The Wild

The Wild #18

Growing up with Pops was hard. Often, when he was in an alcoholic rage, I'd leave and go to my grandpa's. I'd sit outside and help him mend nets or a dozen other domestic chores that would avoid me having to go back home.

'Can I come and live with you full time Gramps?' I asked him once. 'I'll pay my way.' I was ten years old but considered myself the man of the house in consideration of Pops' illness, as people worded it.

I saw him close his eyes. He was sieving old oil to recycle it. Nothing ever wasted. He put his things down, rubbed his hands on his overalls and tilted his head towards the beautiful chairs he'd hand carved. Our people have always been clever with wood. The chairs creaked comfortably as we took a seat.

'Before you were born,' he told me in that wonderful melodic voice of his that people couldn't resist, 'our kids were sent away, to institutions called residential schools. The Government made it mandatory, the churches ran them in an effort to 'integrate' us into Western society they said. You were punished for speaking Nuxalk ... in varying degrees.'

As if in some sort of response, the birds had begun to call through the forest, heralding the onset of night. I thought of the Waltons on the TV show all wishing each other sweet dreams and so on. Imagined Pops and the other school children whispering their goodnights in Nuxalk so the people in charge couldn't hear. A residential place didn't sound so bad. Many's the time I'd wanted to live away from home. Mom always looked tired and overworked, with little time for an overactive and over-curious ten year-old. Pop was unpredictable. Sometimes loving and trying hard, at others unbearable.

'Did you go to one of those residence schools when you were Pops' age?' I asked.

The flesh under his eyes crinkled, the barest of smiles. 'I was OK, I went to a day school. One of the lucky ones, though strappings were a daily occurrence. By that time, we knew the residential schools were bad news. Tales of terrible beatings and worse. Though in those days we were innocent and didn't really know much about that.' Grandpa gave me a look and cocked his head, as if thinking what he could and couldn't tell me. Meanwhile I sat kicking my legs out, eyes trained on the trees beyond, under the spell of the birdsong and my grandfather's voice.

He shifted in his seat and continued. 'We tried hard to keep your father in the day school. But they were always running out of funds. Christian charity only goes so far. One day, the officers came and took him away to an institution called Alberni, all the way down on Vancouver Island.' A deep shuddering sigh escaped him, and that drew my attention.

'He was in there a year. We weren't allowed to see him. They said it was because we'd fill his head with our filthy ways and language. Those were the kind of words they used. In fact, it was so we couldn't see what they were doing to them I suspect. I travelled there a few times. It was a pretty enough place to look at. I managed to find out the dormitory where he slept and where the window there looked out. I'd told him before they took him to look out of the window at seven at night and I'd be there sometimes, so I had to go, fulfil my promise. I'd hold up my hands in prayer, willing my boy to be there, watching. One of the vicious characters they hired to watch them saw me once, sent for the mounties, but it's easy to confuse horses and trackers if you know what you're doing. It was close one time though, I nearly didn't escape.'

I grinned, that was so like Grandpa. He was a hero to me. So why did his face look so sad?

'The trip over to Vancouver Island was hard and a long way in those days. When I got there, I couldn't afford anywhere to stay. The Tseschat elders on the island took pity on me, found me an old shack, helped me with food and I fished to give something in return. Can't tell you how relieved I was when they told me that place, Alberni, was being shut. Still the government people made it hard work just getting my boy Arthur back. And when he did return, he wasn't the same. Part of him was lost. Broken. He didn't, wouldn't talk about his time there like he was ashamed and to this day, he has his secrets, your father.'