Shamanka (32 page)

“I'm glad
someone
recognizes my pain,” she mutters.

Sam feels it's only fair to remind her that she's not the only one who's suffered and reels off a list of dreadful things she's had to endure.

1. Being told that her mother had died in hideous circumstances.

2. Being told that her father was a no-hoper called Bingo Hall.

3. Not being allowed to perform magic.

4. Not being allowed to bring friends home.

5. Having to wear circus clothes to school.

6. Being threatened with a teapot.

7. Being locked in an attic.

8. Being made to eat scraps.

9. Being forced to cut Aunt Candy's toenails.

10. Having to sleep in a knicker drawer.

11. Having her orang-utan sent to a laboratory.

12. Never having any birthday or Christmas presents.

13. Having frying pans thrown at her.

No matter how dreadful your own life is, at least you've never had to cut Aunt Candy's toenails. It is no doubt true that suffering shapes us. It may even trigger seemingly paranormal abilities. But could you or I ever possess the wisdom of the midiwiwin; a wisdom so powerful it masquerades as magic?

“What would I have to do to be like you, Ruby?” asks Sam.

The medicine woman smiles to herself. “Learn to leave your body at will and travel anywhere on, above, or under, the earth. Then there's the initiation ceremony, of course.”

What initiation ceremony? It all depends which tribe you belong to, but here's a selection of tasks you might be asked to attempt. Do not try them at home – they are dangerous. By the time the ambulance arrives, it will be too late, which will be an appalling waste: I need you later on.

Initiation ceremonies:

1. Being buried up to your neck in an ant's nest.

2. Walking on hot coals.

3. Diving through a hole in the ice.

4. Spending three days in a smoke-hole.

5. Going out into the snow for a week with a wet sheet around you.

6. Being strung up from hooks threaded through your skin.

7. Climbing a rope and staying at the top for nine days.

8. Sitting in a sweat lodge.

9. Wrestling a tiger.

10. Cutting off your little finger.

Years ago, Ruby had gone for initiation ceremony number ten – she only has three fingers on one hand. Much as Sam wants to be like her, she doesn't like the idea of cutting off her own digits.

“It's not the pain,” she explains. “But I'm a magician. I need all my fingers to perform.”

“So wrestle a tiger,” mutters Kitty.

I'm not sure why she's in such a snappy mood. Perhaps she isn't feeling well. She was complaining of chest pains earlier, but then she's always complaining about something.

“There aren't any tigers in Canada,” says Ruby. “Choose again, Sam.”

Ant's nest. Hot coals. Smoke-hole … how do you choose between them? Is it worse to be bitten by insects, to have your feet fried or to kipper your lungs? Sam can't make up her mind, so she asks Ruby to decide for her.

Ruby Featha touches her third eye and thinks carefully. “Forget the list. You shall have your own
special
initiation, Sam Tabuh.”

Each person is born under one of twelve signs of the zodiac. Each astrological sign is believed to represent a certain colour and stone.

H
ere are the details of Sam's initiation ceremony: she must climb the third tree on the third hill at three minutes past three o'clock. There is a bald eagle's nest at the top. She must spend the night in the nest and bring back a feather from its breast.

Kitty is worried. It's not because the tree is tall; Sam is an excellent climber. It's because bald eagles have an eight-foot wingspan, talons like butcher's hooks and deadly beaks. They're flying weapons. She takes Ruby to one side.

“Can't she walk on hot cakes instead?”

“It was hot coals,” says Sam. “Stop fussing. I want to do the task Ruby set me. If the eagle turns nasty, I'll defend myself with the divining rod.”

She might as well attack a fighter plane with a lolly stick. But it's almost three o'clock. It's too late to back out of it. She remembers Mr Fraye's philosophy and thinks positive.

Lola wants to go with her, but Sam's not allowed to take a friend during this initiation; there are some things you have to do alone. Lola watches anxiously from underneath Kitty's robe as Sam makes her way to the third hill.

She reaches the third tree; it's a pine. It looks easy enough to climb, but as she pulls herself up on the first branch, she feels a sharp pain in her hand; the cones are covered in cruel spines. Blood oozes from her palms. She has no gloves but she does have her witch's cord. She loops it around the branches and uses it to haul herself up – that way, she avoids lacerating her skin.

The tree is higher than the top flat in St Peter's Square. If you fell out of Aunt Candy's kitchen window (and once Aunt Candy almost managed to push Sam out) you'd probably break your neck. If Sam slips now, if the cord breaks… But think positive!

There's no sign of the eagle yet. It has lost its only chick. The chick leant over the edge of the nest – a dangerous thing to do if you can't fly – and fell while searching for its mother.

Sam climbs higher and higher. She hasn't avoided all the cones. Her hands are scratched and blistered but the pain doesn't register. This isn't unusual. In the heat of battle, soldiers are often unaware that they have been shot; it's only when the fighting stops that the pain starts.

Sam has six branches to go. The wind is getting up; the tree is swaying. Breathing deeply to overcome her nausea, she clings to the trunk, looping and knotting the witch's cord with her teeth. Using the movement of the tree as momentum, she lassoes the uppermost branch and, keeping the cord taut, inches herself up the trunk with her feet.

