Evan Tlesla Adams

JANICE’S CHRISTMAS

(The following is a monologue written for the New Play
Centre’s production of “Voices of Christmas” at the
Vancouver East Cultural Centre, December, 1992. It is a
retelling of actual events that occurred when I was a little
boy, during Christmas, 1972.)

Christmas ended for my family when I was five years
old, back home on the rez. Some days before Christmas,
Old Mabel’s house across from the graveyard had
burned down and three of my cousins had died. That
same night, my sister Janice - she was eight - asked my
father, “What happens when you die?” He was quiet for
a moment, then he answered, “You go to heaven.” “I
know,” she said, “you sit in the arms of Jesus.”

The next day, my dad was at work and my mom was at
her sister’s. My eldest sister Rose was looking after us.
She was fourteen. All us kids were running around the
yard as we usually do on a Sunday morning. Morgan, the
boy from next door, came outside. He had a rifle. He said
he was going to shoot some birds. All us boys ran along
behind him into the smokehouse. He closed the door
behind us. Pretty soon, we heard a “knock, knock,
knock.” Morgan opened the door - all these little girls
looking up at him. “Go away,” he yelled and slammed
the door, right on the tip of his rifle. Bang! Right near my
face. A little girl started to scream.

Morgan opened the smokehouse door just in time to see
one of the girls fall. She was crying, “My arm, my arm!”
By her long hair, I could tell it was my sister Janice.
Morgan ran and picked her up and started to run to-
wards our house. We all ran along behind him. He was

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