DAVID M. SMITHDepartment of Sociology-AnthropologyUniversity of Minnesota at DuluthDuluth, MN 55812

ALBERT'S POWER:A FICTION NARRATIVE

SUMMARY Albert's Power is a fictional narrative about the untimely death of a young medicine man and how he fulfilledhis obligations to his kin—including the ethnographer. While fictionalized and dramatized, the story is based on real peopleand true events.

The day of Albert's funeral, I awoke to the sound ofhoarse croaking coming from the roof. At first I couldn'timagine what it was. Perhaps I was under attack. Thenmy head cleared and I remembered where I was—it wasjust a raven, the well-known north Canadian trickster,scouting to see if I had left any goodies amid the woodchips and other debris in front of the shack. After a yearaway from the village I had forgotten about such rudeawakenings.

The alarm clock on the table beside the bed read 5:30a.m. It would be four hours, maybe five, depending onthe severity of the trader's hangover, before the littlestore was open so I could buy some "Whiteman's grub."The store and the Catholic church lay three hundred feetor so further southward down the trail that led past mydoor. In a row next to the church stood the now unusedand decrepit mission buildings—a hospital, a schooland orphanage, and a laundry—reminders of a time notso very long ago when this town of five hundred or soIndians and Metis and a handful of White folks was animportant center for the fur trade and for Roman Catho-lic missionaries.

North of my place the trail ended at the village's largepier, jutting impressively into Great Slave Lake, leavingthe false impression that the town was still commer-cially important.

I Lit a cigarette and coughed—my morning exercise.My mouth tasted yeasty from the home brew I'd beendrinking at Vital Whitefish's cabin the night before.From its taste I'd say it had been aged a good four days.I was visiting Vital with my adoptive father, Jonas Snuff,who always knew the whereabouts of every brew pot

Anthropology and Humanism 18(2):67-73. Copyright © 1993, AmericanAnthropological Association.

in town. When I arrived the day before it was Jonas whomet me at the airstrip. He had commandeered IsidoreMcKenzie and his beat-up pickup to help get my gearto the shack. After unloading, Jonas seemed strangelynervous, insisting that we visit Vital's right away. I wastired and was not yet ready for the whirl of village partylife, but it was clear that Jonas was pleased I was back,and I didn't want to disappoint him. Besides, I knewthat after an hour or so I could beg off, saying that Ineeded "a sleep." Jonas would be satisfied that I hadreceived a proper welcome.

It was Jonas who was renting me the shack. As shacksgo, it was great, about 14 feet by 18 and easy to heat, areassuring fact when you knew that in January tem-peratures would be minus 50 degrees Fahrenheit orworse. I now sat on the edge of my cot smoking, stillhalf ensconced in my sleeping bag. It was chilly in theshack, so, still wrapped in the sleeping bag, I hoppedover to the stove and lit the firewood. Soon a pleasant,dry warmth began to seep through the room.

After dressing I wound and tied the thongs of mymoccasins, smiling at the prospect of being able to wearthem once more without feeling self-conscious. When Iput on my moccasins I had the sense of a changedidentity; I was again a part of the village. Outside Icracked the ice on the water barrel with the dipper andtook a drink, then took another dip and used the waterto brush my teeth. The sled dogs, staked not far fromthe cabin, rose to their feet and began to howl in vainexpectation of breakfast. They were Jonas's dogs, andthis winter he was going to let me use them.

By now my belly felt like a bowling ball, so I walkedinto the bush next to the shack to water the weeds andrid myself of some of Vital's home brew. While doingthis I noted that the day was overcast and the air

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• m

Figure 1.Chipewyan elders scrape a moose hide. Credit David M.Smith.

Figure 2.The character "Jonas," a Chipewyan Metis, on the road tothe airport. Credit David M. Smith.

smelled like rain. Then, with a renewed sense of well-being, I started my morning walk northward to thevillage pier. It was beautiful there and especially peace-ful in the early morning. As it was deserted most of thetime, it was a nice place to collect my thoughts orpractice speaking aloud in Chipewyan, or even to writeletters home. Early mornings on the pier were also goodtimes to plan my days, although no day in the villageever came off as I planned it. That was to be especiallytrue of this day, the most remarkable day of the threeyears I spent in the village. Even now, a quarter of acentury later, I clearly remember everything that hap-pened.