The eagle's nest is right above her head – an untidy platform of twigs and branches knitted with bleached fish bones, snake spines and the regurgitated skulls of rodents. Sam flops into it, exhausted. She lies on her back and studies her hands. “Ouch.” She licks her wounds. Her eyelids are heavy. If she loses consciousness she might fall out of the nest like the chick, so she uses the witch's cord to strap herself in.

The clouds sail by, shape-shifting into stampeding buffalo. She counts them: one buffalo, two buffalo, three … thirty … three hundred … until she falls into a deep sleep. Far away in Covent Garden, she can hear Bart Hayfue singing: “When the wind blows, the cradle will rock, when the bough breaks—”

Sam is woken up by an ear-splitting shriek; the eagle has returned. It glares at her, its beak poised like giant secateurs. She can feel the hot steam escaping through its nostrils. Her immediate thought is that it will rip her nose off and throw her over the side. The mother eagle is shocked to find a strange, featherless creature in her nest and, naturally, her first thought is to get rid of it. Aware that the eagle is still grieving for her baby, Sam protects herself by mimicking the cry of the chick.

How does a child born in London know what bald eagle chicks sound like? Easy. Mr Fraye had taught her at the breakfast table. He went through his whole repertoire of birdcalls from albatross to zebra finch and when Sam knocked the top off her boiled egg, he threw his voice into the shell and gave it the cry of an eagle chick.

Those kinds of breakfast antics are not something you forget easily. Sam closes her throat to create the right pitch and starts squeaking like a fledgling. The eagle cocks her head quizzically and the fury fades from her eyes. The thing in her nest doesn't
look
like a chick, but it sounds like one, so she gives a motherly grumble and flies off to fetch it some food.

Five minutes later, the eagle returns with a fish. Sam has no choice but to open wide and let her stuff the slimy, flapping morsel into her mouth. It's big, so she has to chew. Trying not to retch, she swallows the flesh and guts, sieves the bones through her teeth and spits them out.

Satisfied that her chick is full, the eagle puffs herself out, settles like a duvet on top of Sam and dozes off. It's hard to breathe with a fifteen-pound bird sitting on your chest. Sleep is impossible so Sam amuses herself trying to ease a feather from her breast. It's not difficult if you have magician's fingers; she's so gentle, the eagle barely twitches.

Sam whiles away the rest of the night trying to spot the constellations. Kitty has taught her most of them; she can see Pisces clearly from where she's lying. Unfortunately, it reminds her of the fish she ate earlier, her stomach churns and she averts her gaze. Over there is the Great Bear and there's Gemini, the Twins – or is it? There's an extra star. Has Sam discovered a new constellation? The star winks back; it's telling her the secret of the universe in cosmic semaphore. Babies know the secret. We all know it – it's printed on the inside of our skulls; but by the time we've learnt to talk, we've forgotten our first language, Starspeak. Occasionally we almost crack the code, but something or somebody always interrupts us.

As dawn breaks and the eagle flies off, Sam is on the brink of understanding. She unties the cord. She stands up triumphantly in the nest, certain that the great universal truth – the Grand Plan – is within her grasp, that it's only a fingertip away. All she needs to do is stretch…

“Sam? Saaaam! You can come down now!”

Kitty's voice shatters the peace. Sam loses concentration and the truth slips away. The moment has passed. How frustrating – but at least she knows the answer is out there. She almost touched it. She will be able to reach it when she's taller.

It's much quicker coming down the tree than going up. Sam arrives at the bottom bloodied and disorientated. She's had no water or sleep. She's shivering but smiling. Ruby is waiting for her.

“Is your initiation complete?”

Sam produces the eagle feather.

“Did you find the answers you were searching for?”

“I only found more questions.”

Ruby's face splits into a smile. She is delighted with her student. “Then you came closer to the truth than your father did.”

John Tabuh had visited Ruby. He wanted to know if it was possible for a person to leave their body and travel at will – or whether Professor Farthy was right. Was it just a
hey-lucy-nation
caused by the rhythm of the drum playing games with the temporal lobe?

Ruby had sat John down under the red cedar tree and offered to send him to the Astral Temple. Although he was sceptical, Christa persuaded him to try, hoping that he might see his father; he missed him so much.

The drum drummed and John Tabuh was surprised to find himself in a place that wasn't entirely in his head. But his father never showed. He was there, but he wasn't at home, it seemed, to a son who hadn't completed his mission.

The witch doctor regarded John's visit to the temple as cheating. It
would
have been possible for him to discover what was real, what was magic and what was illusion right there if Yafer had allowed it, but he didn't approve of short cuts; they taught nothing but laziness.

John was unable to disguise his frustration, so Ruby had offered to guide him to the Lower World instead. He was grieving and she hoped it might comfort him to see his dearly departed. However when he came back, he was even more upset.

He'd seen an old Mexican couple with his twins in their arms; he'd smelled the herbal soap his mother used to use; but he didn't see the girl he wanted to see more than anyone else in the world. Sam guesses it was her, but as she's still alive there's no way he could have met her down among the roots where the dead reside.

“He dismissed the whole experience as a dream,” sighs Ruby. “I suggested he walk across hot coals to see if it would bring him closer to the truth, but he said no, anyone could walk on hot coals. They might look hot, but it was just an illusion. The heat isn't sufficient to burn the soles of your feet – not if you walk fast enough.”