The fire crackles. The smells of burning wood, of simmering tea, of the pines and firs fill the river bank. It’s early spring. The mosquitoes haven’t come out yet. The water is too cold and the land is still frozen on the dark side of the mountains.

For dessert I cut a thick piece of bannock and spread it with a rich blueberry puree that Manie made last autumn. My mouth is still full when I suddenly turn to Pinamen.

“Kwe!” I say. “Not a lot of blueberries around this time of year…”

She pauses while she gently sips her tea. She is sitting on a boulder, her forearms leaning on her drawn-up knees. She’s holding her bowl in both hands, as if to keep it warm. She has a mischievous look in her eyes.

Sam and Manie look at each other, puzzled. They don’t know what’s going on between the two of us. My comment makes absolutely no sense to them.

Pinamen, her eyes laughing, finally answers me.

“Kwe! It’s true. There aren’t too many around this time of year, but the ones that are left are very sweet.”

And we both burst out laughing. Pinamen explains to Sam and Manie that we only met each other once before today. It was the end of summer, in the forest, just behind the railway station in Parent. The priests and mounted police had grouped us all under the trees so they could keep an eye on us. We didn’t know it then, but we were waiting for the train that would take us to our residential schools. I would go to St. Mark; she was heading for Pointe-Bleue.

“I saw this beautiful girl not too far from me,” I say. “And I wanted to meet her. So to get closer I started to gather a few late blueberries, going from bush to bush without anyone noticing…”

“And I started doing the same thing…”

“Until we met up with one another in the middle.”

“And Nipishish said that there weren’t many berries, and I said they were very sweet. That broke the ice. After that we spent the afternoon together…”

“Until the train came and we were separated.”

We both stop talking then. Neither of us want to talk about going to the residential schools.

“Let’s go,” Sam says suddenly, and he gets up. “Charlotte and the children are waiting. They’ll worry when night falls. Come and help me, Nipishish. I’ve hidden my canoe just down here, under some branches.”

The long canoe has a bright red hull, like a trout in spawning season. We find it quickly and pull it down to the rocky landing where the women are waiting with the packs.

It’s not the first time Indians have stopped here. This is an ideal place to load up for trips. The rocks jut out into the deep water, making a natural wharf. We are right at the head of a waterway that leads down to the Ottawa River, the Harricana, James Bay and the huge hunting territories of the Algonquin.