waiting room, Indians melted away before them, looking sadly back over their shoulders or turning their backs entirely as if to walk straight into the wood, which was carved into a simulacra of its origin as an unrepeatable forest. It is unnerving, thought Peace, to see my ancestors swallowed into the exact same wood that was stolen from us. She tried to divert her thoughts from her brothers living and breathing beside her not in fear but silent exaltation. She had to try and think of something other than the monstrous crack she sensed was developing in her father’s heart.
The train arrived. The boys left. Peace and her father watched the train disappear and then watched the place into which it had disappeared. Augustus gestured with his open hands and dropped them to his sides. Time, he thought, has most certainly been a ruthless judge. He turned with Peace and they walked through the town, greeting and shaking hands with people, gravely, as they passed. People had found out that the three brothers had joined the war. When they got onto the road and began their walk home, Augustus felt the feeling that was too large for him. He dropped to his knees as though a great hand had struck him down. Peace helped him up and when he rose he held her arm, tottered forward, suddenly feeble. They began to sob. The road became a path and the surrounding half-grown scrub, rotting stumps, vigorous new popple and maple kindly closed over the two of them. They walked slowly, weeping. From time to time they held each other, or braced themselves against small saplings. Each had a handkerchief. They wiped their faces. But still their fears flowed down their throats and wet their collars and dampened their shoulders.
“Please take care of them,” Augustus prayed to ruthless Time.
“Bring them home, please protect them,” prayed Peace to the spirits of her ancestors who had peered over their shoulders at her in the train station.
Chapter 4
The Blitzkuchen
1918. END OF THE WAR. So many spirits out, wandering, including Augustus Roy, who looked down into the sum of money he was counting one day and saw a shade of blue he had never seen before roar open marvelously into another life. And so he died. His wives mourned him, but not as deeply as Peace, who really did cut most of her hair off and slash her arms before she felt any better. It helped when she found out all three of her brothers would return.
When the youngest, Shawano, came home from the land of the frog people he was half spirit, too. But that is often how warriors are when they return. Booch had served in the supply lines and come down with the Spanish flu. Charlie had spent the war in an army kitchen. Only young Shawano got decorated with a medal and a ribbon. Only he felt crazy. Ogichidaa, they called him, now, warrior. Ogichidaa had lost his best buddy, who in the warrior’s blood relation was more like another self and could not be adequately revenged.
“Sa tayaa,” he cried suddenly. They were sitting at Asin’s house. “I tried. I made his mark on every German soldier that I killed!”
“Was it a deep mark?” hissed wrinkled-up Asin. The old man had become so violent in his thoughts he seemed unhinged to most people. For instance his opinion was that the Americans should make all the Germans into slaves. Ship the whole country full of people here and teach them to be humble. That’s how they would have done it in the old days. He couldn’t get over how he had heard our government gave back most of their territory. Bagakaabi, whose name implied that he saw clearly, was more reasonable and said everyone was humbled by this war. He had heard it took a wheelbarrow full of money there to buy a loaf of bread.
“They get to eat bread?” cried Asin. “While the Indians must eat bannock?”
Bagakaabi shrugged. He loved bannock.
Ogichidaa was a slim and handsome boy when he left, but his look when he returned was reeling and deathly. His face was puffed up and
The train arrived. The boys left. Peace and her father watched the train disappear and then watched the place into which it had disappeared. Augustus gestured with his open hands and dropped them to his sides. Time, he thought, has most certainly been a ruthless judge. He turned with Peace and they walked through the town, greeting and shaking hands with people, gravely, as they passed. People had found out that the three brothers had joined the war. When they got onto the road and began their walk home, Augustus felt the feeling that was too large for him. He dropped to his knees as though a great hand had struck him down. Peace helped him up and when he rose he held her arm, tottered forward, suddenly feeble. They began to sob. The road became a path and the surrounding half-grown scrub, rotting stumps, vigorous new popple and maple kindly closed over the two of them. They walked slowly, weeping. From time to time they held each other, or braced themselves against small saplings. Each had a handkerchief. They wiped their faces. But still their fears flowed down their throats and wet their collars and dampened their shoulders.
“Please take care of them,” Augustus prayed to ruthless Time.
“Bring them home, please protect them,” prayed Peace to the spirits of her ancestors who had peered over their shoulders at her in the train station.
Chapter 4
The Blitzkuchen
1918. END OF THE WAR. So many spirits out, wandering, including Augustus Roy, who looked down into the sum of money he was counting one day and saw a shade of blue he had never seen before roar open marvelously into another life. And so he died. His wives mourned him, but not as deeply as Peace, who really did cut most of her hair off and slash her arms before she felt any better. It helped when she found out all three of her brothers would return.
When the youngest, Shawano, came home from the land of the frog people he was half spirit, too. But that is often how warriors are when they return. Booch had served in the supply lines and come down with the Spanish flu. Charlie had spent the war in an army kitchen. Only young Shawano got decorated with a medal and a ribbon. Only he felt crazy. Ogichidaa, they called him, now, warrior. Ogichidaa had lost his best buddy, who in the warrior’s blood relation was more like another self and could not be adequately revenged.
“Sa tayaa,” he cried suddenly. They were sitting at Asin’s house. “I tried. I made his mark on every German soldier that I killed!”
“Was it a deep mark?” hissed wrinkled-up Asin. The old man had become so violent in his thoughts he seemed unhinged to most people. For instance his opinion was that the Americans should make all the Germans into slaves. Ship the whole country full of people here and teach them to be humble. That’s how they would have done it in the old days. He couldn’t get over how he had heard our government gave back most of their territory. Bagakaabi, whose name implied that he saw clearly, was more reasonable and said everyone was humbled by this war. He had heard it took a wheelbarrow full of money there to buy a loaf of bread.
“They get to eat bread?” cried Asin. “While the Indians must eat bannock?”
Bagakaabi shrugged. He loved bannock.
Ogichidaa was a slim and handsome boy when he left, but his look when he returned was reeling and deathly. His face was puffed up and
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