The Moon of Letting Go Read online

  The Moon

  of Letting Go

  Richard Van Camp

  Copyright © 2009 Richard Van Camp

  Enfield & Wizenty

  (an imprint of Great Plains Publications)

  345-955 Portage Avenue

  Winnipeg MB R3G 0P9

  www.enfieldandwizenty.ca

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or in any means, or stored in a database and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Great Plains Publications, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic

  copying, a license from Access Copyright (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5E 1E5.

  Great Plains Publications gratefully acknowledges the financial support provided for its publishing program by the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP);

  the Canada Council for the Arts; as well as the Manitoba Department

  of Culture, Heritage and Tourism; and the Manitoba Arts Council.

  Design & Typography by Relish Design Studio Ltd.

  Printed in Canada by Friesens

  Third printing

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Van Camp, Richard, 1971-

  Moon of letting go and other stories / Richard Van Camp.

  Short stories.

  ISBN 978-1-894283-93-9 (bound). -- ISBN 978-1-926531-0-07 (pbk.)

  I. Title.

  PS8593.A5376M66 2009 C813’.54 C2009-902497-7

  In loving memory of my grandmother Melanie Wah-shee (1914-2007):

  “If there is only one of something, hold on to it, love it and don’t lose it.”

  healing

  Show Me Yours...

  Saw northern lights last night. Nice and big across the sky: 1:30. Green.

  We saw baby ones trying to swim like little faint feathers so we helped them by rubbing our fingernails together and whistling and they swam, boy. The northern lights swam and reached across the sky and it was the stairway to heaven kind, the kind that you can see the spirits of those who have passed on walking up, up.

  We now walk around town with our baby pictures taped or glued over the pictures of the saints around our necks with leather ties and so when you see someone with the leather necklace you take your baby pic out and show it to them and they marvel at how beautiful you were when you were new, and they do

  the same.

  And then we praise each other:

  Oh you were such a beautiful baby.

  Look at the dreams in your eyes.

  Oh look at your hair. Just like a bear’s pelt in spring.

  Oh you are so beautiful. So so beautiful. Have a lovely, lovely life.

  That’s how it is now.

  I am proud to say I started this after everything fell apart. It just happened. I woke up and I was in a bad place with bad people and there was little hope for me and there was my grandfather’s leather necklace that the priest gave him with a saint I didn’t know and there was my favourite baby picture of me on top of the fridge covered in lint and dust and so I cleaned it and took some glue (that we had been sniffing) and I glued my face over St. What’s His Hump’s and I wore that necklace, tucked ’er under my shirt over my heart.

  Two nights later I got rolled and as Franky and Henry were going through my pockets and were holding me upside down they pulled the necklace out.

  Henry stopped and said, “What’s this you?”

  Franky squinted and dropped me. I told them it was a picture of me when I was a baby. They looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “Take it easy.”

  “As if….”

  They weren’t mad. They were just, well... I don’t know.

  They let me go and threw my money back at me. “Go home, Richard,” they said. “You’re not a man anymore.”

  “I’m trying to be!” I yelled and walked home, rubbing my jaw, stuffing my pockets back in. I’m trying to be….

  Two days later I was walking around looking for smokes when they came up to me with goofy grins on their faces and then Franky and Henry showed me theirs. They did what I did and had MacGyver’d saint necklaces to show their baby pictures. Oh they were ugly babies. Maybe this was why they turned out to be such arseholes, but I showed them mine again and we were just so happy to see each other like that.

  “Sorry for the other night,” Franky said.

  “It’s okay,” I said. You were ugly babies, I thought, and we shook hands.

  Then Harvey and his wife came up to us and said, “Hey what you’re doing?”

  And we all turned and showed them our baby pictures and grinned.

  “How cute!” Cynthia said. “Is that you?”

  We nodded like gomers and beamed.

  “Oh that is too precious,” she said. “Let me take a picture.”

  So we waited while she dug through her purse. Cynthia’s trying to be a reporter so we all helped out. Harvey offered us smokes and we took a break. “Thanks for dancing with my wife,” he said and I blushed a little. Harvey doesn’t like to dance but his wife can’t get enough so when I go to the bar she comes up and we two-step around and holy cow she’s a great dancer. She keeps her right arm up and holds my hand just barely and boy we just glide and float around that dance floor like butterflies and Harvey keeps his eye on me like a bull moose and I always go up and shake his hand after and he nods back, not too happy that I can dance like I do with his wife but all the same he’s pleased that she’s happy and enjoying herself.

  I know when I hold her on the dance floor I can honestly tell how much she loves him, how she keeps her wedding ring polished just shiny and I can tell how when she moves that she moves for him and that Cynthia is the best thing that ever happened to Harvey.

  So Cynthia came back and took a picture of us smiling, holding our baby pictures up, and it ended up in the paper; then, two days later, people came up to me and showed me their baby pictures around their necks on those leather necklaces and we ooh’d and aaah’d each other and we just could not stop laughing.

