Him Standing (7 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A
fter Knight went to the dream world, my life settled down. I finally moved in with Amy, and I found an agent to help sell my work. I didn't need people as models anymore. I had dreams. But they were different now. They were filled with light. I was able to carve amazing things that shone like legends, and the wood seemed to take on a life of its own. My work was stunning and sold well. I had the money I used to dream about.

“You know, it's funny,” I said to Amy one day.

“What's funny?” she asked.

“Well, all the stuff a guy dreams about—
money, cars, big shiny things?”

“Yeah?”

“They feel better as dreams.”

“What do you mean?”

I laughed.

“I guess I mean that now that I have some of that dream stuff, it doesn't matter
as much as the other stuff I've found.”

“What kind of other stuf
f
?”

“All I have to do is look around me. I live in a great place all filled with light with a beautiful woman who loves me. I have a great career doing something I'm good at and that I love doing. I have friends. I have enough to eat. I can come and go as I please. And I still have dreams.”

She smiled and took my hand.

“And these dreams you have now? What are they about?”

“Everything,” I said. “Everything I ever imagined and everything I never imagined. It's what I carve now. What I imagine.”

“The stuff of dreams,” she said.

Now and then, my grandfather came to visit when I dreamed. We'd sit somewhere where the wind blew warm, and he would talk to me. He'd tell me all the things that he never got around to telling me when he was with me. He filled me up with legends and stories and teachings. When I awoke from those dreams, I felt very quiet inside. I felt humble. I never dreamed of darkness again.

I still took my tools and went to the boardwalk. I still hung out there a lot. But I found kids who wanted to learn how to carve, and I taught them for free. We sat in the sun with tourists standing around us, and I showed them how to bring wood to life. I gave them the gift my grandfather gave to me.

And sometimes, when those afternoons were over, I would go and stand at the end of the boardwalk and look out over the lake. I would stare at that point where water disappears into sky. I would marvel at how they flowed into each other. I would wonder how we sometimes miss seeing such a magical thing. Sometimes when I did that, I would see my grandfather's face or Otter Tail's in that space where everything came together. I knew that I could never ever be alone again.

Sally gave me the turtle-shell rattle. I gave her the mask. What she did with it we never knew, but she told us it was in a safe and honorable place. We trusted her. She became a good friend.

“You're a shaman, aren't you?” I asked her a month or so after Knight had gone to the dream world.

“Some people use that word,” she said. “But it's not one we use to refer to ourselves.”

“There are more of you?” Amy asked.

She smiled. “There are always people who seek to help others find their way.”

“That's what a shaman does?” I asked. “What about the magic?”

“That is the magic,” she said.

I believed her.

Richard Wagamese
is one of Canada's foremost Native authors and journalists. In a career spanning thirty years, he has worked in newspapers, radio, television and publishing, and has won numerous awards for his work. Awarded an Honorary Doctor of Letters degree from Thompson Rivers University in 2010, he lives outside Kamloops, British Columbia, with his wife and Molly the Story Dog.