by Thomas King
I am very sleepy, says Thought Woman, and then she goes to sleep.
Hee-hee, says that River. Hee-hee.
“Hmmmmm,” says Coyote. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Maybe that River reminds you of someone,” I says.
“Who?” says Coyote.
“Never mind,” I says. “More important things to worry about.”
“Yes,” says Coyote. “For example, what happened to Old Coyote?”
“Old Coyote is fine,” I says. “But Thought Woman is floating away.”
“Hmmmmm,” says Coyote. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
When that River starts flowing again, it flows real fast. It flows around those rocks, and it flows past those trees.
Look out, says those Rocks, here comes Thought Woman. And those Rocks climb out of the River and sit on the bank.
Wake up, wake up, says those Trees. You are floating away.
But Thought Woman’s ears are under water, and she doesn’t hear those Rocks and she doesn’t hear those Trees.
Oh, well, says those Rocks. Too bad. They say that, too. And those Rocks dive into the River and swim around until they find a nice spot to sit.
La, la, la, la, says that River, and it keeps going faster and faster. And pretty soon it is going very fast. It goes so fast, it goes right off the edge of the world.
Ooops, says that River. But it is too late. Thought Woman floats right out of that River and into the sky.
“Oh, no!” says Coyote. “Not again.”
“Sure,” I says. “What did you expect was going to happen?”
“How many more times do we have to do this?” says Coyote.
“Until we get it right,” I says.
The Lone Ranger, Ishmael, Robinson Crusoe, and Hawkeye stood in the parking lot of the Blossom Lodge. Beyond the concrete and the asphalt and the cars, beneath the deep curve of the sky, the prairies waited.
“Good morning,” shouted the Lone Ranger.
As the old Indians watched, the universe gently tilted and the edge of the world danced in light.
“Ah,” said Hawkeye. “It is beautiful.”
In the east the sky softened and the sun broke free and the day rolled over and took a breath.
“Okay,” said the Lone Ranger. “Did Coyote turn on the light?”
“Yes,” said Robinson Crusoe. “I believe he did.”
“Are we ready?” asked Ishmael.
The light ran west, flowing through the coulees and down the cut banks and into the river. In the distance, a star settled on the horizon and waited.
“Yes,” said the Lone Ranger, “it is time to begin. It is time we got started.”
“Gha! Higayv:ligé:i,” said Robinson Crusoe.
“We’ve done that already,” said Ishmael.
“Have we?” said Robinson Crusoe.
“Yes,” said the Lone Ranger. “Page fifteen.”
“Oh.”
“See. Top of page fifteen.”
“How embarrassing.”
“Did you remember the jacket?” said Hawkeye.
“How very embarrassing.”
As the white convertible took the crest of the hill, Dr. Hovaugh caught sight of the squat dark buildings in the distance. He pushed back from the steering wheel and adjusted himself in the bucket seat. He had forgotten how uncomfortable the Karmann-Ghia was on a long trip, how every bump telescoped up through the steering wheel, shaking his arms and shoulders, how road noise rattled about the cavity of the car, leaving him with the vague feeling of being trapped inside a castanet.
“Wake up,” he shouted over the race of the wind. “We’re here.”
Babo opened her eyes. “What happened to the trees?”
“Never mind the trees,” said Dr. Hovaugh. “And let me do all the talking.”
Babo settled against the door and watched the morning light flood the prairies. It rose and floated over the road, catching the Karmann-Ghia at angles and washing the car down the hill to the border. In the distance, at the edge of the horizon, Babo could see a point of light, a star in the morning sky.
“I’ll bet they’ll be happy to see us,” said Babo.
“Remember,” said Dr. Hovaugh, fishing his dark glasses out of his pocket and hooking them over his ears and nose, “let me do all the talking.”
The Canadian border station was a low brick building with a long overhang that reached across the road and a tall flagpole that leaned against the sky. From where Babo sat, the pole looked as if it was not quite straight, as if it fell slightly to the left.
