“Now we need something from you,” said Dennis. “Nathan, I need you to say out loud that you are cooperating with us willingly in this investigation. It’s just a formality, but I need you to speak into this thing.”
Nathan nodded and said the words into a little tape recorder. I didn’t understand why they needed a verbal statement as well as a written one.
“Okay, let’s get this deal going. You ready?” Dennis said to me.
I nodded.
He took out a cell phone and gave it to Nathan. “This is a burner phone, can’t be traced to anyone. You don’t call anyone else with this phone. There’s one phone number programmed in there: mine. We need you to start frequenting with the dealers again. Talk with them, hang around or whatever, but don’t be obvious. Just act normal. You see them lately?”
Nathan shook his head. “No, they usually kick it on the picnic tables behind the football field. Since I got back, I been going straight home after school.”
“All right, start visiting with them again, but ease into it. When you’re ready, ask to buy a small amount—one hit. Don’t ask to buy heavy weight. Then call me the day before the buy so we can get everything in place. I’ll give you some money, go over a few things. You won’t wear a wire for that buy, but I’ll need to get a statement from you after it’s done. Also, whatever you buy from these guys, save it and give it to us for evidence.”
Nathan had a bored look on his face.
“And one more thing. You can’t get in any more trouble, so don’t take any drugs. No pills, no junk, no pot—from anyone. You get busted again, we can’t do anything for you.”
“I’m done with that stuff,” Nathan said. “I told you, it was only one time!” I knew he’d fooled around with weed in the past, but I’d talk to him later and make sure he kept clean.
“Just letting you know. After you do the first buy, you’ll set up the next one. Maybe go back a few days later, ask if you can get more. That’s what they want, they’re trying to get regular customers. Call me on the burner after you talk with them and we’ll meet again. We’ll give you the device then. It’s not actually a wire, that’s just in the movies.”
Dennis held up his hand. “Okay, last point, and it’s important. If there’s a problem or you need help, anytime, you call me on this phone and say, how about, ‘Going to a friend’s house,’ and we’ll come right away. Got it? ‘Going to a friend’s house.’ That’s the emergency code.”
I didn’t like the sound of this. “What kind of problem? What do you mean?”
“Standard procedure, it’s just a way to signal us if there’s a need. The deal will go smoothly, but we always build in a way for a CI to contact us. Think of it as added protection for him. Like an insurance policy.”
This sounded like Trust us, Indian people again, but what could I say? The wheels were turning as Nathan began his transformation to criminal informant.
“Will I be able to listen in?” I asked. “In the van, or whatever you guys use?”
Dennis looked at the prosecutor. Stan made a little movement with his head.
“All right. Because I know you and given that he’s a minor, you can ride along. But we’ll need you to keep your mouth shut.”
We’d see about that.
THE NEXT DAY, MARIE came by the house right after Nathan had gone to school. I wanted to tell her about the meeting with the lawyer, but something in her face made me wait.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I asked.
“No, I’m driving out to Pine Ridge. Got a meeting with a buffalo company—one of the biggest ranches around. They’re willing to sell us bison! For the commod boxes. Remember, the grant we got?”
I threw away the last bit of my toast. “Yeah, I remember. That’s good news. Did you sign a contract?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m waiting on Wayne from the tribal committee to approve the deal. But there’s no reason not to go with these guys. They’re giving us a great price and it’s grass-fed bison, humanely slaughtered. And they’re a minority-owned business—could be a tax break. Looks like we’ll finally get some decent meat in the boxes.”
I toasted her with my coffee cup. “Nice job. Maybe they’ll make you the manager of the program, get rid of Delia.”
“I hope,” she said. “Hey, you mind if I put on some tea?”
She took out some of the tea she had stashed in her bag. I wondered if something was up besides the buffalo meat. Back in the day, whenever Marie had wanted to sit down for a talk, she’d brew some funky tea, a blend called Sparrow’s Tears her mother had bought in San Francisco. She said the tea calmed her. I knew we were in for a long discussion whenever I saw the bird tea come out. Now it was steeping in the little pot.
