Thunder Through My Veins Read online

  4

  The Birth of Shadows

  • •

  THE ONLY REAL HOME I would ever know was falling apart around me. Tommy worked non-stop to keep things going until he could make other arrangements. Fortunately, his boss was understanding, and he would rush home on his breaks to fix us lunch and do the housework. As it was summertime, Leah was out of school (she had failed grade five due to missing so many days) and she looked after me until Tommy got home. But then one night he came home so tired and bedraggled that I was sure he, too, was sick and was going to die. After supper he pulled us to his lap and told us that we were going to be staying with a nice family who lived closer to town in a trailer park. Leah and I were hysterical. Once he calmed us down, he promised it wouldn’t be for very long. He would see us often and soon everything would be back to normal. And so Leah and I were moved a few days later.

  The Johnstons, a white couple, lived in an old dilapidated trailer that was filthy from top to bottom. Dirty dishes and bags of garbage were strewn everywhere, and the trailer swarmed with blackflies. The Johnstons had six kids, all of whom looked as dirty as the trailer. Their eldest daughter, who was the same age as Leah, tiptoed around as if she were walking on eggshells. She had big frightened eyes and looked as if she would suddenly burst into tears if someone looked at her the wrong way. Their other children varied in age from one to seven; some of them were still in diapers that sagged and smelled to high heaven. Mr. Johnston, a big burly man who looked as if he hadn’t taken a bath or shaved in years, had yellow and chipped teeth and dirty clothes. He was quiet and seldom spoke more than two words. He came home after work, ate supper and then plunked himself down in front of the TV until bedtime.

  Mrs. Johnston was one of the meanest people I have ever known. Her thin red hair hung in greasy strings and her mammoth stomach and chest bounced when she walked. She was forever yelling at her kids, and everything that came out of her mouth began with “You fucking little bastard.” She wouldn’t just spank her kids but would hit them with closed fists or whatever else came in handy.

  One instance shocked me so badly that for a long time, even in adulthood, I thought I had either made it up or dreamed it. It happened about a month after Leah and I came to stay with them, when Mr. Johnston was at work. Mrs. Johnston flew into a rage over something her eldest daughter had done. There was an old bed in the corner of the living room and above that was a large plant hook that had been screwed into the ceiling. Mrs. Johnston grabbed her daughter by the hair and slapped her across the face. She then tied her wrists together and forced her up on the bed, all the while yelling at her to fasten her wrists through the plant hook. The poor girl was screaming and begging, but her mother ripped the shirt off her back and began to beat her with a bullwhip. I’ll never forget the sound of that whip tearing across her back and her awful screams. Leah and I were distraught and ran outside. I have blocked the memory of what happened later. I remember only that it was evening and we were in the living room watching TV: Mr. and Mrs. Johnston on the couch, their kids rolling around on the floor like puppies and that poor girl slumped in the corner, her eyes big and wild.

  Tommy came to see us whenever he could, which wasn’t nearly as often as we hoped. Sometimes weeks would go by, and when he did arrive, he seemed preoccupied and distant, almost as if he’d stopped loving us. I can recall vividly the sound of his truck pulling into the driveway and the excitement I felt at thinking maybe he would take us home. Leah and I clung to him. Most times he took us for ice cream, and in those few short hours, our lives would once again be happy and safe. We tried desperately to tell him what was happening, but he didn’t seem to hear us. Instead, he would make us promise to do our best and mind our manners. Over time his visits grew less and less. At the end of each visit, he would promise to come for us, saying that soon, very soon, we would be together again.