  Oh you were chubby—wah!

  Where did all your hair go, eh?

  Even then you were a heartbreaker!

  Whites, Natives, Inuit—oh we all laughed together when we seen each other and there are just so many beautiful babies inside us all.

  Well now after I got hurt at work everybody who came to see me at my house showed me their baby pictures and I just left mine out on the coffee table and we laughed and laughed, passing them around. That pic of our little pictures in the paper really won the heart of our town, so that’s what we do now.

  And to my surprise Shawna came to see me. I had no idea she was back in town. I really missed her. How sad: when I’m with someone she’s single and vice versa.

  So now we finally got our timing right and I held her hand and we walked down to the rocks and we saw the baby northern lights trying to swim and she showed me how to call them.

  You can do it!

  Give ’er!

  Go go go!

  And those baby lights, they swam out little by little and Shawna and I rubbed our fingernails together and whistled, and soon we had shadows because the northern lights were so bright. Soon, it was like rolling rainbows across the sky.

  “You are so beautiful!” she called and then looked to me. “Did you know it’s the exact opposite in Nunavut?”

  Even though she had a new kind of haircut, she still
had fox eyes. “What’s that?”

  “They rub their fingernails to send them away.”

  “Hunh,” I said, looking up, starting to shiver but not because I was cold. “Maybe they’re just glad that we remember halfway what to do.”

  “As long as we honour them, hey?” she said. I could tell she was going to be a great teacher. I could tell after she said that, and we walked across town holding hands back to my place. I wanted to tell her that sometimes the night was all I had left of her but didn’t. I shaved so I could be soft for her while she sang in the shower and we made beautiful love.

  We took our time. We laughed and giggled and joked and kissed and caressed, and then we told each other about our lives and how hard it has been these past few years. We both wondered why the lovers we chose all turned out so mean. I noticed she still took the right side of the bed and had a few new moves but we didn’t need to talk about it.

  “I missed your hands,” she said.

  “Yours too,” I said. I told her to stick around, to quit leaving town. “You could be the love of my life,” I said and she went quiet, running her fingers through my hair. I traced my finger along the scars across her arm where that half-wolf bit her. I’m the only man who’s allowed to do that. The birds started to sing so I lit her a smoke and we sat up together. I was about to get us some ice water for Round Two and she said, “Wait.”

  Then she took her beautiful baby Cree picture and held it up and I put mine facing hers and we kissed....

  NDNs

  Summer, 2004. We were sitting in the lobby of the Stanton

  Regional Hospital in Yellowknife, my mother weakened by her operation. Mom was on the second floor of the hospital. My grandmother was on the third floor recovering from her first heart attack. From what the doctors told us, Mom’s cancer was the size of a blueberry. We think they got it all. My grandmother, my ehtsi, was upset because she wanted to head back to Rae, but since my grandfather’s passing it was apparent that she could not live on her own anymore. We all wanted her inside the old folks’ home in Rae, not in her old apartment, but there was no room in the main frame so our frustration grew every day.

  My grandmother kept saying I want to go home very softly in English and this surprised me. I thought the only English she knew was the swears. Nobody knew how old my grandmother was. She had always been ancient. There was no one left alive who could remember her as a young girl. “She was always old,” they said.

  My brothers and I all wished Mom would have taught us Dogrib when we were kids so we could understand their conversations, because it’s all in Tlicho. To speak to my grandparents I’ve always needed translators. This drove me nuts. It never should have been this way.

  Standing outside the hospital lobby was Brody having a smoke. The last time I saw him in Fort Smith, which was Christmas Eve, Brody broke my heart. Brody’s got a big belly and skinny legs, like a forty-year-old bloated spider. I didn’t know what kind of Dene he was or why he was here.

  Grandma and Mom were talking in Dogrib. I was getting bored because I couldn’t decipher a word. I looked at Brody. At least he could speak English. I looked at him and shook my head. Maybe now was the best time to do this.

  I got up and walked outside and approached Brody warily. “How’s it going?”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised to see me.

  “Oh. My grandma’s in the hospital.” For some reason I didn’t want to tell him about my mom. Probably because I still couldn’t believe it.

  “Sorry to hear that.” He held out his hand.

  I shook it once. “Yeah....”

  “Yeah,” he looked away and scratched his brown neck. “I got an operation tomorrow.”

  “Oh? Everything OK?”

  “Yeah, well, I....” he tried but looked down.

  I didn’t know what to say. Maybe something in him finally blew and he was dying faster than the rest of us.

  “So your granny’s going to be okay?”

  “Yeah. She had a heart attack but she’s strong now, wants to go home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Rae.”

  “You’re Dogrib?”

  I felt his energy change. We were Smithers, fighters, but now was not the time, and I didn’t have the strength to start anything here. “Yup. Are you Chip or Cree?”

  “Chip.”