“You want some?” she said, pointing with her lips at the tea.
“No thanks, I’ll just finish off the coffee.” I poured the dregs into my cup as I watched her out of the corner of my eye. The coffee had been simmering so long, it looked like black asphalt and smelled like old cigarette butts. She sat down at the table.
“So, I got a letter in the mail.”
“Yeah?”
“You remember I applied to medical school?”
How could I forget?
“Well, the University of New Mexico gave me their answer.”
By the look on her face, I could tell it was bad news. “Hey, don’t worry about it; there are other schools—”
“I got in. And they offered me a partial scholarship.”
It took me a moment to process. Scholarship in New Mexico?
“Congratulations,” I said. “Where’s the school again?”
“Albuquerque. About ten hours by car.”
“That’s not so far.” It seemed like a million miles away.
“I guess so. Never been there. I applied because they’ve got one of the best internal med programs around. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get in, much less a scholarship. Thought I might have a chance at USD, but not New Mexico.”
“You don’t seem too excited.”
“It’s a lot to take in. And there’s something else. The scholarship requires you to stay in New Mexico after graduation.”
“You have to do what?”
“To get the scholarship, I have to agree to practice medicine in New Mexico for at least five years after I graduate.”
“Oh.” I was beginning to understand. Marie was telling me that she’d be leaving the rez for a long time. “Did you tell them yes?”
She finished the rest of her tea. “Not yet. The deadline to send my deposit is two months from now. I’ve got some time to think about it.”
Even though I usually drank my coffee black, I added four teaspoons of sugar to my cup, took a sip, then dumped the whole thing into the sink. I watched the sugary mess flow down the drain.
“Why don’t we celebrate?” I said, looking at my empty cup. “We could go out to dinner, drive to Valentine or Rapid City.”
“That’s sweet of you, but how about if I cook? I’ve been learning some things at the restaurant, like to try them out. I need to tell my parents too. Maybe we should have dinner there, Saturday night.”
AND SO WE WENT to Marie’s family house, the one she’d grown up in. I’d been there years ago and remembered it well. It was located a long way from town and was spacious and modern, unlike most houses on the rez. Their place wasn’t constructed by the government, but had originally been built by a white ranching family. A lot of people who’ve never been on a reservation probably assume that the entire population consists of Indians only. In reality, a large number of wasicus had gotten reservation land during the allotment years in the late 1800s, when the federal government passed a law dividing most reservations into 160-acre parcels, awarding the majority of the plots to Natives but giving a sizable number to—surprise—white farmers and ranchers. So much for “This land shall be yours as long as the grass shall grow.” Decades later, Ben Short Bear had managed to purchase his little pi
ece of land from the white owners. He’d renovated the house and raised two daughters there, all on a tribal councilman’s salary, supplemented by his wife’s family money.
I rang the doorbell, Nathan trailing behind me. I’d made him ditch his hoodie and wear his cleanest shirt, a checkered red flannel button-up two sizes too big for him. I’d dug up an old Dickies denim shirt, the best I could do. Marie was already there, having started cooking earlier in the day.
Ben answered the door, leading us into the large family room, where Ann, Marie, and Lack were already seated and drinking white wine, along with two people I didn’t recognize. I was introduced to Brandi Little Moon, who’d been brought by Lack, and her daughter Shawna. Brandi worked at the casino and had recently transferred from the front desk to a job in the restaurant. She told me that her daughter went to St. Francis Indian School, the former Catholic high school now operated by the tribe. Shawna had bright pink hair, two piercings below her lower lip, and looked bored stiff while the little dog Ava nestled in her lap. I introduced Nathan to Shawna and they immediately ran off to the backyard together, followed by Ava.
