Coppermine (40 page)

“Were you ever up in the Arctic? The Mackenzie delta?”

“How’d you know that? Who are you?”

“Were you there?”

“I was a cook on a whaler.”

Angituk’s heart sank for the second time. Could this unhappy man be her father?

“What’s it to you anyway?”

“Do you remember the village of Paulatuk? A woman named Kunee?”

“I don’t remember any goddamn flat-face village or any Eskimo whore. Enough of this. Get out of my place! No, let me help you out of my goddamn place.”

Angus McAndrew jumped over the bar with amazing agility for his size. Before Angituk knew what was happening, he grabbed her by the neck, lifted her off the ground, and began to drag her toward the door. The patrons clapped and cheered at the entertainment, but Angituk wasn’t finished yet. She wasn’t leaving without the answer. She wrapped her legs around his legs and tripped him. He fell hard with Angituk on top of him, his head bouncing off the dirty wood-plank floor with its spilled beer and cigarette butts. He was dazed for a moment, losing his grip, and Angituk twisted around onto her knees and grabbed for his unbuttoned left sleeve, tearing it as she forced it up his forearm. The skin was clear! There was no mermaid!

Angituk let go of his arm and slumped back with such a feeling of relief that she didn’t see Angus McAndrew’s right fist coming as it slammed into the side of her head. McAndrew dragged her through the door and dumped her face down in the mud and urine outside Dooley’s Bar.

When she rose slowly, spitting blood and rubbing her chin, she struggled up onto her hands and knees. She saw her hat in the mud beside her. She smiled and then laughed. She thanked Kannokapfaluk and the small animal and bird spirits and especially her spirit guide, the bear, and even the Jesus and Mary spirits that she had learned about at the mission school—thanked all of them that this McAndrew was not the one she sought. Her good father was still out there somewhere.

THEY ARRIVED
at the train station at dawn for the 7:28 to Fort McMurray. Once Sinnisiak and Uluksuk were on their way, they would be safe and Creed’s life would be simple again. He could sort out the situation with Nicole in an honourable way.

It was a small and subdued gathering, with only E.K. Mainprize and surprisingly few other members of the press. Wallbridge was there, still amazed by his successful defence. He had developed an affection for his Eskimo clients and would miss them. John Hornby was also there to say goodbye. He was going to be heading east later that day on the train from South Station. He had decided to go and fight in the war in Europe for King and country. Creed was worried about him. Worried about what would become of him.

“You really shouldn’t do this, John. The war is not what you think. You should stay here. We could find some guiding work for you with the police.”

“I’m already outside. And the King has asked for me personally. That’s what the sign said. You can’t just … just ignore your monarch. After all, he’s the King.”

Nothing Creed said could dissuade him.

Sinnisiak and Uluksuk were going home, accompanied by Koeha, and also Angituk, at least as far as Fort Norman. She had been contracted by the court to accompany them as interpreter that far and ensure they had what they needed to continue on to the Coppermine. Angituk did not mind leaving the crowded city, but it saddened her to think of her father out there somewhere. Her face was bruised from her encounter at Dooley’s and she had been evasive in her explanations to Creed, but she was glad that she had gone to see. Glad her father was not the old dying man in the cot or the bartender at Dooley’s. She had the address of one last Angus McAndrew in her pocket, but Uluksuk was anxious to get home and they had to go. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe they were not meant to meet. Creed had explained to Angituk that after a few days of administrative duties in Edmonton he would take some leave and join her in Fort Norman. That would be the moment she would work toward.

Uluksuk presented Creed with the small bow he had made in the igloo the previous winter. The policemen who had taken it when they first arrived had given it back to him. It was in its leather case with three arrows and a small tool kit for repairs. Creed inspected the spruce bow with the ornately braided sinew that gave it strength and sighted the little copper-tipped arrows, each straighter than a pool cue. With Angituk translating, Uluksuk explained quietly that the bow and arrows were to be given to their first son. Creed smiled at Angituk, took Uluksuk’s hand in both of his, and shook it warmly.

“Quanaqqutit,
my friend.”

Uluksuk paused and studied him seriously for a moment, holding his hand. He spoke directly, looking Creed in the eyes. “I had a vision last night. You must be careful. The dark spirits that you fear are closer than you think. They mean you harm.”

