Barefoot at the Lake Read online

  Just as he was saying about the ducks, ‘They’re singing wedding songs to each other,’ Grace crawled in and joined us.

  ‘Your mother knew you were in here,’ was all she said and she sat down silent and crossed her arms on her chest.

  ‘Uncle’s singing,’ I said, but Grace didn’t reply.

  ‘Choose a song,’ I suggested, but still she didn’t talk.

  ‘What’s up?’ Uncle asked and Grace spat out, ‘My mother’s decided to have another baby.’

  She lay down beside me, pulled her hat over her nose and pretended she was sleeping.

  ‘Isn’t that wonderful?’ Uncle asked.

  ‘Well, she didn’t ask me!’ Grace replied. ‘She said she’d been praying to God for a baby and now she’s pregnant and going to have one.’

  ‘How do you get pregnant?’ I asked, and Grace rolled her eyes.

  ‘Hasn’t your mother told you?’ Grace asked and the truthful answer was that she hadn’t.

  ‘I’ll talk to your mother later and if she’s happy, Brucie, I’ll explain everything,’ said my uncle.

  He turned to Grace and with a very serious look in his eyes he said, ‘Grace, she might have a boy. It can be good to have a brother. Do you know you can get pregnant if you swallow a stone?’

  ‘That’s stupid. You get pregnant when your husband sleeps near you,’ she replied.

  ‘But I know a Sioux Indian woman who fell asleep one evening with a pebble in her mouth and she accidentally swallowed it and got pregnant.’

  ‘Why did she have a pebble in her mouth?’ I asked.

  ‘Perhaps she was just hare-brained,’ Uncle replied. ‘All of us are born childish and some of us remain so. Only that woman knows why she put that pebble in her mouth but nine months later she gave birth to a boy, who she named Stone Boy because his flesh and skin were as hard as granite.’

  ‘Is that why Grace’s mother gets sick, because she has a stone in her tummy?’ I asked.

  ‘No, dummy. She’s sick because she’s upset she’s upset me,’ Grace replied.

  ‘People don’t like change,’ Uncle Reub said, ‘and the woman’s two young daughters didn’t want another baby in the tepee so she moved far away from her people and raised Stone Boy on her own.

  ‘You see,’ Grace said. ‘She has a baby and forgets about her family.’

  ‘Grace, the way a story begins is not always the way it ends. Stone is more powerful than anything else on the land but even though he was made of such powerful material his good mother gave her son some special things, a charm that would keep away all harm including evil spirits, a robe on which she painted a dream that hid him from the sight of everyone and everything, a magical spear that could pierce anything, a magical shield that would ward off everything and a magical club that would break anything. She stitched mountains onto the sides of his moccasins so that he could leap from hill to hill without touching the valleys and blue beaded dragonflies so that he could escape all danger.’

  ‘I get it,’ said Grace. ‘You can never catch a dragonfly.’

  Uncle smiled.

  ‘On his deerskin leggings she stitched wolf tracks so that he would never get tired no matter how long he travelled. On his shirt she painted a tepee circle so he would have shelter wherever he went.’

  ‘Do fathers take care of their children like mothers do?’ I asked.

  ‘You’re so dumb, Bruce,’ Grace answered. ‘Your father showed me how to catch worms.’

  ‘When the boy was older, one summer the land lost all its fertility. Nothing grew. There wasn’t even pickerelweed to eat. Stone Boy’s tribe was starving. Buffalo attack when people are vulnerable and the buffalo chose to stampede through his tribe’s settlement and destroy everything and everyone.’

  ‘Buffalo don’t attack people. People attack buffalo,’ I said firmly. ‘That’s why there aren’t any buffalo anymore.’

  ‘Out West, Indians genuinely were afraid of buffalo. When they stampede they kill. Stone Boy heard their thundering hooves and knew what was happening. So in his magical moccasins he strode towards his family’s village warding the buffalo off with his magical shield. Wearing his magical cloak so they could not see him he stood in front of the village and with his massive weight of heavy stone he stepped on the chest of every single buffalo and their breath rushed out of their mouths and nostrils. It rushed out with such force it became a mighty whirling, twisting wind that broke trees, tore up the grass, threw water from the lakes and piled up rocks and earth.

