Читать книгу Mostly White - Alison Hart - Страница 11

EMMA

Washington County, Maine1890

SNAKE

They beat me, I’ll tell you that’s what they did, at that school, they beat me, huh! School! If I spoke my language oooooh—those nuns would get so mad called it the devil’s language and Sister Anne, oh she’d get out the switch—

Everyone’s eyes in the class widen—turn to me.

I didn’t care I was tough huh, I was too tough for them, already eleven, they beat me and I didn’t cry. Tried to beat the Indian out of me, only good Indian is dead Indian, kill the savage kill the savage save the man …

Take me to the front of the class and with that switch smack smack smack until I bled. They couldn’t get to me I made myself real small so small no one could get to me it wasn’t me they were beating they couldn’t get to me.

“That’s what any one of you will get if you speak the devil’s language in here.” Sister Anne props the switch by her desk. Silence in room—I am a lump on the floor. My brother, he is the only one that can see me that small pebble I’ve become. Joe wipes his eyes.

Joe don’t cry, silly Joe—you know she didn’t get to me no—you know that little Joe, little Joe—

My head is facedown. I can see the crack in the floorboards, smells like dust. Cold dust.

“Get up, you little nigger savage!” She sounds like a snake hissing.

Ssssssssssssssssavage

“I said get up!”

I get up hissing Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss she is a snake Sssssssssssssss I stamp my foot bent low. They know—the class knows, they want to join the dance, like we did back home, they shift in their chairs—

Sssssssssssssssssssssss I move around the room, Sister Anne shouts, “You come here, you little savage!”

Sssssssssssssssssss I swerve past her, in between desks Sssssssssssssssssss I head towards the door, the open door. Why aren’t the children holding my hands, so we can coil, coil up like a snake? I smell sage. A rattle shakes. I go towards the door.

“You come here right now!” She gets the switch, stomps towards me, I turn towards the door, the children bang on desks—the beat—beat of the drum—the beat. Sister Anne catches me, grips my arm. Loud footsteps, Sister Dorothy comes. “What is going on?”

“Quick, get her—she’s speaking the devil’s language.”

“Devil’s language, is she?” Sister Dorothy clenches my arm—I’m bent down, foot stamping, the children banging the desks—pulse of the drum.

She holds me down one of them I don’t know who, I feel the switch over and over again—

Sssssssssssssssssss I say Sssssssssssssssssss—

They take me to the closet—

Ssssssssssssssssss

Throw me in the closet. Now I am in darkness. I can still hear the faint sound of the children beating their desks—the drum.

“It’s that nigger Indian again, is it?” Sister Dorothy says.

“The devil’s in her, devil’s in her blood, that one.” Sister Anne spits out her words like venom.

“Let’s see if this won’t help.” A lock clicks.

“Keep her in for a good time this time.”

“Yes, Sister Dorothy, yes.”

“Now tend to your class before the others go on the warpath.”

“Yes, Sister Dorothy.” Her footsteps fade off.

I don’t know how long they locked me in there that closet—days I don’t know sunrise sunset sunrise? I don’t know. I soiled myself plenty. Joe and the rest of them beating their desks, some medicine. Back stings, back of my dress sticky—too much blood.

A click, the lock opens, light shoots to my eyes. “You filthy beast!” Sister Anne yanks me. I don’t resist.

“Had to make a mess in there, did you?” She pulls my hair.

“Get those clothes off!” I don’t move.

“You filthy savage, get them off!” She rips the dress off me, it tears skin off my back. I don’t move. I feel blood trickle down my legs—she pulls me by the hair.

“Get in!” She puts me in big metal basin pours cold water on me—she scrubs so hard my skin red red water red. “That will teach you to speak the devil’s language in the Lord’s house, this will teach you!”

They scrubbed me and Joe scrubbed so hard Joe cried and cut our hair short. Fell to ground in clumps—I wanted to scoop it up, I did from those mean Sisters, scoop it up and put it back on my head. Burned our clothes. Gave us new clothes white scratchy, smelled funny not soft like deer or sealskin. Scratchy. Maybe they burned our hair with the clothes. Spirit soaring to the sky.

