Ma said all along that it's good for me. One of the biggest parts of being Indian is living with respect. Young people learn respect real early and for me, being young at being Indian, it was important that I get into thinking that way right off. Having to get up and walk over to Keeper's to pray and make him breakfast was a good way of learning a respectful way real quick, she said. Sure, I grumbled like hell, but looking back I sure learned a lot awful fast by doing it. Pretty soon it got to be as natural as could be and I was waking up long before the alarm clock. Keeper says I was finally learning the real meaning of “Indian time.” So I've been making that morning trek every day since I hooked up with that old guy and it's still one of my favorite things in the world. Peaceful. When you spend a lotta your life shopping for it, a little peace every day gets to feeling like a real bargain once you find it. Anyway, it's quiet come
morning and making that walk really gets me in tune with things. You walk out the door and walk down this little trail to the dirt road that winds through the townsite. Going down that rocky little hill gives you a pretty good scan of the area, and I always stop for a moment and have a good look. Still amazing sometimes to me that I'm here. Five years later it still has the same effect on me it had that first morning. Standing there on that rock looking over a world that most people wouldn't think existed in their own country. I love it. Small cabins kinda peering through the trees with a bunch of old cars and trucks parked around the front. There's trails leading off into the bush, out past the johnnie or down to the dock dependin' on which side of the dirt road they're on. Got the usual corduroy-ribbed dogs hanging around that slink out as you pass for a quick lick at the hand or to offer a hesitant kinda bark like they're trying to convince even themselves they're dogs. The kids leave their bikes'n stuff laying around everywhere and here and there behind cabins you can see where there's hides being stretched for scraping, fish-smoking set-ups, cast-off furniture sitting beside firepits like Ma's where people sit in the evenings, some rusted swing sets or just tires hung from trees, maybe some old moose antlers and a clothesline that somehow has always got someone's frozen wool longjohns bobbing up and down in the winter breeze like a big headless puppet.
Down further where the hydro lines end it's different. Around Chief Isaac's house there's a new satellite dish
and a couple of newer trucks. Some of the band councillors live beside him and they've got shinier pickups too and you notice right away there's no trails leading past the johnnies. They've got indoor plumbing down there and lotsa folks around here figure it's a big treat to wander over and have their morning constitutional at one of their houses or else at the band office or community hall. Big joke around here has to do with Chief Isaac visiting over at Len and Clarice Bird's one night and having to go to their outdoor john. He spent a whole lotta time out there I guess and the joke is that the reason he took so long was on accounta he couldn't figure out how to flush the thing. But things do look different down where the hydro is and the ones who live down there kinda act different too.
There's a cluster of modern buildings where the schoolteachers live. They come and go about every year with the occasional one sticking around for two years but mosta them get kinda lonesome for the city after a while and head on outta here when their year's up. They've got these little townhouse units all brick and siding with big picture windows that never have the shades up and wouldn't look too outta place in most cities. Some of the ones that were here a few years back put up little wire fences to try'n keep the kids'n dogs outta what they call a yard, but they don't work. Indians and especially the kids just grow up believing that the land's their yard and a fence is just another something to jump over or play with. So mosta them are about half
up and half down with no sign of anyone trying to fix them up. The school, which is really only a five-room brick building with a small gym out back, sits right next door to the teachers' units.
Doc and Mrs. Tacknyk are the only ones making an attempt to live like the rest of us. They've got one of them log cabins with the varnished coating that sits right at the edge of the modern area. Got a veranda where they sit at nights when Doc plays his clarinet and Mrs. Doc sews or knits. They're okay. Came here about ten years before I did, liked it and settled right in. They get invited over to lotsa places for supper and fires on accounta Doc's got a lotta pretty funny stories about his years as a medic in Korea and Mrs. Doc gets along good with the ladies. They don't try'n get folks to behave different like the schoolteachers all seem to wanna do and they've even been seen to dance the inter-tribunals at our annual pow-wow. Folks like them even if they do refer to Doc behind his back as Cool Hand Luke, or even Dr. Coldfinger. No need to tell you why, I guess. Only guy I know gets about half a dozen of them pocket hand warmers every Christmas. Never ever had any kids of their own, but they sure do treat ours good. Always seeing kids pouring outta the medical unit with some treat even if they didn't have an appointment. Doc and the Mrs. are part of White Dog and probably always will be.
