Free Up Ghost River by Edmund Metatawabin Page B

radiating from under Sister Wesley’s bedroom door down the hall. I waited for her to turn it off. She seemed to be taking a while. I turned toward the window. The blinds were open, and I could see the moon brightening thin patches of cloud. What if we didn’t go to the storeroom, but went home? We could sneak downstairsand go out through the front door and run all the way across the bridge. Or better, we could run out to the bush. As I was imagining this, I drifted off to sleep.
    â€œHey, wait up!” I called out to Tony in the playground the next day. He paused. “Are you mad at me?”
    â€œNo.” I could tell that he was angry.
    â€œLook. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I thought you were going to wake me.”
    â€œI tried.”
    â€œSo did you get anything?”
    â€œNo. Father Gagnon was down on the first floor. I had to hide.”
    â€œOh. Are you going again?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œTonight. Are you coming or are you a yellow legs?”
    â€œI’m coming.”
    Tony was leading me through the dark lobby. I was terrified. We got to the basement stairs, and they were cold. Once we were at the bottom, we stole past the room where they kept boys when they’d been bad. The door was shut and I didn’t hear anyone inside. We walked past the store cupboard where they kept potatoes, beets and carrots and opened another door. It looked like the place where they kept canned goods, but I couldn’t tell in the dark.
    â€œHere,” Tony said. He fumbled about and I saw a flame. We went inside. Tony took down a can and put it in my hands. It was too dark to see what it was.
    â€œThis one is corn,” he said. The lighter went out so he flicked it again. “Here’s some Spam.” He handed it to me.
    â€œGet one more,” I said. He grabbed another can of Spam.
    â€œLet’s go to the toilets,” Tony said.
    â€œIt’s too risky.”
    â€œNo it’s not. The downstairs ones. Then we can eat this in peace,” he said. I thought about going upstairs. We would wake everyone up trying to open the cans. Then we’d have to share the food.
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    â€œI heard that you got food.” Amocheesh came up to Tony and me in the playground a few days later.
    â€œWho told you that?” I asked.
    â€œJust heard it.”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œLiar. I can tell.”
    â€œMaybe,” Tony said.
    â€œCan you take me with you?”
    â€œNo,” Tony said.
    â€œWhy not?” Amocheesh asked.
    â€œToo risky.”
    â€œPlease,” Amocheesh said.
    â€œNo,” Tony said.
    â€œBut I’m hungry.”
    â€œWe can’t get caught.”
    â€œYou’re mean,” he said, and walked off. I waited until he was out of earshot.
    â€œMaybe we should let him come,” I said.
    â€œNo. He’s not fast enough.”
    â€œHe can run good,” I said.
    â€œHe’s too noisy,” he replied. It was true, Amocheesh ran like a duck.
    â€œHe can be quiet. Besides, he’s hungry.”
    â€œEveryone is. You want everyone to come?”
    We didn’t go back for a few nights. I kept falling asleep whileSister Wesley’s light was still on. I think Tony must have done the same because he didn’t bug me about it.
    A few weeks later, Sister Wesley was filling in for Sister Thérèse, and she had decided to read from her favourite book. It was a list of all the things that you had to do to be good. The list was very long. She called it catch-the-chism. She read in Cree, and we had to repeat back to her in unison.
    â€œWho was the first to break the law?” She really liked this bit. When she said it, her voice got louder and sometimes bits of spit flew out. I already knew most of the answers, as she sometimes read to us at night as well.
    â€œHe who makes his god in the image of the devil by paying homage to the sun, to the