How long Joe and I been here? One moon? Came to our house they did, came rounded up all of us—me my brother Joe, we didn’t have a lot to eat, not much those agents handed out. We poor Papa trying to grow garden—hard soil tough soil. Agent bring food. Mama died, she died of coughing sickness, my mama black not Indian, she learned from Papa and his people. Aunt Julia brought my mama to us for Papa’s medicine. Aunt Julia is black too, my papa healed my mama, but the sickness came back and took her. Papa fish, Papa hunt bring food when he can. Papa face sad since Mama died coughing disease his eyes far away like he’s in some other world.

Papa try and stop men from taking us. Joe and I were playing in yard—they came and took us.

“This one’s dark.” He holds my arms hard. “Real dark Indian.” Joe cries, trying to get away from other man’s arms. They drag us to cart, howls of children crying—Papa runs out of house.

“Where you taking my children?”

Agent says, “All Indian children got to go to school.”

“Where you taking them?” Papa jumps on one of them like a bear the other agent raises his stick and beats Papa, beat him till I can’t see Papa move—just lump on ground. Papa, please get up please please get up. Last time I seen of Papa—on the ground.

Me and Joe huddle in dark all children weeping sound of horse hooves on ground crack of whip. Time to civilize and educate Indians the agent said, Joe crying I’m holding him. We get to school the place we would unlearn our savage ways. They stripped us scrubbed us cut our hair. Any time anyone speak Passamaquoddy smack of hand or lash with switch. We learn to speak without speaking.

“Get up and go to morning prayers!” Sister Anne commands. She shakes me—I’m cold—floor cold on my feet. I walk to church, all brown heads bowed in white clothing kneeling—

“Our Father who art in heaven hallow be thy name.” I kneel by Joe—Joe frowns. “Thy Kingdom come thy will be done.” I pinch his leg, he shoots a glance, I smile.

After Mass, breakfast. I’m so hungry one bowl of something lumpy I eat it anyways—always hungry at this place. We march in one at a time Sister Anne tapping switch in her hand—my back throbs.

I am dazed in class words tumble out of Sister Anne’s mouth like gurgling brook. I can’t make sense of it. Am I here? Or my spirit somewhere else, disappeared through closet floorboards.

Joe has rabbit fear in his eyes. I can’t reach him. Chore time, scrubbing floor, sweeping, dusting, my body does it. Where am I?

Lunch time. Some watery soup, my body eats it the children scared to talk to me afraid of beatings. Back to class more gurgling brook talk. More chores. Sister Anne’s piercing voice:

“Sweep that dirt in a pile first then sweep it in the dust pan. Don’t you know how to sweep a floor?”

My body follows commands, back to dinner, some stew. Nighttime prayers, we kneel beside bed all girls, booming voice of the Father we try to mimic his words as he walks by our beds, he stops at mine. Will I die? Will I die and go to hell? Father stares at me with steel blue eyes—my spine shivers.

I am awake or asleep, someone heavy on me, it’s dark—

“You—you seductress I know what you want.” The Father whispers in my ear hand over my mouth. His face is red, hair white like snow. He lifts up blanket something hard enter me he thrusts up and down up and down pain stabbing through my body—

“This is what happens to sinners!” The Father’s thrusts become harder, faster—

Am I dead? Did I go to hell? Is this hell? Joe Joe where are you—his scared rabbit eyes was his warning. Pierce sharpness over and over—

I am dead, am I? I smell sweetgrass the kind my mother used to hang.

Something sticky wet down my legs.

“You savage seductress you made me do it.”

He leaves. I am frozen I am in the hell they speak of.

Morning prayer. Hard to walk. My spirit gone I am just body. We kneel say morning prayer.

“Our Father who art in heaven hallow be thy name—” insides ache—

“Thy Kingdom come thy will be done—”

I am just a body—

“on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread—”

My spirit

“and forgive us our trespasses—”

Where are you?

“As we forgive those who trespass against us—”

Where are you?

“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil—”

I must get you

“For thine is the Kingdom the power the glory—” back!

“forever and ever Amen.”

The Father closes the bible and leaves, Sister Anne rushes us to breakfast.

“Joe,” I whisper to him, “Joe, my spirit gone I must find it today at lesson follow me.”

Joe nods his head, Sister Anne shoves me away from him back in line for breakfast.

