The Life and Death of Eli and Jay

by Francis Gideon

  "Jay…" Eli said, lingering on a corner. "I…"

  "Come on, Eli." Jay linked their arms together, pulling him forward across the road. "We're here."

  *~*~*

  The party was in a large, two-storey house at the end of a block. Mark greeted them at the door, handed them drinks, and said he'd be back.

  "He won't be back," Jay said. "Or if he is, he'll bring other people so he doesn't have to talk."

  "Ah," Eli said. He didn't want to drink what he had been handed, but he liked the white cup. It gave him something to fidget with as he moved through the house, Jay by his side.

  "Mark's one of those guys who likes to have people around him, so he doesn't have to think too hard about what he's doing or who he is."

  "Because he's gay?"

  Jay looked back at Eli with a smirk. "Yeah, probably because he's really gay. And because he hates his job, he hates Saskatchewan, and wants to move to San Francisco or something ridiculous like that."

  "Why is leaving ridiculous?"

  "It's not," Jay said adamantly. "It only is if you keep complaining, but never delivering."

  "Is that why you left him?"

  Jay laughed. They paused in the kitchen, where the music wasn't quite as loud, and Jay began to go through the cupboards. As he pulled out bread and found mustard, Eli realized Jay was making himself a sandwich like it was no big deal. "You won't let that go, will you? I like that you think I left him, though. Thank you."

  Eli shrugged. When Jay offered him a sandwich too, he nodded along. "I'm just curious. About Mark, I mean."

  "I didn't say it was bad. Being curious is good." Jay handed him food and went digging in the cupboards until he found chips. "Mark is a good guy," Jay said after a while, "but he's like a chameleon. He becomes whoever he hangs around. And sometimes, he hangs around with shitty people. That's why we ended."

  "Ah," Eli said again. He took a bite of his sandwich, feeling insecure. He didn't know what to say to half the stuff going on. He could ask questions, but contributing made him feel even more out of depth than anything else before. Compared to Jay, he had no experience anywhere, doing anything. Soon, that would change, he reminded himself. He could do something good with whatever education or skill Tantoo urged him to pursue. But that was in the future, and Tantoo more than anyone knew that you couldn't always think too hard about that, or else you'd be lost.

  "You all right to leave the kitchen?" Jay asked, already done his sandwich. "I mean, I know it's a nice place—better than Mark's old apartment—but we should do some socializing."

  "Um. Sure." Eli finished what he had on his plate, before he grabbed his beer again.

  "That's probably warm. I can get you another."

  "No, no," Eli said, shaking his head and tightening his grip on the cup. "I like it."

  Jay nodded, seeming to understand. It was easier to fidget with beer than drink it, and when every single kid seemed to have a phone in front of their face to play with, the white cup was Eli's next best option. Jay still had his backpack over his shoulder, which he quickly slipped off.

  "Can I give this to you to watch? It's very important."

  Eli smiled. "Sure. I'm good at that."

  Jay's grin lingered, before there was a sudden boom of music in the house. Up until that moment, it had been mostly Top 40 pop stuff that the rez got CDs and tapes for years later. Now the music was something hyper-speed, mostly electronic, with fast lyrics that Eli couldn't make out, but Jay seemed to like. More people piled into the first floor as Mark greeted them by the door, handing out more drinks. Eli knew that his and Jay's conversation would be over now, but Jay still stuck close and guided him through the unfamiliar house. For what it was worth, Eli didn't mind being a shadow for the night, so long as Jay was willing to have him.

  As the party warmed up, Jay took Eli to sit on the stairs by the doorway. Mark put up a small banner behind them, so no one went upstairs, since this was still technically his aunt's house that he was paying rent on. In between small introductions that Jay whispered in Eli's ear, he found out more about Mark. He was almost thirty and had been working at a bank for the last five years, the stress of the job making his once-beautiful blonde hair turn ash-colour and then recede from his forehead. These parties were mostly for former friends he had gone to college with, but each time he held a new gathering, younger and younger crowds showed up. Eli watched as Mark danced with a freshman in college who still had acne marking his cheeks. The kid's sports jersey clashed against Mark's collared shirt and nice slacks, especially as he grinded up against him. Eli watched until their lips and tongues met in an obvious way, then turned away.