  Leah became my sole connection to anything loving and secure. Whenever she wasn’t busy doing housework or schoolwork, she spent every available moment with me, protecting me whenever there was trouble. She held and rocked me in secret, telling me her fantastical stories and describing what our lives would be like as soon as Mommy and Daddy came to get us. Of course, Leah and I were not allowed to sleep together. I shared a bed with three other little ones and would wake up soaked from their pee. Each morning, before school, she would take me to the river and bathe me. She would smile and playfully say, “At least my baby brother knows how to use the potty.” While Leah was at school, I usually played by myself or watched TV with the other kids. I was content wandering off down to the river where I would daydream or think about the stories Leah told me, sometimes making up my own. My stories were even more grand, filled with princes and monsters, kings and queens. Sometimes Mr. and Mrs. Johnston, their children, Leah, Tommy and Mom were cast in my stories. Mrs. Johnston was always the witch and Mr. Johnston her helper. Their children had been stolen from a nice family and were being held captive in the forest. Tommy and Mom, the king and queen, sent out their guards to find them. After the witch and her helper were killed, the children were brought back to the castle, where they lived happily ever after with Leah and me, the princess and prince.

  Mrs. Johnston didn’t like Leah, and it wasn’t long before she started hitting her, too. At first, I tried to protect her, but Mrs. Johnston slapped me and told me go outside and play. I could hear Leah inside yelling at her never to hit me again. But that was followed by crashing and banging, and I knew she’d gotten a licking. Leah never once cried or begged.

  Another afternoon, Leah was doing laundry and I was helping her. Mrs. Johnston had an old wringer washer like ours and I was fascinated by how the rollers worked. I was standing on a chair and feeding the clothes through, when all of a sudden my hand got caught. I panicked and started to scream. Mrs. Johnston came running into the kitchen, grabbed my hand and yanked it out. She threw me down and was about to kick me when Leah tackled her to the floor. Mrs. Johnston went down like a ton of bricks and, to my surprise, she didn’t hit her. Instead, she calmly got up and said to Leah, “Next time, keep the little fucker’s hands away from there!”

  Mrs. Johnston left Leah alone after that, at least physically, but she did things to torment me. One afternoon, after the chores were done, Leah and I were sitting on the kitchen floor looking at the Sears catalogue. I was showing her all the things I wanted for our dream home. Leah found a pair of scissors and we started cutting out the pictures and taping them on the wall. Mrs. Johnston came into the kitchen and flew into a rage. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing!” she screamed, pushing me out of the way to look at our collage. She ripped the pictures down, grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet and started to shake me. “Get your hands off of him!” Leah screamed. “He’s not doing anything wrong.” Mrs. Johnston spun around and was about to slap Leah when she lunged at her with the scissors. “Don’t ever touch him again, you bitch!” Leah screamed. Mrs. Johnston snatched the scissors out of her hand and slapped her across the face. She told us that we weren’t allowed to talk to one another, and that if she caught us, we would wish we were dead.

  The next few weeks were miserable. And then shortly before Christmas, Tommy came to get us—for good! Leah and I were so happy that we burst into tears. Mrs. Johnston hugged and kissed us, telling Tommy that we’d been no trouble at all. I remember looking over her huge shoulder and seeing her daughter cowering in the corner, looking as if she would give anything to come with us.

  In spite of our newfound happiness, we didn’t go home. To our great disappointment, Tommy had moved to a small two-bedroom trailer across town. It looked as lonely as we felt. It had ugly red shag carpets and dark-panelled walls, broken cupboards and closets, a gas stove and a small oil-burning heater in the middle of the living room that smelled so bad it burned our eyes and gave us headaches.

  Christmas that year was happy and yet terribly lonely. Mom was still gone. I was positive t
hat she was dead for I hadn’t been told otherwise, nor could I imagine why she would just leave us. Tommy bought a small tree and we decorated it, drinking mugs of hot cocoa and listening to Christmas carols on the radio. We clung to him as if he were a life-raft, and he sang “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and read us stories just the way Mom had. Christmas morning we got all sorts of presents and candy, but even though we were safe and with Tommy, I remember thinking that Santa didn’t give me Mommy back because I was a bad boy, although I wasn’t sure what I’d done.

  After the holidays, Tommy went back to work and our lives were uprooted once again. When he arranged for us to stay with another work buddy, Leah and I panicked. How could he do this to us again? But all our pleading and tears made no difference, and we were moved after the new year.

