Unhooking the Moon by Gregory Hughes Read Free Book Online Page B

came in with Mary White Cloud’s rocking chair, she never went anywhere without it. ‘I’m sorry, Bob,’ said Running Elk and she sounded like she really meant it. Then Mary White Cloud came in. Mary White Cloud, who had helped deliver the Rat, never looked her seventy years. Her eyes were pale and bright and when she smiled her face glowed with warmth. ‘Hey, Bobby.’ She was the only one who ever called me that. She touched my arm and sat in her rocking chair.
    The chief helped Harold take a seat and then, goingin the kitchen, he knelt over Dad.
    He looked at him for a few seconds and then he came back in the living room. ‘There are no signs of pain on his face. I am sure he died peacefully.’ The chief was a big man with thick grey hair that he wrapped in a ponytail. He had a hard serious face and in all the time I’d known him, I’d never heard him laugh.
    â€˜We want to bury him in the garden next to Mom,’ said the Rat. ‘And we want you to perform the ceremony, chief.’
    â€˜I cannot do that. There has to be an autopsy.’
    â€˜But it’s what he wanted,’ said the Rat. ‘And it’s what we want. Isn’t it, Bob? The authorities can’t find out. If they do they’ll take us away and put us in a home.’
    â€˜Come here, Wazhashnoons. Let me look at you,’ said Mary White Cloud. The Rat stood in front of her and Mary took hold of her hands. ‘My, how you’ve grown. How old are you now?’
    â€˜I’ll be eleven soon.’
    â€˜And you look more like your mother every day. Tell me child, what dreams have you had?’
    â€˜I’ve had many, but one keeps coming back. There’s a man and he’s surrounded by tall buildings. He tellsme he’s going to look after me and he keeps me somewhere safe, like a castle, and he reads to me all the time. I don’t know why he reads to me. I can read myself.’ The Rat frowned. ‘You know who the man is, don’t you, Mary?’
    Mary White Cloud looked at the chief and then back at the Rat.
    â€˜Can we bury Dad first?’ asked the Rat.
    â€˜You cannot bury him here,’ said the chief. ‘It’s breaking the law.’
    Mary White Cloud pulled her shawl around her. ‘I remember a time when my son called them white man’s laws. He would talk about the way they used their laws to destroy his people. I can also remember him calling an autopsy a sacrilege to the dead.’
    â€˜That was long ago, Mother,’ said the chief. ‘The words of youth.’
    â€˜The words of youth are not always foolish. You have become so involved in the day-to-day running of the reservation. You think about what is politically correct without consulting your heart. You seem to have lost your spiritual beliefs. Even though last week I told you I heard the owl call John’s name. Even though you can see how gifted his daughter is.’
    The chief shook his head. ‘I am a First Nationschief. It will reflect badly on the reservation and on the First Nations people themselves. I have responsibilities, Mother.’
    â€˜But you have no responsibility here. This is not the reservation and the DeBilliers, while they have always been our friends, are not your people. You are held in high esteem by many, my son. Is it that which you fear losing?’
    â€˜And what if I am prosecuted, Mother? What then?’
    â€˜Then I will be sorry to see my son in court. But if you do not bury John according to the wishes of his children I will be ashamed.’
    The chief bowed his head, a little, and then he looked at me. ‘We will help you dig the grave and I will perform the ceremony, if that is what you want. But make no mistake they will exhume the body when they find out.’
    â€˜His spirit will be gone by then,’ said the Rat. ‘So it won’t matter.’
    â€˜True,’ said the chief.
    â€˜We have to put Dad in