a short story
Sometimes it’s just best to keep special things to yourself.
That includes kissing and not telling.
A short story by Richard Van Camp
This one guy told me of a time in his life when
he would go out with his flute to play in
the forest and a little porcupine would come
out on a branch of a tree and would only
watch him with one eye as the man played
his heart out. I think this was in northern
Ontario. This man told me he played for this
little guy every day, and each day the porcupine
would come out on the same branch.
It was a little game for them, hey.Well, one
day this man was showing off and took a
bunch of kids and the kids were very loud
and rowdy and so the porcupine came
out but was very scared. He looked at the
man only once with both eyes and what
the man saw was so sad, as if the man broke
something special.
The porcupine never came back.
The man felt such loss.
And that got me thinking that if you
have something special that sometimes it’s
best to just keep it for yourself. Like if
you fool around with someone, that’s a good
secret, hey? What you shared together was
magic, special, fun. That’s a good one. Your
secret is held in two hearts. This will give
you strength for the tough times ahead and
when you see each other it’s okay if you
can’t stop smiling. That’s a good life, when
you have few of those. Not too many,
though. I think if you fool around with too
many honeys then you’ll have weak kidneys.
I think I heard that once.Weren’t there
some priests somewhere that thought if you
don’t ever fool around once that when
they dig you up one hundred years from now
that in between your rib bones there will
be a pearl? It lets everyone know you were the
patron saint of something.Well, I think that’s
a hard road, myself. Aren’t we here to have
a good time and help each other through the
night? I think so.
Someone told me that Indians can only
keep a secret for five years tops and then
everyone spills the beans.Well, maybe that is
true for all the races in our atmosphere:
a five year moratorium on the goods, hey.
My friend “Freddy” told me one night
that he was painting a drum and one of
his co-workers called him.
“Hi, Freddy,” Stella said.
It was late. He glanced at the clock. It was
after 11.
“Hi,” he said. His son was asleep and it was
a work day tomorrow. “Is everything okay?”
“Um, yeah,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Oh,” he said. “Having tea, painting a
new drum.”
“Oh,” she said. “I was wondering if you
could come over and help me out.”
“Help you out?” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Well…,” she said.
“Is Sam giving you a hard time? Want me to
come over there and tune him up?”
(Stella had been having problems with her
ex, eh. The whole town knew about that.)
“Oh..no…no…Sam’s outta town.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is your
power out?”
“No…I was just wondering if you could
come over and help me out?”
“Help you out,” he repeated, putting his
paintbrush down. “With?”
“Well,” she said. “You know…”
And that’s when it hit him: she was asking
for help in the Love Me Tender Department.
“OH!” he said. “Oh. Oh! Oh….”
“Well?” she asked with a smile that he could
hear over the line.
“Oh, ah...whoah…Whew!”
“……”
“……!”
“…..?”
“…..!!”
“So?”
“So?” Freddy stood up. “So, ah, well,
ah…my boy’s asleep.”
“So what? He can sleep on my couch.”
“Oh well, ah, it’s a school day tomorrow.
I think they’re taking pictures or something?”
“That’s next month,” she said flatly.
“Oh, well, ah…this is a bit sudden, isn’t it?”
Freddy asked. “I mean, well…”
“Sudden?” she asked. “For who?”
“Well, come on,” Freddy said with his low
secret voice. “We work together.”
“So?” she said. “Just come over and help
me out.”
Freddy shook his head. He’d worked with
Stella for over a year and, yes, they enjoyed
each other’s company. Yes, they shared a few
good laughs, but he was so surprised.
“So?” she asked.
“I can’t,” he said. “Really…” he tried hard to
think of what to say. “This is very flattering,
but I don’t think of you this way.” This wasn’t
necessarily so. Stella had been hitting the
gym pretty hard and was letting her hair grow
out, so he’d had his cross over thoughts these
past few months…
“Oh come on,” she said. “It’ll be our secret.
No one has to know.”
“Ah,” Freddy started pacing. “Ah. Ummm.
Ah…”
“Please?”
“Oh that’s so sweet,” Freddy said. “But I
have to say no. My son’s sleeping.”
“I could come over there,” she said.
“Ho la,” he said. “You’re a brute, eh?”
“I can be,” she giggled.
