Free Wake The Stone Man by Carol McDougall Page A

smelled like chocolate.
    â€œPerfect.” Mom put her arm around my waist and we admired our handiwork. Another perfect Noel Log.
    As I watched our car pull out of the driveway I had a sudden urge to run after it. I wanted to be with them, sitting in the back seat of the warm car holding the Noel Log and listening to Dad singing Christmas carols off key. Didn’t even know if I could find Nakina, so what was the point.
    I got dressed and headed out. In the north you can always tell how cold it is by the sound of the snow when you walk. The lower the temperature the louder the crunch. That night it had a high squeaking crunch. Very cold. By the time I got to First Avenue my hands were getting numb. I was glad the canvas was small — it would have been a pain to haul a big honkin thing all that way. I turned onto Simpson Street and checked the address on the paper I’d stuffed into my coat pocket. It was still farther down.
    Simpson Street was rough. No nice way to put it. Drunks, hookers and magazine stores that didn’t sell Ladies Home Journal . I passed the Polish Legion, where Dad picked up perogies every Thursday night, and the Greyhound bus terminal, where an old guy was sitting propped up against the wall. I stepped over his legs thinking someone should haul the poor guy inside before he froze.
    A little farther along I saw two women outside the Empire Hotel. They were standing at the edge of the sidewalk like they were waiting for a bus, but I figured it was more likely they were waiting for business. Cold night for hookers. A car pulled over and the driver leaned over to the passenger side and rolled down his window. One of the women stepped towards the car and leaned into the window, bending over so far her ass almost showed under her short coat. She chatted with the guy, then opened the door and got in. When the car drove away her friend stepped up to the curb rocking back and forth on high-heeled boots like she was trying to keep her legs warm. She turned her head and looked down the street for cars.
    This is what I remember. Nakina was wearing a fur coat like the one she had tried on in Portland’s that day. Her long black hair blew across her face and she flicked it back. She saw me.
    I turned and ran. Fast. I could hear her shouting but I didn’t turn around.

chapter nine
    I don’t remember much, even now. Funny how the brain works. Maybe it’s a protective thing, like blocking bad shit out so it can’t hurt you. I don’t remember walking home, don’t remember the cold and don’t remember passing anyone in the street.
    I remember lying on my bed with my coat still on, clutching the damn painting under my arm. I remember being glad Mom and Dad weren’t back yet because I didn’t want them to see me crying. I remember being angry, then I guess I fell asleep because I remember dreaming about the Stone Man. I stood on the wharf in front of Sask Pool 7 and tried to shout, “Help!” but no words came out. The Stone Man sat up, unfolded his arms and held them out to me. I slipped off the dock and walked across the surface of the water to him. The Stone Man, Nanna Bijou, wrapped his big stone arms around me and I could feel my own nana’s arms around me. I could feel my face nestled soft in her big warm chest and she said, “It’s OK honey. Everything is going to be OK.”
    Knocking at the front door woke me up. I went downstairs half asleep thinking Mom and Dad must have forgotten their key. I opened the door and it was two cops. Bernie Olfson was standing at my door. The other cop was talking to me but I didn’t hear what he was saying because I was staring at Bernie Olfson standing at my door. Olfson took a step towards me, inside my house, in the middle of the night. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I screamed and screamed and screamed.
    I remember shouting, “Don’t touch me” and hitting him in the chest and face.