My moccasins made little plumes of dust. The pathwas bone dry; the bush badly needed rain. I walkedalmost to the end of the pier and sat down with my backagainst a post. The lake was as calm as I had ever seenit. There was a surreal quality about the way the islandsin the distance seemed to float in the air. Oliver's Islandwas clearly visible; due to its distance I had never seenit before. It moved and shimmered as it hovered abovethe water. I could even make out the rotting hulk of theS.S. Arctic River where she lay aground on the rocksadjoining the island. In the direction of the town, themission buildings, instead of looking run-down, ap-peared neat and freshly painted. Several geese flewdown the coast like phantoms, low and silent, and fromthe direction of the mouth of the Little Caribou River Iheard a loon. From the bush to my left came the hootingof an owl calling it quits after a night of hunting. And

then, as I looked along the shore to my right, just westof the village's sawmill landing, I saw a white-taileddeer, a young buck. He stepped from the bush as if todrink at the water's edge. Yet he did not lower his headto the water; instead he stood motionless.

At last he deliberately turned his head and gazed atme. After several minutes he turned and walked backamong the trees.

"No way," I thought. "Deer don't range this far north.Maybe it was a woodland caribou, or even a smallmoose." Yet I knew it really was a whitetail. Woodlandcaribou, and certainly moose, look very different; Icould not confuse the three species at such close range.

All that I saw and heard on the pier seemed to haveportentous meaning. As I walked to the shack I couldnot shake the feeling that something important wasimminent—something, for better or worse, involvingme.

I decided to light an open-air fire and have morningtea outside, even though it was chilly. I often did this infair weather, since some of the fishermen used the trailby my place when making morning visits to their nets.I used to invite them to stop for a cup of tea and a pieceof bannock with strawberry jam. It was a pleasant wayto get to know people, to practice speaking the Indianlanguage, and learn the latest village news and gossip.At Vital's the night before, Jonas had been quite unin-formative.

As I sat blowing on the hot tea I saw a small darkfigure coming down the path carrying a fish box on his

Smith Albert's Power 69

shoulder. Because of the bowed legs, there was no mis-taking who it was: it was Alphonse Laloche. Alphonse,despite his small stature and advanced years—he wasin his seventies—was one of the most competent peoplein town when it came to bush tasks, and he had a greatsense of humor.

As he drew close, I hailed him in Chipewyan: "Se'e,horelion, et-e-now?" ("Hello uncle, how are you?")

"Ah seyaze, nazon, nazon. Et-e-now?" ("Ah my boy,good, good. How are you?")

Then he continued, teasing me in English: "So theWhite Indian is back. This time you better find a niceChipewyan woman and just stay. You can't be learningold-timer ways if you're always going away and com-ing back, going away and coming back," and he wavedhis arm back and forth as he spoke.

We both laughed. Alphonse knew I was married, andlike many villagers, he was puzzled that my wife andfamily never came to the village with me.

"You better sit down and have a cup of tea, uncle," 1said.

"You bet," Alphonse replied. He sipped the tea andsmacked his lips. "It tastes best outside. Everything isbetter outside. If s because people are supposed to liveoutside, that's what the Indian figures."

"And how are Pierre and Roseanna?" I inquired.Pierre Copenhagen was nearly ninety years of age,while his wife Roseanna was in her sixties. They wereneighbors and longtime friends of Alphonse and Mar-garet. For nearly forty years Pierre had been the chief ofthose Chipewyans who still hunted barrenground cari-bou. Pierre looked remarkably young for his years.Everyone knew that he had much medicine power,which was why he appeared young and why he hadalways been an outstanding hunter.

I said to Alphonse, "When you get back home, uncle,tell them I'll come to visit them today."

Alphonse shook his head: "Can't tell them anything.And if you're going to visit them today, you better be afast walker. They went over to Wolf River moose hunt-ing."

Wolf River was more than a hundred miles eastward."Moose hunting? Wolf River?" I said in amazement."Isn't Pierre getting a little old to be going moose hunt-ing? Wolf River!"

Alphonse laughed. "Yes. But you see, Pierre doesn'tknow he is old; he thinks he's a young guy."

