Black Robe, page 17
*
The canoes stalled, riding the current. Daniel kept theirs moving in a circle so that Annuka could watch the shore. After a while, she turned to look at him. She said, ‘It is a rule with the Algonkin that no children shall lack parents. If I go back to them, they will give me a new family.’
‘I am your family,’ he told her.
‘My father said we should go back to the winter hunting place. Come with me. Let Nicanis go on alone.’
Daniel looked at the other canoe, at the priest who steered it. ‘I cannot leave him now.’
Again she watched the shore. ‘I promised my father that I would go back. It is foretold in Neehatin’s dream that Nicanis will enter a Huron village alone.’
‘Listen to me,’ Daniel said. ‘That dream cannot be fulfilled if we leave him. Look at him. How can we leave him?’
‘That sorcerer, what do I care?’ she said. ‘You saw him just now with my father.’
‘That was foolish, yes,’ Daniel said. ‘But he wanted to help him, not to harm him.’
She looked over at the priest, then said, ‘We two could travel by night on the river. It is only seven nights’ journey.’
‘I cannot leave him, Annuka.’
He saw the glitter of anger in her eyes. ‘Then love him. Love that sorcerer and go with him, since you love him more than you love me.’
‘You know that’s not true.’
‘I know you are a Norman. My father was right. The Blackrobe has you in his spell. All right, let’s change canoes.’
‘Annuka...’
She took up her paddle. ‘We will land at the next bend of the river. We can’t land here. The She Manitou is in those trees. But you, you fool, you’re too blind to know that.’
Suddenly, anger filled him like a drunkenness. ‘Father Laforgue,’ he called. ‘Follow us. We’re going to change canoes.’
Angry, he stroked, not bothering to match his stroke to hers. She thinks I’m stupid, but it is she who is stupid, a stupid Savage who will go back down there to torture, death, to cannibals! Because a stupid Savage like Neehatin had a dream. All right. Let her go.
A few minutes later they beached both canoes out of sight of Chomina’s body. Laforgue saw the girl take a cooking kettle from her canoe and put it in his. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘It’s better that we travel in one canoe.’
‘I told you he was stupid,’ she said, not looking at Daniel.
‘No more stupid than someone who goes back down among cannibals.’
‘Be quiet,’ she said. ‘Your voice isn’t a man’s voice but the squealing of a hare.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Laforgue asked. ‘Annuka, Daniel, what’s wrong?’
‘You know very well what’s wrong.’ She burst into tears. ‘You put a spell on him. He loved me and you took away that love. You hairy shit. I loved him. I love him.’
‘Daniel,’ Laforgue said, turning to the boy. ‘Listen, do you want to go back down the rapids?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Daniel said, and Laforgue saw that he too was close to tears. ‘I don’t. But I... I can’t – I don’t want to leave her.’
‘Talk, talk, talk,’ the girl said, angry and weeping. ‘What are you jabbering about?’
‘We cannot let her go back alone,’ the priest told Daniel. ‘She has lost her family because of us. What am I to do? If I send you with her and you lie with her and do not convert her and marry her, then you will destroy your soul.’
‘If that is what worries you,’ Daniel said, ‘I promise you I will try to convert her.’
‘Then go with her.’
Daniel hesitated, then said to the girl, ‘He wants me to go with you.’
She stopped weeping. ‘And you, what do you want?’
‘I want to be your husband. I will live with your people.’
‘I warn you,’ she said. ‘They won’t treat you well.’
‘Then come with me to the Hurons,’ Daniel said. ‘We can live there. And Nicanis will marry us.’
‘Is that true?’ she asked Laforgue.
Daniel looked at Laforgue and said, in French, ‘Tell her yes.’
Laforgue looked at the girl. ‘Yes, it is true,’ he said. ‘You can live among us as his wife.’
She turned and walked back to the river. She stood, staring downriver at the bend behind which her father’s body lay. At last she turned back. She looked at Daniel and then at Laforgue. ‘I have decided,’ she said. ‘Now I am your family. We will go in one canoe.’
