Short Stories: Wise Tales

By Vartan Vahramian

These short stories are not just someone recalling certain events; instead they are expressions of feelings along with purpose, wisdom and certain guidance to be passed on to the next generation. This is the first series which are closer to home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483578019

Book preview

9781483578019

Alert Bay

In my student years in the university there was this fellow who had lost his mother at a young age. His father owned a mechanic shop. They used to live in a building which was a shop on the first floor and apartment upstairs.

He was a short fellow and kind of eccentric. We had lost touch after we finished our schooling. One day I was walking downtown Toronto when I ran into him. So we started talking over a cup of coffee in a restaurant.

He told me about his life, how he grew up alone with his father and he used to do the house work and cook etc. His father had died, and although he could have continued running his father’s shop, he had sold the building and came up with an incredible project.

Here it is;

In one of his travels he had ended up in a village on Vancouver Island named Alert Bay. This was a village of West Coast Indians who had tried to become a tourist attraction for the cruise ships that would stop on their way to Alaska.

So he had the chance to talk to the Village Elders and came up with a plan to help everyone.

He had leased the bay from the Federal Government for 99 years for a very cheap price, since at that time no one had an idea that a bay could be leased. Then he had gathered the women in the village and presented a business proposition.

Woman would gather plastic containers like the ones which you would buy bleach, almost a gallon size, close the top, tie a string to the handle, then about 12 feet of jute string, then a rock, so it would float on the water, in this case the bay. Then they would stick baby clams on the string and lower it in the water waiting for the clams to grow. With a timely rotation, they would paddle with their canoes to their farm, pull out each floating container, pick the grown clams and the baby clams, again with a bucket of glue in the canoe, they would stick the baby clams back on the string and lower the string and stone weight in the water.

There is this Japanese buyer who comes to the village with his refrigerated truck and buys the fresh clams, pays cash and gone again. No phone calls, no paperwork, no complications. That is the way they sell. As yet I find them on the Internet or any outside link.

He had succeeded to convince the women that this is their business, and the men are not to interfere. He explained that men go to the town and they spend the money without taking care of their family. This way, women were guaranteed a predictable income.

We talked a great deal about this subject, I asked some questions how it works, how much money he makes etc., but his answers were not so direct or convincing. Then all of a sudden as he had remembered something, he said that it is almost the time for him to go visit the people in Alert Bay and if I may be interested to come with him and see the whole thing with my own eyes rather than asking all these questions. So we came up with a date to leave together on the train to  Vancouver.

We arrived in Vancouver together, rented a car drove down to US to State of Washington. He bought a box of 500 bullets 30.06 and we brought it back to Vancouver with us. This was a gift he would take with him. Those days you could do such things since the terrorism and border security was not in the news.

So we went to Alert Bay taking the ferry then a car. You should have seen the crowed when we arrived in Alert Bay. The entire village was out and surrounded the car. We were like celebrities, everybody shaking hands, hugs and kisses.

That night there was a great fire outside, they roasted deer and fish and a big feast all placed in the Great Hall, yes on the floor and we began to talk, eat, music, dance, laughter. He was treated as the most important person in the village with the elders at his both sides. Then he presented the box of bullets as his gift to the men who would hunt for winter meat. Two women brought a hand carved wooden box, it was huge and looked heavy, almost 2 feet by 2 feet by about foot and a half high, and then they opened the top. I was shocked, it was full of cash, not bundled, and just piled on top of each other of different denominations.

He thanked everyone, kissed the little children, hugged the women, and shook hands with men. We stayed the night in a hut with all the trimmings which were authentic Indian craftsmanship and hospitality.

Next morning we went to see the Show Village. You see they have two villages about half a mile apart. The Show Village is close to the port where the ships come in. This is built as a living replica of their way of life with tipi etc. They dress up in their traditional costumes when they expect a cruise ship to arrive. They present their handicrafts, do act their everyday life including dances, horseback riding, etc. they also have very cute shops for souvenirs which they make themselves, nothing imported.

Now the secret about the souvenirs is that they don’t buy either raw material or finished imported souvenirs to sell. They make them themselves. Majority of their raw material comes from what tourist throw away. This I was shown as the plastic items which they collect and take to their main village which is as good and presentable town as any western town. It has some small factories where they grind and cast items such as totem poles, knife handles, etc. Paper and cardboard is also recycled into some unique rough paper used in their handicraft like small tipi etc.

When I asked why such complicated approach to their garbage is being done, their answer was that the Earth should be kept clean, since all that we have, comes from Mother Earth. By the way, they cremate their dead, and ashes are used in the pottery, which makes as good as china porcelain (bone china). The best Chinese ceramic is a mixture of clay and ash… The dead person gets another chance to live through the person who purchases the pottery, becomes useful again, and travels to far and interesting places.

We stayed 3 days which was the best and most interesting time I have had in any surroundings. I met a very beautiful girl. She was of mix of White and Indian, tall, big beautiful eyes, well built with long black shiny hair. We spent some time talking and exchanging ideas. That was when I found out that the literacy rate in their village is 100%. Most young men and women are college graduates; a high percentage had finished Masters and specialized in modern sciences. Then why a life far away from civilized world? The answer was the lowest possible stress, enough money to live a comfortable life with modern amenities, it was true, since I did not see any packaged food or store bought clothing or other frills that make the life complicated.

On our walks in the woods, she started gathering flowers, buds, leaves etc. She said if I dry them out and mix them together, it will become a brew that can cure almost anything. I called it jokingly jungle tea. This I brought home, dried it, mixed it and I brewed as tea and had it as a cure for the worst cold I ever had when I was in Edmonton, Alberta in the middle of winter, when it was well below -25 degrees. It worked, one cup, and I was ready to go out in the cold again. It stopped sneezing, cough and all the symptoms within 10 minutes.

When we got back to Vancouver, my friend was ready to go his way. He did not want to tell me where or when we will meet again. But he had made his point, all was true and a grand plan for him to have cash income while providing for others. When I asked if he would know how much money is in the box or did he ever count the money in the box. He laughed and said this is a gift, I’ll spend it until its gone, maybe do some good with it too, why should I know how much; they give me what they think is right, and that is plenty for me.

I have searched for my friend for years, he is nowhere to be found, and the villagers don’t know where he goes, where he stays, he has no address, no house, no telephone, and no car. He goes back to the village once a year, that I know, gets his money and he is gone again.

I have been beating my brains out to find something similar to do, to benefit me and others for a long time, but haven’t come up with anything yet.

Any ideas?

Cold River

For many years I have been going to Northern British Columbia to hunt around the end of October.

As always I have been going alone. The usual location is about an hour and a half drive on a dirt road west of St. George then walking for about one hour.

That year I was walking on the edge of a creek which had thin ice already forming on the banks, and there was a dust of snow on the ground. I was looking for a narrow part of the creek or some boulders which I could jump and cross it. It looked like the other side of the creek which had tall pine trees would be a good place to find black tail deer. To my right was the Frasier Plateau which was covered in dried up low grass and there was no game for miles to be found. The place was grazed out during the summer months.

While walking on the creek edge, without noticing, I put my left foot on a rock which gave away, and I fell in the creek. Luckily the creek was not too deep and I was up to my chest in the