Free Up Ghost River by Edmund Metatawabin

animals.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œLooking for footprints. That sort of stuff.”
    â€œI can do that.”
    â€œI know you can.”
    â€œSo why are you letting him do it?”
    â€œWell, Ed. You’re not around.”
    Alex was having a hard time cutting his meat, and Papa turned away from me and began to help him with his knife. Eventually he turned back to me. “There’s something we wanted to tell you.” He glanced at Mama.
    â€œWhat?” I said, looking down.
    â€œMama is pregnant!” Papa said.
    â€œReally?” I said, looking at Mama.
    â€œYes,” she said, and she took Papa’s hand.
    â€œWhen is it coming?”
    â€œIn the season of
sekwan
, when the buds open and the geese arrive,” Papa said.
    â€œCan I watch the birth?”
    â€œNo,” he said, frowning. “We’ll be out in the bush.”
    â€œLet me come with you.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “We already went through this. You have to go back to school.”
    â€œI don’t want to,” I said, quietly.
    â€œEd!” he said louder.
    â€œPapa, please! It’s not fair!”
    â€œThat’s enough!” he said, and he stared at me until I fell silent. I decided to bring it up later in the holidays. There was no way I was going back.
    Just before Christmas, Papa went and chopped down a spruce tree for Mama. We had never had a Christmas tree before, but Father Lavoishad told her it was a way to honour the Lord Jesus Christ. We had one at St. Anne’s too, although I can’t remember the reason why, I think it was something about God liking big dead plants. The tree Papa picked was too big to fit inside the house—it would have filled the entire room—so we planted it in the snow outside.
    Then Mama and Alex came outside, and Mama sang one of the English songs she had learned from Father Lavois. Alex tried to join in but he didn’t know the words. I knew a few of them. It went “Wewissyouu a Mary Christmas. Wewissyouu a Mary Christmas.” And you repeated those words over and over.
    After the song, Papa took Alex inside because he was cold. I looked at Mama, who looked happier than I’d seen her in a long time.
Now is my chance
, I thought.
    â€œMama. I really want to see the new baby being born.”
    â€œEd, you have to go back to school.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou need to learn to read and write.”
    â€œPlease. I don’t like it there.”
    â€œSchool is always hard.”
    â€œBut Sister Wesley has a new whip.”
    â€œI was whipped at residential school.”
    â€œYou were?” I knew that she had gone to a residential school in Fort George across James Bay, but what this meant hadn’t clicked. I wondered if her school was as bad as mine.
    â€œYes. The nun caught me throwing stones in the yard. They whipped me so hard I cried for two days. After that, I never did it again.”
    â€œSo you know,” I said. I couldn’t believe that she knew how mean the nuns were and still wanted me to return to school. I wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry.
    â€œThey taught me discipline.”
    â€œDiscipline,” I said, my voice breaking.
    â€œYes, discipline.”
    â€œMama. Please. It’s worse now.”
    â€œI doubt it.”
    â€œWhy are you making me go back?”
    â€œYou have to. It’s the law.”
    â€œThey are so mean!”
    â€œYou need to learn to read and write. You need to learn the wemistikoshiw ways.”
    â€œThey hurt us for no reason.”
    â€œThat’s not true. You must have done something wrong.”
    â€œI wanted more food,” I said, describing my ill-fated trip to the lunch line on the first day of school.
    â€œYou were stealing?” she asked.
    â€œYes. No.” I felt like I was back at St. Anne’s.
    â€œWe always taught you never to steal.”
    â€œIt wasn’t my