Motorcycles & Sweetgrass by Drew Hayden Taylor

Author:Drew Hayden Taylor [Taylor, Drew Hayden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, Adult
ISBN: 9780307373991
Publisher: Knopf Canada
Published: 2010-03-09T05:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

The sun was dangling near the horizon, saying farewell to this part of the continent. Meanwhile, on the other side of John and Maggie’s world, the impatient moon was already fighting its way above the distant shore. Nobody else was around, though the odd boat skimmed by on the far side of the bay. On the dock in front of them were the remnants of their dinner. John and Maggie were sitting side by side, the past hour having drawn them closer.

“No kidding. I have been all across this country. A couple of times. From ocean, to ocean, to ocean, to way past that thing called the border. Both the American and the Mexican. I have seen mountains, prairies, oceans, trees, lakes, everything. This is a big country but I like to think I’m bigger.” John filled her wineglass again from the three-quarters-empty bottle. There was no reason for her to drink fast. They had all the time in the world.

“Have you been to the Arctic? Nunavut?”

“Once. That’s where I saw the inukshuk. But I don’t care for the Arctic. I try never to go above the treeline. Not my kind of place.”

“But aren’t the prairies pretty treeless?”

“That’s different.”

“How is that different?” asked Maggie. Her cheeks were unusually flushed in the failing light.

“Do you really want to know? Okay, there are trees in the prairies. You just have to know where to look for them.”

“There are so many places I would want to go. I envy you. Why did you stop travelling?”

John’s mood seemed to shift slightly, like wispy clouds crossing in front of the moon. “I developed what could be called a drinking problem.”

“I know. You mentioned something about it the other day. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, that’s okay. It’s good therapy. It’s called sharing. Anyway, it was a pretty bad problem. It lasted for a while. Hard to travel when you’re passed out.”

“You? Really?”

“Yep. But, as they say, I’m much better now. I did learn one good thing from all those years of drinking, though. I can say ‘Southern Comfort’ in fourteen different Aboriginal languages. Seriously. Want to hear some?” She nodded eagerly. “Keep in mind there’s no actual word for alcohol in most Indigenous languages, but the term Southern Comfort is a different story. Let’s see, there’s entiene aon’wesenhtshera.”

Maggie was perplexed. She shook her head, not understanding the language.

“That’s Mohawk. From our friends to the south. How about… let’s see… sow-wee-nook a-stee-si-ni.”

Maggie couldn’t identify that language either.

“That’s Cree,” he explained. “Then there’s ahhh klup-ee-huh!”

“I think you just spit on me.”

“Sorry, it’s a very guttural language. It’s Nuu-Chah-nulth. Okay, I’ll give you an easy one. Zhaawnong Minodewin. Recognize that?”

Maggie thought for a moment, trying to deconstruct the various prefixes and suffixes. “That’s Anishnawbe!”

John smiled. “Very good.”

“Not bad, for a White guy.”

John noticed she was slurring her words slightly. Gently, Maggie lay back on the dock, looking up at the skies. She seemed to be studying them.

“You’re not falling asleep, are you?” he said.

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