Village Squire, 1980-03, Page 9The man who found
his own bones
BY ADRIAN VOS
I am an old man now, and near the end of
my life. I have heard many a strange tale in
the secrecy of the confession box, but none
stranger than the story of Emile duPont,
one of my less faithful parishioners. I have
never told this tale to anyone, lest they
would think me unbalanced. May God
forgive me for not confessing my doubts to
the Superior. Is the past, present and
future all the same in time? If so, have I
been somewhere in this world before I was
even born? Or was the experience of Emile
dePont just a dream, reinforced by
co -incidence? But let me tell you what
happened on that unforgettable Sunday in
late summer; then you can judge for
yourself.
ssssss
Emile dePont was relaxing in his old
lawnchair, in the shade of the last big elm
behind the farm home. The spring behind
him whispered its eternal lullaby. The
paper he was reading became heavy in his
hands, as heavy as his eyelids, and slid
from his fingers to the lawn.
When his wife called him a short while
later, he didn't hear.
sssss
Emile awakened with a terrible head-
ache. Slowly the sharp pain brought him
back to full consciousness, and when his
eyes focused, he saw a tall Indian bending
over him, ready to hit him agan with his
war club. With a deft twist, he moved away
from immediate danger, tripping the brave
in the same movement.
Grunting from the exertion, they rolled
over and over, until Emile, with an almost
superhuman effort, knocked the Indian
out.
Bewidered, he looked about at his
surroundings. The fight had taken place in
a small glade, between cedar and hemlock
trees. Further back were enormous maple
and beech trees, shutting out most of the
sunlight, so that it appeared to Emile that
he was looking into the recesses of a
mighty cathedral.
Behind him bubbled a tiny spring which
looked faintly familiar. And partly hidden
among the evergreens he saw a hunting
lodge, undoubtedly belonging to the
Indian.
How stange; he couldn't remember how
he got here, or where he was, or even
where he came from. But that didn't worry
him; his memory would come back; it
always had.
He knelt down to drink from the cool
water of the spring, and to splash some of
it over his bruised head. For a split second
he seemed to see a field of corn, where
moments before there had been a forest -
like cathedral, and heard someone call
his name. Then all was normal again, as a
silent young Indian woman came from the
lodge to bend over the prostrate form of the
Indian, who was beginning to stir.
Warily, Emile approached the pair. It
seemed that all the fight had gone out of
the warrior, and both Indians watched him
rather fearfully.
"Why, sacre nom, did you hit me, you
fool," Emile said. "I'm not here to fight
every bloody Indian 1 come across. 1 was
aiming this gun at a deer, not at you. And
you would have been welcome to share the
meat."
The tall Indian sat up, gingerly feeling
his jaw, where Emile had hit him. "Don't
you know what has been going on here?"
he asked. "If you had fired that musket,
the Senecas would have been all over us in
no time."
It dawned on Emile that he had stumbled
into one of the numerous Indian tribal wars
going on here, and that this couple was all
alone among their enemies.
He lifted his hand in the peace gesture
and asked: "Is there to be peace between
us?"
"There be peace," the Indian answered
with dignity.
When he had put his weapons aside, the
woman, who was called Waboos, the Hare,
brought the men Sagamite to eat.
Apparently the couple had just been about
to have supper, when Emile burst in upon
them.
Emile almost choked on his questions,
but he knew that an Indian wouldn't speak
business until a pipe had been lighted and
exchanged between them.
At last, this ceremony done,
Wawajeegjedge slowly told the story of his
people.
Emile noted this was the tallest Indian
he had ever seen, and that Waboos was
also tall, and rather slim. In fact, Emile
found it hard to keep his attention on the
tale, for the woman wore only a skirt made
from squirrel skins that covered her from
hip to knees.
The Indian noticed the attention Emile
couldn't hide, and said: "She was another
man's wife until this spring. But my own
wife is dead, and her man is also dead.
There are so many dead that I think we are
the last of our people.
"Last fall, our cousins, the Senecas, made
war on the village of our tribe, and our
people killed many of them and had a great
victory. We took many captives and
tortured them, so they could go to the spirit
world as brave warriors.
"We took the hearts of the bravest and we
ate them so their courage would be
transmitted to us.
" But this spring the Senecas returned
with many warriors. They killed our men
and took our women and children. I fled
into the forest, and it was there that 1 found
Waboos, the woman who is now my wife."
"Our children are gone, and when the
Seneca war parties have gone back to their
lodges, Waboos and I will go further north,
to our brothers, the Hurons, who live in the
land of the many islands."
Emile didn't have the heart to tell the
brave that the Hurons had also been
VILLAGE SQUIRE/MARCH 1680 PG. 7