"Are they all alone out there?" I asked."Yes. Pierre doesn't like to camp with anybody any

more. He's very slow now, and he doesn't want any-body to know about it." I did hear Pierre's story even-tually. A month later when he and Roseanna were backin the village, having killed a moose cow and her calf,Pierre told me the story of their hunt.

"It took me and Roseanna all day to skin and butcherthose moose," he said. "Now we're going to retire. Nogood that slow! I'm too weak this time." One monthafter that he celebrated his ninetieth birthday, and thewhole village had a party for him.

Now I asked Alphonse, "So how have things beengoing in the village?"

"No good," he replied. "No jobs for young people.Fur prices are poor, and trade goods are dear. Theyounger people can't live in the bush anymore. Andthey don't want to. The drinking and fighting in thistown gets worse every day. The people are scared aboutwhat is going to happen in the future."

Just at that moment, we saw a plane flying low overthe lake out of the north. It passed over our heads,obviously intending to land at the village's small air-strip. I knew immediately from its color and markingsthat it was a Royal Canadian Mounted Police plane. Itwas unusual for the MPs to fly into town, especially thatearly in the morning. Something out of the ordinary wasgoing on.

"Cops," I said. "I wonder what gets them up soearly?"

"They've brought Albert's body home," said Al-phonse.

"Albert's body? Albert? What happened?" I asked."Didn't you hear? Albert Denoir got hisself killed in

Yellowknife."Albert Denoir was the elder brother of Frankie De-

noir, my best friend. I did not know Albert well. He wasnot in town very often. When he was in town he waswithdrawn, always sticking to himself. Albert rarelysmiled; he seemed surly. I thought he didn't like me,perhaps because I was a White anthropologist. If so, Icould understand why, so I didn't push it.

But why was it Jonas never told me about Albert'sdeath the previous evening? Albert and Frankie wereJonas's nephews and Jonas knew I was good friendswith Frankie. The previous fall I had told Jonas Ithought Albert did not like me.

"It bugs me," I said on that occasion. "Frankie's myreal good friend. So why isn't Albert?"

Jonas turned, very upset. "Oh no, Albert's just thatway. He's like that with everybody." He paused andthen said, "He's just a little bit different because he isgoing to be a power man, a medicine man. You have tounderstand how hard it is for him. You'll see. SoonAlbert will be friendly with you; it's going to be okay."

Back at that time I often thought it was strange thatFrankie never spoke of his brother, and I continued myquestions for Jonas. "Tell me more about Albert and thepower."

"He's learning his last lessons from a Dogrib medi-cine man living on Wolverine Lake, north of Great SlaveLake, and that's why he's seldom home."

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Then I understood why Frankie never spoke of hisbrother: it is not considered wise to speak about arelative who is in the final stages of attaining medicineor power from an animal helper. Frankie clearly likedhis brother. And their mother Virginie worshiped Al-bert, her firstborn. Albert certainly loved his mother,judging from the fact that she received a letter from himnearly every day when he was gone.

Frankie had befriended and helped me from the verybeginning of my time in the village. He didn't knowmuch about the traditional culture, since his family hadmoved to town before he was born. His father had beenable to get a job working on a fur trade supply boatduring the shipping season, and was a trapper duringthe winter. But the family lived year-round in town.This was because Frankie's father wanted the boys togo to school so that they would be able to read and writeEnglish.

I used to visit Frankie when I was homesick. Wewould drink tea and play cribbage. He played the gamewith blinding speed, and I don't recall ever winning agame. I enjoyed these visits; they meant a lot to me.

Now Albert was dead. And it was Alphonse drinkingtea with me.

"What happened to Albert?" I asked him again."The way I hear it, he had gone to Yellowknife. There

was a party at a house in Rainbow Valley, lots of drink-ing going on. I don't know if Albert was drinking; butthere was fighting, and he left. A drunkard in a carknocked him down as he crossed the street, and he isdead. That was Saturday night, the night before lastnight. Yesterday morning the MPs came and flew Vir-ginie, that's Albert's mother, and Frankie with her toYellowknife. So now they've flown them back with thebody. The priest says the funeral is this afternoon. Youknow, they have to get the body in the ground realsoon."

