Motorcycles & Sweetgrass (25 page)

“The what rules?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” So once more, they hobbled painfully through the sparse brush until they were safely away. Wayne seemed to be deep in thought.

“What the heck
was
that?” Virgil blurted when they were out of earshot. “I
told
you he was strange.”

Looking cautiously over his shoulder, Wayne urged Virgil to walk faster, but he didn’t answer.

Hopped up on adrenaline, Virgil was all questions. “He was arguing with those raccoons, wasn’t he? I mean it couldn’t have been anything else. Who argues with raccoons?”

“I guess he does. Come on.”

They made their way farther up the road. Soon they came to a small footpath, which Wayne indicated to Virgil they should take. Virgil knew immediately where he was going. Though it was dark, the path was pretty well marked and broad. Soon they came to a grouping of cedar trees that had grown out of a single set of seeds, making the trunk look like a hand extending upward. And between these wooden fingers somebody had long ago placed wooden boards, providing seats. The tree trunks had grown around the edges of the boards in some cases. This little oasis must have been in existence for some time, due to the fact that two different generations, Wayne’s and Virgil’s, knew of it.

“Uncle Wayne, I’m afraid, for my mother,” Virgil said once they were sitting. “This raccoon shit isn’t normal, and I think she likes him… Doctor Doolittle back there. What should we do?”

Wayne didn’t respond. He started to count something on his fingers, his lips moving, pushing down one finger after another. He had just started on his second hand when he reached the end of whatever he was counting.

“Wayne?” said Virgil hesitantly.

Wayne’s expression was one of disbelief. “I hear you. Just thinking. It can’t be. He’s been gone a long time. If you believe in him, I mean.”

“What? What is it? You know something, Wayne. What’s happening here? Tell me.”

It was almost like Wayne was afraid to say what he was thinking. But, upon reflection, he did anyway.

“Momma always talked of him like he really existed. That’s what made her storytelling so special. Virgil, that… that guy just might… I know this sounds crazy… but he could be Nanabush.” As if realizing what he was actually saying, he looked away, his face becoming lost in the shadow of the trees. “Nah, couldn’t be. Could it?” Both were silent for a second as the words sunk in. “Virgil, did you hear what I said?” he asked.

Virgil had indeed heard his uncle, but he was still trying to understand the implications. “Nanabush… the one and only Nanabush… the one grandma would tell me about. That Nanabush?”

“That’s the only Nanabush I know. Well, I guess he could also be called Nanabouzoo, and generically, the Trickster. He’s known by a lot of different names by different people.”

“Jesus, Uncle Wayne! You’re crazier than he is. Nanabush doesn’t exist. He’s a made-up guy, from Native stories. Like Merlin the magician or Tarzan of the Apes or Santa Claus. Actually, I would believe you more if you said he was Santa Claus. I mean, besides the fact that Nanabush is make-believe, John is White. I know it’s dark out here but at least you should have noticed that. I assume Nanabush would at least look a little Indian.”

“Tricksters have the ability to change their shape, Virgil. Or didn’t you listen to your grandmother’s stories? It’s all right there. He can talk to the animals. You saw him. He’s riding a motorcycle, one that’s named after us. Tricksters love irony!”

“So, the Ministry of Transportation gives out vehicle and driver’s licences to tricksters? That’s just one of those… coincidence things.”

“Coincidences don’t exist. That’s exactly the kind of thing he would do. I think it’s called irony. And… he keeps changing his
last name. Tanner, Matus, Richardson… Depending on where you are in Canada, he also goes by different names. Weesageechak, Coyote, Napi, Glooscap, Raven…”

“You’re… I don’t believe this! I said he was strange but there’s strange and there’s strange. You are crazy, Uncle Wayne!”

“Yeah, it’s a definite possibility, according to local opinion. But if I’m right, your mother is in more danger than you thought. So are a lot of other people. He’s very, very dangerous.”

“Wait a minute, dangerous? I thought Nanabush was this goofy guy that always got himself into trouble, did stupid and silly things like tripping on shit and stuff. That doesn’t sound so dangerous.”

“Those are the children’s stories Grandma told you. She told me others. Darker ones. Ones with monsters. Yes, Nanabush teaches us the silliness of human nature, but don’t forget he has special powers. And people with powers tend to act differently from you and me. And I’m not talking in a Superman or Spider-Man way. They have their own set of rules. According to some who really studied those stories, he is a creature of appetites, of emotions, of desires. That is not a good thing to be. That’s what usually got him into trouble. He would often do whatever he wanted to get what he wanted, whenever he wanted it. And if what you say is right, he wants…”

Virgil took a deep breath. “My mother!” They both sat quietly in the darkness for several moments. “So, you’re saying Grandma knew Nanabush? That can’t be true.” Then he remembered. “When I looked in her window that day he showed up, I saw them kissing. I mean, really kissing. Him and Grandma. What do you think that meant?”

Reaching behind his head, Wayne undid the leather thong tied around his ponytail. In all their bush-hopping and peeping,
his hair had come loose. “That explains a lot, actually. Mom… Your grandma always told those stories in such a way that you believed she had been there. There was so much love in the way she told them. In my travels I’ve listened to other storytellers, and her way of telling tales was always different. Special. Maybe now we know why.”

Virgil shook his head. “Nanabush?”

