Unhooking the Moon by Gregory Hughes

his suit,’ said the Rat. ‘And he has to be wrapped in the rug. He always liked that rug. Mom bought it in Paris.’
    â€˜I’ll help you,’ said Running Elk.
    Me and Little Joe followed the chief outside andwe walked down to the prairie garden. Without so much as a word the chief took off his jacket and picked up a spade. Me and Joe did likewise and we began to dig. The ground was soft but it was hard work all the same. My hands ached with gripping the spade and I was soon breathing heavily. Me and Joe took turns in taking a break but the chief, old as he was, was big and strong and he worked without stopping. Within an hour he had the grave dug and, climbing out of the hole, he put on his jacket. ‘Let’s collect the body,’ he said.
    My father was no longer my father, he was the body.
    When we entered the living room the furniture had been pulled back off the rug.
    â€˜Grandfather, can you bring him in?’ asked Running Elk.
    The chief looked at me to see if I wanted to help but I looked out the window. When they brought Dad in the room I carried on looking out of the window. I could hear them straightening his legs and pushing the rug over him. I watched Little Joe go outside. He took a drum and a tambourine from the jeep. Then I heard his footsteps coming back into the house.
    â€˜Would you like to look at him, Bob?’ asked the chief. ‘Before we … ’
    I shook my head.
    â€˜He looks OK, Bob,’ said the Rat. ‘He even looks happy.’
    But I couldn’t look at him and so they tied him up with some cord.
    â€˜When you’re ready, Bob,’ said the chief.
    When I turned around they were waiting for me. I stood next to Little Joe at the front of the rolled-up rug and we picked him up. Running Elk and the chief took the back while Harold and Mary White Cloud followed behind. The Rat put on her sunglasses and holding the large silver crucifix she had taken from the mantelpiece, she led the procession.
    No one spoke as we made our way out of the house to the grave. The only sound was our jeans rubbing together and our feet swishing in the grass. I couldn’t believe how little he weighed. With the four of us carrying him he weighed no more than a bag of shopping.
    When we reached the garden, Running Elk and Little Joe put the instruments down and helped lower Dad into his grave. Then the chief stood at the front of the grave and we stood around it. He threw dust in the air and spoke in the old language so the ancestors would understand. Then he began to chant a song likethe Indians in the old cowboy movies. The Rat, who knew all the old songs, could chant with the best of them and she sang along like a squaw. Running Elk and Little Joe joined in, beating the drum and shaking the tambourine. Mary White Cloud began to dance from side to side and we all did the same, except for Harold who shuffled on his crutches. I moved my feet as best I could, but my heart wasn’t in it. Unlike the Rat who danced like she was at a rave. When the chief stopped singing we fell silent. He nodded to the Rat who removed her sunglasses and took his place at the front of the grave.
    â€˜Dear Lord, we ask you to look after our dad and allow his spirit to roam free and happy in the spirit world. He was a good dad who always looked after us, sang for us, and cooked for us.’ The Rat paused. ‘His pancakes were probably the best in Winnipeg, one might even say Canada, and his French toast was envied by all. Omelettes were another speciality and even though he couldn’t make mocha his regular coffee was pretty good.’ She paused again. ‘He cooked a great barbecue. His speciality was barbecued catfish, which he cooked with corn and roast potatoes. Duck was another favourite, as was his roast pig with his very own applesauce. We had itone Christmas time and I swear it was the best meal I ever had. Dad always made Christmas special. But it wasn’t