Marie brought me a soft drink—some organic soda I didn’t recognize—and excused herself to get back to the cooking. Lack went with her, which left me in the uncomfortable position of being in the conversation with Ben, Ann, and Brandi.
“How old is Nathan?” asked Brandi. I could tell from her clipped rez accent that she was from here. Long black hair, slim, Native print skirt. She’d dressed for the occasion. I wondered what the deal was between her and Lack.
“He’s fourteen, in ninth grade at TC.” I wondered how much Ann had told Brandi about Nathan’s legal problems.
“Does he like it there?”
“Yeah, I think so. He’s been bullied by some of the older kids, but he’s doing okay. He won’t tell me much.”
“It’s the same with Shawna. I don’t know, it’s like some kind of law with kids—when they get to be teenagers, they stop talking to their parents.”
Ann piped in. “Virgil isn’t Nathan’s father; he’s a legal guardian.”
Shit, what did that have to do with anything? Ann Short Bear didn’t like me, that was clear, but I’d hoped maybe I’d get a pass for just one day.
“Does Shawna like it at St. Francis?” I asked.
“She likes it better now that she’s on the cross-country team. She has practice after school every day and some mornings, too. She’s so tired in the evenings that she falls asleep at eight thirty.”
Interesting. I wouldn’t have guessed that from the kid’s appearance—she didn’t look like the sports type.
“I’m really glad she joined the team,” Brandi continued. “She came in fourth place at her last meet; now she’s talking about running at college. Maybe at USD, she’s not sure yet.”
Ann poured herself another glass of wine. “Our older daughter went to Dartmouth and was very happy there. She originally wanted to major in Native American studies, but we convinced her to switch to economics. Dartmouth doesn’t have an undergraduate business program, which is a little outrageous, given what they charge for tuition.”
“Dartmouth?” Brandi said. “Where’s that?”
“New Hampshire, dear.”
I knew it was time to take a break, so I excused myself to go to the backyard and smoke a cigarette. I found a spot where I could be alone for a few minutes and lit up. The little dog sidled up to me and I stroked her head, her eyes closing in sheer contentment. After a few puffs, I realized that I could hear some people talking faintly but couldn’t see who it was. Then the wind shifted and I could hear a bit more clearly. Shawna and Nathan.
You know St. Francis is mostly Indians there’s like one white kid in the whole school
Todd County is I don’t know a mix I chill with pretty much anyone
What are you gonna do after graduation you gonna work or go to college
I don’t know just trying to get through this year I was thinking about Sinte a while back
I got my CDIB it was stupid why do I have prove I’m Indian but I guess I need it for scholarships or whatever but I’m on the cross-country team maybe I can get a running scholarship
That’s cool
I started running last year my best friend killed herself I just felt like sad all the time so I joined the team I don’t know why
Yeah we had two kids kill themselves last year it sucked
You know our ancestors didn’t have to go to college or worry about stuff they just hunted and lived life
Yeah but like what are you gonna do go hunting for buffalo right
I’m like really scared to leave the rez for college my mom wants me to stay but there are like no jobs here what does your dad say
He’s not my dad he’s my uncle
Oh sorry
It’s cool I didn’t really know my dad my mom died in a car wreck like years ago
Sorry
It’s all good he’s like my dad now but I really miss my mom you probably think this is stupid but I try to think of her every night before I go to sleep I hit up my memory and try to come up with one thing to remember about her I make sure I remember it in the morning when I wake up
AT THAT POINT I had to leave. I went back to the living room, where Ann was telling Brandi about New England airports and how terrible and uncomfortable air travel had become. I had nothing to add to this, so I looked around the room as I listened, noticing the large collection of Native art and artifacts displayed on the shelves. There was one large series of photographs hanging up that showed a man in profile. On one side he looked Indian, clean shaven with long hair. On the other side, he looked Latino, with shorter hair and a mustache. In the middle was a pic of the guy head on—he had long hair on one side of his head and short hair on the other. Half a mustache, too. Ann saw me looking at the prints.
