Le Petite Sauvage (Excerpt)

The rain hit the windshield sporadically, annoying me. I had to constantly turn the windshield wipers on and off, there wasn't enough rain to keep it on.Even on the lowest setting. At least it distracted me from thinking about how sick my Dad was, and all the violent ugly events that occurred during his time at home. Now he was in a nursing home, and I knew there was a good chance that I would run into my attackers but I had to go. He wanted to talk to me. Wanted to share his story with me. So I took a deep breath and decided I should go.

The drive to see him was 2 hours long,on a lonely stretch of highway that I had driven countless times to go and visit him and Mom at their home. My mind drifted back to all the good times I had with them everytime I visited. He told my sister Gail that he had never given her anything, so he gave her a car from his hospital bed. He never said anything like that to me, I'm telling myself that he is giving me his life story. The stories that he never shared with us growing up.

I started to wonder how he was going to share with me. Would it be in story format? Details, names, places, dates? I had no idea what I was going to be going into when I heard him say it was time he got his story out, and he wanted me to record it and put it into a book.

"What are we going to call our book?" He asked.
"Well let's see how it comes out in the end." I responded quietly, not sure myself how it was going to pan out, much less how it was going to end up.

He's so small and frail in his bed, white sheets, white pillow case under his white head of thinning hair. He is suddenly small, and old. His once booming voice is soft and gets tired as he's speaking into the camera...


I was a little boy then. I remember being afraid. Being alone. The feeling of being alone,and scared remains with me today. I looked down at my shoes. I was here. I wasn't at home anymore....

He clutched his sisters arm and shivered in the cold. Looking up he can see the stars, and the breath of everyone around him. The truck started to move slowly, creaking, rocking and his sister grabbed onto the wooden planks that enclosed the sides of the old pick up. She tried to hold onto all her little brothers and sisters, three boys, and four girls. There was whimpering, not only from them but also from the other children who were huddled together in the scattered hay on the floor of the truckbed. 

"Rosalie" he sobbed, "Rosalie, I'm so cold."
"Shh, it'll be okay," she said softly. She grabbed his hand, and it felt as cold as hers. He looked at her bigger hand and began to cry, thinking of his home. His mom, how he would be warm right now under the big homemade quilts she had made for all her children. He thought of his father again. He was always smiling in his memory with a twinkle in his eye. He always winked at him, "Donnie, big boys don't cry." he would say whenever he had a nightmare. His Dad was gone, never to come back. The war had taken him, and wasn't going to give him back. He remembered his sister coming into the room crying. She said "Donnie, Frankie, you boys go to bed now. No more noise."
They stopped their giggling and looked at each other and then at her. "What's wrong Rosa?" he asked her then.
She shook her head slowly, then started sat on the edge of his bed, and started rocking back and forth her hands covering her face. Her sobs came harder and louder, and she was attempting to muffle them. "Dad's not coming home now boys." She said in between gasps, "he's gone, he's gone."
"What do you mean gone?" he asked her scared of what she meant. Was Dad not going to live with them anymore? Did he find another family?" he was confused.Being only seven years old the thought of his Dad not coming home only meant that he was living elsewhere.
Her sobbing was scaring him and Frankie crawled out of bed and padded over to crawl under the blankets beside him. He hugged Frankie he was only 5 years old and was sucking his thumblooking up at him with wide frightened eyes.

"Boys, boys" she said inbetween sobs, "Daddy's gone and died. He's dead. He was killed in the war."
He instantly froze. Dead? Dad? No, Dad's don't die. What is dead? "Dead" he said in a shaky voice, "dead like Tizzy?" Tizzy was the family cat the they had found dead, mauled by a coyote or other bigger animal, but Johnnie his oldest brother had said it was a coyote. Said it must have been hungry and Tizzy looked like a sweet potato on legs. That's why he ate most of Tizzy but left the torn up body. That was dead to a seven year old mind.
He let the news sink in and he started to feel terror welling up.
Dad?
His Dad??
Daddy? Daddy with the forever smile when he worked the fields singing old pow wow songs to himself. Daddy who always made things right, and hugged Mom all the time in the kitchen.
Daddy who rarely got angry at them, but had a firm hand when they needed it. He was so tall, and strong. A giant that let his kids play on the wagon and crawl around underfoot whenever he was busy outside. He pictured his Dad the last day he saw him and he couldn't. He couldn't bring up his face. He began to cry then,crying for his Dad.
"Daaaad" he sobbed.
"Daaaad" he sobbed again. This started Frankie, he wasn't sure if Frankie knew why he was crying but that his crying had probably made Frankie lonely.
"I want Daaadddd-ddy to come home now." Frankie cried his high pitched wail. He looked over at him Frankie's eyes were scrunched shut and his mouth was wide open. He gave out a baby wail his thumb wet from sucking sitting on the side of his mouth as he wailed for Dad as well.  He knew he had made Frankie lonely, he wiped his eyes and hugged him tighter. Rosalie leaned over them and gathered them in her arms. She spread her arms over them and tried to pull them close, crying with them and saying, "I'll look after you.I'll look after you. Shh...we musnt cry too loud. Mom will cry again."
"Shh we must be strong boys, no crying now..."

He heard a cough and it brought him back to the present. The old farm truck with the open back and wooden slats to hold them in. It was cold and ice rain was starting to fall. Goget his little sister who was called Goget because she couldn't say her name, Margaret, was crying softly and shivering in the rain. He grabbed her and pulled her down onto his lap. their backs were warm, hers and Frankies. He cuddled up close to them and tried to warm them with his own body heat. But how much body heat does a skinny ten year old boy have to offer?


I finally got to the little town where he was living now, in a palliative care nursing home. A sleepy little town on the crossroads of two secondary highways and the shortest route from the Trans-Canada highway to the U.S. border. I lived for a period of ten years on the nearby reserve and had made friends in town. That wasn't for 5 years now, and wondered if anyone would remember me. I drove through town slowly making sure my attackers' vehicle wasn't parked somewhere because I wanted my visit to be a peaceful one. Dad didn't need to be stressed out from all the drama that the woman brings with her. He needs love and support now, and Mom needs strength. I remembered my Dad eating in the restaurant in town here with me. We always got Chinese/Canadian food. He loved wonton, hot pot dishes, noodles, and all sorts of meats. It was his favorite food to get whenever we went somewhere. My Dad came to this town so many times to help me with vehicles, to visit, to help out in anyway whatsoever. I am sure that all my siblings have these same memories. We never knew a day without a Dad.

When I arrived he was sleeping so I settled in quietly and waited a few minutes before letting him know I was there. I wondered how long it would take for my sister, Gail to show up. She was helping me to record and was also my closest friend and sibling in the entire family. She too was assaulted and accused of giving up on Dad.

"Dad" I said clearly.
His eyes instantly opened, even though he can't see me anymore his eyes searched unseeing like hands in the dark.
"Who's there?" He asked.
"It's me Ella, Dad."
"Oh you came" He said reaching out towards my voice. I grabbed his hands and then leaned in to gently kiss his forehead and give him a  soft hug.
"Yes Dad I came and I'm ready to record whenever you are."
"Let's visit a bit first" He asked.
"Of course we can Dad."
We talked a bit about the weather, the latest happenings in the news and how Mom was doing. Of course I hadn't seen her in so long.
All the while I was massaging his swollen hands and his emancipated arms.