Creed stared at him. “I don’t understand. Dark spirits?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything more. I would tell you more if I knew, but down here, you know, my powers are so weak. When I am home again and strong I will speak on your behalf to the spirits. They will help you if they can. But for now you must be careful.”

Creed was shaken by the shaman’s words.

The engineer blew the two-minute whistle. With Angituk’s help, Uluksuk made a statement to the reporters.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I have found white society quite interesting, but it is not really what I like. There are too many people and the food is bad. I am in a good mood now, but I have to get back and feed my family.”

A disruption farther down the platform captured the attention of the reporters. A small patrol of Mounties arrived, led by Corporal Cowperthwaite. Creed didn’t like the look on Cowperthwaite’s face as he came up to him.

“What is it, Lyle?”

Cowperthwaite took a deep breath. “I’m very sorry, Jack. They’ve come up with new charges. They’re putting them on trial again. For the murder of the other priest.”

“What are you talking about, Lyle?” he asked quietly. Ever since the verdict he had wondered if something like this could possibly happen. He had dismissed his premonition as improbable, and yet it was unfolding just as he had feared. “You can’t do this, Lyle. You’re going to kill them. This is going to kill them!”

“I’m so sorry. It’s orders.”

Creed turned away in frustration. “Goddamnit.”

Mainprize was in Cowperthwaite’s face. “What are the charges?”

“The murder of Father Le Roux this time.”

Mainprize ran for the telephone inside the station.

Angituk looked at Creed. “How can they do this? Uluksuk won’t survive.”

“I know.” Creed went to the old hunter, trying to stay calm. “This is bad news, Uluksuk. They are going to have another trial. You will be tried for killing the other priest. I’m very sorry.”

Angituk translated for them, and the light in Uluksuk’s eyes went dim. Quietly, Sinnisiak began to cry. Cowperthwaite put cuffs on them and helped the prisoners down off the train. Angituk turned angrily to Creed.

“This is all a lie! They were found innocent. They were free to go. The court is dishonest. Can’t you do anything?”

“I don’t know, Angi. I don’t know. Let me think.”

JUSTICE HORACE HARVEY
and C.C. McCaul had met early that morning after the late-night phone call from the Attorney General, who told them another trial would be required. McCaul was very pleased with himself. He had decided in the first trial only to charge them for the murder of Father Rouvière just in case something like this happened. Now they could, with complete legitimacy, try the two again, for the murder of Father Le Roux.

According to the Attorney General, Archbishop Bruchési had visited the Prime Minister’s office with a very clear message: the verdict in Edmonton was not acceptable. It would make it open season on all his northern missionaries. The verdict could not stand. They must be tried again.

Prime Minister Borden was anxious to give the Archbishop what he wanted. The Canadian Expeditionary Forces in Europe were stretched to the limit and the Prime Minister was preparing a bill for the conscription of soldiers. He knew Quebec would strongly oppose it. Only two weeks before, the multilingual Bruchési had made a stirring speech to French Canadians, insisting that they owed a debt to their mother country and that every able-bodied man should enlist. If the conscription bill was going to pass, he would need Archbishop Bruchési’s continued support. So in return, the Archbishop would have his second trial.

“I’ll hand-pick the jury myself,” Justice Harvey had assured the Attorney General. “And it will be a more … aggressive prosecution. Given the evidence against them, I was counting on a cut-and-dried guilty verdict. I thought we should be easy with them. I won’t make that mistake again.”

The Attorney General said he would let the Prime Minister know.

THE PRELIMINARIES
of the second trial of the Eskimos began two mornings after their arrest, when jury selection was complete. Everyone was back in their seats, McCaul, Wallbridge, Justice Harvey, Bishop Breynat, and his assisting priest. And a new jury. The courtroom was as crowded as before, and just as warm, with the brass fans turning slowly, the familiar periodic squeak of one making it all as it was. Justice Harvey declared the court in session and immediately Wallbridge stood up before the bench.

“With all respect, Justice Harvey, given the fact that you have already expressed your opinions as to the guilt of the prisoners, I demand we secure a new presiding judge.”

