June 1971
- Nancy's Mom is keeping Henry Lee for me for good now. Do I feel guilty? Only when I'm sober. And I try very hard to see that doesn't happen. I give her money all the time, so I'm sure she doesn't mind. Wish I had a mother like that
.
October, 1971
- Today Dad says he doesn't know where he is going to stay because he can't pay his rent. I know what he wants so I give him forty bucks. His eyes bulge. Usually I only give him ten or twenty
.
At Decarlos with Nancy. The gang is all here, too. Already we
got suckers to pay for our drinks. It's cheap coming here. I give my money to Dad so he can go get tanked and I come here and get mine free. I have to laugh at dumb jokes, let these guys run their hands up my legs. They think they're going to get more later, but I can avoid that
.
Mark DeSoto. Now if all these guys were like Mark⦠but they're not. Nance says Mark's ol' lady, Sylvia, is going to have it in for me if I hang around with Mark. He's over there at another table. He comes to say hello. I ignore him. He was supposed to call during the week and didn't. The suckers at my table are really playing up to me tonight. Got to go say hi to Marie
.
I'm walking back to my table and I hear this shrill voice. “Hey, squaw, I don't share my man with no one. You hear me? Especially no squaw
.”
Sylvia comes into my path and stops. I stop. I look her in the eye. “What's your problem, sweetheart? Can't hang on to your guy? And I ain't no squaw, I'm a half-breed.” I feel ridiculous and powerful at the same time. I know what I'm capable of. I give her my coldest stare. I know I've won this round. She can't match my gaze. The âblond bomb-shell' jabs a finger into my shoulder, telling me what she's going to do to me. I twist around slightly and bring my fist into the side of her face, not real hard but hard enough to back her off. The dumb broad trips over a chair and sprawls on the floor. Everyone laughs, hoping for a fight. I step over her and continue on my way
.
“You're going to pay for this, Cheryl.”
“Yeah? Well you'd better give it your best shot, Sylvia.”
Mark struts over to my table. My precious companions scatter. He sits down and grins. “So you're my prize,” I say to him sarcastically. But the evening ends with Mark in my bed
.
Mark moves in. Nance moves out. Landlord requests that we remove ourselves after the first party. I find a cheap place on Elgin
.
November, 1971
- I'm working. Mark is working the streets. We're always broke. I sell all the furniture, except the typewriter. I wonder why April gave it to me? She's the one with the writing talent. I give it to Nance for safekeeping, so Mark won't sell it
.
We're stone broke. Mark owes everyone so we can't hit anyone up for a loan. Mark says to me, “You know that guy who comes to Neptune's and he always looks the chicks over
.
Well he's loaded and sometimes I sit and talk to him.”
“I know who you mean. What about him? You're going to borrow some money from him?”
“He never lends money. But sometimes he sees a chick he likes and asks me if I can arrange a meeting. So, I go to her and if she's interested we share the money he pays, see?”
“You mean you're some kind of pimp?”
“Not a pimp, Cheryl. I just do two people a favor and I get some money out of it. We need money now, bad, and I know he's got the hots for you, I just thought you might consider it, just this once.”
“You're asking me to go to bed with another man?”
“Well, it's not like there's any feelings between you. Just think of it as a business transaction. I told him you were a very special girl and he's willing to pay more for you. Come on, Cheryl, one hour's work and you could make fifty bucks. I'll try to get more.”
“Forget it.” I'm bloody mad
.
“I'm ain't no prostitute.” I storm out of the house. A week later. We're still broke. I'm drinking at Neptune's. I'm almost drunk. Mark comes over. This sucker who's been buying me drinks leaves quickly. Funny the power Mark has. “Cheryl, please, we gotta get some money. The landlord today said he'd give us another 24 hours and no more.”
“Is he kinky?” I'm just dirt. Who cares if he's kinky
.
Later, I'm back at Neptune's. We have our rent money now, plus some. I have a drink. Another one. Another one. My parents deserted me, April has left me, Markâ¦is a good for nothing woman user. Make that last word, abuser. I have another drink. And another one. Let Mark use me. I don't care. Let April sit in her fancy white palace. I just don't care anymore
.
January, 1972
- I'm an old pro now. I'm working the streets full time. I avoid the pigs by picking Johns that are obviously not pigs. Well, they're pigs, too but in another way. Mark arranges a lot of meetings, too. I've gotten into other things I bet Mrs. Semple never heard of in her old âsyndrome speech'. I'm still broke. First thing Dad says when I see him is, “Cheryl, I need twenty for groceries.”
“I don't have any.”
He goes into a rage. “What do ya mean, you don't have any? You got enough to go drinking but you can't spare your poor
Pa any? Did that bum you're shacked up with tell you not to give me anymore? You're just as bad as your ol' lady was, you know that? A lazy no good for nothing. Running around all the time, living with bums. I need some money. I need groceries and I got to pay the rent. Now I got nothing, just cause you couldn't hang onto a simple job.”
I tell him he's worse. I swear at him. I tell him what I think of him, that he's a parasite, a gutter-creature. I tell him it's his fault Mom killed herself. The tears spring to his eyes. I leave him. Let Mm stew in his guilt. I sure as hell stew in mine
.
At home. Mark comes in. I'm angry and still brooding. Mark is angry. I'm supposed to be at Neptune's. We need money real bad. He yells. I yell. He beats me. I'm used to it. He avoids hitting my face. He has learned it's not good for business. He leaves
.
