penthouse apartment.”

“Yeah. Gonna help me move in?” I asked.

“Funny.”

“No, seriously.”

We headed back to my place, bopping over three sets of tracks, and I loaded a cardboard box of paint, brushes and canvases onto Anna's lap.

“You're better than a little red wagon.”

“You owe me big for this. This shit is heavy you know.”

We had more trouble getting back across the tracks this time. Might have had something to do with the Old Sailor's. It took about four trips up the ladder to move my stuff in. There were still things I needed but I figured if I brought a bit each day I'd soon have the place set up nice.

I spent most of that fall in my studio. Anna's mom worked in a print shop and she made business cards for me:

Molly Bell, Artist

Sask Pool 7 Studio

After school and on the weekends I'd head over to Sask Pool 7. I brought a few things every day and after about a month I had it set up the way I wanted it. Took an old rag and cleaned the windows and when I was done the light in the room was amazing. I set up an easel in the corner and put my paints and brushes on the workbench. Along the workbench I laid out the photos I had taken the year before. I was working on the one I'd taken of Nakina sitting in the restaurant. I had a few bad starts and was getting frustrated. I couldn't get her head right, the way she was leaning forward with her face in profile.

I thought about the day I took the photos — back when Nakina and I hung out all the time and fought like sisters. I missed her. I wanted to show her my studio. I wanted to talk to her and find out what she was thinking the day I took that photo. Why did she look so serious? Was she angry? Angry with me for taking the photos?

Was she angry with me now? Is that why she drifted away? I kept painting but couldn't get her face right and I was getting pissed off with myself for being such a shitty painter. Finally I gave up and sat down staring at the photo. She seemed so far away.

Some days I'd stop painting and look down the Kam River out onto Lake Superior, out to the Stone Man. I could see boats, mostly small boats — not many grain boats anymore. I could see deer out on Mission Island and sometimes, when bigger boats came down the river, I got to see the swing bridge lift to let them through. When I climbed down the ladder at night the sun was setting and the light turned the granite cliffs of the mountains to gold.

I loved my studio. When I was painting I lost all track of time and the more I worked the more I realized how much I had to learn. I began to think seriously about going to art school. I'd been reading information about the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design — sculpture, ceramics, painting, art history. It all sounded good.

By November it was getting too cold to work without heat so I had to shut down Sask Pool 7. I wrapped my canvases up in heavy black plastic and tied rope around them. It took hours to lower them all down to the wharf.

It was almost dark when I came down. Needed gloves 'cause the cold metal railings of the ladder froze my fingers. I stayed on the wharf until the last bit of sunlight was gone. There was a full moon. A low yellow moon reflecting off the Kam.

I set up the easel in my bedroom but it was wasn't the same. My room was too small and dark. I missed my studio.

Anna was hanging out in my bedroom with me that afternoon. “What's that one?” she asked.

“It's Nakina at the Doone.”

“Doesn't look like her.”

“Thanks.”

“Just saying.”

“It's a work in progress,” I said.

“What's this?” Anna picked up a book from my desk.

“Hieronymus Bosch,” I said.

She opened the book and looked at a double spread of twisted naked bodies writhing in flames. “Holy shit,” she said, “this guy must have been smoking some weird stuff.”

“That's
The Garden of Earthly Delights
. It's a moral statement — don't do bad stuff or the devil will get you.”

She looked back at the picture of Nakina. “So what's up with Nakina anyway?” Anna asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Haven't seen her around for a while.”

“So…”

“So you guys used to do everything together. You were like Siamese twins.”

“Yeah.”

“So what happened?”

“Why don't you ask her?”

When Anna left I moved my paints and easel into the basement. It was cold and damp down there, and there was no light except from one bulb that hung beside the furnace, but at least it was a place I could work in peace. A space of my own.

I spent most of the winter alone in the basement, painting. I thought I was making progress, but when I stood back and looked at what I'd created, I could see it was all crap.

chapter seven

I'd pretty much given up on Nakina that spring when I found her waiting for me at my locker on the last day of school.

I ignored her. Didn't want to make the first move.

She leaned against my locker and said, “Got a job.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Nakina said.

“So.”

“So, I'm going to Rocky Lake.”

“Rocky Lake?” I asked.

“North of Pickle Lake.”

“Where the hell is Pickle Lake?” I asked.

“North of Pine River.”

“Where the hell is…”

“Molly! Get an atlas!”

“So what's the deal?”

“I'm working in the clinic there.”

“Oh yeah. Put all your nursing training to good use?”

“Very funny. I'm the office assistant. Helping the nurse.”

“So, how'd you get the job?”

“Mitch, at the Friendship Centre. He heard they were looking for someone and he set it up for me.”

“Hey Anishinaabe, good on ya. Do you get to wear a little white nurse's dress?”

“I hate your face pretty much,” she said.

“Come for dinner. You can tell Mom and Dad all about it.”