Sunlight through window, door creak open, calls me to find my spirit. Sister Anne bounces switch in her hand all eyes on switch—except me. My eyes on door. She commands us to copy letters heads bent over slates, she walks up and down the aisle past me, past Joe.

My spirit calls me.

I take Joe’s hand run towards door her back is to us—we run—me and Joe run—past the pasture, the outhouse into the woods—warning bells ring—I hold tight to Joe. Someone is behind us, Joe trips—lets go—he screams they get him—I run, I shout, “Joe, Joe!”

“Run big sister run!” he cries.

“I will come back for you.” I dash into trees I can’t turn back—my spirit calls—so fast I run I run until it’s dark. I run until I can’t see.

They tie you up to a tree and leave you there oh Joe, Joe. The last one that tried to run, they caught and tied him to a tree. We couldn’t talk to him, or give him food or water, his eyes, lifeless, until he couldn’t stand no more. I rock back and forth under a tree, I rock, the owl hoots, tears stream down for Joe, I rock, listen for spirit.

BIRD MAN

Coo of dove calls me, time to keep moving. Father Sun shines through green leaves of trees. My stomach rumbles for food, I spot pink flowers ahead of me. My mama and aunties showed me how to dig up roots and find the nuts. I get a stick and dig out the thickest root of the vine, pull it hard and out comes a necklace of round nuts. I brush them off, eat half and save the rest. I run to tall reeds of grass, sunlight bounces off pointed edges, smell water. Come to edge of riverbank and wait in sunlight, maybe spirit is in water, I drink from it, wait for river to bring my spirit back.

I lay back on the rock, river rushes past me. The warmth of stone heals my back, still feel Sister Anne’s switch. I drift in dreamland—

Little one, remember the story of Bear Island. We are the bear clan. My mother Sophia, a bear medicine woman, your grandmother. She had healing powers to cure ill, foraged forests for plants and herbs. White man disease came too strong—the pox. Came to Bear Island—whole island suffered, the wails echoed at night, wolves across the bay answered back. My mother tried, used herbs for my father Joseph, my brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles—pox took them. We went to bring them to rest with ancestors, to the mainland. We carry dead in a canoe heading toward mainland, they shoot arrows at us, forcing us to go back. They didn’t want the pox. My mother set the camp on fire, we left at night in a canoe, wolves howling, people howling, owls hooting—there was no peace that night.

Long journey, yes it was, all night gliding down the river, stars leading the way. Father Sun rises, on the shore, my mother offers tobacco. I carefully step out of the canoe and join her, facing the four directions. We walk in silence through the forest. My mother shows me what herbs and roots to pick. I eat berries and my mother fasts, so she can be hollow like a drum to receive the spirit. She thanks the plants as we go. My moccasins worn, I keep going. The cries of the people and the wolf howls haunt me, I keep going. Grandmother Moon lights our way to the bay. I gather branches for the fire. I sleep curled in my mother’s lap.

Father Sun peeks through the trees. We walk to the river, to the stones. Father Sun rises, the stones light up and pictures appear. The spirit rocks speak to my mother. She sits and prays listening for the song of our ancestors, waiting for the medicine. I don’t speak—the images speak to me: bird men flying, a woman with two dogs her arms raised to the sky world, a salamander from under the earth world, all carved in stone. I wait until sun shifts across the sky and magic pictures disappear. Across the bay a mother bear wades in the river with her cubs, she catches a salmon. My mother speaks to the bear. The fish squirms in the bear’s mouth. She heads into the forest with her little ones behind her.

“Judah,” my mother says, “come.” I follow her into the woods and help her strip birch bark off the birch trees. We wind the birch around a stick and tie it, to save for later to catch salmon. We rest before sundown, head back to the cove—the pictures light up one last time, the message from our ancestors fading with the light. We light the birch torch. My mother holds the torch over the water, I take out my knife waiting for the fish. Something in the water flutters towards the light, I stab the fish, my mother says a prayer. It wriggles as we carry it to shore. We thank the salmon. I light a fire and we cook the fish, my mother finally eats, and what we don’t eat, we give back to the river.