  To our surprise and great relief, Audrey and Paul were nothing at all like the Johnstons. They were in their mid-twenties, newly married, living in town in a two-bedroom apartment. We adored Audrey, who wore bright fashionable clothes and jewellery, make-up and perfume just like Grandma. She fixed her hair in curlers and spent hours brushing it out, piling and pinning it neatly on top of her head. I thought Paul was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with messy blond hair and a rugged face that was forever rough with stubble. Once a week he played hockey and would come home smelling of sweat and old equipment. I always waited up for him, and as soon as he walked through the door, he would scoop me up and swing me around.

  Our lives returned to normal. Leah went back to school and I started grade one. Audrey and Paul lived near the school and so every morning she would walk us there. School was the most wonderful place ever! We drew pictures, learned our ABCs, practised how to count and tell time. Best of all, the teacher read us a new story every day.

  Finally, I felt safe. I wanted to stay with Audrey and Paul forever. Occasionally, Tommy came to see us, but more and more his visits meant nothing. Like Mom, he’d become a shadow and I wanted him to go away forever. Leah and I didn’t need him any more. Paul was our daddy now, and Mom was dead, and Audrey was kind and pretty. We had a new home and family, and this time nothing could break us apart.

  5

  A Merciless God

  • •

  BEFORE MOM LEFT us, she taught Leah and me to say our prayers at bedtime. She would tuck us in and tell us to close our eyes and repeat after her, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

  I didn’t know who God was or what he even looked like. I had seen pictures in Grandma’s Bible of a long-haired man dressed in a scarlet robe, surrounded by little children and sheep. Grandma told me that his name was Jesus and that he was the Son of God. I thought that God must look like him, only older. Leah said that he had a long white beard (I had visions of the mushers) and that he answered prayers—something I thought to be wishes.

  While we were at the Johnstons, Leah and I said our prayers faithfully, meeting secretly every night, whispering them in the safety of the washroom or hallway. Afterward, she held and kissed me, reassuring me that God would keep us safe. Sometimes when the pain was great Leah would whisper in my ear, “Shh, don’t cry. God sees everything. Mommy and Daddy will be back soon. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go home and play with our puppies.” Each day I waited for the white-bearded musher to come and save us.

  In July, I had my sixth birthday. I was so happy that I didn’t give Mom or Tommy a second thought. Audrey decorated the apartment with balloons and streamers and baked a chocolate cake that she covered with miniature hockey players. I got all sorts of gifts, but best of all was the little hockey stick that Paul gave me. That day I made my first career decision—I wanted to be a hockey player, just like Paul.

  Summer was soon over and Leah and I were happily preparing for school when one Sunday, Tommy came to get us. How I hated him! And how I hated God! Our prayers had been answered too late. I didn’t need my parents now. I had Audrey and Paul and Leah. Audrey started to cry and began to pack our things. Paul was in the living room, sitting in his recliner, looking dazed and angry. When he didn’t do anything, I became frantic. I threw myself in his lap, sobbing, “I don’t wanna go! I wanna stay here with you and Audrey! Please, I don’t wanna go! Please!”

  It was the first time in my life I had ever seen a grown man cry. After our things were packed and waiting by the door, Tommy thanked Paul and handed him an envelope. Without a word, he shoved it back into Tommy’s hand, looking as if he wanted to hit him. He went to the hallway closet and took out my hockey stick, handed it to me, and said, “Be good, little guy. I’ll see you on the rink, okay?” Audrey held us close and kissed our tears away, making Tommy promise to bring us over often.

  Tommy had rented an apartment in the same building as Audrey and Paul, but it wasn’t the same. Unpacked boxes were piled everywhere. There were no pictures on the wall, and the furniture was crammed into the middle of the living room. Although there were things that I recognized, nothing felt like home—not like the home I remembered. Tommy, too, was different. He seemed like a robot: methodical, moving toward something I could neither see nor understand. He tried to hold and kiss me, but it felt half-hearted. He didn’t even take us to see Audrey and Paul.