  “The caribou eaters.”

  “Yup.”

  “It’s funny,” I said. “We used to be traditional enemies; now we need each other more than ever.”

  His energy calmed. “You’re right.”

  “We need each other’s medicine, songs, healing.”

  “Yes.”

  I felt okay standing there with him. I looked him in the eye. “Do you remember the last time I saw you?”

  “No.”

  “It was Christmas, December 23rd. I’d just flown into town and my brother wanted to go Christmas shopping but didn’t want to go alone, so we walked uptown. You were passed out on Ducky’s lawn in the snow. You were in track pants and a T-shirt. Puke was all over you.”

  “No—”

  “Yup,” I read him. He was going to listen for once. “We called an ambulance but they didn’t come. We called the cops but they didn’t come. We waited and rolled you on your side. You swore you’d never drink again. I asked you what you’d been drinking and for how long. You said you’d been drinking for two weeks steady and you’d taken pills.”

  Snow had frozen in Brody’s raven-black hair. It was cool out, not too cold, but he’d been lying down for so long that the snow was over him in a light powder. Ducky’s family just stared stupidly from their windows. My brother and I tried waving down trucks and vans but nobody stopped for long. When they did, they’d see it was Brody and see the puke and drive off. We’d all seen Brody like this before and nobody wanted to help someone who’d been drinking for years. His vomit was orange. It looked like liquefied meat and I wondered if it was his stomach lining.

  “My brother and I carried you across the potato field to the hospital. We couldn’t wait anymore. You were shivering and you said your stomach was going to burst out.”

  My brother put Brody’s jacket on him to cover his vomit and we lugged Brody’s huge arms around us. We half carried, half walked him to the hospital. Thank God he could help but it took forever for three NDNs—two Dogribs and a Chipewyan, traditional enemies—to make our way to the hospital.

  “Ooooh, I’ll never drink again. Ooooh, I swear to God,” he moaned over and over.

  The snow fell, light as feathers upon us; we walked over the frozen earth of where the old hospital used to be. This was earth we’d all been born on before they knocked the old hospital down ’cause of asbestos, but we made it to the lobby and the cops were waiting. The nurses, receptionist and RCMP didn’t help us. Nobody helped. They all watched and stared like Ducky’s family.

  “Bring him,” a nurse motioned, “to the examining room.” Brody wouldn’t fit in a wheelchair—he was too big and his stomach was too bloated—so he motioned for us to help him down the hall. He knew where to go. He huffed and started crying as we helped him. When we got him into the examining room, he collapsed on the table. The nurse came in and spoke to him loud, like an older sister. “How are you, Brody? Drinking again? Okay, what did you drink this time?”

  “Everything,” he said. “Everything I could.”

  She grabbed a silver bowl and that’s when he started to

  get sick.

  My brother and I left and walked by a constable.

  “We tried calling you,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  I stopped. “I asked Ducky’s family to call the RCMP because they couldn’t get a hold of an ambulance.”

  “Nobody called me.”

  “Then why are you here?” I asked.

 
; “What?”

  “Why are you here if nobody called you?”

  “What’s your name?” he asked. He did not like me. I gave him my name. He wrote it down. I didn’t care. I used to guard for the RCMP so I could afford the attitude. I walked away, my brother and I shaking our heads. Typical. Typical Fort Smith NDN-hating people. Even the NDNs hated the NDNs sometimes. We walked away and I could smell vomit everywhere.

  So, you can imagine how surprised I was to see Brody standing and singing at midnight mass the next night in the front row of the church. He was dressed nice and his hair was combed. He stood straight and he sang to every hymn and prayed along with the priest. He was standing next to a girl I used to go to school with. But she looked weak, like a ghost. What the hell was Norma doing with Brody? Were they family? No way. She was Inuk and he was Dene. Maybe she volunteered at the hospital and agreed to take him to mass.

  I was shocked that Brody was standing. How could that be? Where did he get his resiliency? Did he have medicine? I looked at Norma and there were sores all over her face. She looked horrible. I felt sad. She used to be so pretty. This shouldn’t be the way it was. She was the best athlete in high school, had put Smith on the map nationally and she always won awards at Arctic Winter Games. How had she come to this?

  I had danced with her many times in high school. Her eyes always sparkled and she always kept her hair short. She was very soft spoken. I’d been away for years but I knew she had a child with someone. Where was her baby? What in the hell had happened to her?

  I cleared my head and prayed hard for the town, my family, my friends. I prayed hard for everything. During the end of mass when we wished each other peace, Brody walked around like a humble Indian and shook hands. He came up to me and shook my hand. Then I smelled his breath. Vodka. It blew hot and thick around me.

  Gross. Booze was his medicine.

  Brody was drinking again and yet he moved completely sober. I looked into his eyes and he looked right through me. Like a zombie. There was no realization or recollection at all of what happened a day earlier. Norma didn’t move. Still too shy,