ILIARJUK
An Inuit Memoir
By Dracc Dreque
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SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY: Dracc Dreque on Smashwords
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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for Guy Verrier
Table of Contents
Prologue
I remember my parents only in spots of time.
We used to live in Temple Bay, in a house above the dog who was owned by the Zeke family. I used to look fearfully at the dog from a safe distance, with the wide-eyed wonder of a little boy. There were quite a few of us in that house in Temple Bay. When we were a family, how simple life was with all my brothers and sisters.
One time my oldest brother came back from a trip down south. When he opened his luggage, candies, chocolates, and chips poured out. I was delirious! I wanted ALL OF IT. Then I started to cry, Wahhhheee! There was enough to go around but I got greedy! My brother was disgusted. So was my mother. I thought they didn’t care about me. My oldest brother, Talbatross Lakes, loved me though. Once he held me over the hot stove. I held up my clenched feet tight to my little body. Tal said, “I’m going to eat you Saysaint! I’m going to cook you and eat you!” We were having fun.
Another time I was at home with Mom. My older sisters and brothers caught a white bird. From the house I could hear its wings trapped inside a box. My older sister, Leah, hatched a plot against me, the “mother’s boy.” The plan was to trick me into putting my hand in the box with the bird. I was told, “It’s not scary Saysaint. It’s not scary at all. Come on, put your hand in there. Do it.” My little hand, then my whole arm reached in. The bird went wild, driving its tiny beak into my flesh. Then, like a mama’s boy, I cried, Wahhh! Wahh! I tried to pull my arm out but Leah held it in there until I was nearly out of control before she let me go. Finally I was on the run to Mom. When she saw that I was crying and my sisters and brothers were laughing at me, she yelled, “Hey, quit making Saysaint cry!”
Once we were playing Cops and Robbers, pointing our hands as guns or a stick as a machine gun and spitting out, “Ratta-tat-ter-tat,” or a single popping sound, “Pochh!” as the adversaries recoiled, I remember someone laughing as I held a piece of stick in my hand, shooting with it from a hiding place somewhere in the living room.
Another time when my mom had me examined by the doctor in Temple Bay Hospital, I cried so hard, and even harder when Mom got exasperated and slapped me in the face. I don’t remember how the examination went, but I do remember that later, somewhere in Temple Bay, when I was just being a kid among other kids, having the time of my life, with flushed faced, carefree and so clean, and my mom was laughing uproariously at me and telling her women friends that I had cried so much at the hospital. .
Then there was the time my mom carried me down the shore of Temple Bay, into a little house where her best friend was giving birth. As soon as the men saw me they said, “Your son is too young to see this.” But my mom replied as she put me on the floor, “Oh let him be.” I was immediately scooped up by the man of the house who said to me, “You’re too young.” Behind him I saw a woman on the floor, spread-legged, bleeding where the baby was about to come out. My mom said, “Let him watch!” and she knelt down to help.
Once my brother Mitchell was running away from me so I threw a rock at him, letting it fly! The rock hit the back of his skull from some twenty yards away. When Mom heard Mitchell crying she got out of the tent. My oldest brother, Crestly, ratted me out—“Saaysaint hit Mitchell with a rock, Mom!“ Mitchell was still crying when Mom said, “I’ve told you to quit that!” I got off scot-free.
There was another family in our camp, on what was to be a fateful trip to the outskirts of Temple Bay. Unbeknownst to us kids, my parents and the other couple were eating rotted, aged seal meat. They were sick within moments but we didn’t understand what was happening. I thought my father was sleeping. He was on his back in his bluish coat near the centre of the tent. Our mom was in her spot in the right corner of the tent. She was on her stomach. She stirred, using both her forearms as pillows, and said, “Check your dad, kids.” I was trying to wake my dad up. I said, “He’s sleeping.” Someone said, “I think he’s dead...” Mom was still resting on her arms when she said, “I love you very much, kids, always remember that... I love each one of you so much.” I was by her side when she died...it didn’t register... then Crestly said, “Our parents are dead! Everyone look! Our parents are dead! Can’t you see, we have no parents!” But it still didn’t register. There were cookies in a bag on the ground next to our mom. In a last act of trying to keep things normal, we shared them. I wanted the best portion so they gave me the best cookie. Then Crestly said, “Saysaint, you have no more mom and dad.” We were still eating the cookies when someone yelled, “The boats are coming, the boats!” When I ran to the point I could see four or five boats in the distance. We yelled, “Boats! Boats!” until they arrived.
When the motors stopped my extended family and the people from our community got out of the boat and said,
Look
it’s only the kids.
What?
Look, it’s just the children.
Then silence, and someone said, “Hello kids, where are your parents?” One of my sisters said, “They’re sleeping.” But another sibling corrected her, “No, they’re dead...”So they rushed by us into the two white tents. They found my parents and the other couple. They were in disbelief. Then, moments later, a woman yelled, “NoooOOO WAAAhhhEEEEEeeWWAAAhhhh!” Everyone started to cry, “They’re dead, oh they’re all dead!” In my auntie’s grief she came to me. I was quiet, still crying when she sat me between her legs while she sat and cried too. She cried a mother’s tears. I was too young to comprehend what was happening, and then it was time to go home.
