April Raintree (20 page)

So, according to her, the progress is questionable. Even so, what was a luxury yesterday is a necessity today and I enjoy all the necessities. But what have the Metis people got? Nothing. Being a half-breed, you feel only the shortcomings of both sides. You feel you're a part of the drunken Indians you see on Main Street. And if you inherit brown skin like Cheryl did, you identify with the Indian people more. In today's society, there isn't anything positive about them that I've seen. And when people say, offhandedly, ‘Oh, you shouldn't be ashamed of being Metis', well, generally they haven't a clue as to what it's like being a native person. And those are the people who usually show discrimination. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I meant the words, I didn't mean for them to come out all at once.”

I was really embarrassed. I had held those words in for such a long time and now, I lay them on Roger, of all people.

“Well, believe it or not, I understand. And there will always be some form of discrimination, whether it is someone discriminating against an Indian on Main Street or your Church telling you you have to teach your children its beliefs because theirs are the only right ones. I've got a brother, an adopted brother who's Ojibway. Joe thinks it's not important what others think of him. It's what he thinks of himself that counts.”

“Well, Cheryl lives pretty much by that philosophy and even so, she's come down with a drinking problem, I think. I'm not really sure. Anyway, only she has the right to tell me I ought to be proud of what I am because she's worked so hard to do something about the native image.”

“Your sister sounds remarkable. If you think she's drinking, maybe she's just impatient to see the changes.”

“I think my being back in Winnipeg will help a lot. It's funny, you're the last person I thought I'd be able to talk to about these things. Thanks for listening.”

“I found it interesting. I find you interesting. I'm not going to tell you to be proud of what you are. Just don't be ashamed.”

CHAPTER 13

On the possession date, Cheryl and I moved into our very own home. By the second day of March, most of our furniture and appliances had been delivered. The following Saturday, we gave a house-warming party but only Roger came. Cheryl had not invited Nancy or any of her other friends.

Next, Cheryl and I went looking for a car. It was wonderful to have money to be able to pay cash for a car. The salesman really catered to us, even offered us a two car deal. But Cheryl aboslutely refused my offer to buy her a car of her own. I really wanted a big expensive luxury car but because of Cheryl, I bought a little Datsun which I never did like very much, not after the Radcliff automobiles. Cheryl asked me again in an accusatory manner, just how much money I did have. I counter-attacked by saying, enough to send her back to finish her university courses if she liked, adding that was about it. Of course, I had no idea how much that would have cost. But it was convincing and made Cheryl change the subject. She insisted she had no intentions of being a social worker.

It was the middle of March and as usual, I was half-watching the evening news, when a news story came on about an armed bank robbery or something. I'd been reading the newspaper at the same time so I wasn't sere. If I hadn't glanced up at that moment, I wouldn't have seen the picture of one of the men who had raped me. Apparently, he had been shot to death by the police earlier that afternoon. It wasn't the leader and it wasn't Stephen Gurnan. It was the one who had helped grab me and had sat beside the driver. I was positive. I paced back and forth in the living room, wondering if I should call the police immediately. Since I was positive, I called the police right away.

I was told someone would be sent down to see me. While I waited, I thought about it. If only it had been the leader. Maybe the leader had been with him. Maybe they've got the leader. I looked through the paper again but the story wasn't in the paper. If they had arrested the other man, I would probably have to go to police headquarters to identify him. I was sure that those two would hang around together.

Then I hoped Cheryl wouldn't return while the police were there. I had never talked about the rape to her in detail because she had initially blamed herself. So far, I hadn't even told her about Stephen Gurnan. For that matter, she had never told me what questions the police had asked her. I had wished those men dead and now that one was dead, I was glad. But it should have been the other one.

Almost two hours passed before two officers showed up. They had brought some pictures for me to look at and I picked out the dead rapist immediately. They asked if the other rapist was among any of the other pictures but he wasn't. None even looked like the third man.

