Long minutes pass while we drift. Pinamen is weeping silently.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I say quietly. “Let’s talk to Manie. She’ll find a solution. At least she can talk to your mother for us.”

I can see a glimmer of light in her eyes through the big tears that are rolling down her cheeks.

“It’s something that needs to be arranged by the women. I’ll take care of it,” she says.

I put my arms around her waist. Our lips touch softly. Then Pinamen buries her head in my neck like a bird burrowing in a nest. She wipes her hot tears on my skin. I wrap her in my arms and lean my forehead on her shoulder. I breathe slowly and deeply, and we let ourselves be rocked by the waves lapping against the sides of the canoe.

4

WE’RE ALL SITTING around the big table eating. The morning mist is still breaking up over the lake.

Suddenly Sam holds his cup still. He pricks up his ears and turns to look at the lake.

Someone’s coming. We hear the light gurgle of a paddle dipping in the water. A canoe touches the dock. We hear slow, heavy, sure steps. It’s someone who knows the place. He climbs the steps and stands in front of the screen door. I see him lit from behind.

He’s a giant. He fills the doorway. He looks in, his big hands on either side of his eyes like blinkers.

“Kwe!” he shouts.

It’s Old Tom! He’s still spry, with long gray hair, straight as a spruce. His cheeks are furrowed with deep lines, like land that has been eroded by heavy rains.

“Tom! Come in, come in!” Manie says happily.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He pushes open the door with his big steady hand. Everything suddenly seems small and fragile next to him. Charlotte pulls a chair up to the end of the table, the spot reserved for important visitors.

Tom has lived a long life as a hunter and trapper. He knows every corner of our huge territory. They say he can communicate with animal spirits.

He sits down and looks at me, curious. He pretends to be surprised to see me.

“Nipishish?” he says, smiling. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You mean you didn’t meet up with a nice white girl in the city?”

I shrug. “No.”

“Too bad for them. They’ve missed out on a good catch.”

We laugh. Charlotte passes him a plate.

“I’m getting ready to hunt up on the Rivière des Rapides. I haven’t been there for a couple of years, not since my wife died. But I want to go back for the whole winter this fall. I’m suffocating on the reserve. I miss my land so much that I dream about it every time I close my eyes. I’m going up there now.”