Before we got into the boats, the adults were deciding where my siblings and I were going to live. I had to go live with my auntie in Catalyst Cove and my brothers and sisters had to go live with the Daniels in Temple Bay. My siblings were looking at me and I was looking at them. Then Mr. Daniel said to my aunt, “Harriet, look, you’re separating Saysaint from his brothers and sisters, why?” Auntie said, “He’s my sister’s son so I’m keeping him!” So Daniel said, “But Harriet, you live in Catalyst Cove...and you’re separating Saysaint from all of his siblings...” But Auntie said, “NO, I’m keeping him, he’s my nephew!” Mr. Daniel tried to reason with her. “You already have your little son Coburn to care for, it’s too much...” But she insisted, “He’s my sister’s son so I’m keeping him as my son.” And that was that.
All my brothers and sisters got in the Daniels’ boat. They were looking at me. As Auntie was leading me away from them I saw a husky dog in her boat and screamed with fear. Then Auntie yelled, “Get that dog all the way back!” so someone lifted the poor dog by the scruff of the neck. I was terrified. I was still crying when Mr. Daniel said, “He’s very upset, give him to us.” But Auntie would have none of it. The poor dog was hidden from view and I was still howling when Auntie reached out to hold me. She told her daughter, Adline, to hold Coburn while Auntie held me tight and protected me from the dog.
We were leaving the land where my parents had died and everything was different. I was being separated from all my brothers and sisters. Even my name changed that day. I used to be Saysaint Lakes, but when I was adopted by my uncle, Cleveland Dreque, and my auntie, Harriet, I became Dracc Dreque.
They lived in a tiny wooden house. It was cramped but they let me sleep in the best places. I had a bad stomach. One evening I had diarrhea, leaving a trail on my mad dash to the shitter. Sophie, the oldest daughter, was disgusted. She said, “Look at the shit!” Auntie said, “Don’t yell at him.” My auntie cleaned up after me.
In that little house, sometimes Cleveland would hold me, brushing his thick beard against my cheeks. I pushed away, but he was being kind to me. When my parents died, I was only four and caught in a wave of grief. I was confused and distracted.
Soon after I moved in with my aunt and uncle, we were going to move another house on 11333 Catalyst Cove. On moving day, I didn’t carry a thing with me so I was carefree as I trudged along. My new little brother, Coburn, was carrying a lamp. When Dartly, my new oldest brother, saw little Coburn carrying a lamp and me with nothing in my hands, he yelled, “Why don’t you help out, carry something!” His eyes were glaring down at me. Then Auntie said, “Yeah, and look at little Coburn, he’s carrying something and he’s smaller than Dracc.” I was stung by the remarks of Dartly and Aunt Harriet. I felt so isolated and dejected. Dartly said it again, louder this time. “Carry something!” “Yeah,” Auntie yelled while Dartly stared down at me. Auntie said in the next breath, “That’s it, I’m not carrying for Dracc again, I’m tired of it.” Dartly yelled, “Help out!” From that day forward, I realized that now little Coburn would be the centre of attention.
Chapter 1
For me, our town dump was like a treasure trove—food and hockey cards, my favourite discoveries. My fingertips dug into the cellophane-wrapped cake and the army’s lunch or snack sandwiches for my friend and me. We were so lucky. It was a feast. I was taught how to cook sausages and wieners over a fire, and they tasted delicious.
I was easily the best scrounger. I had size-six rubber shoes, a grimy, stiff blue sweater, hair that was hardly ever washed, and a coat coming apart at the seams, elbows torn and the left side was torn open like a huge grin. I loved that coat. That opening could have made a small store go bankrupt; I could throw an apple or an orange into that opening faster than you could blink. I would cruise the store, inspecting the pile of apples and oranges and watching the cashier’s eyes. As soon as a customer diverted her, out came my hand to swipe the closest apple in milliseconds! Sometimes I got my friends to help. I would follow behind them and perform successful sleight of hand. It was so easy it was funny. Then one day I had to part with that coat. On Income Tax Refund Day, I had to throw it away because my auntie bought me a new one. I was sad because I couldn’t steal anymore.
That same year, the RCMP had an inkling that I was a petty thief and thug, “the town bully.” I didn’t see myself that way. Growing up in the little town of Catalyst Cove, we used to fight with the kids from Temple Bay, four miles away. A bunch of older guys from Temple Bay hated us so much and regularly bounced punches off each other’s heads. Each fight built a grudge between us that lasted for ten years.
I remember a spectacular fight between Lamont and Stan. This kid Lamont was older than Stan and me. It was their second fight; it was pure adrenalin, first feeling each other out, then snapping closed-fist punches! Lamont tried to kick Stan’s head off, but missed. A door smashed open and another fifteen or twenty kids came screaming, charging towards us, with Melvin leading them. I remember that one minute we were watching the rematch, and the next we were running for our lives through the snow towards Catalyst Cove. Snow was everywhere. I ran like a hockey player, “Playoff Breakaway Style.” I had to jump downward about eight feet into semi-deep snow. This older kid, Willard, who was chasing me did the same. In my fear, I got up quicker than Willard. As I got on my feet, I swung a fist as I was turning to face him, but I missed because he was still on all fours. Then I ran as fast as possible away from the mayhem. When I looked back I saw that they had quit chasing us, so I started swearing at them, calling them a bunch of chickens and saying I could fight them all, one by hated one, and beat them all up. I was a good distance away. I hurled swears at them and called them names. One of them proclaimed that he could beat the crap out of me. I said, “Go to hell, little turd.” I felt comfortable with the distance between us, but when he came towards me, I said. “Just you and me sucker!” But he got too close so I ran farther away.
Willard was older than me and had a reputation for being tough and for brawling. He yelled that I was a chicken and I yelled back, “Come here, then.” Meanwhile, I was running away from him. When he stopped, I did too. I called him a chicken and told him that my sister could beat him up. That got his goat, and I kept running, then stopping, then running, then calling him a chicken, and then he’d yell that I was the one who was running away. Towards my hometown there was a prison for men and all the windows were open. It looked like every convict in the place had his face at a window, hoping to see some action between my pursuer and me.