  "I know," Jay said, leaning close and whispering. "Mark's a chameleon. Not only does he turn into other people, he must press right up against them, too."

  Eli tried to laugh, but it was hard. He hoped he didn't seem this awkward to anyone else. After another round of close dancing with another someone who was probably too young for him, Mark came up to both Jay and Eli.

  "You want anything else to drink?"

  Eli held up his still-full cup. "I'm good."

  "Well, okay, but you have to come off the stairs. I want to introduce you to people."

  Eli glanced at Jay, checking if this was all right. Jay shrugged and got up, extending a hand to help up Eli, too.

  "So, Jay. And…?" Mark trailed of as he wove his way through the crowd. "Sorry, I forgot your name."

  "Eli," Jay said. "This is my good friend, Eli. We've known one another for years."

  Mark raised an eyebrow at the information—a slightly skeptical stare, and then another expression that Eli couldn't place.

  "No, Mark," Jay said after a moment. "We're just friends."

  "Ah." Mark pressed his lips together in deep understanding. "Then let me introduce you all to my other good friends."

  Mark winked—which seemed to anger Jay—before he pulled over a tall, black guy with brown eyes and a young Asian girl around his waist. "This is Darius and Mai. I work with Mai at the bank and…."

  "Darius intimidates you," Mai added with a wink. "But you sometimes like to talk about sports."

  Mark gave a weak laugh. "Yeah, yeah. Here are my friends from the rez."

  "The rez?" Mai asked.

  "Reservation."

  "Reserve, technically," Jay said, mocking Mark's tone just slightly. He extended his hand to Mai and Darius, and then Eli followed suit behind him. "We're technically on a government reserve—so think like a table at a fancy restaurant. We can't own the bar anymore, but they'll save us a table at the back of the room. No charge."

  Mai and Darius laughed politely, but it was clear to Eli that Jay's self-deprecating humour made them uncomfortable. Eli had never realized how much some people really didn't like to have anything about the power imbalance brought to the surface. Native people and Canadian relations were supposed to be part of history, not real life. And when Jay always joked, it was hard to laugh genuinely if you didn't get the punch line. Not many people ever did.

  There were a couple minutes of strained conversation as the five of them tried to figure out what they had in common. Not a lot, it turned out, especially since Eli shook his head to every single song suggestion that came over the speakers. Eventually, Darius and Mai made an excuse to leave, and Mark pulled over another group of guys that looked like him, but with slightly rounder bellies and thicker beards.

  "This is Chad and James," Mark introduced. "This is Eli and Jay."

  "Nice to meet you," Jay said, his voice stiff. He extended his hand and shook them quietly. Another woman came into the conversation, a tiny-but-loud girl named Debbie.

  "Eli and Jay?" she asked, repeating their names. "Are those your real names?"

  "Yeah," Eli answered. "Why wouldn't they be?"

  "I don't know." Debbie shrugged. "Aren't you supposed to have, like, earthy names?"

  "Jay's last name is Red Feather," Mark added—only to be met with Jay's glare.

  "
Yeah! Like that. See, that's a Native name. The other names are so normal."

  "Well, thank you," Jay said, not hiding his bitterness. "I'm glad we appear normal. I really get tired of playing the stoic Indian every so often."

  Eli nudged Jay, who only sent him a careful grin. Debbie continued to talk, though she was too loud for Eli to follow most of what she was saying. She was pretty drunk, too—almost everyone was drunk at this point and smoke, not all of it from cigarettes, clung to the air.

  "Do you guys believe in reincarnation?" Debbie asked.

  "Why?"

  "Because I always felt as if I was Native, you know? Like I used to be part of the heritage. It just speaks to me."

  Jay glanced at Eli before asking, "Do you know much about your bloodline?"

  "Yeah. Full of Germans and Irish and Scots."

  "So, no Natives?" Eli asked. She shook her head. "Well, you have your answer."