Justice Harvey replied in a tone that left no room for resistance. “I have made inquiries, Mr. Wallbridge, and all other judges are on summer recess. Therefore I shall be forced to preside. Now sit down.”

In the presence of the same press and Keedy’s intrepid law students, jury selection had taken place. Justice Harvey was anxious for a conclusion to this business and warned the court, “I would like matters dealt with as speedily as possible.” He had compiled a list of jurists from Calgary, all Roman Catholics. They had taken the morning train to Edmonton. Wallbridge’s objections to four of the particularly devout were systematically denied.

The two accused were brought in with Angituk. At the request of Justice Harvey, Bishop Breynat uttered a prayer, asking for wisdom and justice “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” The jurists all gave the “Amen” and Wallbridge’s heart sank as everyone crossed themselves. Bishop Breynat and his colleagues were satisfied.

Uluksuk, his body thin, his step hesitant, seemed almost in a trance as a worried Sinnisiak helped him to walk to the prisoners’ bench and sit down. To Creed he looked as if he had aged twenty years. Mainprize wrote in his column of his alarm over the shaman’s failing health.

McCaul began his prosecution by telling the jury that it was their moral duty to find the accused guilty. Justice Harvey denied Wallbridge’s objection to this statement almost before it was out of his mouth. McCaul continued.

“Canadians are determined to develop the North, and I urge you men of the jury to execute your judgment not merely to avenge the deaths of Fathers Rouvière and Le Roux, but to ensure a lesson will be taught to the Eskimos to respect the white man’s laws, the laws of humanity, the laws of God. Only then will the North be safe.”

Wallbridge flinched at the use of the word “avenge” because this was exactly the direction McCaul had denied he would take the prosecution in the first trial. He had said this was a system of impartial justice. But maybe not this time.

The trial proceeded much like the first one. Father Duchaussois read tearfully from the diaries of his friend Father Rouvière. Creed described finding the remains of the priests and repeated the conclusions from his investigations. He began to retrace his discussions with Koeha, but McCaul hurried him past them, especially Koeha’s recollections of Father Le Roux’s bad mood and of his confrontation with Kormik in the hunting camp over the rifle. And when Creed told of the arrests, McCaul interrupted Creed’s description of how docile and co-operative they had been for the months of the return journey.

However, in the cross-examination this was exactly what Wallbridge encouraged him to talk about. He wanted to hear the story that Koeha had told of Father Le Roux’s altercation and the hurried departure, but repeated objections slowed Creed to a stop. Wallbridge wanted the court to hear the details of how the accused saved Creed’s life, but they were deemed irrelevant: the episode did not have bearing on the case at hand. As Creed revealed his frustration and talked over the objections to state the remorse demonstrated by the accused, McCaul came forward and asked the Justice to have a word with his witness. Justice Harvey called Creed to the bench for a private chat.

“Is it possible, Inspector Creed, you have forgotten you are a police officer and witness for the Crown? Govern yourself accordingly.”

Before Creed stepped down, McCaul asked to be permitted one last question. “As you look to the future, Inspector, don’t you realize we have an obligation to help these people, to bring them into the twentieth century, to present them all the advantages of our society, teach them justice and fair governance, and give them all the benefits of modern civilization?”

In the moment of silence that followed, the pencils of Mainprize and his colleagues could be heard scratching quickly. Creed’s eyes looked over at Uluksuk and Sinnisiak and then settled on Angituk.

“Those of us with the good fortune to have seen these people living their strenuous, healthy lives”—he looked out over the courtroom—”couldn’t wish them a better fate than having our civilization kept at arm’s length from them for as long as possible.”

WALLBRIDGE CALLED JOHN HORNBY,
who had delayed his enlistment trip east to appear as a witness for the defence. Wallbridge asked him to speak of the irascible disposition of Father Le Roux, but Justice Harvey dismissed him, saying that his opinions had no bearing on the case. Wallbridge then called old Koeha, who had proven an invaluable witness for the defence in the first trial. But when his name was called, he did not appear. Corporal Oberly reported to the court his belief that the hunter had had enough and had left on the train the day before. Harvey ruled they would proceed without him. Wallbridge moved on to his final witnesses: the accused.