Nobody Cries at Bingo (37 page)

I had been raised Catholic but had left the church when I moved to the city and found that waking early on Sundays clashed with my other religion: partying. I had good memories about being a Catholic. Our reserve parish had been progressive. They were one of the first churches to incorporate Aboriginal spirituality into their services with sweet grass smudging. Our Priest even wore beaded vestments.

The parish's progressive nature was also apparent in the way they answered our questions about God and religion. Sister Bernadette, the presiding nun and who always seemed to be thirty-five- years-old, taught catechism. She could take scripture, and wring all traces of sexism, racism and supernatural mumbo jumbo out of it, leaving behind only fresh-smelling goodness.

In an effort to appear more intelligent, I had once asked her, “What about where it says that God created the world in seven days? How does that make sense when our teacher tells us that the world is millions of years old?”

Sister Bernadette smiled and replied that time was much different to God who had lived forever. I accepted her answer because it made sense or because I was too lazy to ask any more questions.

Her answer helped kick-start my legal mind. Suddenly, I knew how to destroy this mockery of a trial. I raised my hand. The panel ignored it although the Priest did speak louder.

I put my hand down self-consciously. Then when Father Martin paused, I raised it again.

“Father,” I said before anyone could interrupt me. “Isn't it true that the modern Catholic Church recognizes the devil as an idea rather than as a being?”

I had him by the balls. He knew it, I knew it, and the crowd knew it. Hell, even the devil knew it.

The Priest tilted his head and looked me in the eye with his steel grey eyes and replied, “The devil is real and he walks among us.”

A woman in the crowd gave a little shriek, a baby began to cry and Councillor Bear went pale.

I sighed. With a single sentence, the Priest had unraveled my argument. My only effort had achieved nothing, except making my mom and the crowd full of believers more nervous. The protestant and non-Christians were shifting uncomfortably. Father Martin had confirmed their worst nightmares and I anticipated that many of them were going to have difficulty sleeping for many moons.

The only good part was Councillor Bear was speechless. He rose suddenly and quickly walked out of the room. Nobody asked where he was going. I knew. He was hurrying down to the local casino where the slot machines would gently lull his heart rate back to normal.

The Councillor's departure, ironically, removed all order and sense from the proceedings. The crowd took out their cell phones and called their kids and asked where they were. They made plans for dinner. They drifted in and out of the room. Mom and I gossiped with Janet, one of my cousins. Janet had poked her head into the proceedings, saw us and scurried over midway through the trial.

“So Tabitha told you about the trial?” I asked.

“Nah, I saw a bunch of cars and got nosy. What kind of trial?'

“Oh you know, witchcraft.” My mom was already blasé about the experience. Her husband was an alcoholic, her youngest daughter was a witch, her second oldest was in law school and still useless; there was nothing that could upset her now.

The priest and elder sat next to each other and said nothing. They still held a romantic illusion that order would be restored and that the “investigation” would continue. They had not yet accepted that fear no longer had the hold over people that it used to have. With the Internet, computer games and HD TV fighting over their souls, people don't have the time to worry about the devil and his shenanigans.

Mom and I drove to Janet's house and discussed the day's activities. My cousin had married onto the reserve about a decade before my sister. She felt no need to feign respect for the membership. She laughed at Mom's impression of Edna.

Janet gave us the inside information: Edna's kids were in and out of foster care because of her gambling addiction. Mom raised her hand to her heart, as if to say, “Oh, what a terrible woman.” Even though, of course, Mom would be in the casino that very evening.

I stood by my earlier decision to like the woman. Yes, she had accused my sister of a terrible crime, but it was the reserve that had chosen to take her seriously. They were just as guilty as she was. Besides, I admired her creativity — she could have accused my sister of anything — she chose witchcraft. That took imagination and balls.

Tabitha joined us at Janet's. “What did they decide?” she asked with her usual clarity.

Mom and I scratched our heads. There had been no outcome as far as we knew. Other than the devil being identified as a real being, no other conclusive statements had been made, I explained.

“Is Pam banned or what?” Tabitha asked.

“I don't know,” I replied lamely.

We called the band office the next day. Councillor Bear informed us that Pam was indeed banned. Forever.

Then forever was lowered to a month and now she lives there.

As for the Love 69 tattoo, Mom paid to have it changed to a blue orchid that wound its way down her shoulder. It still looks trashy but doesn't have the same demonic connotations in her mind.

I graduated from law school but never practiced. And despite what my mom thinks, I came to this decision of my own free will, and was not influenced by Edna's “evil eye,” “bad medicine,” or “ancient Indian curse”, although, I would like to speak to her about a recurring rash of warts.