  When Grandma arrived a few weeks later, I was so excited. At last, I thought, there would be some order to our lives. But instead of unpacking the boxes and organizing the apartment, she began to pack even more. When Tommy was home, Grandma seldom spoke to him, and she, too, seemed to be in a world of her own.

  Then one morning, after Leah had gone to school, Grandma took me to the airport. It was a cold, late autumn day, and from the back of the taxi window I watched the leaves break from the trees and set sail on the wind like tiny brown kites. Grandma explained that we were going on a special holiday, and that I was going to be staying with her. When I asked about Tommy and Leah, she grew silent, smiled, and then kissed me.

  I was so excited about being on a plane that I completely forgot about everything. We were flying up to heaven, to where God and Mom lived. I pressed my face to the window and saw the river snaking its way through Miles Canyon, the endless snow-covered trees, and the fluffy clouds where angels slept at night. After we landed in Vancouver, I realized for the first time that Tommy and Leah were really gone. Grandma did her best to console me, assuring me that I would soon see them, but deep down, I knew it was a lie. They were gone just like Mom, and I would never see them again.

  That day, I retreated to a silent place within, a place where God didn’t live, where promises and prayers never came true, and where happiness and safety were a memory of the past.

  6

  Refuge in Silence

  • •

  “BUT GRANDMA,” I protested, “I don’t wanna live with Aunty Sandra and Uncle Tim. I wanna stay here with you.”

  “I know, honey. But you can’t. Grandma’s too old to look after you. Besides, don’t you want to see Todd and Lisa?”

  I couldn’t understand why I had to go to Washington. More so, I couldn’t understand why Grandma, too, was going to abandon me. I wanted Tommy and Leah. I didn’t want to be on holidays any more. I wanted to go home!

  But the following weekend, Uncle Tim came to get me. After Grandma hugged and kissed me, she gave Uncle Tim a box of my clothes, some sandwiches and soda for the trip. Although it was only a three-hour drive from Grandma’s, it seemed like the other side of the world. Aunty Sandra was excited about getting me, and she had fixed up a nice bedroom. After dinner she unpacked my things, most of which she threw out, as I’d out-grown them. Although we had grown up together, my cousins Todd and Lisa stood in the doorway, looking on curiously as if I were a total stranger.

  I could see we wouldn’t be friends. Lisa was three years older and nothing at all like Leah. She was quiet and watchful. She spent a great deal of time alone in her room, and s
he made me promise never to go in there unless I asked. Todd, who was the same age as I, was rough and tumble. He played sports and had scabs on his elbows and knees. He was jealous of the attention his mother gave me and would purposefully do things to hurt me. Because I was shy and nervous, he would find any reason to play-fight. His “games” often left me in tears.

  By now I believed I would never see Tommy or Leah again. Even Grandma was a stranger. Aunty Sandra and Uncle Tim were good to me, but it wasn’t the same as having my own family. I knew that Aunty Sandra loved me a great deal, and over time we became extremely close. Uncle Tim worked out of town and was seldom home. When he was home, he drank a lot and he would push Aunty Sandra around. I missed my own mother and hoped desperately that she was still alive.

  School saved me. I started grade three in the fall and once again found great joy in losing myself in picture books and stories. In the school library I spent hours poring over books on Indians. I was somehow drawn to them: their stately faces that looked so ancient and wise, their once-free life of travelling across the country by horse or canoe. I wasn’t certain why, but I seemed to find something of myself in those books.

  Aunty Sandra enrolled me, along with Todd, in sports. I begged her not to make me do it, but she insisted it would be good for me. More than anything, I wanted to read books and draw pictures. I was happiest wandering off into the forest or hiding in the treetops, imagining myself to be a Great Warrior dressed in a long-feathered war bonnet and buckskin shirt.

  Before I knew it, an entire year had gone by. So much had happened that it seemed as if I’d always lived there. I had settled into the family. Todd and Lisa had become more like my siblings and Aunty Sandra was more like my mother. Although I loved Uncle Tim, I remember being afraid of him much as I had been with Mrs. Johnston.