  ‘The buffalo in their dying breath caused such an upheaval and renewal of the land that it become fertile once more. His tribe, including his two older sisters, were grateful and now they loved him even though they hadn’t wanted him in the first place.’

  ‘You’re telling me I should be happy ’cause my mum’s pregnant. What if she has another girl?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Then I’ll tell you another true story about a girl baby.’

  That evening, as we had been promised, the young children – me, Perry and Grace – were allowed to sleep in the tent overnight for the first time. The days were getting shorter and by the time we had changed into our pyjamas in the cottage and taken our sleeping bags and pillows out to the tent it was almost dark.

  ‘Keep it zipped shut,’ Grace commanded us. ‘I don’t want any mosquitoes getting in. If you want to go back to the cottage you have to ask me first.’

  The three of us laid our sleeping bags side by side, with our heads nearest the entrance and with Grace in the middle. In our dark cocoon we listened to the utter silence of the night and it was only a moment before I realised the night wasn’t silent at all but filled with all sorts of noises I didn’t hear when I slept in my own bed. I felt safe and scared both at the same time. I asked, ‘What’s that?’ each time I heard an unfamiliar sound.

  ‘It’s an evil spirit coming to get us,’ Grace replied on one occasion. Perry told her to shut up and go to sleep.

  Grace and Perry did fall asleep but I didn’t. I was too excited about sleeping outside and once I was sure they wouldn’t hear me I quietly unzipped the tent flap, pulled my sleeping bag outside onto the grass, crawled back into it and with it tucked tightly around my neck I watched the sky for shooting stars. Beyond the North Star, the northern lights danced their green undulations on the horizon.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Grace whispered. I hadn’t heard her creep out of the tent.

  ‘I’m watching stars fall from the sky,’ I answered.

  She reached back into the tent and dragged out her sleeping bag, which she put beside mine.

  ‘Move over,’ she commanded and instead of getting in her sleeping bag she crawled into mine. We lay there not talking, not even whispering, both looking at the Milky Way and watching for shooting stars. Grace fell asleep quite quickly. The warmth of her beside me made me feel snug and restful but I took longer to fall asleep.

  Next morning, I woke up first, to the pink glow of dawn and the familiar sounds of a new summer day. It had cooled overnight and the ground and sleeping bags were wet with dew. I lay there for a while, perfectly still, watching dewdrops drip from the willow leaves, like tiny fairies parachuting into the grass. The air was filled with freshness. No one was up yet, not Grace, not Perry, not anyone. I slid out of the sleeping bag and in my pyjamas went for a walk, leaving a trail of footsteps over the soft wet grass, onto the cold gravel road, up to the top of the hill where through the line of white pine trees on the road I could see the orange sun, just breaking the horizon. There was no wind at all, and I felt as calm as candy floss. When I got back to the cottage Grace had rolled up both our sleeping bags. Perry was still asleep.

  ‘I’m going to tell my parents that you should come camping the next time we go,’ she said. She kissed me on my cheek and headed home for breakfast.

  TRAINING

  POPEYE

  There were animals in the city – robins, raccoons – but they seemed anonymous. At the cottage you got to know them
as individuals. You watched the muskrat leave the boathouse, go fishing and come back home. You watched the mallard make its nest and raise its ducklings. You saw where fish spawned or where kingfishers lived. The way Uncle Reub put it, ‘Like us they all earn a living.’

  ‘Who started that screeching?’ I thought.

  I always got up before anyone else but one morning the gulls started their squawking just before dawn. ‘They’re getting ready for war,’ I imagined, and I went straight outside in my pyjamas to see what was happening. But as suddenly as they had started shrieking they stopped and now the birds were perfectly quiet, floating peacefully on the lake.

  ‘They’re pretending they like each other,’ I decided, and went back inside to make breakfast.

  I poured myself a glass of milk, toasted a bagel, buttered it and sprinkled it with cinnamon sugar. I always saved bread crusts in a large glass jar when I did the clearing up after meals, and I took several small pieces of crust, went outside and looked for Popeye. The sun had broken through the trees. It was perfectly calm and indescribably beautiful.