It was clear that Willard wanted some action too, but every time he walked closer towards me, I walked farther away. The convicts yelled, “Come on, Dracc, fight him.” My pursuer yelled, “Yeah, come on, let’s fight.” I said, “Come on, let’s fight” as I ran away, taunting him, calling him little town turd, telling him his mother wore army boots. When he couldn’t catch me, he threw rocks. They all missed, but not by much. I remember walking home after that.
At home things were a lot different. My mom’s sister Harriet was beautiful but I didn’t see that. A lot of people did though, and she was very respected. She always wore a long, light brown, flower-patterned dress. She had very long hair that was always braided tightly, shiny and dark. I think we had a similar, semi-small nose, but her real son, Coburn, was the love of her life, and I had nothing left, not even my name. I felt glum and ugly.
One time I got shot in the back with a high-powered pellet gun. I had just told Coburn not to shoot because I was in his line of fire, but he grinned and pulled the trigger. The pellet hit me between the shoulder blades. I fell to the ground, crying with pain. I thought he would get in trouble for this. When Auntie got back from a short trip to Temple Bay, I told her that Coburn had shot me in the back. I expected her to hit the roof, but nothing happened—no madness, no yelling, no heck, no nothing. She just patted him on the head and said, “Now dear, you shouldn’t aim your gun at people.”
A few days later, it was broad daylight, summer, and we were playing Monster. I was the monster and gleefully scaring the daylights out of the kids, especially Coburn. I would run after them, chasing them around a small shed and growling, grrr-arrgh! My eyebrows were flexed grotesquely and my eyes were crossed. Coburn yelled, “No, no way!” I held my arms up like Frankenstein and my mouth was slobbering. He picked up a rock and hurled it at me. It hit me hard between my eyes and I cried, screaming with pain. I knew this time Coburn would get in trouble. Auntie came running from the house. She said, “What’s going on here? Dracc, why are you crying?” “Coburn hit me with a rock,” I sniffled. Coburn was reprimanded, gently, with a lovely tussle of his hair. I still carry the dent from that rock between my eyes....
Everyone in town wanted to meet me, the orphan. In front of other people Auntie was nice to me. As winter firmly entrenched Catalyst Cove, I was being shown around at one house to a group of women. One woman, Rheyta Shone, said, “Oooooh, is that him? Is that him that was orphaned?” She was looking at me, wide-eyed and smiling. Auntie said, “Yes, that’s him.” Rheyta said, “Oh just look at him, the poor thing. Can I adopt him?” Auntie laughed. “Of course not.” But after doing this for some time, Auntie got tired. She announced, “That’s it, I’m not going around showing him to people any more. I have little Coburn to care for.”
~
I also had new sisters in that house. Lathina, my older sister by about two years, didn’t quite know what to make of her sexual identity. Either she was a girl or she was a boy. I still remember the time a bunch of boys and I were standing around the honey bucket pissing into the circle while she shouted with encouragement. As we sprayed will all our might, someone asked why God had made her a girl who couldn’t piss like us.
Then there was Wendy, who I called my twin because we were the same age. Sometimes I was extremely jealous of her. If she swiped a piece of bread I nearly turned red with anger, or if she had a lick of spilled pop or extra candy, there was no end to my petty rage. Wendy loved Auntie’s bread more than anything in her life, and she was hungrier than a polar bear sniffing a seal hole. She was also clumsier than an empty boot.
Wendy and I used to wake up at 2 a.m. to sneak out of bed while everyone was snoring or sighing in their sleep. On this one night I had poked her awake. When she turned around, her eyes were small slits. It was very dark. I whispered, “Look, I’ll go first, then you have to make the second trip.” She said, “Yes, okay.” I lifted the covers and slowly sat up. I put both feet down on the floor. When I took the first step the floor creaked, then it was quiet again. I made my way to the first doorway, crouched down, and moved through the hallway to the master bedroom where Cleveland, Auntie, and little Coburn were sound asleep. I crept in, one step at a time, next to the bed and reached up to the top shelf, carefully, and pulled down the round metal box. I held it against my stomach with one hand and twisted the top until it opened with a little squeak. I froze, but they kept on sleeping. I grabbed three or four candies. Then I very slowly forced the lid back on and replaced the candy box on the shelf.
When I got back, I slipped under the covers and gave Wendy half of the candies. We gobbled them down. Wendy closed her eyes, but I poked her and said, “Hey, it’s your turn, remember?”
“Noooo! I’m scared!”
“But we agreed. You have to make the second trip.”
She looked at me, frowning. “No, I don’t want to.”
“Come on, you said you would. You have to.”
Finally she agreed. As she got out of bed, I hunkered down as if asleep, with my face to the wall. I could hear her footsteps; she wasn’t tiptoeing very well. Then she was in the master bedroom. There was a noise like something got knocked off the dresser and the next thing I heard was Auntie’s voice, very loud. “What the hell are you doing?” Then Wendy started screaming my name and Auntie yelled for her to get the hell out of their room, saying “What do you mean waking us up at two in the morning?” Wendy started crying and carrying on. “It was Dracc. I was sleeping like a log but he woke me up. He always wakes me up.” That quieted Auntie down for a moment. Then she said, “I should have known. That Dracc. He’s going out of his mind. Damn night-timer.”
