animals.”
“Stop talking nonsense.”
“Don’t trust him.”
“He is a good man.”
“I tell you this for your own good.”
Just then Creed noticed the heavy artifact hanging from the short man’s neck. Creed took two steps toward him. As the man raised his hands in defence, Creed grabbed the crucifix and inspected it. It was an unusually large silver cross inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He turned it over to find the initials J.B.R.
“Where did you get this?”
The man looked worried. “I traded it from a Dene hunter up on Great Bear Lake a few weeks ago.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know his name?”
“I don’t know him. We were just passing.”
Creed believed him. He bought the crucifix from him for two dollars and sent them on their way.
Before the Cree left with the bales of marten and mink furs they were taking south in their battered birchbark canoes, they looked warily at the boy, and the one in the bowler hat again warned Creed about him.
“Even a young one. They have magic. They can steal your soul. They can make you sick. You will die.”
“You are like an old woman,” Creed scoffed.
The short Cree’s eyes flashed at this insult. He coughed up some phlegm and spat on the ground near the boy’s feet. “Remember. You were warned.”
They shouldered their canoes and their bales and were gone.
The boy looked up at Creed. “Thank you, Corporal. I’m sorry.”
“Superstitious idiots.”
They loaded the canoe and continued on their way without further discussion, but Creed found himself casually musing about the reaction of the Cree to the boy. Magic? He wondered what the signs would be.
That night at the campfire, Creed couldn’t resist. “Is it true? Do you know magic?”
The boy thought about this for a while, the fire illuminating his features. “Our shamans know magic. The rest of us? We know about the spirits around us. That’s all. We know how not to get into trouble.”
“That’s an important skill. Perhaps you can teach me,” Creed suggested with a smile.
“I’ll do my best,” the boy replied, his face dead serious at the responsibility presented to him. Then he crawled into the tent to sleep.
THEY PADDLED UP the Great Bear for eleven days in all. The tall, thick pines surrounding Fort Norman gave way to a shorter variety as well as black spruce, whose numbers dwindled like the hairs on a balding head. They portaged five times and tracked that many times or more, walking in the ice-cold river, pushing or pulling the canoe over the rocky swifts and shallows the way Father Rouvière had done. Creed continued to read through the young priest’s letters. One described his first encounter with the Eskimos. He and Hornby had made their way across the big lake and were at a camp up the Dease River, halfway to the Coppermine.
Hornby was difficult this morning and went off hunting. I decided to take a walk in the opposite direction, northeast along the river. I’d walked half the day when I saw something at the top of a hill. I walked in that direction to see what it was and I saw several people in the cleft of the hill. Are they caribou? Are they men? I can’t tell at that distance. To make sure I go toward the hill. There’s no doubt about it: these are Eskimos! Thanks, O mother Mary! The first step of my mission fulfilled. Be pleased to bless this first encounter! I was wearing my cassock and holding my oblate cross. As soon as they saw me, they came toward me, holding their arms to the sky and bowing deeply. Immediately, I raised my arms aloft. The leader gently took me by the arm and presented me to the others. They called me by their word: Kabloona. They touched me, shook my hands, touched the cross around my neck. Immediately, I began to try to tell them by signs that … celui qui est sur la croix … He who is on the Cross … s’y estimmolépour nous … He was murdered for us! I gave out medals, which I placed around
“Stop talking nonsense.”
“Don’t trust him.”
“He is a good man.”
“I tell you this for your own good.”
Just then Creed noticed the heavy artifact hanging from the short man’s neck. Creed took two steps toward him. As the man raised his hands in defence, Creed grabbed the crucifix and inspected it. It was an unusually large silver cross inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He turned it over to find the initials J.B.R.
“Where did you get this?”
The man looked worried. “I traded it from a Dene hunter up on Great Bear Lake a few weeks ago.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know his name?”
“I don’t know him. We were just passing.”
Creed believed him. He bought the crucifix from him for two dollars and sent them on their way.
Before the Cree left with the bales of marten and mink furs they were taking south in their battered birchbark canoes, they looked warily at the boy, and the one in the bowler hat again warned Creed about him.
“Even a young one. They have magic. They can steal your soul. They can make you sick. You will die.”
“You are like an old woman,” Creed scoffed.
The short Cree’s eyes flashed at this insult. He coughed up some phlegm and spat on the ground near the boy’s feet. “Remember. You were warned.”
They shouldered their canoes and their bales and were gone.
The boy looked up at Creed. “Thank you, Corporal. I’m sorry.”
“Superstitious idiots.”
They loaded the canoe and continued on their way without further discussion, but Creed found himself casually musing about the reaction of the Cree to the boy. Magic? He wondered what the signs would be.
That night at the campfire, Creed couldn’t resist. “Is it true? Do you know magic?”
The boy thought about this for a while, the fire illuminating his features. “Our shamans know magic. The rest of us? We know about the spirits around us. That’s all. We know how not to get into trouble.”
“That’s an important skill. Perhaps you can teach me,” Creed suggested with a smile.
“I’ll do my best,” the boy replied, his face dead serious at the responsibility presented to him. Then he crawled into the tent to sleep.
THEY PADDLED UP the Great Bear for eleven days in all. The tall, thick pines surrounding Fort Norman gave way to a shorter variety as well as black spruce, whose numbers dwindled like the hairs on a balding head. They portaged five times and tracked that many times or more, walking in the ice-cold river, pushing or pulling the canoe over the rocky swifts and shallows the way Father Rouvière had done. Creed continued to read through the young priest’s letters. One described his first encounter with the Eskimos. He and Hornby had made their way across the big lake and were at a camp up the Dease River, halfway to the Coppermine.
Hornby was difficult this morning and went off hunting. I decided to take a walk in the opposite direction, northeast along the river. I’d walked half the day when I saw something at the top of a hill. I walked in that direction to see what it was and I saw several people in the cleft of the hill. Are they caribou? Are they men? I can’t tell at that distance. To make sure I go toward the hill. There’s no doubt about it: these are Eskimos! Thanks, O mother Mary! The first step of my mission fulfilled. Be pleased to bless this first encounter! I was wearing my cassock and holding my oblate cross. As soon as they saw me, they came toward me, holding their arms to the sky and bowing deeply. Immediately, I raised my arms aloft. The leader gently took me by the arm and presented me to the others. They called me by their word: Kabloona. They touched me, shook my hands, touched the cross around my neck. Immediately, I began to try to tell them by signs that … celui qui est sur la croix … He who is on the Cross … s’y estimmolépour nous … He was murdered for us! I gave out medals, which I placed around
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