I awake to my mother talking with a deer, we follow it through the forest, back to our canoe. My mother lights sage, offers tobacco, giving thanks to great spirit mystery. And that’s how we came here little one, your grandmother, bear medicine woman, from Bear Island. Always remember, we belong to the land.

“Papa.” I call for him. I lift my head, he’s not here. It was the stone, he spoke to me through the stone.

“I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone.”

A voice rises from the river like some great bird. A man sings alone in canoe.

“As she wheeled her wheelbarrow

through streets broad and narrow

crying cockles and mussels

alive alive-oh!”

I want his canoe. I start throwing rocks at this Bird Man, big rocks—

“Alive alive-oh—” He stops singing, and frowns. I hide behind stone and throw one smack on back of his head—that stops his singing—

“Who’s there?” he hollers, he sees me, rock in hand. I keep throwing them, pelting him. He paddles canoe to shore, I dart into tall reeds.

“Why are you throwing stones at me, lass? Is my singing that bad?”

I throw another one, it hits his leg, he winces. He has boots on, is white man with a funny way to speak. I throw another stone at him—he rushes towards me and I run to his canoe, he runs after me and catches me like I’m a fish—caught in his net arms. I struggle, kick, he strong, he got me.

“Okay, lass, you want to go in the canoe, let’s go in the canoe.” He picks me up, drops me in, ties my hands behind me and paddles down the river. He starts singing again: “Alive alive-oh, oh Alive alive-oh—crying cockles and mussels alive alive-oh.”

I am a fish trapped—

“What, you’re angry because you got no stones to throw?” He takes a drink from a bottle, it shines and reflects the sun—

“Alive-alive-oh, oh Alive-Alive Oh—crying cockles and mussels alive alive-oh.”

Where are you, spirit? I am fish now caught waiting for you. This strange man won’t stop singing. Joe, where is Joe? Father’s blue eyes, Sister Anne’s switch, the smell of the floorboards—I don’t know it but I’m shaking, shaking and writhing about like a fish out of water. The singing man tries to stop me: “There, there, have some of this to calm you down.”

He offers me the bottle, I take it. I drink it, tastes awful. I drink more, my head feels light, my body warm—oh spirit have I found you?

Where am I? Am I dead? Owl’s omen come true? Where’s Joe? Where’s Joe? I jump out of bed running into other room—

“Joe! Joe!” There are many barrels big, and bottles empty like the one in the canoe. Where is that strange Bird Man? Did he bring me here? I turn quick, a bottle crashes. Bird Man walks in smoking a pipe.

“What’s all the ruckus in here? Someone finally woke up?”

“Joe! Joe!” I shout—

“There’s no Joe here. My name’s Patrick, and you, what should I call you?”

“Why you take me here?” I pick up broken bottle, I jab him—

“Whoa, whoa, lass.”

I jab bottle closer—“You tell me where’s Joe? What did you do with Joe?”

He twists my hand, bottle crashes. “Now, we’ll have none of that, there is no Joe here. My name is Patrick.” He pushes me towards chair. Where am I? Heaven hell heaven—

“You must be hungry.”

He brings me a piece of bread and cup of water. I grab it and shove it in my mouth squinting at this blue-eyed man.

“Now, now, slow down, slow down, it will go down easier.” He gives me another piece. My mama warned me of the blue-eyed devils. He takes a puff on his pipe, smoke rises above us, is he praying to the ancestors? “Now what do you call yourself?”

I eat the bread—should I run and find Joe? Maybe Papa will find me.

“So, no words?”

“Where’s Joe! Where’s Joe!” I get up, go outside on porch—“Papa! Joe! Papa, Joe! Where are you?” He holds me down—I fight him, I fight, I fight. My body goes limp. I stop. I can’t move anymore.

“There, there.” He leads me back to barrels and bottles room. He brings me more bread. He makes tea, singing as he makes it. I sit. I eat. I drink. I don’t know where Joe is I don’t know where I am I am lost. I miss my mama. I can feel her soft dark hand on my cheek. “Mama?” I reach out for her, she gets up to leave.

“Mama!” She vanishes. What world have I entered? Papa speaks to me.

Let me tell you how I met your mother. She came to me in a dream first—as a sick deer with big eyes. She showed me the plants that heal. I helped her dig them out and fed them to her. She got better and never left me.