10
On the morning of November 10, Casson and Vallier, two fur traders returning from the Huron country, came down from the Upper Lake into the Mattawa River with six Algonkian paddlers and four canoes, heavily laden with furs. They were excited and nervous, for they were two weeks behind plan and racing the approaching snows. Ahead, in a bend of the river, they saw a solitary canoe approach, its occupants paddling in a desultory fashion. Casson could not make out the nature of these strangers. ‘Nipissing?’ he asked, touching the shoulder of his lead paddler.
‘Blackrobe,’ the paddler said.
Shit, Casson said to himself. He was a Huguenot. ‘One of your Fathers,’ he called back to Vallier.
‘Shit,’ said Vallier. ‘Let’s tell him we’re in a hurry.’
But Casson, uneasy now, stared ahead. Why only one canoe? The Jesuits usually travelled with several canoes, all filled with mission supplies. Had the other paddlers run away?
As his men stroked swiftly, closing the gap, Casson saw that there was one Jesuit, a French boy and a Savage girl in the canoe. He touched his lead paddler and pointed to the girl.
‘Algonkian,’ the paddler said.
The Jesuit began to wave at them, asking them to pull in to shore. Casson looked back, questioning Vallier. Vallier shrugged.
‘Hallo. Hallo,’ the Jesuit called in a hoarse voice. ‘We need help.’
Unwillingly, Casson gave the order to land. At that point, coming close to the solitary canoe, he saw that all three occupants had been beaten and wounded. His spine prickled. He looked again at the Jesuit and remembered him as one of those he had seen in the residence in Québec. The boy he did not know. As the Jesuit steered past him, Casson looked at the priest’s hand on the paddle. The index finger was severed at the joint. Casson’s paddlers saw it too.
‘Iroquois,’ one said to the man behind him.
Shit, Casson thought. Now they will leave us. We’ll be stuck here on the river with no paddlers and a fucking fortune in pelts.
He looked at the Jesuit’s sickly face and monkish beard and felt a flush of anger. And then, as though to irritate him further, the Jesuit smiled at him and called in his hoarse voice, ‘It must have been Saint Joseph who sent you to us today.’
Saint Joseph my ass, Casson thought, but he forced a smile. The fucking Jesuits were the real rulers of this country. Champlain was completely under their thumb. He was like a priest himself, now, in his old age, lecturing everybody else on the importance of saving the Savages’ immortal souls.
When the canoes had all been pulled clear of the water, Vallier said to the boy, ‘What happened to you?’
The boy looked at Vallier as though he did not understand.
‘What happened?’ Vallier said, again.
‘We’re starving,’ the boy said.
‘There’s some cooked sagamité in our kettles,’ Vallier told him and asked his paddlers to bring it up.
While they waited for the sagamité, the priest, the boy and the girl stood silent as animals, and when the kettle was placed near them they went at once to it, scooping up handfuls of the cold greasy sagamité and stuffing it into their mouths. But, after their first swallows, they ate slowly, in the manner of starving people, as though the act of eating was difficult for them.
‘How long are you without food?’ Vallier asked.
‘Eight days,’ the boy said.
The Savage girl, eating, suddenly vomited on the ground. Still retching, she went back to the kettle and scooped up another handful of the sagamité. As she did, Casson’s lead paddler came up to her. ‘What happened?’ he said in the Algonkian tongue.
‘Shut up,’ Casson said, in sudden rage, going to the girl as though he would hit her. He turned wildly, staring at the priest. ‘Don’t tell them what happened,’ he said. ‘If we lose these paddlers we’ll never get back to Québec.’
The priest, masticating slowly, nodded, to show he understood, but at that moment Vallier’s head paddler came up to the girl and said, ‘Was it Iroquois?’
‘You shut up,’ Casson said again, turning back to the girl, raising his hand as though he would strike her. But as he did, the French boy, thin, bruised, wild-eyed, pulled a hunting knife from his belt and held it against Casson’s cheek. ‘Are you fucking crazy?’ Casson said to him.
‘Wait,’ the priest said, coming forward, holding up his hands. ‘Are we all mad? You have saved our lives. Daniel, put away the knife.’
