by Thomas King
Eli saw the man and told his uncle Orville, who quickly gathered up his two brothers and their sons and descended on the car. The guy must have seen the men coming because he slid off the car, climbed into the driver’s seat, rolled up all the windows, and locked the doors.
The men surrounded the station wagon. Orville motioned for the man inside to roll down his window. There was a woman sitting in the passenger seat and a little girl and a baby in the back. Orville tapped on the glass, and the man just smiled and nodded his head.
Things stayed like that for quite a while. The dancers finished, and as word went around, a large part of the camp moved in on the car. The baby in the car began to cry. Finally the man stopped smiling and began to wave at Orville, motioning for him and the rest of the people to get out of the way.
“Roll down your window,” Orville said, his voice low and controlled.
Instead, the man started his engine, revved it, as if he were going to drive right through the people. As soon as the man started the car, Orville’s brother, Leroy, went to his truck and grabbed his rifle off the rack. He walked to the front of the station wagon and held the gun over his head. The man in the car looked at Leroy for a moment, yelled something at his wife, and turned off the engine.
Then he rolled the window down just a crack. “What’s the problem?”
“This is our Sun Dance, you know.”
“No,” said the man. “I didn’t know. I thought it was a powwow or something.”
“No,” said Orville, “it isn’t a powwow. It’s our Sun Dance.”
“Well, I didn’t know that.”
“You can’t take pictures of the Sun Dance.”
“Well, I didn’t know that.”
“Now you know. So I have to ask you for the pictures you took.”
The man looked over at his wife, who nodded her head ever so slightly. “Well,” he said, “I didn’t take any pictures.”
“You got a camera,” Orville said.
“We’re on vacation,” said the man. “I was going to take some pictures of your little powwow, but I didn’t.”
Orville looked at Leroy, who was still standing in front of the car, the rifle cradled in his arms. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” said the man. “That’s the truth. Take it or leave it.”
Orville put his hand on Eli’s shoulder. “My nephew here says he saw you taking pictures.”
The man’s wife suddenly leaned over and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Give them the pictures, Bill! For God’s sake, just give them the pictures!”
The man turned, shook her arm off, and pushed her against the door. He sat there for a moment, looking at the dash, his hands squeezing the wheel. “I got pictures of my family on that roll,” he said to Orville. “Tell you what. When I get them developed, if there happen to be any pictures of your thing, I’ll send them to you along with the negatives.”
Orville took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “No,” he said very slowly. “That’s not the way it’s going to work. I think it’s best if you give us the film and my brother will get it developed. We’ll send you the pictures that are yours.”
“There are some very important pictures on that roll.”
“Yes, there are,” said Orville.
Eli had never seen someone so angry. It was hot in the car and the man was sweating, but it wasn’t from the heat. Eli could see the muscles on the man’s neck, could hear the violent, exaggerated motions with which he unloaded the camera and passed the film through the window to Orville.
Sifton pushed off the railing and snapped to attention, lowering his voice to a deep growl. “I am required by law to respectfully request that you relinquish your claim to this house and the land on which it sits and that title to this property be properly vested with the province of Alberta.”
Sifton quickly sat down in the chair next to Eli and smiled up at the character he had just created.
“No,” Sifton said, imitating as best he could Eli’s soft voice.
Eli laughed and shook his head. “That’s pretty good, Cliff. Real soon now you’ll be able to do it all by yourself. You won’t need me at all.”
Sifton stayed in the chair. “You know what the problem is? This country doesn’t have an Indian policy. Nobody knows what the hell anyone else is doing.”
“Got the treaties.”
“Hell, Eli, those treaties aren’t worth a damn. Government only made them for convenience. Who’d of guessed that there would still be Indians kicking around in the twentieth century.”
“One of life’s little embarrassments.”
“Besides, you guys aren’t real Indians anyway. I mean, you drive cars, watch television, go to hockey games. Look at you. You’re a university professor.”
“That’s my profession. Being Indian isn’t a profession.”
“And you speak as good English as me.”
“Better,” said Eli. “And I speak Blackfoot too. My sisters speak Blackfoot. So do my niece and nephew.”
“That’s what I mean. Latisha runs a restaurant and Lionel sells televisions. Not exactly traditionalists, are they?”
“It’s not exactly the nineteenth century, either.”
“Damn it. That’s my point. You can’t live in the past. My dam is part of the twentieth century. Your house is part of the nineteenth.”
“Maybe I should look into putting it on the historical register.”
Sifton rubbed his hands on his pants. “You know, when I was in high school, I read a story about a guy just like you who didn’t want to do anything to improve his life. He just sat on a stool in some dark room and said, ‘I would prefer not to.’ That’s all he said.”
“‘Bartleby the Scrivener.’’’
“What?”
“‘Bartleby the Scrivener.’ One of Herman Melville’s short stories.”
“I guess. The point is that this guy had lost touch with reality. And you know what happens to him at the end of the story?”
“It’s fiction, Cliff.”
“He dies. That’s what happens. Suggest anything to you?”