  I whistled. Uncle had taught me how and my whistle was much louder than Rob’s. I didn’t really expect Popeye to come to me but from all the gulls floating on the lake, just one took to the air and glided to a landing on the shore where it stared straight at me. Even though it looked just like all the other herring gulls I knew it was Popeye.

  I sat in my uncle’s favourite lawn chair, rested my plate on my lap and threw a bread crust into the lush green, deep and dewy grass. I’d fed Popeye like that before, when Popeye landed on the dock. I would walk towards the dock in a measured and deliberate way, as if life was in slow motion, then with an unhurried underhand throw, toss a crust towards the bird. I always turned and looked away but out of the corner of my eye would see Popeye walk over to the crust, pick it up and fly off to the lake where he wetted it and swallowed it. I thought I was quite clever to train the bird – such a wild thing. Now, on the grass and much closer to me than the bird ever was on the dock, Popeye waddled over on his enormous pink gull feet, grabbed the crust and flew back to the lake where he ate it.

  I ate my crunchy breakfast and soon Popeye was back, standing once more on the sandy shore, looking straight at me. Just staring. I threw him another crust and again Popeye lifted himself off the shoreline, flew over but instead of landing on the grass he continued straight to me and then suddenly I felt an enormous weight on my head. I had never felt anything so heavy in my whole life, ever, and was almost overcome by excitement. I stayed perfectly still, feeling the huge webbed feet trying to get a purchase, wondering what would happen next. I kept silent and still. I had an impulse to reach up and clutch the bird’s silken white body, but before I could Popeye’s big yellow bill was right in front of my eyes. There was a red spot on the bottom bill I had never noticed before. Popeye grabbed the remaining bagel from the plate and flew off to the lake with it, taking off with such ease that I felt only lightness.

  For the next week I got up extra early each morning, toasted a bagel and went out hoping to experience the joy I felt once more. I tried spreading strawberry jam, peanut butter, cream cheese and honey on my breakfast but the gulls languidly floated in the lake. If Popeye was amongst them he didn’t let on to me that he was. I wondered what I had done to upset the bird.

  Then one late morning, as the sun wandered towards noon, he was back, standing on the dock, looking like he was hungry. Steven and Perry were visiting. It was now late summer but the air was still hanging with heat and while I went into the cottage to toast a bagel, the boys decided they would all go for a swim. Sometimes we waded into the lake from the shore, sometimes we rowed out to the raft and swam there and sometimes we did what they did today, ran down the dock and belly flopped into the shallow water.

  Steve was first. He ran down the dock and as he did so Popeye gently lifted himself into the air while Steve did a perfect belly flop. Perry raced after his brother and almost landed on top of him, landing on the lake like a seaplane.

  ‘That hurt,’ he screamed with a smile.

  When I returned Popeye was floating on the water beside the dock and Rob was racing as fast as he could across the lawn, down the dock and into the air, launching himself onto the water with his arms out like wings.

  ‘I hit the bottom!’ he said to no one in particular when he stood up, and the lake water running down his face was pink and he was holding the top of his head.

  I ran back inside the cottage.

  ‘Uncle Reub, you’d better come,’ I said and by the time my uncle and my mother were outside, Rob, Steve and Perry had left the lake and Rob was holding a towel over his head.

  Uncle examined Rob’s head then told him to keep the towel tight on it, then talked quietly to Mum.

  ‘Bruce, tell Grace’s mother there’s been an accident and she’s going to drive us to Civic Hospital,’ Mum told me.

  When they returned several hours later, Robert looked embarrassed, with a face mask over the top of his head. It was tied under his chin.

  The following day, Uncle Reub examined Robert’s shaved patch under the face mask.

  ‘I don’t like the way they clamped it,’ I heard my uncle say. ‘There should be a drain. There’s sand in that serum. We’d better go to Mount Sinai and have this done properly.’

  Mum was not herself all day. She walked up to Mrs Nichols’ and telephoned Dad. She drove over to Cedar Bay with Grace’s mother and arranged that I would stay with Steven and Perry. She made lunch for Robert but forgot to do so for me or my uncle or herself.

  In the afternoon Dad arrived and drove me to Cedar Bay.