At the end of March, while Cheryl was out job-hunting in the afternoon, I got a call from the police asking if I could come down to the Public Safety Building Immediately. They must have arrested the third man. After I got there, I had a wait of about forty-five minutes. Then, there in the line-up was the leader! He looked arrogant. He looked evil! It gave me great pleasure to be able to pick him out so easily without any fear of being mistaken. At the same time, that cold chill came over me again. I began to tremble, just as I had that night. Not being able to control myself, scared me. I really feared the possibility of losing my mind. Going crazy. Rapists abused their victims spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally. Some victims' minds really did snap after brutal sexual assaults. So far, I'd been lucky. I was driven home in a police car and I was grateful for that. The thought of being out alone, especially in the dark, was now terrifying for me.

Cheryl hadn't yet returned, so I again went through my ritual of trying to exorcise the evil within me by bathing. I poured half a bottle of perfumed oil into the hot water and then spent the next hour, scrubbing vigorously. When the water would get cold, I would just add more hot water. All the while, I thought of the rapists, laughing crazily, pawing at me, coming down on me, putting their smell on me, putting their dirt on me. And no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't get rid of the smell of their awful slimy bodies, the awful memories. I wanted to scream aloud that long silent scream I had kept in my head that night. I wanted them to feel my anguish. I wanted to gouge their eyes out I wanted to whip the life out of them. Mutilate them. Kill them. Because bathing never worked.

I always got worked up like that whenever I would take a bath, although it had never been with such intensity before. Back in the bedroom, I paced the floor back and forth, cursing Fate for having placed them on Elgin Street that night, cursing the judicial system because those two, if they went to jail, they would get out again to rape again, When I had cooled down somewhat, I began wondering for the hundredth time why they had kept on calling me squaw. Was it obvious? That really puzzled me. Except for my long black hair, I really didn't think I could be mistaken as a native person. Mistaken? There's that shame again. Okay, identified.

When Cheryl got home, we decided to order pizza and have it delivered. Cheryl had news that she was quite sure she was going to be hired at a downtown factory, where she had put in an application that afternoon. She would have to phone back the following Monday. I asked her what she would be doing because I couldn't see her working on an assembly line. She said she'd be doing a lot of different things but wouldn't specify. What a waste, I thought to myself.

That started me thinking of opening our own business, maybe a fashion boutique like the ones I used to visit on Yonge Street and in the Yorkville area of Toronto. From my shopping experiences with Mrs. Radcliff, I'd learned a lot. I could have learned more if I would have paid more attention. Or, perhaps we could open an employment service agency. Having worked through them, I had an idea how they operated. There were other businesses in which I could have invested my money. But the main reason why I didn't persue those ideas any further, was because, no matter what kind of business, Cheryl would insist on involving somehow, native clientele.

For the time being, I decided to return to temporary work because I didn't want to be tied to a job until the whole rape ordeal was over and finished, nor did I want to stay around the house brooding over it.

The snow had all gone and I hoped, that soon, Cheryl and I would be able to take walks down to the river. I thought about buying a boat but I wouldn't know how to handle the whole process of ‘going boating', so I dropped the idea. I would have to live on the memories of having gone sailing on Lake Ontario, with Bob and the others. That was a fun memory. Roger, Cheryl and I went out to celebrate my birthday. It wasn't often when we did anything together. Cheryl still hadn't brought over a single friend to our place. She went out a great deal. She would come home from work, have supper, change and go out again. I spent more and more time with Roger.

In May, I was cleaning the house on a Friday because I didn't have a job for that day. It was when I was collecting the garbage from Cheryl's room that I came across an empty whisky bottle in her garbage container. I was shocked, the Implication of it being there, rushing into my head. Cheryl wouldn't do that. Sneak drinks. So why the bottle? I tried to think of a number of reasons why she'd have a bottle in her room. I had never seen her even slightly drunk. Of course, we hadn't seen much of each other, over the past few months. I decided I was making too much of it. We were getting along all right and I didn't want to change that. Cheryl never did say anything to me, although she must have realized I had found the empty bottle when I had done the cleaning.

A few weeks after this, I spotted a promotional piece in the newspaper about an Indian Pow Wow coming up. It would be good if Cheryl and I attended the festival, especially good for Cheryl. Perhaps it would renew her interest in native issues.

That evening as soon as Cheryl came home from work, I asked, “Hey, Cheryl, what's an Indian Pow Wow?”