Alphonse's news was stunning. "What about Vir-ginie and Frankie!" I had planned to visit them thismorning after I had been to see Jonas. Now I didn'tknow what to do. I wanted to help Virginie and Frankie,I wanted to be comforting and show that I cared, but Iwas afraid of saying or doing something stupid. Beinga person who never knew how to console whenevertragedy struck the lives of my family and friends, I havehad a genuine aversion to funerals. And here I was inthe Chipewyan culture, where not so very long ago,whenever there was a death, the females would expressproper grief by slashing their arms and foreheads sothat they became drenched in their own blood.

I remembered how Frankie himself asked me whyWhite people did not mourn for their dead. I was notsure where Frankie picked up the idea that White peo-ple did not mourn for their dead. So now, how wasFrankie going to know that I truly cared?

Seeing Alphonse off down at the pier I noticed thatthe islands still seemed to shimmer and hover. ButOliver's Island was no longer visible—not even as athin gray line on the horizon. That seemed odd.

I turned to walk back to my shack. On a reflex I lookeddown the shore beyond the sawmill landing andstopped, transfixed. For again the whitetail buckwalked out of the woods to the water's margin. Againhe did not lower his head to drink, but looked directlyat me. Once more he turned and slowly walked backinto the bush.

At about nine o'clock I walked over to Jonas's houseand ate breakfast with his large family. We had eggs,bannock, and bear meat. We quickly came to the sobermatter of Albert's death. I asked Jonas why he hadn'ttold me the previous evening about the accident. Heseemed nervous, and talked around the subject, but heindicated that he had not wanted to spoil my firstevening back in the village. Frankie was a good friendof mine, and Jonas knew I would not sleep if I knew myfriend's brother had been killed. He said that he tried tomake sure no one told me, which is why he insisted onmy going to Vital's for the home brew. I was not sure ifJonas was being entirely candid, but as an adopted son,I was not about to say so.

Virginie was a cousin of Jonas's (his mother's sister'sdaughter), and Jonas was very worried about her. "Herheart will be breaking. She's already lost her husbandin an accident. He was a good man, a hard worker. Hisname is Albert, so we called him 'Big Alberf and his firstson, 'Little Albert.' And Little Albert is just like him,looks like him, acts like him, everything. And nowAlbert's gone. So there'll only be Frankie left; he's agood boy, but it won't be the same for Virginie. I amafraid she'll become sick and die from the sadness."

At about 11 o'clock I left Jonas's and visited a coupleof elders to say hello. I came close to going on toFrankie's house, but as I approached it, I lost my cour-age. I knew the women might still be preparing thebody for the funeral, and I did not know if it was properto visit while these preparations were going on.

At last I went to the store. I bought a frozen chickento fry as I was going to fix supper for Jonas. Jonas likedto call chicken "Whiteman's ptarmigan." I alwaysbought a box of instant mashed potatoes and madechicken gravy to put on them. Jonas usually acted as ifmy chicken, potatoes, and gravy were haute cuisine,although I am pretty sure he was just trying to pleaseme. Also I warmed a can of peas or green beans, whichI liked to mix with my mashed potatoes, but Jonaswould turn his nose up at the canned vegetables, assert-ing that "Indians don't eat Popeye food."

After lunch I sat at my table and began writing in myjournal. Already there was a great deal to write about.At 2:30 the church bell rang, and the time I dreaded was

Smith Albert's Power 71

at hand. Several times I got up to leave for the funeralservice, only to lose my will. Looking through my backwindow toward the church I could see people gatheringfrom all directions. I paced the floor—even grabbed mycap as if to go—but still I could not make it out of thedoor.

Looking out of the window once more, I saw that somany people had come for the service that the churchwas overflowing. The doors of the church werepropped open so that people who were unable to fitinside could hear the service. As the minutes passed Igrew more and more guilty. "What if Frankie noticesI'm not there? And Jonas, what will he think? And thepriest Jean-Marie—it wouldn't be good to offend him,since the people think so highly of him." The priest wasan unusual person. To begin with, his control of theIndian language was excellent. Then he was a longtimeadvocate for native rights, including religious freedom.He never forced his religion on anyone and clearlyadmired Indian beliefs. Moreover, to my surprise, Idiscovered he was a Marxist.

Finally I put my cap on, and with plenty of misgiv-ings managed to walk out of the door. I could hear thechoir singing. With my stomach churning I walkedrapidly to the church and stood with the rest of thecrowd in the churchyard.

