EXTRACT FOR
The Making Of A Shaman
(Author Unknown)

CHAPTER ONE

    

    Shortly after our arrival at the one-room log cabin that would be our home for the summer, I discovered a small rowboat. I wondered who had left it there. It was just the right size for a seven-year-old, and it seemed to be in good shape, so I decided to use it to explore one of the many islands in the Réservoir Baskatong [1]. I rowed over to what I thought was a snow-capped island. I dragged the boat up onto the sandy beach, secured it, and began my exploration. 

    For a time, I followed natural trails, and sometimes I had to crawl over an outcropping of rocks as I climbed toward the top. Much to my surprise, it was white rock and not snow. As I slowly worked my way over some jagged rocks, I heard a noise. I stopped. I stood very still and listened. Maybe, I thought, it's a bear or a wolf. I looked around for something to use as a weapon. I picked up a few rocks and piled them at my feet, keeping one in each hand. I figured if I spotted whatever it was first; I could throw the stones at it and frighten it away. I heard a noise again and this time it was a decided groan. It must be someone is hurt, I thought. Then I heard a very clear "Oh, yes, yes."

    There was no mistaking that sound??"a human voice. I eased my way around the cliff and looked down at a small clearing. I saw them. A young naked man was on top of a young naked woman. From here I figured he had to be at least seventeen years old. Spellbound, I stopped to watch. He was doing pushups with his butt.  She had her legs wrapped around his middle and her arms around his neck. I squatted and continued to watch. She frantically kissed him all over his face. She grabbed his long black hair and pulled it. He grunted a couple of times and then lay very still. He turned his head, looked up at me. I am in big trouble, I thought.

    I am sure I heard him say, "Have no fear. All of this you will understand." 

    A bright blinding flash filled the small clearing. I blinked. They were gone. I scrambled down the side of the rock to where they had been. No sign of them. I looked around the area. No foot prints. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I sucked in my breath and scrambled back up the outcropping. I half ran and half stumbled as I slid down the other side. 

    I breathed a sigh when I came to where I had left my boat. It was still here. I untied it, dragged it to the water's edge, jumped in, and used an oar to shove off. I pulled on the oars as fast as I could to get out of there. 

    As I neared our log cabin, I began to calm down. Not one word would I mention about what I saw. I'd be grounded for sure if I did. I pulled the boat up onto the bank, tied it to a stake, and climbed up the bank to the cabin. 

    I had to go to the bathroom really bad. We had no inside plumbing or running water. We had a two-hole outhouse. As I relieved myself, I wondered if our poop filtered down into the lake and fed the fish that we ate. Gross, totally gross, I thought as I pulled up my pants, and hurried to the cabin.

    My mother was standing on the front stoop when I came around to the front of the cabin. 

    "Where have you been?" she said.

    "Out in the row boat."

    "Good lord. Who knows how long it has been there? It could be rotten, and you would have drowned. Don't go off again without telling me, you understand? And did you even have a life jacket on?"

    "It was dry inside and had no signs of leaks. I just went over there," I said pointing toward the white stone mountain. "I forgot to take a life jacket out of the trailer."

    "Next time tell me when you are going off somewhere and wear your lifejacket if you are on the water. You hear me?"

    I nodded my head as I shuffled my feet. 

    "What's the problem?' my father said as he came to the door.

    My mother told him.

    "Well, he knows how to swim."

    I bet he hoped I drowned, I thought as I scooted past them. I was starving. I opened a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter. I had woofed down half-dozen crackers before they came in.

    "What's the matter with you? Can't you wait for your supper?" my father said.

    I looked down at my feet as I swallowed the last piece of cracker.

    "It's alright, George. I won't have dinner ready for a while. You have time to test your new outboard motor and boat."

    He went outside, went down to the water, got into his new Dundee, and shoved off.

    I finished unpacking the stuff I brought with me: three books, three notebooks, two pens, one toy truck, and a telescope. I thought the telescope would be great to play pirates with. I didn't have a sword, but I planned to make one.

    I went back outside, taking the telescope with me. I remembered seeing a ladder lying along the backside of the cabin. It was quite heavy, and I had to work to get it upright. When I did, I leaned it against the wall of the cabin, tested a couple of rungs, and carefully climbed up to the roof.