Nakina came home with me that night and Mom came downstairs to talk to her. That was a big thing because Mom had been spending more and more time in bed. “How will you get up there?” Mom asked.

“Plane. I take the bus to Pickle Lake then I fly into Rocky Lake.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Till the end of August. I'll be back for school.”

“And what will you be doing?” Mom asked.

“Not too sure. Mitch said I'd be helping out the nurse in the clinic. Office stuff — filing, typing, that sort of thing.”

Before Nakina left I gave her two gifts — a fancy box of writing paper covered with blue flowers and a camera with eight rolls of film.

“What's with the camera? You think I'm going up there as a tourist?”

“No. I just thought. You know. You might be able to record what it's like up there — like the photos I took on First Avenue last year.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Nakina sent a few short letters that summer. The first ones were on the blue flower stationary I gave her.

July 2, 1970

Hey white girl,

Thanks for the writing paper. The trip up here was OK, but the bus ride was gross. Some kid in the seat behind me threw up just after we left town so the bus stank the whole way up to Pickle Lake. And the roads are crazy — really rough and bumpy so I felt like puking too by the time we got here.

The bus was late getting into town so I don't fly out till tomorrow morning. I stayed in a motel and man oh man there was some party going on. A bunch of guys from the mine were in town and they'd just got paid, so there was a lot of drinking. Well, there was supposed to be some women coming into town so they organized this dance in the bar — but the women didn't show up. So it's just the guys. And they're drunk, and there's music — so some of the guys start waltzing together, and then this one guy cuts in on another guy's “lady” and they all start fighting. It was pretty funny. I could hear the whole thing through the wall of my room cause the walls are as thin as paper.

So, anyway, I'm going to mail this in the morning before I fly out. Once I get to Rocky Lake I don't know how long it will take for mail to get to you.

Nakina

July
3, 1970

Hey Molly,

The plane trip up here was amazing! I flew in a Cessna. Ask your dad what that is, he'll know. It's really small and there was just the pilot, and me and Monique the nurse I'm going to be working with. She is really nice. She's from Trinidad. Isn't that cool.

Anyway when we were up in the air you could see for hundreds of miles. Boy, are there ever a lot of lakes. And trees. I was worried about landing because I thought we might hit the water pretty rough, but you could hardly tell when the pontoons hit the water. There is a big government dock here where we got off the plane and then Monique and I went up to the clinic and got unpacked.

I've got a room to myself and then we share a little kitchen with a stove and a fridge. We've got a TV set, but you can't get any reception here.

Nakina

July 8, 1970

So Molly, did you get my letters? When are you going to write to me? I've been really busy. As soon as we got here there were people waiting to see the nurse so I didn't have much time to figure out what I'm supposed to do. I'm in charge of the patient files, and I book the appointments, but really people just come in when they want to see the nurse. Most of the things aren't serious, just colds, and sprained ankles and stuff like that. There are a few old people who have diabetes and they come in for their insulin shots. Anyway, got to run, lots of work to do. Write!

Nakina

I was really glad to get letters from Nakina. Things at home weren't great. Mom spent more and more time in bed, and when she was up she was quiet and sad. I kept telling Dad that if we went to camp it would cheer her up, but Mom said she didn't want to go. Anna and her family were away for the summer, staying with some relatives in Minnesota. I spent most of my time in Sask Pool 7. I'd set up my studio again and was glad to get out of the house.

I painted and read books about painting and sketching and perspective. I told Nakina what I was learning in my letters, but it wasn't the same as having her around to hang out with.

July 15, 1970

Hey Molly,

I got your package and letter. Thanks for the cookies. They're not as good as the ones your mom bakes, but they tasted OK.

Sounds like your summer is pretty boring. I hope you'll get to go to Loon Lake when your mom is feeling better.

Things here are good. At night after work Monique and I go down to the dock and wait for the fishing boats to come in. They catch a lot of pickerel here. We gut them and cook them over an open fire out on the beach. Last night I had breaded pickerel cheeks — really good.

Oh, guess what! Yesterday I helped deliver a baby. Her name is Sarah. Monique let me help clean her up and I wrapped her in a blanket and gave her to her mom. It was pretty cool.

Nakina

July 18
, 1970

Dear Molly,

Thanks for the letter. Those goofy cartoons you drew all over it were pretty funny. I have to tell you about the naming ceremony. Remember I told you that I helped Monique deliver a baby. Sarah. Well, that is her English name, but she gets an Ojibwe name too.

So here's how it works. Sarah's mom and dad went to Moses, he's a shaman, and gave him a gift of tobacco, then they asked him to name their baby. After that Moses went away for a few days to find a name. Sometimes he prays for a name, and sometimes it comes in a dream.

When he has the name there's a ceremony, and that happened today. Two drummers led everyone along the road to the field beside the sweat lodge. They burned tobacco for an offering.

