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Lake Debating Society. They met practically every day on Judas James’s front porch. There, Judas James, Marty Yaahah, Gene Macdougal and Michael Mukwa held court, along with a case or two of beer, discussing the events of the day or week. Great philosophical issues were bandied about with enthusiasm. There were frequent associate members that occasionally joined in the discussions, but these four individuals were the core members of the society. They were a mainstay of the community, seldom moving from the porch, seldom without a beer in their hands, debating late into the night. All were well into their forties in both age and belt size. As the society members spent their days in debate, village cars would drive by, honking their encouragement of such cerebral endeavours.
    Today, the heated topic revolved around which of the
Gilligan’s Island
girls was the sexiest: Mary Ann or Ginger. They were almost coming to blows over this one. Judas and Marty were definitely Mary Ann fans. In their own lives both had married the “pretty girl next door,” while Michael Mukwa was waiting for a Movie Star to enter his life. Faith has often been described as belief without proof, and Michael had a lot of faith this would happen eventually. Gene, as usual, bucked the trend and voted for Mrs. Howell. The discussion moved into its fourth hour and second case of beer with little hope that a consensus would be achieved, and the debateexpanded to include similar comparisons, like the blonde chick from
I Dream of Jeannie
versus the blonde chick from
Bewitched:
who was cuter and who was more powerful? Suddenly finger-pointing and yelling had to cease because of another noise.
    “Judas, I think your furnace is acting up again.” Gene’s comment prompted more argument, this time about the noise, until the source of the growing racket stopped in front of the headquarters of the Otter Lake Debating Society.
    The members stared at the figure on the motorcycle. The figure turned its head to look back at them. It was a stalemate.
    “Judas, do you know him? Her? Is that a guy or a girl?” said Gene under his breath.
    Judas just shook his head.
    Then, as if finished taking stock of the group, the figure on the machine moved on. Everybody on the veranda that day was pretty sure nobody in the village had a motorcycle, let alone one like that. And nobody dressed like this newcomer, for sure. And there was something else… something they couldn’t really put their finger on. The rider was new here, yet in a way they couldn’t explain, he also wasn’t. Maybe it had something to do with that odd design on his helmet. From where they were sitting, it almost looked like some sort of bird. It was all so… complex.
    The Otter Lake Debating Society, for the first time in a long time, was struck silent.

FOUR
    Maggie’s 2002 Chrysler pulled up into her mother’s driveway. It had been a long day of work already, and it was only two-thirty, and it was a Saturday. There was still so much to do. The Otter Lake First Nation had recently bought a huge chunk of land adjacent to the Reserve, and this had introduced a whole whack of problems into Maggie’s political life, which far too often drifted into her personal life.
    First of all, the paperwork involved with turning the newly acquired parcel of land into Reserve land was enough to make the most die-hard civil servant cringe. There were three levels of government—four if you included the Reserve—that had to sign off on it. And of course, the idea of Native people getting more land was an absurd concept to most non-Natives. Five hundred years of colonization had told them you took land away from Native people, you didn’t let them buy it back. As a result, the local municipality was fighting tooth and nail to block the purchase. If it was transferred over to Otter Lake, and therefore into federal jurisdiction, it would mean a loss of revenue on three hundred acres of taxable municipal land. This