The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich Page B
Authors: Louise Erdrich
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smash down, Agnes’s heart was touched with horror. The still cabin. The huddled forms. The unspeakable loneliness. Tears flashed again and Hildegarde, seeing this, slapped a dish towel on Father Damien’s arm.
“No use for that,” the nun grumped. “Now here, here, here, and here all died but two, I’ve heard—a stubborn girl, an old man. They live out there yet.”
“I must go to them.”
Sister Hildegarde agreed, but looked a bit worried. “Father Damien, they live way out in the bush, if they’re living at all yet. The older man is a stubborn, crafty, talkative sort, much resistant to conversion. The vile things he says, the reprobate! He had a big old toot with my communion wine two years ago. Sneaked it from my cellar cask. He’s too tricky to die, him. And the other, that Fleur. Truly the daughter of Satan, so they say. The two of them, almost the only ones to survive from their respective families, are rumored to have special powers.”
As the nun spoke, Agnes breathed in deep drafts to gather control of her sorrow, and when she had, she took on the studied authority she’d mustered in private.
“I’m always intrigued with special powers,” she said mildly. “What sort of skills do you mean?”
Hildegarde shrugged, dismissive. “The usual. Drumming their drums. Singing until it breaks your ears. Shaking stuffed skins, rattles, and bones, so I’ve heard. All ineffective against the slightest of colds.”
“I see.” Though Agnes did not see. “What else?”
“They are the last of their families, as I’ve said. I think that gives them some sort of conjuring skill. There are magicians among them, of course, cheap tricksters. They throw their voices and levitate. They scare the gullible to death and are said to wing balls of fire toward their enemies at night. We’ve seen a few, you know, whiz by us up here! Unimpressive!”
“So you believe in their skills.”
Hildegarde looked sharply at the priest.
“Believe, why yes, just as I believe it is possible to hide coins and pebbles behind the ears of small children and draw these objects forth to delight them. It is easy to mystify children. Their conjurers employ just such means to prey upon the gullible. That is all.”
I am sent here, thought Agnes, to accept and to absorb. I shall be a thick cloth. Therefore, she nodded and said nothing in answer, but only thanked the nun for speaking frankly.
Some Rules to Assist in My Transformation
Make requests in the form of orders.
Give compliments in the form of concessions.
Ask questions in the form of statements.
Exercises to enhance the muscles of the neck?
Admire women’s handiwork with copious amazement.
Stride, swing arms, stop abruptly, stroke chin.
Sharpen razor daily.
Advance no explanations.
Accept no explanations.
Hum an occasional resolute march.
A parishioner had left a Sears catalog near the door of the church, and Agnes rifled through it secretly, as much to revisit the clothing, the china, the unfamiliar feast of powders and perfumes, as to scheme a way to purchase Dr. Feem’s Scientific Programme of Muscular Expansion, a kit that involved a set of dumbbells, a book of directions, and one muscle tonic that promised to improve the tone of the entire upper body and another bottle that worked on the half below.
S PIRIT T ALK
1912
The reservation at the time was a place still fluid of definition, appearing solid only on a map, taking in and cutting out whole farms sometimes on the say-so of the commissioner, or the former agent Tatro, and other times attempting to right itself according to law. It was a place of shifting allegiances, new feuds and old animosities, a place of clan teasing, jealousy, comfort, and love. As with most other reservations, the government policy of attempting to excite pride in private ownership by doling parcels of land to individual Ojibwe flopped miserably and provided a feast of acquisition for hopeful farmers and
“No use for that,” the nun grumped. “Now here, here, here, and here all died but two, I’ve heard—a stubborn girl, an old man. They live out there yet.”
“I must go to them.”
Sister Hildegarde agreed, but looked a bit worried. “Father Damien, they live way out in the bush, if they’re living at all yet. The older man is a stubborn, crafty, talkative sort, much resistant to conversion. The vile things he says, the reprobate! He had a big old toot with my communion wine two years ago. Sneaked it from my cellar cask. He’s too tricky to die, him. And the other, that Fleur. Truly the daughter of Satan, so they say. The two of them, almost the only ones to survive from their respective families, are rumored to have special powers.”
As the nun spoke, Agnes breathed in deep drafts to gather control of her sorrow, and when she had, she took on the studied authority she’d mustered in private.
“I’m always intrigued with special powers,” she said mildly. “What sort of skills do you mean?”
Hildegarde shrugged, dismissive. “The usual. Drumming their drums. Singing until it breaks your ears. Shaking stuffed skins, rattles, and bones, so I’ve heard. All ineffective against the slightest of colds.”
“I see.” Though Agnes did not see. “What else?”
“They are the last of their families, as I’ve said. I think that gives them some sort of conjuring skill. There are magicians among them, of course, cheap tricksters. They throw their voices and levitate. They scare the gullible to death and are said to wing balls of fire toward their enemies at night. We’ve seen a few, you know, whiz by us up here! Unimpressive!”
“So you believe in their skills.”
Hildegarde looked sharply at the priest.
“Believe, why yes, just as I believe it is possible to hide coins and pebbles behind the ears of small children and draw these objects forth to delight them. It is easy to mystify children. Their conjurers employ just such means to prey upon the gullible. That is all.”
I am sent here, thought Agnes, to accept and to absorb. I shall be a thick cloth. Therefore, she nodded and said nothing in answer, but only thanked the nun for speaking frankly.
Some Rules to Assist in My Transformation
Make requests in the form of orders.
Give compliments in the form of concessions.
Ask questions in the form of statements.
Exercises to enhance the muscles of the neck?
Admire women’s handiwork with copious amazement.
Stride, swing arms, stop abruptly, stroke chin.
Sharpen razor daily.
Advance no explanations.
Accept no explanations.
Hum an occasional resolute march.
A parishioner had left a Sears catalog near the door of the church, and Agnes rifled through it secretly, as much to revisit the clothing, the china, the unfamiliar feast of powders and perfumes, as to scheme a way to purchase Dr. Feem’s Scientific Programme of Muscular Expansion, a kit that involved a set of dumbbells, a book of directions, and one muscle tonic that promised to improve the tone of the entire upper body and another bottle that worked on the half below.
S PIRIT T ALK
1912
The reservation at the time was a place still fluid of definition, appearing solid only on a map, taking in and cutting out whole farms sometimes on the say-so of the commissioner, or the former agent Tatro, and other times attempting to right itself according to law. It was a place of shifting allegiances, new feuds and old animosities, a place of clan teasing, jealousy, comfort, and love. As with most other reservations, the government policy of attempting to excite pride in private ownership by doling parcels of land to individual Ojibwe flopped miserably and provided a feast of acquisition for hopeful farmers and
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