  "Yep. Very simple," Jay echoed.

  "Yeah, but what's blood, right? I'm talking about spirit. And my spirit is like Pocahontas."

  Eli furrowed his brow. He couldn't reconcile the notion of what this woman thought was Native culture—reincarnation and Pocahontas—and their own lived reality on the small government reserve, drawn up and handed over to them like a gift after dividing up what was already there with imaginary lines. How did that conflate with a watered-down Disney movie? A movie that Eli had seen countless times, since one of his teachers kept it on hand all the time to watch when there was nothing else to do. Why were they always equated to the made-up images of Native people and not to real ones? Even in the school system?

  When Eli looked to see Jay, he noticed the way his dark eyes furrowed. His jaw was tight, and even as Debbie continued to list off all the ways in which she was spiritually connected to them—blood be damned—he continued to fume.

  "Why does everyone want to be Pocahontas?" Jay asked.

  Debbie stopped, her eyes wide. "Because she's beautiful."

  "Even so, don't you know any other Native person? Or is it just Pocahontas?" When she was quiet, Jay went on. "Now, I don't want to be mean, but let's just look at the facts. There have been four hundred years between her death and yours. Millions—probably billions—of people have been born since then. If we're talking about spirits or souls going into someone else at the point of death, there are just too many people to account for. Even if reincarnation is real, you having Pocahontas' soul just can't be possible. Out of the millions of people, what makes you so special?"

  "Well, I … I just felt…"

  "You're not a Native princess. You're probably not even a normal Native soul, either. You're just a normal person. And besides," Jay went on, not giving her the chance, "you know there's a rez close by. Why not come and see it? I've never seen you there before, in spite of your connection to the earth. If you had gone, you would know this ain't fucking Disneyland. The rez is what's cut from Pocahontas' real story. Let me tell you: she didn't go with John willingly."

  "What about Sitting Bull? All those other people," Chad asked. "Forget the chick stuff about reincarnation; I bet those guys were bad ass. We could be like them."

  Jay looked at him, eyes on fire now. "Sitting Bull and all those other guys are a white man's dream. The dead Indian. Sitting Bull may be a hero, but he fucking died to get there. And I'm so sick of the Indians dying."

  "I get that, I get that," Chad said, nodding along. "'Cause you're disappearing, right?"

  Jay rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah. You should see us. We're like ghosts."

  "Ohhhh," Debbie cried, clearly not picking up on the sarcasm. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Someone should raise more awareness."

  Jay folded his arms across his chest. Eli watched as the conversation continued to unfold, in spite of all the ways in which Jay had tried to end it. Chad and James kept asking about other Native history they must have gotten from elementary school, since it was so simple and wrong. Jay had tried to deflect and tell them the proper story. Mark was gone now—on the other side of the party, his job to mingle his guests clearly done. That's when Eli realized that this had been a job. Mark had brought them to a party, not to make Jay feel better after his grandmother's death—not even to have sex with him again on the dirty mattress in the back room. They were there as entertainment. As storytellers, as sideshow pieces.

  Eli's eyes widened with realization. He tugged on Jay's arm, suddenly vulnerable to how their images were begin shaped without their permission. Jay's touched his hand in an attempt to calm Eli. When their eyes met, understanding passed between them. Jay did realize they were being used as a prop for the party—but now, after the initial wave of anger had swelled, Jay's eyes flickered with a better idea. A smile spread on his lips and he turned back to James and Chad.

  "You know, I've been unfair. I completely forgot that you guys don't know the story of White Rock and The Bull. So, how can I expect you to understand my position?"

  "Ohhh. What's that?" Debbie asked.

  "White Rock and the Bull?" Jay asked, his eyes going comically wide. "It's an enduring legend that's just been translated from Siksika. I can tell it to you all, if you want?"

  Every single blue eye in the house got wide. Even Darius and Mai's attention was captured again; they turned their bodies towards Eli and Jay, along with many others in the room. The music was turned down, probably by Mark, and within moments, Jay had his speaking arena. Jay cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together, sending a small wink to Eli.

