“It’s my father’s knife. It’s the only thing I have of his! Please, give me my knife. Let me go. I haven’t done anything bad. I just want what’s mine.”

“Shut up!”

And I scream until I think my heart will break. I scream so that everyone can hear.

“I am an Indian! I want to go home!”

“We know. Shut up. Go to sleep, it’ll do you some good!”

I’m clutching the bars of the cell with my hands. My whole body is covered with sweat. Saliva is running down the sides of my mouth and trickling down my neck. I stretch out my arm and grab a guard who approaches the cell.

He shakes his fist in my face.

“Listen, Larivière. We’re not going to listen to this all night. We’re fed up. Now shut your big mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”

• • •

“Larivière? Hey, Larivière? Get up!”

The very sound of my name is like a blow. It hurts my eardrums, hurts right down to the marrow of my bones.

“Larivière? I’m talking to you.”

I see the shadow of a man in uniform leaning over me.

“Get up, I’m taking you home!”

“Back to the reserve?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m taking you to the Paradis, at 531 rue de la Madone!”

It’s a new policeman that I haven’t seen before. He doesn’t shout. He helps me sit down on the edge of the narrow bed. I’m used to the harsh light now. I breathe deeply.

I’m still stunned by what has happened. I’m in jail.

I remember what the principal said when I left the residential school. That I was just like all the others, that I’d end up in jail, bringing shame to everyone.

I try to convince myself that it isn’t my fault, that Rosaire provoked me, but deep inside I am ashamed.

“Look, your personal effects are in here,” says the policeman, handing me a big brown envelope.

I light my last cigarette. It’s dry and crushed, but it tastes damned good. I take two or three big drags and then continue to look through the envelope. My old shoelaces, my belt. I look right in the bag, feel inside down to the bottom.

“What about my knife?” I ask the man.

“What knife?”

“I had a little red knife with a white cross. A knife with two blades, one big and one small, with an awl at the other end…”

“The night shift gave me the envelope and I brought it to you. I never saw anything like a knife. Maybe you lost it at the bowling alley or in the patrol car.”

“No, I’m telling you! I’m sure I gave it to them…”

The policeman is getting impatient. He hands me Méo’s coat.

“Listen, I don’t have time for this. I’ll ask the guys who worked last night what happened to your knife, but my orders now are to take you back to the Paradis. Let’s go!”