Moral ambiguity at full draw For nine days, last autumn, with Nova Scotian archers on their deer hunt in Chignecto Game Sanctuary, I carried a black scribbler of 120 pages. I used it twice: first for a note, “confession and fellowship,” and then for a mess tin cover to speed boiling water for tea one rainy noon in the woods.
Happy at home with Pierre Vallières On this late afternoon the city is encrusted with a cover of snow and ice. A fine spray of freezing rain adds a final note of despair to the greyness of the day. My taxi is heading east. We are in a predominantly French working-class district of Montreal, known to its inhabitants as the Plateau Mont Royal.
Expatriates are interesting. They inhabit a special no-man’sland all their own, between two perspectives, two loyalties. They live in the half-home, spiritually speaking, of the displacement camp. So do rich New Yorkers, I’ve decided.
My grandfather was an Indian doctor and a respected leader of his people, and during his last 10 years of life, which were also my first 10, I saw a proud man stripped of his dignity and pride. I saw his face as the priests told our people that if they listened to him, or sought his advice, they would burn in hell.
The story you want is part of the Maclean’s Archives. To access it, log in here or sign up for your free 30-day trial.
Experience anything and everything Maclean's has ever published — over 3,500 issues and 150,000 articles, images and advertisements — since 1905. Browse on your own, or explore our curated collections and timely recommendations.WATCH THIS VIDEO for highlights of everything the Maclean's Archives has to offer.