  ‘Do what you’re told,’ Mum told me before we left. ‘Don’t go off daydreaming like you do. They’ll worry about you. We’ll be back on Saturday.’ And she gave me a kiss and a tight squeeze that almost hurt.

  ‘Do what you’re told,’ Dad said as he left.

  My parents, brother and Angus left for the city that afternoon and for the next three days I lived at Steve and Perry’s and was unhappy. I wasn’t unhappy because my parents were away or because Rob had hurt himself or because I was staying with Perry. I was unhappy because I wanted Popeye to land on my head again.

  Perry’s mother made delicious breakfasts. Eggs sunny side up with crispy bacon and toasted Wonder Bread. Mum never fried bacon and told me that white sliced bread had no goodness in it.

  I told my friends I couldn’t stay at Grace’s because I was a boy. Steve said it was Grace’s father’s decision. Her mother didn’t mind.

  Steve wouldn’t go to the fort with Perry and me although he did go swimming when we did. On the second day, on our way to the fort, we found a raccoon sitting beside a shallow pond in the woods. It didn’t run away and as we cautiously and quietly approached it we saw it fall over on its side.

  ‘It’s sick,’ Perry said.

  ‘It needs a vet,’ I replied.

  We watched the raccoon’s eyes close and open and then it fell on its side once more and it had to use all its strength to sit up again.

  I was the first to touch it, gently and tentatively on the top of its neck, then with a little more firmness on the top of its head, then on its body. The animal offered no resistance or resentment.

  We were on our haunches on both sides of the raccoon when I said, ‘We’ll take it to Dr Sweeting.’ I put my left hand under the animal’s chest and my right hand under its rump and needed all my strength to stand up with it.

  The only way I was strong enough to carry the sick raccoon was by holding it tight against my chest, leaning back. Even so I had to hand the heavy animal to Perry and we passed it back and forth many times until we emerged from the woods and walked down the point to Dr Sweeting’s.

  Mrs Sweeting looked alarmed when she answered the door and Dr Sweeting was angry and annoyed when he saw us with the sick animal.

  ‘Boys, take it over there and put it down,’ he said, pointing towards his tool shed.

  Dr Sweeting
went into the shed, put on overalls then walked over to the raccoon and told us to go back to the cottage veranda.

  When we were there, he put leather gardening gloves on his hands then with the blade of the shovel smashed it with such force on the raccoon’s head that we heard the animal’s skull crack open like a hard-boiled egg.

  ‘You can come back now,’ he said.

  I didn’t move. The animal had needed help. It was beautiful. It was soft. It hadn’t harmed anyone. And Dr Sweeting killed it.

  ‘Doctors are supposed to make things better!’ I screamed at the man. ‘My uncle says you take an oath to make everyone better!’ I fought to look straight at Dr Sweeting without blinking but my tears wouldn’t let me.

  Dr Sweeting looked sternly at us. ‘Don’t you ever touch an animal like that again, you hear? They’re goddam dangerous. Don’t you know that coon had rabies? It might be the one that gave rabies to the Nichols’ milking cow. Now go into the house and Mrs Sweeting will give the two of you a good scrub!’

  Somehow, seeing that innocent animal die made me more anxious than ever to see Popeye once more. Everything about that bird was perfect. His feet were as pink and clean as a little baby. His feathers were as grey as my father’s best wool suit, as black as a moonless sky, as white as early morning clouds. His beak was yellow like the sun, his red spot as shiny bright as a traffic light. That bird was summer itself.

  On Saturday, Dad arrived with flowers and a cake for Steve and Perry’s parents and silently drove me back to our cottage.

  ‘What did they do to you?’ I asked my brother when I saw him but all Rob said was, ‘I hate hospitals!’ and I knew not to ask any more. ‘I’m not allowed in the lake for two weeks,’ he continued.

  I walked to the front lawn but there were no gulls anywhere. For the next three days the lake was rough and the rain relentless. My family went to see a movie at Mr Yudin’s theatre in Peterborough on one day, over to Steve and Perry’s on another. On the fourth day I knew before I got out of bed that the sun had returned. The air was fresher when I went outside. A cormorant was paddling past the cottage, only its black head and the top of its long neck visible in the water. Off shore there were at least a hundred gulls, too far away to see easily.