I would regularly awake at two in the morning and would was Wendy. I always sneak out of bed first. I would tiptoe to the breadbasket in the kitchen, slowly open the drawer, hack off enough bread for two, but then I would eat it all so quickly that I got the hiccups. Sometimes, the next morning, there were telltale crumbs on my side of the bed that I tried to clean up before anyone noticed. On other nights, when I couldn’t wake Wendy, I had to go alone and I would sneak too fast, so the floor made creaking sounds that woke Auntie and she would yell, “What are you doing? Damn night-timer, he’s out of his mind. Get the hell back to bed, Dracc!” So, meekly, half-naked and half-starving, I’d crawl back to bed and try to stay awake for a second try, but without much success. After this, Auntie Harriet started calling me the Night Watchman and the name stuck.
Aside from Wendy and Lathina, I had another sister who was as soft as she was round. Her name was Adline. She always had money in her pocket and was always the one with the newest stereo in the block, which she played for everybody in an attempt to gain popularity in the neighbourhood. Her face was fat but nice. She had long black hair like her mom, which was parted in the middle. At that house on 11333 Catalyst Cove, she was the one who would affect me the most.
One night, she woke me up with bread in her fleshy hand. While everyone lay sleeping all around us, she yanked me onto my feet, and in total darkness opened my zipper and took my pants off to expose my genitals. Then she started wildly playing with my penis, and as I tried to eat the bread, she threw me on the floor and tried to have sex with me, but I didn’t know a thing about sex at that time. I was only six years old.
Sometime after the molestations by Adline, we had a visitor, a young man named Jims Birt. Jims was a friend of ours, the same age as Adline. When he was around, Adline’s demeanor changed immediately to one of sexual excitement. I could sense it and I got excited too. Adline would wear tight jeans on her overweight ass. I knew what they were up to and I wanted to fuck her too. Pretty soon they headed for the master bedroom. They locked the door and I felt engulfed in sexuality. I was so excited I tried to get into the room, checking the door, pushing, pawing at the handle.
From inside I heard Adline purring, “Dracc, please, please go away now, please, leave us alone, okay?” Even Wendy, my near twin, was perplexed at my behaviour. But sex, sex, sex—that’s all I wanted.
The house at 11333 Catalyst Cove had another lodger by the name of Lewis Sneed. It seemed as if Lewis never took a bath or a shower his whole life. He was a loner who was always embarrassed, a short, dour man who wore a cap, even to bed. Because he never showered, he stunk to high heaven, if you dared to get close. His underarms smelled awful and so did his bedclothes and sleeping bag with a simple pull-up and zipper. He was also an epileptic, prone to sudden herky jerkies, which resulted in his arms, legs, and torso flailing for a minute or more. When this happened, Uncle Cleveland would grab him and ask for the handle of a hammer so Lewis could bite it. Then when Lewis started coming to, he would groggily get on his feet, with his mouth slobbering and a dazed look on his face. Then he’d swipe his loose lips, and stagger to the bread box to eat its entire contents, the whole shebang, so fast it would result in a comical attack of hiccups, at which we laughed uproariously.
Lewis was always embarrassed, looking the other way when in front of people, yet he shamelessly masturbated each and every night, after he said his prayers. I could see his hand going up and down inside his stinky bedroll. I would snicker and laugh at the show. One time there was a card game going on late into the night. I barked, “Hey, come on, let’s watch Lewis. Come on, do you want to see something? I’ll show you.” About four kids agreed to go watch Lewis, including Joe who also knew about the shenanigans. Slowly and stealthily we approached the bedroom. Lewis was still jacking off. I pointed at him, “See, look at that, hee hee!” We were all gawking at him. All the while Lewis was oblivious to us. Then he finally saw us so we ran into the living room. I made a plan to get another peek and persuaded the others to join me. So, like a little army, we headed towards the bedroom. We were still sticking out our necks when stinky Lewis appeared in his filthy pajamas. He had just jumped down to the floor when we saw him. One of us screamed. We were all bumping into each other, springing for the freedom of the living room. Since I was the closest, Lewis took a swipe at me. I felt his uncut fingernails close in on the mop of my hair so I sprang away screaming but bumped into the wall. Lewis stuck out his filthy arm, swiping at me spitefully. I bounced off the wall, afraid for my life. Cleveland and the gamblers looked on in amazement. Then we were all safe in the living room, laughing hysterically.
Also living with us was my Auntie’s older daughter, Alice. She had two kids about my age, Joe and Ann. They were very different from us. At the sight of human waste, they would empty out their stomachs on the spot. One time, Cleveland pressed his gas into his hand and opened his hand to belch out his fumes. When Joe and Ann smelled it they ran to our toilet, and in full view, upchucked right there.
Ann was a Plain Jane, but had the heart of a beautiful girl. Me and her grew up together in kind of the same way, with no one to really guide us. I’ve learned now that her uncle who lived in the same house molested her. Sometimes being sexual has no boundaries.
The first time Ann and me had a sexual adventure, it was evening and most of us had been left on our own by parents who preferred to gamble on that occasion. We were children playing at being adults. Ann was in a playhouse we had constructed out of placing chairs on their sides and covering blankets over them. She was inside, naked. When she asked me to get on top of her, I did, and the feeling was ecstasy, but Dartly was ever on the watch. He stopped our foreplay. He looked inside after he’d stopped us, his face unbelieving—how could a five-and six-year-old have sex? He never did figure that out.
Joe was my age, and he and his sister really loved my auntie’s bread. They dug into it like it was their last meal on earth. One time Cleveland said, “Come on, you two, have some bread here, have some,” for he knew that it was what Joe and Ann wanted. I remember how they nodded in agreement, saying that Auntie Harriet’s bread was the most delicious. Auntie’s face was aglow by the Coleman stove lamp as they said that about her bread.