    I used my telescope to watch my father giving his boat and motor a test run. It's a good thing he wasn't that far from shore. My telescope wasn't very powerful. I then turned to the other side of the roof to see the wigwams. There were three of them. My mother said the Indians lived in them during the summer. I hoped to see one. The only Indians I ever saw were those in the movies. No Indians seemed to be around. Maybe that young man and woman were from the wigwams, I thought. I heard my mother calling. I climbed down, tipped the ladder over, pushed it back against the base of the cabin, and went to see what she wanted.

    Go out to the trailer and get that box marked fragile. Be careful and don't drop it. It's a gift for the Indian women I met while your father and I were here last summer."

    "Okay."

    I found the box marked fragile. I moved it to the end of the trailer, jumped down, and picked up the box. I took two steps and fell flat on my face. The box hit the ground and tumbled a couple of feet. I sat up, wiped the sand off my face. My hand had blood on it. I cut my chin. I tied my shoe. One or the other was always untied. I picked up the box, praying whatever it was, wasn't broken, and went into the cabin.

    "What on earth happened to you?" my mother said.

    "I fell."

    "You dropped the box. Oh, dear, I hope you didn't break anything."

    She opened the box. Inside there was a kerosene lamp. Luck was with me. It wasn't broken. There was also a small can of kerosene. She used the newspaper wrapping to clean the lamp's globe. Satisfied, she put the globe on the lamp and sat it on the kitchen table.

    I'll go visit the Indians tomorrow. And you will go with me. Mind your manners and speak only when you are spoken to. No fidgeting."

    "Fidgeting? Now what?" my father said as he walked in. "All he ever does is fidget. Drives me nuts. What happened to his face?"

    I waited for my mother to tell him I had tripped over my shoelace and dropped the box. She didn't. She said I tripped. I crawled up on my bunk, and opened one of my books and pretended to read. The scarcer I was the better it was. At least, that's the way I felt about it.

    Dinner was over by 5:30. It was already dark, and my mother had lit our kerosene lamp. After dinner, I wrote in a notebook. I described the day's events.  My parents played gin rummy. Bed time for me was 7:00 o'clock. My parents went to bed shortly after that. 

    As I lay on my deerskin bunk, I heard a swishing sound. The sound became clearer. Flapping wings. I felt a slight thump next to my head, actually right on my pillow. That damn bird has pooped on my pillow, I thought. I didn't dare move for fear of waking my parents. 

    "Quiet yourself. I have a message for you," the bird whispered.

    "What kind of bird are you? Only parrots talk."

    "I am a bat. I am here on your pillow so don't thrash around. Furthermore, I didn't poop

    on your pillow. No more questions. Tomorrow, be alert. Check your perspective."

    "Check my what?"

    "Check what you see, accept what you see and hear as you did today."

    Wings whirred and all was quiet, well almost quiet. I heard heavy breathing coming from my parents' bed.

    Sleep was fitful as I waited for morning and the promised visit to the Indians.

    

***

    

    Morning announced herself with a bright beam of light through the lone window in our log cabin. Anxious to find out if what I heard the night before was true or not I sat up in bed and looked at my pillow. No bird poop but there was a single small black feather. I picked it up and put it between two pages in my notebook. I popped out of bed and nearly stepped on a round rubber thing lying not far from my parent's bunk. I pulled my pants on, untangled my shirt, and got that on. I tackled my socks and shoes. Next time when you go to bed untie your shoes, dummy. I thought.

    I went out to the stoop and looked across the lake. The sunrise was bright red with golden streaks through the red. My mother came from behind the cabin. 

    "You need to go to the outhouse?" she asked. "I left some paper there for you if you do."

    "Isn't it beautiful?" I asked.

    "What?"

    I pointed toward the sunrise.

    "Yes. Now don't be gone long. Breakfast will soon be ready. 

    After my trip to the outhouse, I went down to the lake, washed my hands and face. The water, like the morning air, was cold. 

    At the table, my mother announced she had some baking to do, and we wouldn't be going to visit the Indians until after lunch.

    "Get your life jacket. You're going with me," my father said. "Give your mother some peace and quiet."

    I grabbed my fishing pole and tackle box. Outside, I picked up my life jacket and put that on.  I sat on the floor of the boat as my father shoved us off.