Then Moses said the baby's name out loud, and then we all said her new name out loud. It was Memengwaa. It means butterfly. Lillian was carrying Memengwaa in a tikinagan, that's a cradleboard, and Moses said it was the same cradleboard her mom and grandmother were carried in. It has a wooden frame and it's got beautiful beading down the front.

After the ceremony there was a big feast and I ate so much I could hardly move. There are about sixty-five people living here. Did I tell you that before? Pretty small compared to Fort McKay.

Nakina

I read Nakina's letter out loud to Mom and Dad that night and they said it sounded like she was learning a lot. Mom told me her friend Martha from up north carried her baby in a tikinagan when she worked on her trapline. I wondered if Nakina was taking any photographs. I wanted to see what Rocky Lake looked like.

July 25, 1970

Hi Molly,

Things get pretty crazy up here at night. It's not a dry reserve so there's lots of drinking. Oh did I tell you that Monique has a boyfriend in Toronto? His name is Miley and he is a jazz musician. He plays saxophone.

Anyway, at night Monique locks the doors of the clinic. We even have metal bars on the windows. Need them too. People try to get in to get drugs. I don't go out at night.

Nakina

July 27, 1970

Boozhoo Molly,

Guess what. I'm learning to speak Ojibwe, or re-learning I guess — they wouldn't let me speak it at the residential school so I forgot a lot. Moses started to teach me, and now Dora, who everyone calls Auntie, is teaching me. She comes every day to the clinic for her insulin shot. I'm learning pretty fast. I asked Auntie to teach me how to swear but she just laughed. Anyway, miigwech for the package. You're getting to be a good cook. Monique loved the ginger cake and wants you to send some more!

I can't believe it is nearly the end of July already. It will be hard to come home because I really like it here. But there are times, like late at night when there is a lot of drinking and fighting when I wish I were back home where it was safe.

Nakina

Dad and I finally persuaded Mom to go to Loon Lake, and as soon as we got there she seemed to feel better. Dad and I painted the rowboat and mom made jam from the wild raspberries we picked along the tracks. We'd sit out on the dock at night talking or just listening to the loons cry out to each other across the lake.

There were two letters waiting for me when I got back from Loon Lake. Nakina's life at Rocky Lake sounded exciting and interesting. Made my life seem boring. Once we got back from camp Mom settled back into her moods again and I spent most of the time in my studio painting. I liked painting, but it was lonely.

July 30,1970

Dear Molly,

Happy Birthday! I didn't forget. I have a present for you but you won't get it till I get back. Thanks for the letter and the extra film. I've been taking a lot of photos. The sunsets here are really beautiful.

Sometimes being up here reminds me of being at Loon Lake with you guys. Last week I went out with Lillian, the girl that had the baby, and Dora, and we picked blueberries. Lillian taught me how to make blueberry bannock. It's really good and simple to make too. I'll show you when I get back. When we were cooking Lillian told me that she had gone to residential school too. Not St. Mary's but one near Kenora. I think it messed her up, but she doesn't say much about it.

Anyway, I'm really busy every day. As soon as we get up there are people at the door waiting to see Monique. Last week a guy got shot — I think it was a hunting accident. Anyway they had to fly him out to the hospital at Sioux Lookout. I had to call for the plane on the shortwave radio. I'm learning a lot.

Nakina

August 6, 1970

Molly,

Sorry about the paper, I ran out of writing paper, and there's nothing to write on here except this paper towel. Supplies are hard to get and we're always running out of stuff. Especially drugs. Remember I told you about Moses the shaman? Well, after Sarah's naming ceremony I asked him if I could have a name. Moses said that I was probably given a name when I was born but since there is no one who remembers it Moses said he would give me a new name. I gave him tobacco, as a gift, and now I have to wait for him to find my name.

Oh, and guess what. Auntie made me a jingle dress. The top is embroidered with red and green ribbons and below the waist there's five rows of tin jingles in a V pattern. She is going to teach me to dance. I'll show you when I get back.

Nakina

August 15, 1970

Molly, something really sad happened. You know I told you about Moses. Well, he died. He was really old, and Monique said he had a bad heart.

I learned a lot from him and he said I could call him Mishomis, which means Grandfather. I miss him.

Nakina

Aug. 17, 1970

Boozhoo Molly,

I wish you were here. This was a really hard week. Remember I told you about Lillian, she had a baby just after I got here. Well Lillian likes to drink, and a bunch of people came into town, and Lillian went on a bender. When Monique found out she sent me over to her place to make sure the baby was OK. I went into her place and no one was there — but it smelled bad. I was about to leave when I saw all these flies over by the window, so I went over and the baby was lying there covered in shit and flies. She wasn't even crying. I grabbed a blanket and wrapped her up and ran back to the clinic.

They had to fly her out to the hospital in Sioux Lookout that night. Lillian didn't show up for another two days so she didn't even know her kid was gone.

Well, that's all from me.

Nakina

A week later Nakina showed up at our door, grinning. “Hey white girl.”