Two black women came to my door, Aunt Julia and Mary. Mary was leaning on Aunt Julia barely able to stand. Mary had the same eyes as the deer in the dream, I recognized her, and she recognized me.

“They say you are a healer.” Aunt Julia approached me. “They won’t take blacks at the hospital. I’m Julia and this is my sister Mary. She’s got TB, I don’t have much, this is what I have.” Julia gave me a small purse. I couldn’t take my eyes off Mary. “Wait,” I said, and I ran out the door into the forest. I ran to the woods in the dream. I offered the plants tobacco, thanked them first and dug them out. I ran as fast as I could back home and boiled the herbs for Mary to drink. Slowly your mama regained her strength, and her coughing stopped. She came to the forest with me, to offer tobacco to the plants. She helped pull up the roots. She stayed with me and learned the ways of the medicine.

We had a wedding, and she was my wife. She helped people who came for medicine, some Indian, some black, we helped whoever came. And you little one was born, and then Joe. The sickness came back, this time it was too strong. I prayed for a dream and fasted in the forest waiting to find the medicine that would save Mary, my love. It rained, sharp, cold rain, the coldness too strong, it took your mama, it was time for her to go. It was her time.

His voice stops, I reach out my hands to catch him—gone. “Papa!” Father Sun rises—I run outside to catch it, to the edge of the river. Across the river is a great bear, he stands on his hind legs. “Papa!” I rush into the river my arms outstretched—he turns around and walks into the woods.

“Lass, you’re going to catch a death out here!” Bird Man’s voice startles me. The river is cold, I want my papa. “Come on, love, come here.” He picks me up, carries me back to the house, gently places me on the bed and pulls the blanket over my shivering body.

Back to sleep. I don’t know how long I sleep, a day? Birds are talking in the house. Walk into bottle and barrel room, there he is making bird calls out of his mouth, he stops.

“Well, there she is, awake now? There’s a potato for you to eat for we’ve got a long journey.” Empty bottles, full bottles with clear liquid cover the floor. “Come on, lass, get going.” I sit down at table and eat. Bird Man makes his bird sounds as he rushes, filling bottles, screwing in wood corks on top. “We are taking a journey down the river, yes, we are going to sell these spirits.” I finish potato. “Come here now and fill this bottle.” He hands me bottle and shows me how to fill it. It smells sharp to my nose. I liked how it made me feel in the canoe, warm, light, like I was floating. I fill bottles and put cork on top, we put in a box. Many boxes. Many bottles. He starts bird calling again even dances some jerky motion, knees in air. I laugh, laugh so hard at this strange dancing Bird Man.

“So now I know you laugh, eh?” He stops his silly dance. “Come, let’s load the canoe.”

He wraps potatoes in sack, puts on his hat and we carry boxes to canoe. In canoe I am surrounded by boxes of spirit bottles. The river talks its familiar sound, this river I know. We follow it a long time. Sometimes I take the paddle, Bird Man sings and we eat potatoes. I start to recognize the land; this river Papa and the men would fish in—I’m going home? The strange Bird Man is taking me home?

“Well that’s about it,” he says. We pull canoe to the side of the bank, at a pier with ships. We hide the canoe. He gives me basket with bottles covered with a blanket. He slips bottles in his boots and walks funny, slow like an old man. We walk up bank to dirt street. Smell of fish, rotting fish, a factory, sardine factory, men and women swarm out of building. We stand in dirt street. Bird Man moves his feet nervously—men know him, they come and ask for a pint, give him money, he reaches into his boot and hands them a shiny bottle. More and more men come by, stop to talk with Bird Man, they laugh—give money, get bottle. They all talk like Bird Man, same bubble stream talk—all white men. Most of them hairy, they happy to see Bird Man, happy to get their bottle.

We run out of bottles and walk back to canoe to get more. Bird Man whistles. “Not a bad day, lass, not a bad day at all.” He fills the basket and his boots, we walk back to our spot. A few men come to buy some bottles. A man in a blue suit with stick comes towards us—is he an agent? I freeze—Bird Man hands a man a bottle. Is the agent going to take me back to the school? He takes Bird Man’s arm, men scatter.

