All our Sundays were exactly alike. They began on Saturday night after Bong the Chinaboy had washed up and gone away, after our toys, dolls and books, all but “The Peep of Day” and Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress had been stored away in drawers and boxes till Monday, and every…
Three red bulls–sluggish bestial creatures with white faces and morose bloodshot eyes–made me long to get away from the village. But I could not: there was no boat. I knew the roof and the ricketiness of every Indian woodshed. This was the steepest roof of them all, and I…
When the Indians told me about the Kitwancool totem poles, I said: “How can I get to Kitwancool?” “Dunno,” the Indians replied. White men told me about the Kitwancool poles too, but when I told them I wanted to go there, they advised me–“Keep out.” But the thought of…
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