When the church service was over, the casket wasloaded into Isidore McKenzie's rusty red pickup. Some-one had draped black cloth along the sides of the truck.Isidore drove the truck slowly to the cemetery. Thepriest walked immediately behind the casket with Vir-ginie and Frankie, and the rest of the town followedbehind them. I walked with Jonas just behind Virginieand Frankie. Jonas whispered to me as I fell in besidehim: "Where you were?" (He never managed to say inEnglish, "Where were you?")

"I'll tell you later," I whispered, but I never had to.As we walked along the road, people "killed" a half-

dozen or so of Albert's favorite possessions. Frankiesmashed Albert's new camera on a fence-post; Jonasused the same fence-post to break Albert's transistorradio. With their spirits thus freed, these possessionswould follow Albert in death, and they were placed inthe grave with the casket.

The procession walked down the road that ran along-side the village airstrip and entered the cemetery; thenthe burial service began. When the time came to throwclumps of earth on to the simple wooden casket downin the open grave, Virginie, who had been hithertostanding with stoic composure at the graveside next toFrankie, fell to her knees and began to sob and wail ina way that was both eerie and heart-rending. Frankieknelt next to her, placing his arms around her shouldersto comfort her.

At last the priest left, and the people, alone or ingroups, began drifting along after him. Virginie andFrankie, however, remained where they were. I beganto leave, but Frankie motioned to me with his chin,indicating that I should stay.

Virginie and Frankie knelt by the grave for at leastanother 15 minutes. I stood about 20 feet away fromthem, becoming more and more ill at ease as Virginie'swailing and sobbing continued. At last she stopped andFrankie said a word to her. They got to their feet andbegan to walk towards the gate. Frankie motioned withhis hand for me to walk on the other side of his mother,which I did.

We left the cemetery. Instead of walking down theroad, we started to cut across the end of the airstrip,something people usually did when walking to andfrom the airport. We had just moved into the clearingwhen out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed something.I turned to my left and saw, bounding out of the bush,perhaps three hundred feet away, the white-tailed deer.He loped across the airstrip and had almost reached thebush at the other side of the clearing when it seemedthat something frightened him. He ran in a wide arc,doubling back across the clearing heading directly to-ward us. We stopped walking and watched as the deerapproached. He ran on towards us until he was 30 feetaway, then stopped suddenly.

We stood looking at him, as he looked back at us. Hewas beautiful—sleek and well fed. His nostrils flared;he cocked his head to one side, and moved his ears backand then forward.

Frankie said softly, "If s Albert's power, mother, he'scome to say goodbye to us." A cold chill ran up myspine, and the hair on my arms and on the back of myneck stood on end. I could feel it. It was Albert's power.

Virginie was weeping again. Frankie told her, "Don'tcry. Albert's power is letting you know he's okay. Andwe're going to be okay too." With that Virginie stoppedsobbing, while Albert's power continued to watch us,displaying no fear or nervousness.

After some minutes Frankie broke the silence, saying,"Thank you for coming to say goodbye." The deerwheeled about and trotted back across the clearing. Ashe came to the edge of the bush he stopped, turnedslightly, and looked back at us. At the same moment, forthe first time during the day, there was a break in theclouds. When the slanting sunlight fell on the deer, heglowed red. He then jumped into the bush and wasgone.

We walked in silence back to town, making for thehome of Virginie and Frankie. Frankie thanked me forwalking with them. I said lamely: "I'm sorry," and hesaid: "I know."

As they entered the house, I did not know what to say.I told them, "I'll come visit tomorrow." Frankie smiled

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wanly and said: "That will be fine. We'll play cribbage."His smile widened into a grin as he added: "Maybeyou'll win."

I walked to the church and started down the trail tomy place. The raven had returned to my roof and wasintently watching something down where the sled dogswere staked. I saw smoke coming from the stove pipeand guessed that Jonas was there. I then saw what hadcaptured the raven's attention: Jonas was feeding thedogs with Miracle Dog Food. The raven knew that Jonaswould leave a little pile of dog food to one side for him.Being nice to ravens brings good fortune.