‘You tell her to keep her mouth shut, do you hear?’ Casson said. ‘Vallier! Help me.’
But as he spoke he saw that four of his paddlers had come up behind him. He felt them at his back, as though their hatchets might strike into his skull. He turned around, but they were not armed. Then, their leader, Karatisich, ignoring him, walked up to the Savage girl and said, in Algonkian, ‘Why are you with these hairy pigs? Are you their prisoner?’
‘No.’ She pointed to the French boy. ‘He is my betrothed.’
‘And where are your people?’
‘In the winter hunting place below the rapids.’
‘You came from there?’
‘Look, Karatisich,’ Casson said, going between him and the girl. ‘We will give these people food and help, but we must leave at once. I have promised you extra presents if we reach Québec before the snows.’
Karatisich pretended not to hear him. He looked at the girl. ‘Were your people killed?’ he asked.
‘Shut up,’ Casson screamed at the girl. He knew he had lost control, but he could not help it.
‘Be quiet,’ Karatisich said to him, then told the girl. ‘Pay no attention to this hairy fool. What happened?’
‘Iroquois,’ she said. ‘Below the rapids. They killed my mother and ate my small brother before our eyes. My father died eight days ago.’
‘How did you get away?’
‘They took us to their village and began to caress us. They would have gone on until, at last, they burned and ate us. But on the first morning I killed the guard and we ran away.’
‘Is that true?’ Vallier said to the priest, his eyes staring in fear. ‘Cannibals?’
The priest nodded. Vallier turned to Casson. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘We go on, for Christ’s sake,’ Casson shouted hysterically. ‘Come on, you’ve heard enough. Let’s get them back in the canoes.’
‘We can give you a ten-day supply of sagamité,’ Vallier said to the priest. ‘That will take you through the upper lake and the small river to the inland sea. You will meet the Allumette on the upper lake. We will give you trade goods. You can have the Allumette guide you to the great lake.’
‘If you make a receipt, I will sign it,’ the priest said. ‘Our Superior will repay you in Québec. But, of course, there is no repayment for your kindness.’
‘Get the sagamité,’ Casson was shouting to his paddlers. ‘Bring the dried sagamité, now. Hurry.’
‘It will be dangerous,’ the priest said to Vallier. ‘But remember, you must travel at night. That was our mistake. The Iroquois do not hunt at night. Now, tell me. You have been in the Huron country?’
‘We just came from there,’ Vallier said.
‘Did you see any of our Fathers?’
Vallier nodded. ‘We spoke with Father Brabant in Ossossané less than a month ago.’
‘Then he is alive?’
‘He is alive, but one of the priests in the villages was killed,’ Vallier said. ‘It seems there is a sickness in many villages. The Savages haven’t had this illness before, and they blame it on a sorcery of the Jesuits.’
‘Who was the priest who was killed?’
‘Come on,’ Casson said, coming up. ‘Make out that paper and let’s go.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Vallier said. He sat on a log and began to write out a receipt. ‘Who was the priest Father Brabant said was killed?’ he asked Casson. ‘I don’t remember his name, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t remember,’ Casson said, in great irritation.
‘He was in one of the northern villages,’ Vallier told the priest.
‘Ihonatiria?’ the priest asked.
‘Yes, that’s right, that was the name.’
The boy, who had been listening, came up to Vallier. ‘Why did they kill him?’
‘I don’t know. Father Brabant wasn’t able to get up there. He was told of the killing by one of the Christian Savages.’ Vallier stopped. ‘Are you the priest they sent to replace him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wouldn’t go there now, if I were you. Go to Ossossané and see Father Brabant first.’
‘But Ossossané is several days south of Ihonatiria,’ the priest said. ‘Isn’t that so?’
‘Six or seven days’ paddling,’ Vallier said. ‘But what does that matter, if your life is at stake?’
‘For Christ’s sake, give me that goddamned receipt,’ Casson said. ‘You just sit there talking.’
The priest turned to him. ‘My son,’ he said, in his hoarse voice. ‘Please do not blaspheme.’
‘I am not of your faith,’ Casson said rudely and began to scribble the receipt.