Then there was Kathleen, the smallest kid in our family. She had also been adopted and she was a handful. Sometimes I had to hold her while she squirmed everywhere, trying her hardest to see what was accessible or edible. She was everywhere in my six-year-old hands and I wanted to be everywhere except there. Kathleen was like a small, high-strung baboon. I remember one incident where she had put her tongue on the frozen metal of the school’s outside panel wall, and screamed for dear life. Dartly always called her “Baby Devil.”
This was when I started wetting the bed. It wasn’t any fun at all. Auntie thought it was ridiculous because her real son, Coburn, didn’t have any problem with bed-wetting and he was still a baby. For Dartly, it was an opportunity to degrade me. “How can he wet the bed when Coburn doesn’t?” he would say, his eyes trained on me with contempt, “Big Bed Wetter!” And, of course, Auntie would agree. After weeks of this, just the sight of him would leave me feeling drained. He never failed to call me that name; he did so every day, till I was fourteen. Sometimes he would just stare at me without blinking, daring me to look back at him. Or he would open his mouth, baring his teeth, telling me to put my hand in between his choppers, and it had to be funny, I was not allowed to cry or make a sound as the pressure from his teeth tore into my flesh. The sight of him was enough to make whatever joy I found in life vanish. From the age of six to fourteen, he was my terror; he hated me and I was his slave.
One night Dartly came home drunk. When he entered the house it was dark and everyone was asleep. The first punch to my face probably knocked me out, but he continued to hit me. “Eh! Damn Bed Wetter.”
Wham, wham, wham. His screaming woke up my sisters. They saw him sitting on the bed, punching me, and shouting, “Why do you keep wetting the bed, eh? Why?” And he’d punch me again. By then I woke up. I was wailing and trying to defend myself by holding my hands up to my face but he held my wrists together, pulled them down and hit me again. “Damn Bed Wetter,” he screamed.
The noise woke up my uncle. Cleveland ran into the room in his shorts. As he reached us he barked, “Enough. That’s enough Dartly. Okay, enough!” Dartly got up from the bed but he was still screaming hysterically, “He always wets the damn bed, Big Bed Wetter!” Adline came over and sat next to me. “Ooooh, I thought you were dead,” she said. “I really thought you were dead.” Auntie came in with a wet cloth and cleaned my face. “There, okay now,” she said. “It’s okay, it’s over, don’t cry any more.” I lay on the bed feeling her wiping the wet cloth on my face. I heard whisper, “I thought Dartly killed him. I thought he was dead.” I was in shock and felt like my nose had been broken. We could still hear Dartly mumbling that I keep wetting the damn bed.
That beating shook me down to my foundations. I can still see that face of his, with so much hatred in it, those eyes so small on the stocky face, and his fist approaching the side of my face. I can see myself trying to turn, to cover up with my puny little arms; the vice-like grip he had on my wrists to expose my face to the punches. He made me scream in pain.
Chapter 2
After the frightful beating from Dartly, we somehow all went back to sleep. The next morning my eyes had started to blacken and swell grotesquely. I could hardly see and I knew I had to become a mute that day. At school, everyone was in shock to see me sitting at the desk, badly swollen around the face, and looking straight ahead. I just sat there in a daze.. All the students nearly knocked into each other to get the best view of me.
I don’t know how I got through the rest of the day, but I do know my aunt, uncle, and cousins would never be close to me again. I didn’t know how to function anymore in front of my auntie and her husband. When we got up in the morning, I just sat there. Or if I was standing, I’d just stand there, not daring to make a move towards the table, even though I was ravenously hungry. My auntie would sometimes get so mad at me, because I just sat or just stood there, not eating our breakfast of tea and bread.
Because of the beatings from Dartly, and the sexual abuse at the hands of Adline, I was withdrawn from everyone in the house. I remember one morning, as we were all supposed to be having breakfast, Wendy had that look of sympathy as she stepped forward to grab her cup. Because she had a scab around her nose, the cup was tied with a small piece of rope that identified it as hers. She got her tea and bread, but her tea was without sugar as punishment for our previous midnight candy capers. In my entombed world of muteness I was unable to perform such a simple a task as putting my hand around a cup. I just sat there, not daring to make a move even though I was so hungry, famished, starving. Instead of telling me to have a cup and the good bread, my aunt and uncle waited to see what I would do. I didn’t disappoint them. I didn’t budge. I was too scared, too lost, and too alone. My auntie said, “Don’t ask him, let him do what he pleases.” So I just stood there mute as a block of stone. Auntie Harriet didn’t know what to make of those mornings when I refused to budge. She would comment on my nighttime eating, then ridicule me for not eating breakfast. After the beating from Dartly, I didn’t really see him around the house that much, only the day after the beating was when he gave me a quick look and turned away immediately.
Later that winter, one night at 11333 Catalyst Cove: it was about 2:30 in the morning. Adline awakened me. We tried to have sex on the floor. She was almost naked. She had no panties and I was bare-naked. Now she tried to get me inside with her right hand. She has climbed on top of me. Her weight was tremendous, I could hardly breathe at all, and my eyes were wide open, but there’s nothing to see except the darkness. She tried and tried to relieve her sexual tension. I almost passed out. Finally she got there, and stopped for the night.
