Twenty-Two
Evan rummaged through the old man’s closet, feeling for heavy winter jackets, or at least thick wool. The dark, damp basement already reeked of mould and, as he reached deeper into the garments, the scent of mothballs danced with the must in his nostrils. He felt a coarse jacket and pulled it out into the faint daylight coming through the small window above his head. It was a formal military blazer. He recognized it from Remembrance Day ceremonies and grand entries at powwows. He remembered the old man looking proud and mighty every time he put it on.
But here, in this lonely, near-empty basement, it looked stiff and rotting. Evan held it higher for a better look. The blue wool had faded and felt thin. He noticed that the buttons on the sleeves and the breast weren’t actually gold as he had always thought as a child. They were brass and tarnished. He ran his calloused fingertip across the three smaller ones on the jacket’s left wrist, feeling the bumps and grooves of the tiny crests. He pictured the old man holding the eagle staff proudly, wearing this military garb. The buttons’ golden charm had seemed to accentuate the flags and feathers on the ceremonial stave.
But they no longer shone. They never did, really. Evan wondered if Remembrance Day would ever happen again.
The wood furnace in the middle of the room blasted heat that dissipated as it reached the unfinished concrete walls. He replaced the jacket and closed the closet door, then fed another five pieces of wood into the furnace. Isaiah would come later in the evening to feed the fire again for the old lady.
Aileen was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from the tea she had promised Evan. She still had an old wood cookstove in her kitchen and she could handle keeping it stoked, but she was too frail now to load the furnace in the basement. The main floor was toasty and it comforted Evan to know that Aileen was okay. He took off his jacket and placed it on the back of the wooden chair across from the elder. She put down her cup and smiled at him through her big glasses. “Everything okay down there?” she asked. Evan looked down at the full cup in front of him, then to hers. She had wrapped her thin, wrinkled fingers around the hot glass for warmth. The sleeves of her pink sweater were fraying at the end.
“Yeah, everything looks good. You got lots of wood still,” he replied. “Izzy will be by tonight to top it up.”
“I really appreciate you boys doing this for me. Chi-miigwech.”
“It’s nothing, Auntie. We’re happy to help.”
Aileen was the last of the generation raised speaking Anishinaabemowin, with little English at all. She was one of only a few dozen left who could speak their language fluently. She remembered the old ways and a lot of the important ceremonies. She had more knowledge than everyone else about the traditional lives of the Anishinaabeg.
“Aaniish ezhebimaadziiyin?” he asked.
“Mino ya. I’m warm. I have lots to eat. I get a lot more company these days.”
“That’s good. We want to make sure everything’s okay around here.”
“How are you doing?”
He paused. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him that. His pace had been frenetic in the strange darkness of this new era. “I’m, uh, good, I guess.”
“How are the kids?”
“Oh, they’re good. They’ve been spending a lot of time outside. I don’t think they miss school at all!” he chuckled, and she giggled.
“What about your bazgim?”
“Oh, she’s tired, but she’s getting by. She really appreciates all the things you are teaching her about the old medicine ways, but she still gets stuck at home a lot with the kids while I’m out here doing stuff.”
“Well, you make sure you spend some time with her. Go for a walk in the bush. When the spring comes, ask her to show you some of the medicines. She’ll know a lot now, if she remembers all the stuff from when I used to take her and all the young girls out there. It will be important if we don’t get any new supplies in from the hospital down south.”
Evan thought of Nicole at home, trying to prepare herself for the skills they would need if the power was gone for good while struggling to keep the children occupied. He felt a twinge of guilt. She often looked tired these days. She didn’t talk as much as she used to and hardly smiled anymore. No one smiled much this winter.
“That’s a good idea,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take the kids over to my parents’ place tomorrow or the day after.”
“Your mom will appreciate the kookom time.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
He brought the hot tea to his chapped lips and sipped. The liquid seeped into the cracks and burned, but he showed no reaction. He’d learned to keep his thoughts behind a careful mask. He could not show weakness, especially now. But the old woman could still make him smile.
“Did you find anything down there in Eddie’s closet?” she asked.
“I found one of his old army jackets, but I didn’t wanna take it.”
“The one he wore for ceremonies?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Ah yes. He loved that one.” She looked out the window.
Her husband had served in the Korean War and had been the last wartime military veteran in the community. He had died four years ago, disappointed that no young people had followed in his path. He had been celebrated as a strong warrior and a respected elder. Evan thought about him now, wondering if he would have been able to help guide the young people through this catastrophe if he were still alive.
Evan sipped the tea slowly. There was no need to fill the silence. If we can make it through this winter, Evan thought, we’ll be okay.
Often, Aileen shared a teaching or an old story with the young men when they came to visit. Once in a while, someone would bring a group of children or teens to hear some old Nanabush stories or her memories of the old days. There had been no electricity in this community when she was a child and parents sometimes brought the young ones to her to remind them that life was possible without the comforts of modern technology. Now it was critical that they learn how the old ones lived on the land.
“You know, when young people come over, sometimes some of them talk about the end of the world,” Aileen said, breaking the silence and snapping Evan out of his woolgathering. He looked up from the plaid pattern on the vinyl tablecloth to the old woman’s face.
“They say that this is the end of the world. The power’s out and we’ve run out of gas and no one’s come up from down south. They say the food is running out and that we’re in danger. There’s a word they say too — ah… pock… ah…”
“Apocalypse?”
“Yes, apocalypse! What a silly word. I can tell you there’s no word like that in Ojibwe. Well, I never heard a word like that from my elders anyway.”
Evan nodded, giving the elder his full attention.
“The world isn’t ending,” she went on. “Our world isn’t ending. It already ended. It ended when the Zhaagnaash came into our original home down south on that bay and took it from us. That was our world. When the Zhaagnaash cut down all the trees and fished all the fish and forced us out of there, that’s when our world ended. They made us come all the way up here. This is not our homeland! But we had to adapt and luckily we already knew how to hunt and live on the land. We learned to live here.”
She became more animated as she went on. Her small hands swayed as she emphasized the words she wanted to highlight. “But then they followed us up here and started taking our children away from us! That’s when our world ended again. And that wasn’t the last time. We’ve seen what this… what’s the word again?”
“Apocalpyse.”