  "Now, hundreds of years ago, on the Star Belt government reserve, there was a rock that was as white as snow. The rock hadn't always been that way. It started off a little gray, like most rocks are. But after the first son in a long winter of nothing but girls had been born, the rock turned. The elders brushed away the dirt, the snow, anything that could have been changing the rock's colour—but no, that rock was white all over now. The elders took this as a sign: the boy born when the white rock changed shall be a leader—and he was consulted with each and every tribal decision up until his fifteenth year."

  Jay's hands moved in large sweeping motions. Eli waited by the adjacent wall, close to the front door and stairway, where piles of shoes had been added as more guests arrived. As Jay talked, some people brought out their phones and began to record him. There were whispers back and forth as this was done, most people wondering whether or not the camera would steal Jay's soul. Eli noted that even if this lore had still been true, no one there cared enough to ask Jay. They may have acted worried, but not enough to stop doing what they wanted. When Jay noted some of the cameras, he smiled into them and began to play off being filmed, his movements more and more dramatic.

  "Now, the boy was fifteen when the bull entered the reserve. No one knew where the bull had come from, but one morning, they found him asleep against the white rock. This meant that the prophecy from years before would now come to fruition: the boy was to fight the bull, and the winner would lead the crowd into peace and civilization."

  Eli wrapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back the guffaw that was about to come out. He had never heard Jay tell this story before—but he knew how it would end. He backed away, closer to the door, and swung Jay's red backpack over his shoulder to prepare himself to leave in a hurry, if the time came. Jay's eyes caught Eli's and they nodded—a subtle understanding between them. Jay moved as he told the next bit, pretending to re-enact the battle with the bull as he got closer and closer to the party door.

  "The boy held the spear and lunged forward, but this bull was ten times wider than him. Bigger than a bear, even!" Jay shouted, then eyed Mark. In spite of all the times they had share together, Eli noted that Mark was just as clueless to Jay's story and what would happen next. He sat on the couch, beer in hand, completely enraptured.

  "The bull got a blow in—tearing the boy's side. No matter, the boy came up again and plunged his spear back into the side of the bull. Both of them now lay bleeding on the grass. The boy got weaker and weaker by
the second—but so did the bull. The boy realized that he could not defeat the creature with brute force. No one ever does with brute force. The boy realized he had to win this fight with his will. So he stood, blood still pouring from his side, and he remembered his grandmother's spell work, her chants from the gods." Jay cleared his throat and spoke a few words in Siksika, the Blackfoot language he and Eli had shared since birth. Eli bit his lip, understanding.

  "What does that mean?" someone whispered.

  "Hopefully, he'll translate. I mean, what good is the story, if the words…"

  "And then the bull fell down!" Jay clapped his hands together, the snap of skin echoing in the quiet living room. "He twisted and turned over the white rock, splashing blood everywhere, until he gave up. He laid there, four hooves in the air. The boy said more words—" Jay spoke more in Siksika, and Eli bit back a laugh. "And then the bull died. All of his insides fell out from the blows before—blood and shit—all over the rock. The boy had won. He became chief in his tribe: the best leader they had ever known. The rock hardened overnight with the bull and the blood all around. It was a monument to his defeat. And the boy ruled from it, sitting on the bull and its waste like a chair. His white rock—his throne."

  Jay paused now, his arms high in the air. When someone clapped, Jay bowed to signal the final end of his story. The room was in a tizzy for a moment, before Debbie's hand shot in the air as if this were a high school class.

  "What did the boy say?" she asked. "How am I supposed to get this story if I don't know?"

  "Ah, yes, that's what the ancient Native scholars have been working on for years." Jay stepped closer and closer to the house door, his movements barely discernible. He drew his hand to his chin, looking pensive, as he repeated the Siksika words. "This is a sacred statement among my tribe. It was my great-great-great grandfather who defeated the bull on the white rock, and it is my duty to pass along this story." Jay heaved another deep, dramatic sigh as he repeated the words and edged closer to the door. "Well, quite simply, it all means: stupid white people; they will believe anything, even bullshit."