Jonas wanted to eat supper early, so he had alreadystarted a fire in the cook stove. The chicken package wassitting on the floor close to the stove to thaw morerapidly. I cooked supper, and we ate in silence. After wehad eaten, over a cup of tea, I was able to get Jonas totalk about my experiences that day.

"Jonas, have you ever seen a whitetail deer?"Jonas gave me a strange, quizzical look. "Only once.

Jumping deer is what Indians call them. Once in a whilesomebody sees one here, but thaf s real unusual."

I then told Jonas about my experience with Virginieand Frankie coming back from the cemetery and aboutwhat Frankie had said. Jonas listened intently.

He said, "It is Albert's power that you saw; he wantedto say goodbye and let you know he is fine. I knowWhite people don't believe in signs but if s true. Whatyou saw does happen; one way or another, it happensall the time. Our ancestors studied these things, and inthis time we know it is the truth."

Jonas went on to tell a fascinating story about theburial of an old-timer whose Indian name was Shoul-ders. At the graveyard service, the people noticed threeeagles wheeling and gliding about high overhead.Then, when they started to throw the handfuls of dirtinto the grave, they heard an eagle scream. They lookedup, and a fourth eagle materialized.

I confessed to him that I too felt the deer was Albert'spower, even though his appearance and what he didcould be explained in rational everyday terms.

"And it was odd," I said. "This morning I sawOliver's Island."

"You did?"I told him about seeing the islands hover above the

water, about even seeing the S.S. Arctic River, and aboutseeing the deer twice earlier in the day, and the otherthings I had noticed while on the pier. If anything, Jonasseemed more interested in what I was now telling him.

I said, "I know that distant islands in certain atmos-pheric conditions seem to float in the air and appearmuch closer than they are. Maybe jumping deer areextending their range northward. Maybe I was justlucky to see a jumping deer on the shore of Great SlaveLake."

Jonas frowned and said, "Lucky? Nothing happensfor nothing: thaf s what Indians believe. If s true whatyou're saying about islands floating. I'm living in thiscountry 68 years and have stood on that pier manytimes looking at those islands; I have seen them floattoo. But one thing I never saw—Oliver's Island. No-body else has either; it's too far. Only you have seen it.And the deer—there are old mens, old womens, whoknow everything about the bush, and have seen manywonderful things. But if they have seen a jumping deeronce, that's all they've seen. You saw one three times inone day. It was a message; everything went together."

"What do you think the message was, Jonas?" I asked.Jonas shook his head: "The message was for you. If s

about how you feel, not what I think, or what you think,so I can't help you very much. How the jumping deergot to this village is one thing; what makes islands floatin the air is one thing. What they mean is how you feel.Could be, like you say, jumping deers is moving north.Okay. But the Indian believes nothing happens for noth-ing, and everything that happened to you goes to-gether."

Jonas paused, then continued: "If s you who has gotto figure it all out. But I'll tell you how I feel." Then heput his elbows on the table, clasped his hands and,leaning forward, rested his chin on his hands.

"Do you know the story about how Albert died?" hesaid.

"Yes, it was in Yellowknife; a drunk in a car hit him,"I answered.

Jonas shook his head: "No, no, no, not Little Albert. Imean Big Albert."

"I never heard that story. It's funny, but Frankie neverspoke about how his father died. All I know is, it hap-pened when his father was away from home working."

"He worked on the Arctic River; he was killed whenshe ran aground on Oliver's Island. There is somethingabout Big Albert's death and Little Alberf s death thatgoes together, something that you are to know, to feel,and that is why you saw that island from the pier whennobody else ever has."

When Jonas said this I again felt the tingling along myspine I had felt at the airstrip.

"It happened maybe 25 years ago," Jonas continued."Anyway, Frankie is just a baby, Little Albert is notmuch bigger. I had not brought my family to live in thistown yet; we are in here to trade. It is very rough on thelake at that time. The Arctic River has unloaded and hercaptain wants to get underway. She is pushing a barge.Tommy Frazer, a half-breed guy who is the pilot, tellsthe captain not to take her out, that it is too heavy seas.But the captain says they will be all right if they stay inthe lee of the islands. Tommy is smart. He has beenpiloting a long time. He tells the captain it will be toohard to get lee-side pushing a barge, that a stern-

Smith Albert's Power 73

wheeler is hard to steer in rough seas even without abarge. The captain tells him to shut up and steer theboat. So they hoist anchor. Well, they can't get behindthe islands, and Oliver's Island is coming up fast.Tommy can't get the boat to turn. At last the captainorders the barge cut free so they can maneuver. Twomen go up to chop the lines, but it is too late. The boatfounders on the rocks; the men who cut the ropes arethrown overboard. They are both dead. One of themmen is Albert. The rest of the crew is okay except abroken arm and cuts and bruises. They are lucky; theboat just hangs on the rocks without breaking up all theway, and they are saved. They fired that captain.