I walk along Main Street. This is where I belong. With the other gutter-creatures. I enter a hotel. I don't know which one. The word âBeverage' is all I see. I need a drink. A couple of drinks. The depression is bitterly deep. The booze doesn't help this time. I'm back on the street. I'm drunk. I want to run in front of a car. The guy who was buying my drinks comes with me. What a creep. We head to my place on Elgin. We take a short-cut down a back lane. The creep wants to fondle me and kiss me. He can't wait. “Back off, you ugly old man. I'm no whore, you know?” I don't know why I say that, but I repeat it. I can scarcely keep my balance. It's like there's two of me, one watching, one doing. “I wanna kiss you. I know what you are. So don't pretend with me, I paid for you.”
“You stink. Leave me alone, you filthy pig!” I slur the words. He gives me a push. I slam into the wall and fall into a sitting position. My legs have given out. They're sprawled out in front of me, like they don't want to go on, anymore. I close my eyes. I like the sensation of everything spinning around at full speed. I half open my eyes. I watch the man. He's looking real scared. He turns and runs, clumsily, boozily. I smile and shut my eyes again
.
I come to. I'm still just lying around with my legs out there in front of me, still going nowhere. I notice the garbage cans and garbage bags on either side of me. “Hello there!” I says to them, “I've come home. At long, long last.” I chuckle to myself I hiccup. I chuckle some more. I think in the morning the garbage men will take us all away, me and my friends. I giggle. I try to get up, I can't. So I stay put. Every once in a while I chuckle to myself. And hum a tuneless song
.
I wake up. April holding my hand. I can't see her but it's April I squeeze her hand
.
For a long time, I sat very still, thinking. Then I looked at my watch. And sighed. It was three a.m. I knew what I had to do. I knew now, why it had been so important for me to return to Nancy's place. I'd have to wait until morning. I paced around the room and finally returned to the journals. I put them back in the box and set them on the floor. Then I laid on Cheryl's bed, on top of the covers, still clothed. With my hands under my head, I stared up at the ceiling. The clock downstairs was abnormally loud and so, so slow. A few hours more and I could be on my way to Nancy's place to Henry Lee.
For the moment, I thought of Cheryl. Memories came back, memories of her voice, the memory of her reciting her powerful message at the Pow Wow. Why, oh why didn't she talk to me? Why couldn't we have talked to each other? And would it have helped? At times I was overwhelmed with her memories and tears would trickle down the sides of my face.
The next morning I woke up, dismayed that I had fallen asleep. Then I was dismayed to find it was still too early to go to Nancy's place. The sun was just beginning to rise, spreading orange yellowish hues across the skies. I went downstairs to make coffee and freshen up. My eyes felt swollen. Again the house seemed so empty, cold, lifeless. With my cup of coffee in hand, I opened the front door and stood looking out at the still empty street. The birds were just beginning to sing their morning praises to their Creator. It had rained during the night. Everything was wet. The smell of wet earth was invigorating, so clean. I stood there breathing deeply when I noticed there was a letter in the mailbox. I thought of leaving it for the moment, but didn't. The moment I saw it was Cheryl's handwriting, my heart started to pound. I tore it open and sat down, heedless of the damp step.
Dear April,
By the time you get this, I will have done what I had to do. I have said my goodbye to my son, Henry Liberty. I couldn't bring myself to tell you about him before. Now I know you will do what is right where he is concerned. I also know that Mary and Nancy will do as you wish. They're taking care of Henry Lee. All my life, I wanted for us to be a real family, together, normal I couldn't even mother my own baby!
Do not feel sorrow or guilt over my death. Mm thinks he can control Nature. Man is wrong. The Great Spirit has made Nature stronger than man by putting into each of us a part of Nature. We all have the instinct to survive. If that instinct is gone, then we die.
April, there should be at least a little joy in living and when there is no joy, then we become the living dead. And I can't live this living death any longer. To drink myself to sleep, day in and day out.
April, you have strength. Dream my dreams for me. Make them come true for me. Be proud of what you are, of what you and Henry Lee are. I belong with our Mother.
Love to you and Henry Lee,
Cheryl
An hour later, I was at Nancy's place once again. She opened the door for me, as if she had been expecting me right at that precise moment. I followed her down the hall to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, was a small boy eating some cereal. He looked up at me as I walked into the room. He smiled, the same kind of smile I had seen a long time ago, on his mother's face when she was that age, the age of innocence.
Nancy began explaining but I stopped her. I told her I understood everything. As I stared at Henry Liberty, I remembered that during the night, I had used the words, “my people, our people,” and meant them. The denial had been lifted from my spirit. It was tragic that it had taken Cheryl's death to bring me to accept my Identity.
But no. Cheryl had once said, “All life dies to give new life.”
Cheryl had died. But for Henry Liberty and me, there would be a tomorrow. And it would be better. I would strive for it. For my sister and her son. For my parents. For my people.
BEATRICE MOSIONIER (aka Beatrice Culleton) was born on August 27, 1949, in St. Boniface, Manitoba. She is the youngest of four children of Louis and Mary Clara Mosionier. At the age of three, Beatrice became a ward of the Children's Aid Society of Winnipeg. She grew up in foster homes, away from her real family and her people, with the exception of several years when she lived in a foster home with one of her older sisters. Both of Beatrice's older sisters committed suicide.
Writing as Beatrice Culleton, Beatrice is the author of
In Search of April Raintree
1983;
April Raintree
1984; and
Spirit of the White Bison
1985, all published by Peguis Publishers. As Beatrice Mosionier she has written a play,
Night of the Trickster
1992, produced by Native Earth Performing Arts; and a children's book,
Christopher's Folly
1996, published by Pemmican Publications.
Beatrice has acted as the playwright-in-residence for Native Earth Performing Arts; helped initiate the process to establish a Toronto-based Aboriginal publishing house; worked for the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples; and travelled extensively to fulfill reading and speaking engagements for a wide range of audiences.
Beatrice is currently working on
Shadow Lake
, a novel for young adults.