“We all die, Cliff.”
Orville took the man’s name and address. The people pulled back from the station wagon and let it pass. Halfway out of the camp, the man gunned the engine and spun the tires, sending a great cloud of choking dust into the air that floated through the camp. Then Leroy went for his pickup, but Orville stopped him.
“Come on, Eli. You’re a big city boy. Like me. There’s nothing for you here. You could probably get a great settlement and go on back to Toronto and live like a king.”
“Nothing for me there.”
“Nothing for you here, either,” said Sifton. “One of these days we’re going to open the floodgates, the water is going to pour down the channels, the generators are going to start producing electricity, and this house is going to turn into an ark.”
“This is my home.”
“Hell, what this is is a pile of logs in the middle of a spillway. That’s what it is.”
The film was blank. The people at the photo store told Leroy that it had never been used. Orville wrote the man, but the letter came back a month later marked “Address Unknown.”
Leroy had copied down the man’s license number. He called the RCMP and explained what had happened, but there was little they could do about it, they said. The man hadn’t broken any laws.
Eli stretched and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
Sifton stood and leaned over the railing. The water had receded into the channels. “Time for me to get back. You need anything?”
“Nope. Probably go into town the next day or so.” Eli walked with Sifton to the edge of the water. “What happens when it breaks?”
“The dam?”
“What happens when it breaks? You can’t hold water back forever.”
Sifton jammed his walking stic
k into the gray-green water.“It’s not going to break, Eli. Oh, it’ll crack and it’ll leak. But it won’t break. Just think of the dam as part of the natural landscape.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”
Eli watched Sifton work his way into the stream. As he climbed out on the opposite bank, Sifton turned and raised his stick over his head. Eli could see the man’s mouth open and close in a shout, but all the sound was snatched up by the wind and drowned in the rushing water.
“Oh, no!” says Coyote. “Changing Woman has landed on Old Coyote.”
“Yes, yes,” I says. “Everybody knows that by now. And here’s what happens.”
Changing Woman falls out of the sky. She starts way up high, so she can see all around the water. And what she sees is all that water, and what she sees is a canoe.
Hello, she says, I can see a canoe. And she could. A big canoe. A big white canoe with lots of animals in it. There were elephants and buffalo and rabbits and alligators in that canoe. There were frogs and mosquitoes and hawks and monkeys and spiders and worms in that canoe too. There were snakes and pigs and dogs and honeybees and many other interesting things in that big white canoe.
It must be a party, says Changing Woman as she falls through the sky. But as she gets closer, what she sees is poop. There is poop everywhere. There is poop on the side of the canoe. There is poop on the bottom of the canoe. There is poop all around the canoe. That canoe isn’t all white, either, I can tell you that.
Oh, dear, says Changing Woman. I don’t know that I want to land in poop.
* * *
“Well, I know I wouldn’t want to land in poop,” says Coyote.
“Well, neither would I,” I says.
So. There is Changing Woman falling out of the sky. And there are those animals. And there is that canoe full of poop. Watch out for the poop, all those animals shout.
But just as Changing Woman comes falling into that canoe, Old Coyote wakes up and that one rolls over and that one stretches. And Changing Woman lands on Old Coyote.
Psssssst, goes Old Coyote. He makes that sound. Like something that has gone flat.
What was that? says one of the Pigs.
Sounded like a fart, says one of the Raccoons.
Okay, says one of the Moose, who farted?
No one farted, says Changing Woman. It was only me. I landed on Old Coyote. But before Changing Woman can apologize to Old Coyote, before she can give him some tobacco or some sweetgrass, a little man with a filthy beard jumps out of the poop at the front of the canoe.
Who are you? says the little man.
I’m Changing Woman, says Changing Woman.
Any relation to Eve? says the little man. She sinned, you know. That’s why I’m in a canoe full of animals. That’s why I’m in a canoe full of poop.
Are you all right? Changing Woman asks Old Coyote.
Psssst, says Old Coyote.
Why are you talking to animals? says the little man. This is a Christian ship. Animals don’t talk. We got rules.
I fell out of the sky, says Changing Woman. I’m very sorry that I landed on Old Coyote.
The sky! shouts the little man. Hallelujah! A gift from heaven. My name’s Noah, and you must be my new wife.
I doubt that, says Changing Woman.
Lemme see your breasts, says Noah. I like women with big breasts. I hope God remembered that.
Don’t do it, says one of the Turtles. He’ll just get excited and rock the canoe.
I have no intention of showing him my breasts, says Changing Woman.
Talking to the animals again, shouts Noah. That’s almost bestiality, and it’s against the rules.
What rules?
Christian rules.
“What’s bestiality?” says Coyote.
“Sleeping with animals,” I says.
“What’s wrong with that?” says Coyote.
“It’s against the rules,” I says.
“But he doesn’t mean Coyotes,” says Coyote.
For the next month, Noah chases Changing Woman around the canoe. Noah tries balancing along the railing, but he falls in the poop. Noah tries jumping across the backs of the animals, but he falls in the poop.
