Read Online Kolymsky Heights by Lionel Davidson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lionel Davidson
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Bible stories sounded even stranger than tribal stories. It was only in English and as a committed churchgoer himself that he had been able to distinguish the truth of Bible stories from the foolishness of tribal ones. For instance, in English Jesus sounded wonderful, but in K’san he sounded crazy. The boys had to be discouraged from even thinking in native languages.
Brother Eustace frowned and said the boys already were punished if caught speaking these languages.
And a good thing too, the uncle said. But first you had to catch them. And to know what they were saying – not easy in a Vancouver dormitory. For a Nass would not tell on a Nass, nor a Tsimshean on a Tsimshean, and others could not understand their languages. He knew these devious people,and in dealing with them himself he had lately taken the precaution … In fact it would be a very good idea if – But no. No, it wouldn’t. It would be a bad idea, and too great a sacrifice for him.
Brother Eustace looked at him closely.
What sacrifice? he said.
Falteringly, the uncle explained. He happened to have a nephew who understood both Tsimshean and Nisqa as easily as K’san. The boy was naturally gifted in that way, and a wonderful help to him. He accurately reported what these tricky people said among themselves, and had saved him much time and money. Just at that moment it had struck him that the clever boy would be as great a boon to the mission as to himself. But no. He couldn’t give him up. All the same … He didn’t want to stand between the mission and such a useful aid. Or between the boy and a proper education. But still –
But still, Brother Eustace said, he would see this boy.
A week later Jean-Baptiste Porteur joined the mission school (and lost his fancy name for the no-nonsense Johnny Porter) and ten weeks afterwards accompanied it to Vancouver. Six months later, despite high promise as a pupil, he left, by way of a window, sick of being strapped for not telling on his schoolmates.
He found himself in a quandary. He couldn’t go back to his uncle, and he couldn’t go home. He went to the harbour and hung about there, washing up in diners and bars, before coming to the conclusion that the only thing for him was to get on a ship. Shortly afterwards, he found one that would take him and signed on. For the following three years, he sailed the world. There was regular traffic between Vancouver and Yokohama, and between Yokohama and everywhere else, so that for lengthy periods he did not see Vancouver again. But he was back in the port and walking in the street one day when a hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to find Brother Eustace.
‘Porter? It is Porter – surely!’
The last time he had seen the hand, a strap had been in it. Now it was being held out to him to shake.
‘Hi, Brother,’ he said, and shook it. He now towered over Brother Eustace.
‘I am delighted to see you, Porter! I can’t tell you how delighted I am! Whatever happened to you, my boy?’
Soon afterwards, over a meal, he was telling Brother Eustace what had happened to him. And Brother Eustace in turn was telling him the reason for his special delight. It was providential, he said. It was an act of God. Porter had been the most promising boy in the school, and here, today this very morning, he had been asked by the government to forward the names of promising Indian boys for special treatment, for an assured life of leadership and prominence, for higher education. He had been racking his brains, and here – Porter!
School, Porter thought, no.
I can’t go back to school, he told Brother Eustace.
My dear boy, it isn’t school! Not school! his old teacher said excitedly. You will need preparation, surely. Which I will be more than happy to undertake. The exam isn’t the normal one but an assessment of intelligence, ability. You’ll sail through it.
Well, Porter thought, he had sailed enough sea. He was now sick of the sea. Maybe this was worth a
Brother Eustace frowned and said the boys already were punished if caught speaking these languages.
And a good thing too, the uncle said. But first you had to catch them. And to know what they were saying – not easy in a Vancouver dormitory. For a Nass would not tell on a Nass, nor a Tsimshean on a Tsimshean, and others could not understand their languages. He knew these devious people,and in dealing with them himself he had lately taken the precaution … In fact it would be a very good idea if – But no. No, it wouldn’t. It would be a bad idea, and too great a sacrifice for him.
Brother Eustace looked at him closely.
What sacrifice? he said.
Falteringly, the uncle explained. He happened to have a nephew who understood both Tsimshean and Nisqa as easily as K’san. The boy was naturally gifted in that way, and a wonderful help to him. He accurately reported what these tricky people said among themselves, and had saved him much time and money. Just at that moment it had struck him that the clever boy would be as great a boon to the mission as to himself. But no. He couldn’t give him up. All the same … He didn’t want to stand between the mission and such a useful aid. Or between the boy and a proper education. But still –
But still, Brother Eustace said, he would see this boy.
A week later Jean-Baptiste Porteur joined the mission school (and lost his fancy name for the no-nonsense Johnny Porter) and ten weeks afterwards accompanied it to Vancouver. Six months later, despite high promise as a pupil, he left, by way of a window, sick of being strapped for not telling on his schoolmates.
He found himself in a quandary. He couldn’t go back to his uncle, and he couldn’t go home. He went to the harbour and hung about there, washing up in diners and bars, before coming to the conclusion that the only thing for him was to get on a ship. Shortly afterwards, he found one that would take him and signed on. For the following three years, he sailed the world. There was regular traffic between Vancouver and Yokohama, and between Yokohama and everywhere else, so that for lengthy periods he did not see Vancouver again. But he was back in the port and walking in the street one day when a hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to find Brother Eustace.
‘Porter? It is Porter – surely!’
The last time he had seen the hand, a strap had been in it. Now it was being held out to him to shake.
‘Hi, Brother,’ he said, and shook it. He now towered over Brother Eustace.
‘I am delighted to see you, Porter! I can’t tell you how delighted I am! Whatever happened to you, my boy?’
Soon afterwards, over a meal, he was telling Brother Eustace what had happened to him. And Brother Eustace in turn was telling him the reason for his special delight. It was providential, he said. It was an act of God. Porter had been the most promising boy in the school, and here, today this very morning, he had been asked by the government to forward the names of promising Indian boys for special treatment, for an assured life of leadership and prominence, for higher education. He had been racking his brains, and here – Porter!
School, Porter thought, no.
I can’t go back to school, he told Brother Eustace.
My dear boy, it isn’t school! Not school! his old teacher said excitedly. You will need preparation, surely. Which I will be more than happy to undertake. The exam isn’t the normal one but an assessment of intelligence, ability. You’ll sail through it.
Well, Porter thought, he had sailed enough sea. He was now sick of the sea. Maybe this was worth a
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