‘Father,’ said Vallier. ‘We are going into danger. Will you hear my confession?’
The priest at once went to him, putting his arm on Vallier’s shoulder. Together they walked off towards the trees. Casson, finishing the receipt, watched in disgust as Vallier knelt and the priest, sitting on a rock, made the sign of the cross.
Casson saw that his paddlers were watching. He turned to the French boy. ‘Fuck it,’ he said. ‘Have they no sense? The fucking Savages think it’s some sorcery against them. Kneeling and making those signs. Shit!’
But the French boy, ignoring this, asked, ‘What is this sickness up there in the Huron country? Do you know?’
‘Fever.’ Casson looked at the Savage girl, who had come up and now stood near them. ‘Does the priest allow you to sleep with her?’ he asked.
‘Fuck you,’ the boy said. ‘Tell me. Are there Iroquois where we are going?’
‘There are Iroquois in the Huron country, yes,’ Casson said. ‘They are killing the Hurons and driving them out.’ He looked over at the priest and Vallier. ‘Shit, what’s keeping them? How many sins has he got to tell?’
‘They won’t be long,’ the boy said. He turned to the girl and said in Algonkian, ‘Are you still sick? Is it better now that you have eaten?’
‘It’s better,’ she said.
Vallier and the priest returned. Casson handed over the receipt and the priest signed it. ‘I cannot tell you how grateful we are,’ he said. ‘When you reach Québec, will you tell Father Bourque that you saw us and that we are well?’
‘If we get to Québec,’ Casson said. He called to the leader of his paddlers. ‘Karatisich? We are ready.’
Karatisich stood, flexed his arms as though he had a cramp and then came over to Casson. He smiled and said, ‘We are going on, then. But we are all agreed. I have spoken to the others. We will not go below the rapids.’
‘You have been paid to go to Three Rivers,’ Casson said. ‘Are you a bunch of pissing women, then?’ He laughed to show he was not giving offence.
‘Will you protect us from the fucking Iroquois?’ Karatisich asked. He, too, laughed to show he was not angry. ‘I think not. You Normans kill beavers, not warriors.’
‘We will travel at night,’ Vallier said. ‘There is no danger at night.’
‘What do you know about the danger?’ Karatisich asked. ‘I told you. We will not go below the rapids.’ He walked away and called to the other paddlers. ‘I have told them. We will go now.’
The four fur-laden canoes were put back in the water. The paddlers took their places as Casson and Vallier walked down to join them. The priest, the boy and the Savage girl stood beside the sacks of dried sagamité they had been given. ‘Thank you, and God bless you,’ the priest called.
*
As the canoes moved out into the main current, the traders turned to wave their fur caps in the air in a gesture of farewell. Impelled by the downrushing flow of the river, their craft skimmed at great speed over the water and, in less than a minute, had disappeared from sight.
Daniel, watching from the riverbank, his hand on Annuka’s shoulder, thought, What if those are the last Frenchmen we will ever see? He looked around him. The river was again that desolate place of swirling currents, sudden winds and the strange creaking of the trees which lined the shore. A chill November dew covered the ground. He turned to her. Although she had just been physically sick, although her face was still discoloured from the beatings she had suffered, he felt a familiar rush of joy. He looked into her brilliant dark eyes and, as always, saw there the self she had not given, that unpredictable Savage self, which judged him by rules and signs he did not understand. He looked down at the bags of sagamité. In six days we can reach the inland sea where the Hurons live. There we can marry. If my hand heals I can become a hunter. If not, I can live as the Hurons do by growing crops. But then, as though the man still stood beside him, he heard the voice of the trader. ‘Fever.’
He turned to Laforgue. ‘Father, if there is fever in Ihonatiria, should we not go first to Ossossané and consult with Father Brabant?’
‘I have been ordered to Ihonatiria,’ Laforgue said.
‘He said one of the priests is dead.’
‘All the more reason to go there first.’
‘Tell me,’ Daniel said. ‘Do you ever have doubts?’
‘About what?’ The priest picked up the bags of sagamité and began to walk down to the canoes.
‘About this journey.’