“No,” he said with his whiny voice. “My son
could wake up.”
“I’ll be quiet if you will,” she giggled.
Freddy blushed. “Holy!”
“Come on,” Stella said. “I could come over
there and help you….”
At this, he started laughing and she started
laughing, too. “Come on,” she urged. “You’ve
been on your own for how long now?”
“Oh,” he thought about it. “Eight
months now?”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Don’t you need a little help?”
Freddy’s face flushed with embarrassment.
He secretly called Stella “The Hickey Monster”
as Sam’s neck was always covered in “monkey
bites” or “passion bruises” when they were
still married. And Freddy was no fashionista,
but he knew that he was all out of turtlenecks.
“Well, ah…” What could he say to that?
“Well, I…” What could he say? “I, ah, am
taking some time to take care of me…”
“And I could help,” she said. “I could help
you take care of you very nicely...”
“I’m sure you could,” he grinned.
It had been eight months all right. Eight
months of learning to bake cookies for
his son’s fundraising events. Eight months of
meetings with teachers and the optometrist
to get glasses for his boy. Eight months of
learning to cook supper and prepare sandwiches
for his son’s lunch every day. Eight months of
waiting for his wife, to see if she’d ever return.
“Stella,” he said. “I want to thank you for
calling me. It’s been a tough go.”
“I can tell,” she said.
“I’m really honoured that you called. Can I
think about this?”
“You may,” she said and she said it sweetly.
Sometimes a woman can be tough on a man
in a moment like this, but she could tell she’d
disarmed him in a good way.
“I really need some time to think,” he said.
“I’ve been so focused on being a single dad
and taking care of my boy that I’ve just gotten
in touch with me.”
“I’m really proud of you,” she said. “You’re
a great dad.”
“Thanks,” he said. Because of his son’s
swimming lessons, Freddy had gotten over his
own fear of the water. Because he was a
single parent, he was now learning new recipes
from his aunties. He could now cook a mean
stir-fry and prepare salmon and halibut just the
way his boy liked it.
“You’re a real catch,” she said. “I wanted to
make my intentions clear.”
“Well, they’re greatly appreciated,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“So?” she said. “Will you call me sometime
when you know what you want?”
“I will,” he smiled. “I will. I really want to
thank you for the call.”
“Okay, good night. It’s nice to hear
your voice.”
“Yours, too,” he said.
And she hung up softly.
And that was when Freddy decided that
he wasn’t waiting for his wife anymore. That
was the night he decided that it was time to
move on, that any woman who would leave
her family behind without any explanation
was a woman he could no longer trust for
himself or for their boy, and that was the night
Freddy went from being a passive good
hearted guy to an active participant in his life,
a real mover and shaker.
So, did they ever get together? That’s a
secret.We just have to mind our own beeswax
on that one.
But let’s get back to the spirit of this story:
the medicine of secrets.
My buddy Trevor told me once that a long
time ago the Crees used to go into the forest
with a spear. And what they had to do was
they’d sneak up on a bear and tap him on the
bum with it. Not the sharp side, but the flat
side, I guess, and the bear would scoot away in
fear. Then you would come out of the forest
and never tell anyone about it. But that’s what
made you a man. If you could do that then
you were a man. But the key was to never tell
anyone, not even your wife. You keep it
inside and you know it yourself, that you did
that, hey.
So, my question to you all is do you have
any secrets that you haven’t ever told anyone?
Good. Keep them inside you. If not, you
better run out and start gathering some so they
can keep you warm inside when you’re in
your golden years. The bad secrets should be
talked about, I think, but the sacred ones,
the special ones, the good time ones, I think you
should keep them inside. Not all, but some.
Because they are medicine. They’ll get you
through the hard times. Plus, no one wants to
fool around with you if they think you’ll tell
all your buddies and coworkers, hey!
And what ever happened to kissing but
not telling? Now that’s a dying art (right up
there with flirting, the four-hour make out
session and French kissing, in my opinion).
Me? I don’t think I have too many
secrets. Every five years I spill the beans to
somebody about something, I’m sure, but
I live a good life: I’m not out to hurt or take.
The only secrets I have are my PIN numbers
and the love songs that I sing into the wind
for someone I haven’t even met yet, but I
know I shall meet one day...
Mahsi cho! Thank you very much!