“James Luna. It’s called Half Indian/Half Mexican. That’s the original.”
I didn’t know what she meant, but kept looking at the pictures. The guy in the photos reminded me of some dudes I used to work with at a construction site in Rapid City.
Marie returned to the family room then and told us the meal was ready. Brandi retrieved the teenagers from out back, and we all moved to the formal dining room, where there were complicated place settings on the distressed wood dining table. In the center was an elaborate wicker basket that looked Native, although it had a different design than I usually saw around here. Ann saw me looking at it. “That’s a handwoven Navajo protection basket,” she said. “We got it while visiting friends in Shiprock. It’s over a hundred years old.”
“Jeez, Mom, couldn’t you buy art from some of our people?” Marie said.
“Thank you, dear, for your input. As you know, I do support local Lakota artisans. But that basket is beautiful and historic.”
Lack walked in, carrying a tray of food. “Today we have a wild green salad, locally sourced turkey with braised acorn sauce, and roasted tinpsila with sage—wild turnips that Marie located. Bravo to her for her turnip-hunting skills. I’m happy to tell you that Marie prepared the entire meal today; I just gave her some direction. She is a very gifted cook.”
“Lack, you are too sweet,” said Marie. “This is your food, no matter what you say, and we’re grateful you’re starting to change indigenous cuisine. I’ll let you all know that I’ve cleansed my kitchen of wheat and gluten and sugar. From now on, I’m only eating real food.”
The meal was served, and it was excellent, just as Lack had promised. Nathan didn’t say a word during the feast but ate an astonishing amount. I had to remind him to make sure everyone had been served seconds before he inhaled the rest. Marie made coffee—some brand I hadn’t seen called New Mexico Piñon—and Lack served small dishes of fresh berries for dessert.
After we finished with the fruit, Brandi turned to me and whispered, “Can we get wateca?” Knowing Ann and her feelings about rez customs, I shook my head a little. There was no way Ann would let peo
ple take home leftovers. She’d rather die than allow a wateca battle. Brandi looked at me with an expression of pure sadness.
“Uh, I suppose I have an announcement, everyone,” Marie said.
The whole table looked at her. Ann had a look of distress on her face, and I could guess what she was expecting Marie to say. Something about our relationship. She was probably imagining that Marie was pregnant or engaged or tied to me in some way.
“I think most everybody here knows I applied to medical school about six months ago. Brandi and Shawna, sorry about this boring stuff.” Brandi raised her hand and smiled. “So, I’ve been accepted at U of New Mexico med. In Albuquerque. That’s all.”
Ann let out a loud shriek that startled us all. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it. Your sister will be so proud. We’ll start packing right away.”
“Mom, I haven’t accepted their offer yet. It’s a big decision, because I’d have to do my residency in New Mexico and stay there five years after that. I don’t know I’m ready to leave Rosebud for that long. I mean, the whole point of becoming a doctor is to help our people.”
I could see the irritation blooming in Ann’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is your chance to get out of here and become a professional. Someone respected. You can help the Indians in New Mexico and then come back here if you’d like. There’s no question you are going to move there for your schooling.”
“Mom, we can talk about this later. I’m excited, but I need to think this through, decide if it’s the right time. And I’m still waiting to hear from South Dakota’s med school.”
“My dear,” said Ann, “there is nothing to think about. Tomorrow you will send your confirmation or your deposit or whatever it is you need to send. And that’s that.”
I thought I should let Marie and her mother have their discussion without me, so I sneaked out back for another smoke while the conversation swirled.
“Let’s go over there.”
Startled, I looked behind me and saw Ben Short Bear. We walked behind a tin toolshed.
“Wanted to talk to you before you left. Seemed like a good time. They’ll be in there a while fighting. Nothing new. So, what’s the deal with Nathan and Rick Crow? I called Charley Leader Charge, but he says he can’t talk to me now that he’s Nathan’s lawyer.”
Winter Counts Page 17