Read Online Fall from Grace by Wayne Arthurson - Free Book Online Page B

don’t, although my mom does now. Don’t ask why, ’cause she never really expressed any interest in getting one until after Dad died. But if you’re also asking if people would think of me as native, then I have no idea. It’s a huge gray area, especially considering that I look like my dad. Most people look at me and the words Aboriginal or First Nations, or even Indian, aren’t the first things that pop into their head. Why you asking anyway?”
    He rubbed the hair on the top of his head. “Well, the city is launching its new Aboriginal Outreach Program. They’re trying to improve relations with the Aboriginal communities in the city and they’re asking for a number of key businesses, the paper included, to appoint someone to be an ambassador of sorts to this program. And the publisher asked if I could find someone in the editorial department who could not only take up that role but also become an ad hoc Aboriginal issues reporter. Someone whose job it is to report and cover, only on a casual basis, mind you, Aboriginal events and stories. And I thought of you because I remembered that you told me one of your parents was native.”
    “Isn’t there anybody else? I mean, you got me on this ‘giving a face to the dead body’ story and now you want me to take on another role? Jeez, Larry, make up your mind, willya?”
    “It’s only a casual thing. I still want you on this other story. In fact, this will be your first story as the Aboriginal issues reporter, bringing to life the story of this poor girl. Nice work on the sidebar, by the way. You did a hell of a job capturing the scene.”
    “Yeah, thanks, Larry. But about this Aboriginal relations ambassador?”
    “Aboriginal issues reporter.”
    “Yeah, that. Isn’t there anybody else more suitable for this? Surely there must be someone else on staff with more … more native connections than me. How about Les Ghostkeeper? He’d be perfect. He’s got the Aboriginal name and, more importantly, he’s got the look, the braids and all that.”
    “Les is a shooter. If we need shots of a powwow or something else, we’ll send him. But we need someone who can write on this. And based on my research, you’re it.”
    “There’s nobody else in editorial that is a bit more native than me? Or at least looks more native than me?”
    Larry shook his head. “Nope. You’re our only native son.” He chuckled.
    “That’s not funny, Larry. And neither is the fact that I’m the most Aboriginal person on the editorial staff. I think the paper should rethink its hiring policy as it relates to minorities.”
    “Well, if more natives become journalists then we’ll think about it. But as of today, you’re it and you better get your coat.”
    “What the hell for?”
    “As I said, the city is launching its Aboriginal Outreach Program today,” he said, looking at his watch. “And it starts in about an hour. At the Native Friendship Centre on 101st. We want you to be there, make a short speech like the rest of the ambassadors about the importance of Aboriginal relations, and then write up a short piece. Lester will be there to get some shots.”
    “You want me to make a speech?”
    “Not a long one. And don’t worry, all the other ambassadors will be doing the same thing, so it’s no biggie. The important thing is that you’re there and that when it’s done you write a story.”
    There was only thing for me to do. “How many words?” I asked.

9
     
    The Native Friendship Centre was a concrete block of a building just north of downtown in what many people still called the inner city. The area had many features of what the term implies: decrepit houses, strolling prostitutes, stumbling drunks, discarded crack vials and used syringes. But it also had wide streets with large trees stretching over the road, old houses, families, single-parent and otherwise, eking out a living, and their kids hanging from swings and monkey bars while johns in cars picked up