There's the community hall beside the hockey rink and ball diamond that's just a long low building all done
up with cedar shakes and heavy-gauge wire over all the windows. Too many slapshots or foul balls busting up the glass over the years. Us Ojibways are big on hockey and baseball so it's a pretty busy area year round. Nights they got games and movies sometimes or else people just drop by to talk and listen to radio static that passes as hockey games or music on Bert Otter's big portable. Bert's one of my uncles on my father's side and acts as the community development officer and lives in one of them modern houses near the chief. He's in charge of programs down at the hall and for setting up the house league baseball and hockey leagues each year. Funny kinda guy, real serious for an Indian, reads lots and talks like one of them mad scientists on those old movies he shows. Nice guy though.
All that first summer I was being introduced to people who were my relatives. One of the things about small isolated little communities like this is that everyone knows each other and is somehow related to each other. No one moves in or out much so the community stays pretty stable. I met aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews and nieces from both sides of my family. They were all a little shy around me at first and vice versa but the more time I spent here the warmer things got. That's the nice thing about White Dog, everywhere you go there's a friendly face to meet you, greet you or feed you. I liked that last part best for a while there.
The Ontario Provincial Police got a trailer they use for an office whenever they drop by here set up beside
the hall. Them opp have a hell of a time with us White Dog Indians. All the English disappears soon as they come around and even Chief Isaac gets into the act with them. Tells them things like you're never supposed to look an Indian in the eye when you're talking to them on accounta it's an insult. Or moving your hands around a lot when you speak is good, makes us comfortable, wanna trust you. So you always see them
OPPS
looking down at their feet and waving their hands around whenever they're talking to someone and meanwhile we're making funny faces at them. That and teaching them how to speak Indian all wrong gets a lotta laughs and they never ever figure out how come we're laughing all the time they're around. Most of them are real young and just new to the job, sincere and unspoiled by too much job pressure so everyone gets along fine. Whenever there ever is any trouble around here they just sorta sit back and let us iron it out between ourselves before they'll step in and deal with it. Us we appreciate that. Looking after our own's a big source of pride with us and it's good they understand that. Our Indian leaders are all calling it self-government these days and making big noise about how they're gonna bring it to the people. Us we always had it.
The band office is right across the road from that. That's where all the regular business of White Dog is taken care of or where Chief Isaac goes to get away from Mrs. Isaac whenever he's shy of a good excuse. It's a modern building with a lotta glass up front and varnished
cedar shakes covering the walls. Most people don't go there except on cheque day when everyone's up real early and waiting for their monthly money. Funny thing about welfare is it doesn't really seem so insulting a thing when everyone around you is using the same thing to live. Me, I found it tough adjusting and sure was glad to get some work when it happened, but folks around here have gotten used to the promises of the government about working being empty words and just wait patiently for the fishing and hunting seasons when they make big money off the tourists. Lotsa families make a couple hundred a day easy when the Americans arrive, more if their guests catch their limit or bag their moose, bear or deer. But it's the “bait the tourist” game that's the highlight of fishing and hunting season. See, Americans always wanna be knowing all about Indians. Especially us bush Indians. Get them out in a boat or around a fire deep in the bush and they start asking questions. Course, the first thing they wanna know is the cuss words. Wanna be going home and cussing out the boss, the wife or the dog in Indian. Get a big charge outta that. Anyway, they ask about everything and we get a lotta laughs outta teaching them wrong and then watching them trying to do what we told them. Talk around the fires gets real hilarious when the fishing and hunting seasons are in full swing and people work real hard at coming up with the best bait job.