“Oh, it's mostly a dancing competition among different tribes who come from all over the place.”

“Are they interesting?”

“Oh sure, I've been to several of them. I like going to them.”

“Well, there's going to be one in Roseau on the July 1st weekend. I'd like to go to it and see what it's like. How about it? We could buy some camping stuff and make like we were teenagers again. Remember?”

“You really want to go?”

“Yeah, I really want to go.”

“Okay, I'm glad you really want to go. You'll finally rub shoulders with real Indians.” From the way she said that, I wasn't sure if she was happy or just being sarcastic.

I was quite anxious to go and then I thought of Roger's brother, Joe. Funny that so many Indian boys were called Joe. Probably Catholic mothers naming their sons after Joseph, the foster father of Jesus. I wondered if Joe was married. Roger hadn't said. I thought maybe I should invite Roger to bring his brother and join us for the Pow Wow. I'd have to ask him.

I never did ask him, though. I had supper at his place not long after, and I was wondering about how to broach the subject but Roger had picked that night, to decide it was time we showed affection for each other. During the past weeks of seeing each other, I had subtly dissuaded him from giving me even a simple goodnight kiss. As far as I knew, Roger was most likely seeing other women, which was fine with me. Men, to my knowledge, did not tend to be celibate for long periods. And Roger and I were just good Mends. But on this particular night, he kept getting uncomfortably close. At one point I went over to look out the window but he followed me. He made me turn to face him and was about to kiss me.

“Don't touch me,” I heard myself say in a cold, icy voice that stopped him dead. He looked at me for a long time before he released me.

“I'm sorry. I wanted for us to be just friends, that's all, just good friends,” I said in a whispery voice.

“Well, I wasn't going to rape you, April. I can't figure you out. I thought we had more than just a friendship going for us.” His voice was neutral and I couldn't tell whether he was angry or hurt. After that, he served me coffee but our conversation was stifled. He saw me out to my car but this time he didn't say he would call me. He just said goodnight.

I had an appointment on June 1st, to see the Crown Attorney, Mr. Scott. I had already received a subpoena from an RCMP officer for the Preliminary Hearing. Mr. Scott's office was in the basement of the Legislative Building. The police had explained some of the general court procedures but Mr. Scott went into further detail. For instance, as we went over my statement, he told me I was allowed to say things like ‘I smelled liquor on his breath', but not ‘he was drunk'. It had to do with hearsay evidence. One could testify to what was directly known. Anyways, it was quite complicated to me and I worried about messing up my testimony. I also worried about the Defense Counsel misconstruing whatever I would say.

On the day of the Hearing, I went to Stonewall, I reread my statement which Mr. Scott handed me. He reminded me of a few things and before I knew it we were at the Community Hall in Stonewall where the judicial process was carried out. Mr. Scott showed me to a small room where I was to wait for my turn to testify. By lunchtime, I still hadn't been called and I was both bored and apprehensive.

After lunch, I went over my statement again, although I loathed going over those words that told the story of that night. I was finally called to give my testimony and I started shaking as soon as I heard my name. My stomach had been tied up in knots all day but it tightened up even more by the time I was in the witness stand.

Mr. Scott asked me to recount the events of January 11th, 1972. I did but minimized as much as I could. On occasion, he'd have me go into some of the details, like the rape itself. I couldn't just say I had been raped. I had to describe the act itself. I tried at all times to look only at his eyes or his lips as they moved, pretending I was talking only to him and that no one else was there. Of course, I could feel their eyes boring into me. I knew darn well there were others in that room, listening to what I was saying. When that thought would overwhelm me, my voice would fade out and the court stenographer would ask me to repeat myself. I wondered what those other people were thinking. It wasn't just simply a matter that a horrible degradation had happened to me. The thing was, I had been part of it. I'm sure that's what they all thought, even if unwillingly. I had been part of that depraved sexual activity. I had known in advance that I would have to use explicit words when referring to private parts of the anatomy. And I had come across those words as well as the slang words in the past. But to me, to say them out loud, in front of all those people, well, I faltered every time I had to say them. In the future, I would better understand why some women chose not to seek justice in the courtrooms.