He tries to wade through the poop to get at Changing Woman. But every time he works his way to the front of the canoe, she dances to the back. And every time he works his way to the back of the canoe, she dances to the front.
Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.
Then, one morning, they find an island.
Time for procreating, shouts Noah, and that one leaps out of the boat and begins chasing Changing Woman up and down the beach. All the animals line up on the beach and watch Changing Woman and Noah run back and forth.
Five dollars on Changing Woman, says those Kangaroos.
Who’s got any of that good Noah money? says those Bears.
Odds, says those Trout. Who will give us odds?
After a while, that Noah gets tired and that one has to sit down. Well, this is certainly a mystery, he says. I better pray.
* * *
“Boy, is he going to be surprised,” says Coyote.
“We’re going to have to sit on that mouth of yours,” I says.
“I didn’t say anything,” says Coyote.
Well, pretty soon Old Coyote comes over to where Changing Woman is resting. Old Coyote is still sort of flat. He walks flat. He talks flat. He thinks flat. Boy, says Old Coyote, I feel kind of flat.
Hello, Old Coyote, says Changing Woman. What are you doing on this voyage?
It all started when the waters rose, says Old Coyote. The waters rose, and we had to get into Noah’s canoe.
That was nice of him, says Changing Woman.
Oh, no. He tried to leave us behind, says Old Coyote. Then he tried to throw us into the water. But his wife and children said no, no, no. Don’t throw all our friends into the water.
Wife? says Changing Woman. Children?
Noah threw them into the water instead, says Old Coyote. It’s the rules.
Rules, says Changing Woman. What rules?
Well, says that Old Coyote, Noah has these rules. The first rule is Thou Shalt Have Big Breasts.
And Noah’s wife had small breasts? says Changing Woman.
No, says Old Coyote, she had great big breasts.
Ah, says Changing Woman.
It makes sense when you think about it, says Old Coyote.
We got to get rid of those rules, says Changing Woman.
“Rules?” says Coyote. “Rules?” Coyote says that again. “Is this that contrary dream from the garden story?”
“Of course,” I says. “It’s all the same story.”
“That makes sense,” says Coyote.
Rest period is over, shouts silly Noah, and that one jumps to his feet. Time for procreating!
So Noah and Changing Woman run back and forth along the beach. They run back and forth for a month. And then Noah gets sweaty, and that one gets angry and that one stops running back and forth.
No point in having rules if some people don’t obey them, says Noah. And he loads all the animals back in the canoe and sails away.
This is a Christian ship, he shouts. I am a Christian man. This is a Christian journey. And if you can’t follow our Christian rules, then you’re not wanted on the voyage.
“Oh, oh,” says Coyote. “Changing Woman is stuck on the island all by herself. Is that the end of the story?”
“Silly Coyote,” I says. “This story is just beginning.”
“Initial here that you’ve read the rules, here that you don’t want the special no-deductible insurance waiver, and sign at the bottom.”
Charlie signed the rental-car form while the clerk behind the counter chirped away about the points of interest in and around Blossom. There were old Indian ruins and the remains of dinosaurs just to the north of town and a real Indian reserve to the west. She stuffed a bag full of restaurant guide
s, maps, two-for-one coupons, several pens, a copy of the local paper, and a Welcome-to-Blossom litter bag. She announced each item as if it had intrinsic value over and above the cost, and as one thing disappeared into the bag, another would magically appear at her fingertips.
It was much too late to be that cheery. Charlie felt under assault as he waited for some computer in Toronto or Vancouver to verify his credit. All he wanted was to get the car, drive to the hotel, and fall asleep. He would find Alberta in the morning.
As he waited for the woman to finish, he decided, not for the first time, that flying to Blossom and chasing after Alberta was truly stupid, on a par with watching television and smoking. What was he going to say?
“Hi. I was just in the area.”
“Hi. I was in town on business.”
“Hi. I was just passing through on my way to Waterton for the weekend.”
“Hi. I didn’t want to miss Lionel’s birthday.”
Act helpless. On the flight down from Edmonton, Charlie had turned his father’s advice over once again. Easier said than done.
“You’re not a movie star or something like that, are you?”
Charlie didn’t hear the woman at first.
“I mean, you look . . . you know, sort of familiar.”
“No,” said Charlie, trying to work up a smile. “That was probably my father.”
“Oh, wow!” said the woman, and she handed him the keys to the car, the rental agreement, and the white and orange bag stuffed with advertising debris. “Have a nice stay.”
Portland Looking Bear had been a movie star. After Lillian got sick and was confined to her bed, Charlie would sit with her after school and listen to the stories about how she had run off with Portland, how they had borrowed her father’s pickup and made it as far as Missoula before it bellied-up in a motel parking lot, and how, from there, they had worked their way through Montana and Idaho, Washington and Oregon, all the way to Los Angeles. Hard times and good times.
“This was long before your father changed his name to Iron Eyes Screeching Eagle.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Oh, yes. Iron Eyes Screeching Eagle. What an imagination!”