The next morning, the very next morning, she came jauntily into the kitchen as if she was totally innocent. She made eye contact with me, her look saying “shhhhh.” Meekly I stayed very quiet as we all got ready for the day that lay ahead. When lunchtime came around, Wendy, Coburn, and I ran home from school and the wintry weather evaporated from our clothes in the living room. The smell from the kitchen was fabulous, Campbell’s Tomato Soup and veggies. With her portly back to us, Adline stood over the stove with a soup ladle. When I looked at her, her eyes held a knowing look. Usually in this house, the biggest soup portion went to Coburn, but that day Adline made sure my portion was the same as his, nearly running over the brim of the bowl, my reward for keeping my mouth shut. As she brought our soup to the table, poor Wendy felt left out. I could see clearly she was jealous. As for Auntie Harriet, her daughter’s portioning of the soup left her with a look of disbelief.
Then something happened to my genital area, it started to become itchy, so much so that I was walking to school bowlegged like a cowboy. . At school, the kids made fun of the way I was walking. I couldn’t run because if I ran too fast, the scabs would open up and hurt like hell. When my classmates taunted me, I could only throw rocks at them or hurl insults. At night in the house it was a lot different. My scabs would create a severe itch. The only way to relieve it was to dig my fingers in and scratch away at a piece of agitated flesh. But it was so agonizing that I cried out, and as I lay on the bed, sore and immobile, my auntie came to the stinking room to examine me. When she saw the scabs she cried out, “What a horrible mess you are, what the hell is happening to you?” I lay there with no answers, half naked on the bed with my legs wide apart and hurting like hell. Then we discovered that Wendy, my twin, had the same condition. I don’t know how she got it, but it was in the same genital area, and looked the same as mine.
In our weakened condition, we were hauled off to the hospital, scabs crusted in a sickly colour. The doctor said that the only way to cure it was to clean the genital area with a special liquid, hospital soap. We were sent to the hospital’s bathtub, with me leading the way, bowlegged and naked. Wendy was whimpering and tears ran down her frightened face.
At first we tried to clean ourselves, but it was just too unbearably painful. Our screams echoed off the tiles that surrounded the hospital bathtub. Our crying and anguish became too much for the doctor and she had to leave, which left only Auntie to try to clean us. Her gloved hand caused a searing sensation on my skin as she wiped at my scabs. My mouth was wide open in a tortured grimace as I endured the scrubbing. Those scabs were sliced open, like wet paper being torn apart. I don’t know how I got through it. But then it was Wendy’s turn and her cry was pitiful, agonizing to hear as I stood next to her in the tub. Her mouth was wide open, tears staining her wrenched face, screaming, “Nooo! Nooo! Ahhhhh nooo!” and Auntie telling her, “Shut up, keep still, and let me clean it!”
~
During the following months, I had to sleep underneath the stinking bed of Lewis Sneed, under the bed frame that held his small sagging mattress and his smelly zippered sleeping bag. I started sleeping underneath his bed for the safety and the relative warmth it offered, in spite of the lingering unwashed human stench I’d have to inhale. My wriggling motions of a crayfish under his narrow bed made him have an epileptic seizure, just as I had settled into safety and solitude. One of his flailing arms hit the corner of the bed and shook it. As this drama unfolded, Auntie yelled, “Give him some bread!” When his seizure was almost over, Auntie said, “Where is that damn Dracc?” Everybody snickered because I was underneath the bed.
I continued to sleep underneath all the beds in the house except, of course, those in the master bedroom. One time, on a Monday, I slept late and didn’t want to wake up, even though that was a sin in the house. My brain said get up but my body couldn’t move. Everyone was up but me—I was underneath Lathina’s bed, inside a long box that fit my six-year-old body. I heard my auntie yell, “Get out from there! Get out! What the hell is he doing down there?” As I lay in that box, I could hear my auntie yelling at me but I was paralyzed with fear and I didn’t want to get up. Then she started to grab under the bed for me. She kept yelling, “Get out from underneath, wherever you are!” but I just held my breath. She was on her hands and knees, pulling at all the boxes underneath the bed. She finally located me and dramatically pulled the long box out, and there I lay, sideways, like a sardine, staring up at her outraged face.
Then in summer, after one of my late night prowlings, a cry came from the kitchen in the morning; a can of luncheon meat had disappeared. I immediately became the number one suspect. They asked me, “Where is the can of meat, Dracc?” I said, “I don’t know.” Of course, they didn’t believe me, and yelled at me to give it up.
The night before, while everyone slept, I had silently and expertly slid out of bed, and went looking for something to eat. Surrounded by the sleepy hushed breathing of everyone in the house, I couldn’t find any bread, but I did find the can of Klik lunchmeat. I took it from the floor cupboard, returned to the bedroom, and proceeded to open it. With heavy breath and a bit of snoring around me, the first taste was excellent, but I hadn’t counted on the salt that invaded my mouth and couldn’t finish it. Now the question was where to hide it. After enjoying what I could from the only meat in the house, I was left having to hide the incriminating evidence under the bed and I made sure it was as far back as possible, well hidden in the boxes of clothes.
The next morning, Adline’s older sister, Sophie, in angry tones, asked, “Dracc, where is the can of Klik?” I just grunted. They knew I had taken it, so they started to look for it. The first place they searched was in the bedroom, underneath the bed where I slept. When Sophie smelled a faint odour of Klik, she said, “Ah ha.” She practically cried from joy when she smelled the Klik; but which box was it in?