"Virginie was very sad; she wanted to die too. Thereshe is, two little boys, no husband. Albert's body issmashed so bad they wouldn't even let her look at him.I think, because you didn't know all of this, you sawOliver's Island and that boat. I can't say why. But I thinkI know why you saw Albert's power, why you saw thejumping deer this morning." Jonas paused a moment.

"You do?" I said."Yes," he went on. "I can't be real sure; like I said, the

sign was for you. I told Albert after you went home lastfall that you thought he didn't like you. That madeAlbert sad. He didn't mean for you to feel that way.Since you are my adopted son, and they are mymother's sister's daughter's boys, Albert and Frankieshould act like brothers to you, and you should act likea brother to them. That is why Frankie always helpsyou, thaf s why he's always a friend. Albert was becom-ing a medicine man, so he didn't seem friendly. He wasa good brother though, and would have helped you lotshad he been home. He told me that the next time youcame, first thing, he would let you know that he is yourfriend, he would help you. But he got killed. So, hesends his power to you. If s a wonderful thing he did,more wonderful than you know. You will someday."

We were both quiet for a time, then Jonas said: "Doyou know when I saw a jumping deer?"

"What?" I heard what he said but it seemed out ofplace in our conversation.

"Do you know when I saw my jumping deer?" herepeated.

"No, when?""It was the day after Big Albert died. We had been in

town a few days to get supplies and our treaty moneyand rations. Then we always had a feast and dance. Iwent to get some firewood for the feast. As I came to thebush by Pascal's place, a jumping deer stepped out andlooked at me. I know it is Albert's power; I know he

came to say 'goodbye' to me. Big Albert is a medicineman too, and we are friends."

"Oh," was all I managed to say."I've got to go now," Jonas said. "Thanks for the

Whiteman's ptarmigan. It was real good; my stomachis satisfied. One more thing—I think it is nice what youdid, going to the funeral, and most of all, that you stayedat the grave with Virginie and Frankie, like a brothershould. I feel that's one of the things that Albert wantedyou to do—another reason he sent his power. Frankieneeded you. Well, I'll drop by and see you tomorrow."And with that he went through the door and quicklywalked up the hill.

I put a bucket of water on the cookstove so I couldwash the dishes. Jonas always took off and stuck mewith the dishes. I decided to take a walk down to thepier while the water was heating.

As I went along, kicking up little plumes of dust withmy moccasins, I kept mumbling to myself: "Nothinghappens for nothing. Nothing happens for nothing.Nothing happens for nothing."

I walked onto the pier and at last it started to rain—arefreshing, misty rain. The air had become muchwarmer; a fog bank was moving in. The islands were nolonger visible and the shoreline was shrouded in mist.Inland I could just make out the mission buildings,which in the haze seemed even more shabby than usual."If s going to be a nice soft evening," I said to myself,and sat down with my back against my favorite post.

NOTES

Acknowledgments. I am grateful to a number of people, toonumerous to mention, for reading and commenting on differ-ent drafts of this narrative. But I must give special thanks toJean-Guy Goulet and Nancy Oestrich Lurie. While the epi-sode on the airstrip did occur in real life, when I started todramatize the story the episode came to look more like apoignant event Jean-Guy describes in his excellent essay,"Religious Dualism among Athapaskan Catholics" (Goulet1982). Thank you, Jean-Guy, for permission to recount theepisode as I have.

I owe Nancy Lurie special kudos for the expression, "Noth-ing happens for nothing," which was purloined from a lettershe wrote to me and is a saying of a Winnebago traditionalist,the late Jim Smoke.

REFERENCE CITED

Goulet, Jean-Guy1982 Religious Dualism among Athapaskan Catholics. Ca-

nadian Journal of Anthropology 3(1): 1-18.