“Yep, Nanabush. It was those petroglyphs you mentioned that got me thinking. I thought it was impossible but still… you see, Virgil, many cultures, ours included, believe the west is the land of the dead.”

Things clicked for Virgil. “The setting sun!”

“Exactly. He arrived, and your grandma, my mother, went west. Nanabush knows how to get there, and back. And now, maybe, he has developed an infatuation with your mom.”

“Oh my god! I just thought he wanted to move to Vancouver with her. Mom… in the land of the dead. Uncle Wayne, I don’t want her to die.” A nervous and wide-eyed Virgil asked the obvious. “So… what do we do? If this is Nanabush, we gotta do something. We can’t let him take Mom!”

Just above Virgil’s head was a tree branch about the size of a child’s wrist. In the gloom of the forest, he could barely make out his uncle reaching above him and grabbing the branch with his left hand. There was a loud cracking sound and the boy felt bits of bark and cedar falling on him. Wayne held the snapped branch in front of his nephew’s face.

“If this is Nanabush in the flesh, as outrageous as that may sound, and I think he is, he’s not a person you want to have around your mother. Around anybody. In the last couple of generations, his stories have been domesticated and gentrified. Remember,
Virgil, where he goes, mischief follows. Luckily he’s half human, and we can deal with that part. Knowing that, we must try to convince him to move on.”

Virgil took the branch and felt the broken end. Since this whole thing began, he had felt something small but uncomfortable lodged in the pit of his stomach. Over the last ten minutes it had grown to be quite substantial, grown to about the size of a motorcycle.

Nestled in her bed with most of the twigs and grass removed from her hair, and just a slight headache from the wine, Maggie thought about the evening’s events, and as a result, her mind was doing more back flips than most high-school cheerleaders. It had been a life-altering night for sure. Well, maybe that was a bit exaggerated. It certainly had been a year-altering night. It couldn’t have been the wine. Though she did have a fairly low tolerance for alcohol, her personality didn’t radically change, like some people’s. Even when she was young, and guys were always after her, the offering of gifts of Labatt and Molson had had little effect. But what had happened tonight? Now that was the question.

Maybe it was the combination of the wine, the moon and the man. That was a definite possibility because she couldn’t tell where one began and the other left off. She had gone from first base to a home run, covering all of the bases along the way. Furthermore, she had enjoyed it all under a blanket of stars. This was very un-Maggie-like behaviour. She blamed her own innate shyness for thinking all the animals of the forest were watching them together on the blanket on the dock, wrapped up in each other.

She still wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole thing. It had been a while since she’d felt the things she’d felt tonight, both physically and emotionally. Hell, even intellectually and spiritually too. It would take some time to figure this all out. Meanwhile, she was content to let her body tingle magnificently.

When John had dropped her off at the house, she’d wondered if Virgil would be able to tell what had happened, but luckily he wasn’t home. There was a note on the table saying he’d gone out with one of her brothers but he had neglected to say which one. It wasn’t like him to be out so late by himself, but she was pleased he was making an effort to socialize more. It seemed to be a night for socializing for both of them. In the dark, Maggie blushed and pulled the blanket over her face. A small giggle escaped.

And they never did take that swim.

Outside her window, perched high in a tree, a raccoon was watching her.

With her parents at their weekly bowling excursion in town, and her brother and sister off at a local high-school dance, Dakota had gone down to the dock again. She’d been spending more and more time out there, with her dad’s binoculars. She’d told her parents she was doing a project on the moon and was making notes on what she could see. Little did she know her parents were now planning to buy her a telescope next Christmas.

So much had been happening over at Beer Bay lately, she could barely keep track of it. And it all seemed to revolve around John Clayton. It had grown late, and John and what she was fairly positive were several raccoons, had left. But they might be back, and so she had waited. And waited. And waited. She had
not wanted to miss a thing. She’d waited until her body could wait no more.

Now she was sound asleep, her head resting on the binoculars case, dreaming the dreams of a thirteen-year-old girl.

Life with two teenage siblings had taught her to sleep soundly, so she didn’t hear the sound of the motorcycle approaching the front of her house, or the engine being shut off. Or the sound of boots walking the planks of her dock and stopping so close. She was also unaware of the man standing over her, watching her sleep. Now it was her turn to be observed. She shivered a bit in the spring night, but did not waken.

EIGHTEEN

The next morning a refreshed and still-tingly Maggie rose, ready to face what fresh hell the day might throw at her. Automatically, she checked Virgil’s room and saw him safely tucked in his bed. She hadn’t heard him come in. Wow, Maggie thought, she must have been really tired. Virgil rolled over, still fully dressed in yesterday’s clothes, grumbling discontentedly in his sleep.

Closing his door she decided that today would be a day for full-blown caffeinated coffee, none of that half-decaf stuff she’d been drinking since her husband died. She knew she had a can packed away in the back of the cupboard for just such emergencies—or hangovers.

Or so she thought. She was on her second search of the cupboard, moving cans and packages around, when she heard a voice behind her. A man’s irritated voice.

“Christ, you’re noisy in the morning!”

Startled, she turned, dropping a can of peas on the floor. Coming toward her from the living room was her brother Wayne, in his underwear and a T-shirt, scratching an armpit. It took a moment for the image to register. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Wayne?”

“That’s my name. What is so damn important in that cupboard?” He yawned again.