“What are you selling here?” The man in blue suit carries a stick, like the stick that beat Papa down. Bird Man tries to slip bottle in his pocket. Blue suit man catches him, Bird Man raises bottle up. “Just an elixir, just an elixir, sir.”

“Is that right?” Blue suit man is a big man, wide shoulders and a barrel stomach.

“Yes sir.” Bird Man’s hands tremble.

“Well, let me see.” Blue suit man takes bottle, opens cork and sniffs. “This is no elixir.”

“I can explain, sir”

“It is against the law to sell alcohol in Maine.” Blue suit taps his stick.

“Yes sir, yes sir, let me explain.”

Maybe I should run. Blue suit gets real close to Bird Man and whispers, “I tell you what, you give me three pints and I’ll forget the whole thing.”

“Sure, sure, officer, sure.” Bird Man gives two more bottles to blue suit who slips them in his coat.

“Now git!” he shouts, walking away, swinging his stick.

“That was a close one.” Bird Man smiles.

“Why didn’t he take me?” I say.

“Take you? Why in the world would he want to take you?” Bird Man laughs. “Now come on, lass, let us get some dinner after all our hard work.” Bird Man sings and every so often does some jerky steps. I catch his coattails and walk behind him, peeking out to make sure blue suit doesn’t come after me.

We enter a loud dark bar, music playing, happy music, feet stomping, men and women clapping hands. Women painted faces, red lips like cranberries. They all know Bird Man, crowd around him, slap his back, smile, we sit at a booth. Bird Man brings out more bottles, he is the hero, the hero of the spirits. A lady brings food: fish fried, cabbage, potatoes. I eat so much. Bird Man laughs with woman, tight dress showing her bosom. Woman takes Bird Man, they leave, I stay and eat.

“Here’s a young one, a darkie,” a man yells, red in the face, bottle in hand, swaying towards me. “How much for her? I bet she must be a virgin!” He leans over me; his breath smells sour. “I’ve never had a dark one like you yet, let me show you a ride tonight, show you how it’s done, how much—how much?” He kisses me, my body freezes, his hand slides down my shirt, he squeezes my breast. “Ooooh, like that? How much, lass?”

I kick, howl, try to get out of his arms, music so loud, he won’t let go—he picks me up, I try and get away—where is Bird Man? I scream again.

“Oh, I like that—a feisty one!”

He carries me to room it’s dark. He pulls my shirt off, squeezing breasts. He hits me, I fall. He undoes his pants, voices outside the door, a man and woman tumble in.

“How’s this room?” she says. The man squeezes her, she giggles.

“Alright, lass.” It’s Bird Man’s voice. I’m on floor, man standing over me.

“What are you doing with her?” Bird Man moves closer.

“What? This darkie isn’t worth nothing!”

“She’s just a child, you louse!” Bird Man takes bottle in hand and smashes it on man’s head. He falls like a tree and gets up like a bear, punching. Bird Man falls down—the woman screeches. I put my clothes back on and Bird Man gets up and slugs him. The man falls, I pick up a chair and smash it on man’s back. He goes down. Bird Man picks up his hat and takes my hand. “Come now, lass, time to go.” He doesn’t let go of my hand, the woman with painted lips hugs Bird Man.

“What about us?”

He squeezes her behind. “Another time.” We gather our things and walk out on street. Bird Man leads us back to the bank, to canoe, he is quiet, he makes no bird sounds.

The moon is out, stars are out. Bird Man covers me with a blanket and paddles up the river. I sleep, that night in the canoe, I dream a big owl comes to me, it’s Joe, I know it’s Joe, he hoots at me and flies away. Joe is talking from spirit land—I know Joe is dead. They caught him, tied him to a tree that’s what they did, like they did to the other one, his lifeless body slumped over, we couldn’t help him—

I have no one. Mama died, Papa died from agent’s stick, Joe died, Bird Man all I have. We make many trips down river selling spirits. He caught me but I caught him. After that night at the bar, Bird Man hold my hand, more careful. Spirits—selling spirits, that’s how we survived. I drank spirits. Spirits help me forget. Bird Man drank to stop sadness in his eyes. He was forgetting something too? Many years go by. I have babies—one die, one live, a girl, Deliah, she help with our spirit selling. We make our own, we survive, that’s how we survive.