The Crooked Knife by Jan Morrison

Author:Jan Morrison
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781989417805
Publisher: Boulder Books
Published: 2022-08-19T00:00:00+00:00

+++ Chapter 18

Crystal Berry was home, such as it was. She belonged to the lower classes in Sheshatshiu. A reserve has a strict class system. The main families held positions of power on the Band Council, as well as all the other arms of the reserve government. They obtained the good houses and if their kids needed to go to treatment somewhere, those kids moved to the front of a very long line. If they wanted a job or a job for one of their extended family, they got it. Everyone, including any whites attached to the reserve through work or otherwise, sided with the hierarchy. The Berrys had either come on the scene late or had done something to make them untouchables.

The yard was paved in garbage and two Ski-Doo carcasses had been stripped to their bones for parts. The one window that wasn’t boarded up had a crack in it. I knocked with some trepidation, steeling myself.

Crystal came to the door. Once a beautiful girl, she now looked ravaged. Her skin had a greenish pallor and her clothes, although clean, hung on her thin frame. It looked like she had dressed in the dark: buttons didn’t match up with their holes, mismatched socks, a blinding green and pink shirt, and faded plaid pyjama bottoms.

“Hi, Crystal. Do you remember me? We’ve met a few times. I used to work at the school, but now I’m a community constable. My name is Nell. Can I come in?”

She looked behind her, as if someone would tell her what to do. No one there. “I don’t know.” She looked at her hand as if it were an unusual animal that she had never seen before. Then her eyes flicked up and she blushed. “Oh. Sorry, Miss. Yes, come in.” All of this was said in tortuous tones with much blinking and nodding. Stoned as hell.

She went into the living room. It had an old, kid’s bed in the corner and nowhere else to sit, so I grabbed a kitchen chair and brought it in. Other than the bed there was the requisite enormous television. It was on, with a reality show about four girls and a tattoo parlour. I didn’t catch the drift, although it was plenty loud enough. And I was wrong about her being alone. On the floor was a toddler, about two years old I figured, with his fingers in his mouth and tears sliding down his cheeks.

“What’s the matter, little buddy?”

“Nothing! He always looks like that. He’s so stupid.”

“Is he your brother?”

“Ya. Well, he’s my half-brother, sort of. I take care of him because my mother is in the hospital. She’s got cancer. She’s supposed to come home tomorrow or the next day, I guess.”

“Is anyone else living here?”

“My stepfather, only he works at Voisey’s Bay, so he isn’t here. And my other brother, who’s my full brother, but he hardly ever comes home. He’s mostly at his girlfriend’s house.”

“So you’re taking care of this child all on your own?” And I thought, fuck this world.

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