Meanwhile I was in despair and wanting to climb into a mountain cave when Sophie triumphantly found the can. She gave me a dirty look and explained to everyone that I hadn’t been able to finish the damn thing because it was too salty for a boy my age. I dared not look into their eyes. I was ashamed and they let me know that I was not a boy at all, that I was an insect and a troublemaker, the Priest of Trouble, the Night-Timer. I’ll never forget it! Why couldn’t I have finished the damn thing or gotten rid of the evidence? I still wasn’t talking in the house and was up in the late hours of the night to eat—how crazy can anyone get?
During those early years at 11333 Catalyst Cove, it seemed like there was always an incident of sexual abuse. Our older sister Lathina started to play “You Jane, me Ellie.” One evening, as the card games were in progress, Lathina took me to a bedroom. With our pants on, she said, “Get on top of me.” I did but in kind of a suppressed manner. She asked me to imagine her as our next-door neighbour, a woman who was quite beautiful. As we played out this scene of sexual foreplay, she told me to get on the bottom and asked me who I wanted to be. Which girl I wanted to be? I thought of this beautiful young woman and I became her in my imagination. Lathina would always do this with clothes on. It wasn’t fun and kind of close to the real thing. Those evenings, as we played the game, Lathina knew what she was doing. She was older than me. I was six and she was eight or nine. As she spread her legs with her pants on, she asked me to lie between them. We managed to do this a couple of times while everyone gambled in the living room. The next time she asked me I declined the invitation, so she asked Wendy. I think Wendy was too ugly for Lathina and she was rejected in favour of my cousin Ann who must have been affected by the sexually ravenous Lathina because she came out of those rooms wide-eyed with a nonplussed look on her innocent face. As I declined more and more of Lathina’s propositions, Ann became the target of her sexual frustrations.
~
When my parents were alive, my dad was a priest of Temple Bay and he also drove a Volkswagen, one of those little miniature buses. We used to go to Auntie’s house and I remember playing with Coburn. Sometimes we would play musical instruments. There was this house in Catalyst Cove on a meandering road, a long meandering road that led onto a baseball field. After my parents died, someone once told me that this used to be my house, beside a little swamp that was wider than the road and not too deep, but deep enough. I remember playing in that house. After it became an empty house, I used to go there to be by myself, to remember when I had a mom, in those early years when I needed her the most. And if my older brother, Thomas, hadn’t died before, maybe my life and the lives of my other brothers and sisters would’ve been a lot better because he could have looked after us. Instead we all became separated. I know they missed me, so much that when we met again in Temple Bay it was kind of embarrassing for me. Because I was always so broke, I asked for money right off the bat, especially from my real sister Rianna, God bless her, but there wasn’t any.
Drinking from the cup of the Dreque family, I was next to last in the pecking order, and sometimes I was the very last. The house on 11333 Catalyst Cove, was a distance off M’ding Drive. We lived in a long row house at the bottom of a steep hill, and our unit faced the mountain and the kids sliding down the street during the winter. The mountain had roads built on it with three long rows of houses. Next to our house lived our neighbours, the Pharms, and farther down was the home of my auntie’s best friend, Flora, who could bake the most delicious bread in the whole town. Sometimes I would go to Flora’s house to beg for a hunk of bread. Stanley grew up and his little stepbrother, Davey, grew up in Flora’s house. Davey was affectionate in his own way most of the time. I encouraged him to go and get some bread for me to eat. Their father John, who was the preacher for Catalyst Cove, also lived in Flora’s house. When I was born, one of the names I was given was in honour of him.
Sometimes, in the very late evening, when my aunt and uncle were gambling in Temple Bay and there wasn’t anyone home, I used to go to John and Flora’s house. After playing all day I would come home to find the house dark and locked up. This was during the winter. After checking the doors, I would go to John and Flora’s to stand in the doorway, just leaning there, dead-tired, watching Stanley’s father drink his tea. Sometimes John would ask me if I wanted some tea and bread, which I graciously accepted. Tired and hungry and with all my friends sleeping, I would have some tea while John watched TV. I would check from the entrance way to see if someone had arrived at home turned on the lights, but sometimes checking was too much of a chore for my tired body—even moving my leg to be in another stance was too much and I would just stand there, waiting, leaning against the door jamb. It was so boring just looking at my torn pants, dirty winter socks, size-five rubber boots and the darkness of Catalyst Cove.
Chapter 3
Auntie Harriet and Uncle Cleveland Dreque were seasoned hunters who knew where to camp in the inlands of the Arctic Circle, among the breathtaking scenery. My auntie loved one particular area, a small cove in which an island would appear only at low tide. This island had a legend. Long ago, a pirate ship landed and pirates had dug a hole and buried treasure so deep that no one could find the treasure. Kids weren’t allowed to go there on our own; it was dangerous, the high tide at the peak of day would erase the island.
The camp was in rugged flat lands and about a mile inland rose a little hill that flattened out again a mile before the mountains, which some were snow-capped all year round. The mountains swept towards the sea, their sides were steep walls of rock and sand. Near the edges of the mountains we pitched a huge round tent that was totally white and made of heavy canvas. We went to this paradise three times in five years. Off to the left, over two high mountains, was another paradise of lush deep grass with high slopes, arches, and gentle rocky hills that hid a lake with some of the most delicious Arctic fish that ever graced the tongue. Just seeing the lake brought visions of otherworldliness. It was a place of caribou, wild berries, geese, ptarmigans, foxes, wolves, and bears. And at the end of this lake, we were able to see the rushing water that came from a faraway glacier. Gale-force winds could arise at any moment, and it was always blustery.
