The Passion Of Christ

one

The knife slid into Father Aubrey's neck, much easier than I'd expected. Blood spilled out of the gash and onto his crisp white collar — turning the shirt quickly into a bright red. I felt like I was hovering outside of my body. I drowned in silence — silence so strong it hurt my ears. My fingers turned white, holding that metal knife tighter and tighter. I pulled the knife out of his neck, his body fell back onto his chair. Limp. His dead eyes stared at mine. I watched the blood trickle down Father Aubrey's chest; it was the most beautiful thing I had seen in a long time.

****

The last time I saw any colour that bright, it was the autumn leaves in my Kokum's backyard. I lived with her, my brothers, and whichever cousin needed a place to stay. It was a run down house with duct tape keeping everything from the ice box to the mattresses together, but it was our house. Sure, it was usually messy but when I slept on the couch the sun would rise and leak into the living room warming the whole home, my Kokum was always in the kitchen making our favourite food, and the house smelled of sage. I was 13 and never had my own room, all of us boys shared everything on the rez. Deodorant, food, even underwear.

My cousins, brothers, and I played in a forest down the road from home. We'd built a tire swing on an old oak tree at the end of a path we'd gradually stomped into the ground. All day we ran around our yellow and red painted haven — taking turns swinging, laying in leaf piles, and talking about the prettiest girls in our class. The air was rich with mulch. My oldest brother bought a bow and a couple of arrows after a good season on his trap line. The rest of us younger
boys carved our own bows to use. We set up targets in that forest and practiced. The older ones told us stories about when their grandpas would shoot arrows for their dinner.

Hiding, being quiet, and listening was ingrained into our DNA as Indian kids. Our parents had spent their childhood in cellars hiding from the agents, then they spent their adulthood in the shadows, trading their red skin for white cloaks, desperately trying to pass. So, when the day came to hide, be quiet, and listen, I was more than prepared.

My brother stopped laughing, his smile replaced with biting down on his lip. Furrowing his brow he hissed for the rest of us to go hide. We darted in different directions— went behind trees, fallen logs, and bushes. I crouched down under a prickly blackberry bush. In the summer we would make jam from its sweet gifts.

Then my brother's voice echoed through the forest, the words catching and falling on branches. I hoped I'd misheard him. I didn't move right away, stupidly. My mind convinced my legs he was kidding; he had to have been kidding.

"Run! Now! Zagangansh!"

I saw flashes of corduroy, ripped jeans, and fleece sweaters. My cousins. Everyone ran as fast as they could towards the house. Everyone but me. My legs were frozen. It was too late, I knew it.

I turned my head to bury it in my lap but I saw the tree where my cousins hid cigarettes and magazines under; I could see the top of the treehouse we'd built as kids now sitting empty. My gaze melted as my mind danced through memories. Then, I could see boots stomping towards me. My heart dropped into my stomach and my soul winced. I held my breath in my chest, refusing to release any noise. I shifted my weight slightly, and that's when the crack of a stick shot through the forest. Hands grabbed my navy sweater, lifting me off the forest floor.

My feet dragged behind me as the red jacketed man pulled me out of the forest, and towards the gravel road. I tried kicking and wiggling away but the man was at least 6 feet and 250 pounds— I was 5'5 and maybe 120 pounds. I couldn't win.

My body was thrown into the back of a Hudson Hornet, like I meant nothing. Like a doll. The door closed with a bang. I finally yelled, screams pouring out of my mouth like water. Snot and tears stained my face. The shiny black car started driving away. My red and yellow haven became only a blur through tinted glass.