253 26 when lance got home from work on Tuesday afternoon, he found an e-mail from the translation agency in Minneapolis in his inbox. He’d almost forgotten about the diary and Swamper Caribou. He opened the e-mail and read the brief message from the translator. She finished her message with the words: “This was unusually fascinating material to work with.” Then came some practical information regarding payment. After that it was just a matter of downloading the attachment with the translation so that he could read it. Lance felt more uneasy than he had in a long time. He was actually feeling sick to his stomach. It reminded him of something from his childhood, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe having to appear onstage during a Christmas celebration at school? Or coming home with his report card on the last day before summer vacation? Right now he felt something similar to that combination of solemn occasion and doomsday. Then he downloaded the attachment and opened the document. Suddenly the text was there, right in front of him: march. The boy arrived this morning. What a bitter cold he has endured! His face was like cold meat to the touch. His dreams are terrifying. He screams as we go about our daily chores. The children race anxiously past his bed every time they have to pass. My husband feels such great sorrow that it has not been possible for any of us to have peace in our hearts during this day. Thanks to God’s mercy he is still among the Vidar Sundstøl 254 living, but just barely. His thoughts merge with his dreams, and he speaks in delirium. Thank God that the children do not understand what he shouts in his dreams and feverish fantasies! Apparently he knows no English or French, but only the Norwegian language, which in my opinion can be learned only by a child who hears it sung at the cradle. A great and difficult task is now demanded of us. I promised Father François at the mission school that no lie would ever cross my lips. But when we removed all of his clothes, as we were forced to do, we saw two deep wounds in his right arm. I think that it is because of these wounds that he has lost most of his strength. My husband tried to ask him questions, but he would not tell us anything of what had happened to him. march. My husband does not think that his sister’s son will survive unless we can bring a doctor here or take the boy to a doctor. But every time he mentions this, the boy is seized with a terror that seems worse than his fear of dying. He still refuses to say anything about what happened to him, but it seems clear to us that he was in the cold water and nearly froze to death. But it is easy to see that someone stabbed him with a knife to give him those wounds. He refuses to talk about that, and we think that is the reason he does not want to be treated by a doctor. Because the doctor would ask how he had acquired those two wounds, and if he did not answer, the doctor might mention it to the authorities. It is clear to us that this is what he fears. But I have given this a lot of thought on my own, both last night and during the course of this day, and I am struggling to decide whether to tell my husband of my thoughts, because according to our beliefs, this is the work of the devil. What Nokomis taught me was not about the good, even though she was the most beloved, both then and forever. She lived in the darkness in which so many old people lived. But if I am now going to bring the boy back to health and save him from death, I will have to do as Nokomis taught me before I went to the mission school. march. Thanks be to God that we have managed to keep him on this side of death. He is past the worst of it now. I made [44.197.108.187] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 16:23 GMT) THE LAND OF DREAMS 255 him a decoction to drink, as I remember Nokomis doing, and something to spread on his wounds...