    About an hour into our fishing, I put my pole aside, moved up to the front of the boat, and just watched the water. The boat stopped. My father had cut the motor, and we were slowly drifting. He had changed from a double hook lure to a single hook and was set to make a cast. When he did the lure struck me in the back of my neck, and as he snapped the pole forward the lure set deep, and I screamed. I was sure had he pulled any harder I would have ended up in the lake and bled to death or drowned. I don't care what people say about kids not knowing stuff but one thing is for sure, they can tell when they are not liked. And my father did not like me.

    "Stop screaming and sit still. You are just driving the hook deeper," he said as he pulled out his knife and cut the line.

    I thought for a minute he was going to kill me. He cranked up the motor and full throttled us back to camp. As we neared the camp, I began to scream. By the time my father had the boat anchored, I was up the bank screaming even louder.

    "What on earth. Oh, my god. George, what happened? Don't just leave that hook in his head."

    "I'll remove it as soon as he shuts up. Sit down and don't fidget."

    He cut the end of the hook off and pulled the rest out. My mother poured a disinfectant on it and then put a Band-Aid on it. 

    My father glared at me. "Next time don't change seats."

    "Maybe we had better not go visiting," my mother said. 

    "He's fine. I'm going to take a nap," my father said.

    "You want to go? If you do, be sure you have your shoes tied. Bring that bag. It's got the lamp in it," my mother said.

    "You want me to bring the water bucket?" I asked.

    "No, you can do that tomorrow I'll show you where to go. We have enough water for the rest of the day. Now mind your manners. Only speak when you are spoken to. You understand?"

    "Yes. Can we go now?" 

    I sure didn't want to be left with my father. I was sure he tried to kill me.

    I nibbled on ripe huckleberries from the many bushes along the winding path up to the wigwams. The afternoon sun warmed me. My mother, dressed in black slacks and a pink blouse, and what she called sensible walking shoes, hurried me along. 

    As we got closer to the encampment, the dogs put up a howl. A couple growled and bared their teeth. A man, squatted on the ground in front of one of the wigwams, threw a rock at the dogs. They scattered. My mother nodded to the man and walked on to the middle wigwam. The entrance flap was open, but we didn't enter. A short woman appeared, smiled, and in a halting voice asked us in. Her dress was of deer hide decorated with dozens of colored beads and fringe. Her hair, gray-streaked, was tied in a neat single braid that hung over her left shoulder. A necklace made of blue stones and sea shells hung around her neck.

    Inside, there were piles of animal skins on the ground. Must be their beds, I thought as I looked around. Along one side several guns were stacked. A large bow and a quiver of arrows hung on a post. A fire pit with a large black iron pot hanging from a tripod contained something that smelled worse than our outhouse. Off to one side, away from the center, sat an old man, with closed eyes, and smoking a long thin-stemmed pipe. The woman pointed to a spot not far from the old man and said, "Sit."

    My mother gave the woman the kerosene lamp and can of oil. The woman caressed the lamp, sat it on the ground and then thanked my mother. My mother then handed her a bottle of my father's whiskey. She walked over to the old man sitting in the corner and handed the bottle to him. My mother stared at him as he turned the bottle around in his hands, looked at the top. I didn't remember her ever doing that to someone. Guess he wants to make sure it hadn't been opened, I thought. He grunted as he gave the bottle back to the woman. She opened the bottle, brought out three cups, filled each half full and gave one to the man, one to my mother, and kept one for herself. I had never seen my mother drink straight whiskey before. She waited for the man to drink his. He drained the cup with one gulp, tipping it to my mother. The woman tilted her head back and emptied her cup. It really surprised me to see my mother toss her drink down and wipe her lips with the back of her hand.

    The Indian woman, I was not allowed to call her squaw, picked up a paddle, probably a canoe paddle and began stirring the contents of the pot. Steam and an awful stink rose up as she stirred. Unceremoniously, she fanned the steam over my way. I coughed, and I inhaled more of that awful smelling stuff. I was sure I would smell like a dead animal the rest of my life.

    After a respectful amount of time, we got up to leave. As we walked out of the wigwam, the Indian woman said, "Have the boy come back in two days. I'll have a gift for him."