The bell is for Tom. One by one the peals ring out over the reserve and echo off the water like shots from a rifle.

Men and women slowly come out of their homes and walk toward the chapel where Manie and the women are gathered in their long black shawls. The shadowy procession disappears into the pine forest.

The policeman hasn’t moved. He leans his hands on the half-open car door, one foot in the car, the other in the mud. He looks ridiculous.

“Who died?” he stammers. He’s the only one who doesn’t know.

Pinamen and I carry on our way.

Tom saved me this time. But what about next time?

• • •

The priest is not in a good mood. He wants to bury Tom in sacred ground, in the little fenced-in cemetery beside the chapel. But the elders have decided they will respect Tom’s last wishes and bury him at the foot of a tree, dressed in his best moosehide clothing, rolled in a red-and-white Hudson’s Bay blanket.

Old Mathieu beats the drum. The funeral ceremony is solemn. Our grandfather the sun is setting, blazing like a huge fire around us. When our grandmother the moon appears, we will sing our grief, all gathered around the fire and the drum.

4

PINAMEN AND I have been in the pine forest since dawn. We took down Tom’s tent and rolled up the canvas so there would be no trace on the earth of this man. He’ll live in our memories now. I gathered up the drum, the rifle, his long fishing net, the little stove. Only the tall skeleton of tent poles remains. They belong to the forest and they will be useful to someone else who will come some day to put up his house here.

There is one last thing for me to do. An idea came to me last night when I was with Tom. The wise old man sowed a little seed in me, and now it is blossoming like a snowdrop in spring. It has revived a dream that I have had ever since residential school, and as I took down Tom’s tent with Pinamen, I suddenly saw that this dream might be possible. I hardly dare to believe it, but if Pinamen wants it, too, together we can make it work.

I scan the area carefully to make absolutely sure we are alone. I can hear nothing but the breeze rippling through the treetops. I am on my guard even though the whole reserve is in mourning, and I am the only one who is authorized to go up to Tom’s tent, because I am his heir.

Everything seems calm, but I know there are always prying eyes around.

I take Pinamen by the hand and lead her through the woods. We take cover under the wide branches of the big pine. I recognize it easily.

“Pinamen, look,” I say. I plunge my hands between the swollen roots and pull out the birchbark basket. I put it down on the ground between us.