Read Online Soapstone Signs by Jeff Pinkney - Free Book Online Page A

carving is already inside it.
    â€œGive it here,” my big brother says. “I’ll smash it open, and then we’ll see what’s inside it.”
    I hold it tightly. After all, it chose me, not him.
    I put it under my pillow. I wonder if it will ever speak to me or give me a sign.

    That night I dream of the bear cub that comes to the garbage pails out back, and I wake up very excited. I wonder if that counts as a sign.
    When I join Lindy on the riverbank, I tell him about my dream. He nods, then hands me a rasp file. “You’d better carve that bear cub out of there.”
    â€œWill my signs always come in dreams?” I say.
    â€œNot always, but sometimes.”
    â€œWhere else will I get my signs?”
    â€œEverywhere, from everything. Stay open to the world around you. You will learn to understand your signs.”
    I work with Lindy all day. Mom brings us lunch by the riverbank. Tourists come to watch us. Some of them want to know what I am carving, but I just smile and say, “Work in progress.”
    By suppertime, Lindy has made an owl and a walrus. He has already sold them, plus all the other ones he’s made since he arrived at our lodge.
    I finally finish my carving. The bear’s head is crooked, and its neck too short. I have not left enough stone for one of the ears, and I’ve forgotten that bear cubs have small tails. I am feeling a bit ashamed of it. Then Lindy takes my stone carving in his hands. “That is a very good bear cub,” he says. I start to feel better.
    My brother says it looks like roadkill. Dad looks it over carefully, then digs through his toolbox and gives me a rasp file for keeps. Mom asks my permission to put the bear cub in the display case, and I feel very proud.
    Lindy stays for as many days as it takes to carve the soapstone pieces in his sack. Mom and Dad always invite him to stay longer, but he never does. Mom packs him some sandwiches. Dad lets me walk him down the tracks to the marker line that tells the train our stop is coming.
    At the marker, Lindy stops and shakes my hand like I am a grown-up. He hands me his burlap sack. There are still three nice pieces of soapstone in it.

    â€œI think you are going to be a very good carver,” he tells me.
    â€œ Meegwetch ,” I say.
    â€œThank you also,” he says.
    I watch him disappear to the south. I will practice listening to the stone. I will be ready for the signs. I will wait for the ice to break up on the river and for the geese to fly back home. Most of all, I will watch for Lindy to arrive again. When he does, I will show him my carvings.

Blueberries, Blackflies and Belugas:
A Summer Encounter
    I saw wapamegwak from the school boat in the last week of school before the summer holiday. I’m sure I did, because sometimes beluga whales swim in from the bay to spend time in the river. But there was just a hint of them way off in the distance toward the bay. “There’s the whales!” I yelled. Everyone looked, but no one else saw them. Some big kids said I was only seeing the whitecaps on faraway waves. They asked me on the way home where my “invisible belugas” were.
    Lindy uses white stones called gypsum that he’s found along the riverbank to carve beluga whales that the tourists love to buy. Except he would say “wapameg,” or “wapamegwak” for more than one. That’s beluga and whale in one Cree word.
    Every year after the blueberries come out, Mom paddles downriver and camps overnight. She usually goes alone so she can spend some special time remembering. When she gets home, it’s blueberry bannock and pies for everyone. This year is different. She has invited me to go with her, and I am excited. I’ve been camping with the whole family but never just with Mom. We will pick some berries and make a campfire. If I am lucky, maybe I will hear some stories. But I am mostly excited because I know that wapamegwak