The best one for years was my uncle Gilbert's. He got a real hangdog kinda face and he can put on the serious
real good. You start believing him right away on accounta the I-just-lost-my-dog expression. Them tourists they get caught right up in it. Anyway, Gilbert's getting ready to take a big party out for pickerel early one morning and just kinda minding his own business loading up the boat. One of them Americans sidles up alongside him and asks him if there's a special Indian ceremony that we use to ensure good fishing. Well, Gilbert's been a guide for years and he can spot a fish coming better'n most. Both the in-the-water kind and the outta-water kind. So he gets that look going and says that there is but it's so sacred that not a lotta people can know about it. Two big words around here that get tourists' noses to twitching and eyes to bulging are “tradition” and “sacred.” Lay those out and they just swarm for the bait. So Gilbert had this guy hooked and landed before he even knew what was happening.
“Ain't s'posed to be tellin' no one who's not initiated into the ceremony. 'Gainst my religion,” Gilbert told him.
“Aw, come on. I'll make it worth your while,” the tourist said, reaching back for the wallet they all carry no matter how deep in the woods you go or how far out on the lake.
“Well, I could use some new paddles for the canoe, I guess, but hey, don't you be tellin' no one I told you this,” my uncle told him, reeling him in slow and gentle.
“Okay! Okay! Here!” he said and handed Gilbert over a brand-new U.S. fifty.
And as he's telling us this around the fire at Kenny Keewatin's one night, Gilbert's reeling us into the tale too. People take great pride in being able to tell a good story and my uncle Gilbert's one of the best when he knows he's got a captive audience. Telling this one was one of the high points of his summer that year and he was playing it to the top.
Guess old Gilbert walked this guy down to the end of the dock with his arm draped over his shoulder all buddy-buddy. When they got there he took a good slow look around the area, squinting his eyes real hard and cupping a hand to his one ear like he was listening for something. The tourist's watching this with the look old Keeper calls “all owl-eyed.” Then Gilbert pulled him closer and started whispering in his ear.
“Here's what you gotta say. But you gotta say it real slow, real serious, like a prayer, you know. Won't work unless you get real serious, 'Kay?” And the guy's edging even closer and closer to catch what Gilbert's telling him.
“Now repeat after me, real slow. It's three words but each one's real important. Get it wrong you'll curse this trip. We might not even make it back alive today, so you listen good!”
And the tourist's just nodding his head fast and excited, breathing all shallow and fast.
“ 'Kay. First you say â¦Â an' say it slow an' serious now â¦you say â¦O-wah. Got it? O-wah.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it, I got it. O-wah. That's easy. O-wah. What's next?”
“Â 'Kay, that's good,” Gilbert said, patting him on the back and taking another long slow scan of the area with his eyebrows all pushed up secretive like.
“Second part's like this â¦you go â¦Â Tah-goo. Get that? Tah-goo. That's all, just â¦Â Tah-goo. Real slow, real serious.”
“Got it. I got it. Tah-goo. Like that?”
“Yeah, yeah, only put same stress on each part. Gotta sound real serious. Heavy kinda.”
“Okay okay okay. I got it. Stress each word, yeah, yeah. What's the last part?”
“Â 'Kay. Listen close. Most sacred parta all. Real sacred word. Don't you be throwin' this around after this, 'Kay?”
“Yeah yeah yeah. What is it?”
“ 'Kay. The word is â¦Â real sacred,'member â¦gotta get it right! Word is â¦Â Fye-am. Fye-am, got it?”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Fye-am. Fye-am. Got it.”
“Good,” said Gilbert, giving him another buddy-buddy on the shoulder. “You keep practicin' that while we cross the lake to the spot. An' when you get there you gotta lean out over the boat, spread your hands out, palms down over the water where you're gonna fish, make big wide circles over the water an' you say them words over an' over real slow, serious an' loud. 'Kay then?”