The clear, deep, and dangerous lake was a natural swimming pool nearby the sea. As we hunted, we would always ensure that we took a route that would pass by this natural pool. Instead of following the winding rushing water of the river, we crested a little hill, making sure to keep an eye out for game, we looked downward and I could see thirty to forty Arctic char swimming in the lake. Two of them were red, females. It was beautiful to look at all those fish, streamlined like submarines, sleek and fast. There was a whole bunch of us: Cleveland and his favourite son Coburn, Forge (who had let me use his gun to shoot my first caribou), and Handsome Mike and his son Sarny. Mike had a sleek .22 automatic that had a fifteen-round machine gun clip, Cleveland had a 30.30 rifle, Forge had a .257 heavy rifle, Handsome Mike’s son Sarny had a 22.250, and Coburn a brand new .22. We also had a fishing net in a blue bag.
Cleveland sat at the highest point looking down at the succulent schools that swam in the pool. I couldn’t help but stare down too. The plan was to spread the net far and wide, then circle it around the lake and herd them into the net. As we started to coral the fish, the men put sentries at the end of the lake to shoot the fish with rifles. Handsome Mike stood at the end with his .22 automatic and waited for any fish that would head his way as the other men crowded them into a tighter school with the net. Cleveland was waist-deep in the lake with one end of the net in his left hand and his right hand holding it partly out of the water. The fish were now in a panic. Their world was about to come to an end as our net swept underneath them. As we hauled those Arctic char out of the water, some escaped, but only to be shot. The water “sizzled” from Handsome Mike’s .22 shooting at a fish that kept escaping. Finally a shot went through its side and ended that escapade. After a break for tea and bread and a last look at the scenery around the deep lake, we started back to the boats. It was a good haul for all of us. As we neared the boats we could hear the lapping of the sea. We knew we had to leave this place before it got too windy. Jinker pushed us off with a mighty shove then leapt into the boat. We had a cache of fish, a couple of seals, and even a caribou. Then it was the long way around two mountains and back to our camp.
I sat in the middle of the boat, mostly saying nothing and watching for any seal that might pop up out of the water. Cleveland drove the boat at full speed, with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and his left hand on the throttle. His long wading boots and heavy duffle sweater that was too big on his lean sinewy body was a sight never to be forgotten. His face was creased with lines and dark brown from the sun. Cleveland was the peerless hunter, the word, the man, the wisdom, and Cleveland had an unforgettably beautiful rifle encased in a sealskin case he had made himself. This rifle was a .222, lovingly oiled and cleaned to a luster shine. Everyone loved that .222 and it was often the centerpiece in the boat when we were on the great ocean to shoot seals.
As we neared camp, our family was practically on top of each other just to see what we had brought back. There was always an atmosphere of showmanship as we got off the boat, our legs working out stiffness with a stomping dance. The women had already lit the Coleman stove. There would be hot tea and bread to eat, and sometimes there was some caribou meat being boiled for our ravenous appetites. I remember one time when we had eaten boiled seal meat and all that was left were bones and a part of the seal that was called the dog. This part is delicious. After we clean that piece with our teeth or knives, its bone becomes a tool of prediction: if it lands on its flat bottom it’s an omen, “Yes, it will happen,” but if it lands on its other side, the omen is “No, it will not.” This night with the Coleman lantern bright in the happy atmosphere of the camp, Cleveland playfully grabbed the dog bone with all its wisdom, tossed it like a coin into the air and predicted that tonight Dracc won’t pee the bed ( “Yeah, right,” said Aunt Harriet). As the bone flipped round and round and finally landed, it was on its flat side, a positive omen side. Cleveland whooped. I was so happy because I had been pissing the bed every night. I sure hoped that the prediction would come true.
~
During those months of hunting, the caribou mattress that Aunt Harriet had made for me started to smell of urine. When we all got up in the mornings, my mattress was the only one that was wet, and my auntie would say so. She would ask me if I had wet the bed again. I would grunt a yes or grunt a no. I was under her total command. She didn’t have a shred of love for me, because her biggest love and the centre of her life was young Coburn. When we lay our mattresses to be aired out, mine had to be dried because no matter how much I tried, I continued to wet the bed night after night.
While in this beautiful location, I longed to be at Temple Bay where I could stay away for awhile from this family that had ruthlessly separated me from my sisters and brothers. At camp, I had to sit in the corner in the festive loving atmosphere of the family surrounding Coburn, who, with his button nose and fat, creased cheeks. Aunt Harriet couldn’t believe that Coburn was a walking, talking, actual kid. She couldn’t believe that he had ten toes and ten fingers. In fact, she was smitten. She grabbed him in a comical yet cherishing embrace and kissed him on his cheek. Then she took his clothes off for the night in a loving yet funny, funny way, all the while fussing over him, saying, “My son, my little ass, my little feet, my little son. Look at his ass, look at his feet, look at his face, and look at his arms. Okay, just look at him, look at him, his rump, his ass. Ummmm, let me smell him.” She then lovingly kissed his genitals for he was such a sweet boy. First time I saw that, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. My cousin Joe, Ann’s brother, thought it was funny but we dared not laugh because this was Aunt Harriet. Coburn just lay there almost naked on his back with his legs apart, and Aunt Harriet fussing over his genitals and ass. Kissing and smelling Coburn’s exposed privates and even his anus. Aunt Harriet was kissing and smelling it— oh, how that smell was grand for her! She couldn’t believe that Coburn was so small, so innocent, so Coburn, in the darkness of the evening with the Coleman lantern hissing quietly in its brightness. That scene made a lasting impression on me. Sometimes she kissed and smelled his anus so hard that her daughter Adline had to tell her that a piece of fecal matter had stuck to the tip of her nose. Then Auntie stopped her fussing to grab a Kleenex and rub the squished dot of poo away.