“Good morning,” said the border guard.
“Good morning,” said Babo.
“Hummph,” said Dr. Hovaugh.
Babo turned in the seat. The American border station looked exactly like the Canadian border station. It was low. It was brick. It had an overhang. And it had a flagpole.
“Did you notice,” Babo said to the Canadian border guard, “that your flagpole is crooked?”
“Destination?” said the border guard.
“North,” said Dr. Hovaugh.
“The American one is crooked, too. See how it leans a bit to the right?”
“Purpose of your visit?” said the guard.
“Business,” said Dr. Hovaugh.
“We’re looking for Indians,” said Babo.
“Any firearms or tobacco?”
“No,” said Dr. Hovaugh.
“Four Indians,” said Babo. “Really old ones.”
“Citizenship?” said the guard.
“Maybe you’ve seen them,” said Babo. “They’re trying to fix the world.”
Inside the border station, Babo could see three men leaning against the counter drinking coffee. On the wall behind them was a large picture of a woman in a formal with a tiara.
“Are you bringing anything into Canada that you plan to sell or leave as a gift?” said the guard.
“Nothing,” said Dr. Hovaugh.
“What about her?” said the guard.
“She’s with me.”
“Nonetheless, you’ll have to register her,” said the guard.
“I see,” said Dr. Hovaugh.
“All personal property has to be registered.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Hovaugh. “Of course.”
“It’s for your protection as well as ours,” said the guard.
Babo looked back at the American border station and then at the Canadian border station. “Where did you say we were?” she said.
“Welcome to Canada,” said the guard, and she handed Dr. Hovaugh her clipboard. “Sign here,” she said, “and here.”
“Thank you,” said Dr. Hovaugh.
“Have a nice day,” said the guard.
“Hey,” says Coyote, “look who’s back.”
“Just ignore him,” I says.
“But maybe they’ll give us a ride,” says Coyote.
“No time for that,” I says. “We got to get back to the other story.”
“By the way,” says Coyote, “where are we?”
“Canada,” I says. “Come on.”
“Canada,” says Coyote. “I’ve never been to Canada.”
“Canada,” said Babo. “I’ve never been to Canada.”
“Let me do all the talking,” said Dr. Hovaugh, and he slid the car into first and rolled away from the border. “Watch for the Indians.”
Babo could see the light better now. It hung in the sky, low on the horizon. As the road ran out onto the prairies, dipping and rising, following the body of the land, Babo imagined that the light began to glow stronger, brighter.
“What do you think?” said Babo, gesturing toward the light with her chin.
“What?” said Dr. Hovaugh.
“There,” said Babo.
Dr. Hovaugh slowed the car and pulled off the road. He stood on the seat and shielded his eyes.
“Maybe it’s an omen,�
�� said Babo. “Or something like that.”
“In ancient times,” said Dr. Hovaugh, reaching behind the seat and pulling out a pair of binoculars, “primitive people believed in omens and other superstitions.”
“Not like today,” said Babo.
“What they thought were omens,” said Dr. Hovaugh, adjusting the binoculars, “were actually miracles.”
“No kidding,” said Babo.
“When we get back,” said Dr. Hovaugh, “I’ll lend you a book I have.”
Dr. Hovaugh stood on the bucket seat and watched the light in the distance.
“What do you think?” said Babo. “Omen or miracle?”
“Wow!” says Coyote. “Omens and miracles. We haven’t had any of those yet.”
“Get your head down,” I says. “He’s going to see you.”
“Here I am,” says Coyote. “Here I am.” And that one dances around and jumps around and stands around. “Here I am,” says that standing-around Coyote.
“You are one silly Coyote,” I says. “No wonder this world is a mess.”
Dr. Hovaugh blinked his eyes and looked through the binoculars again.
“Well?” said Babo. “What do you see?”
“Well . . .” said Dr. Hovaugh, letting the binoculars rest against his chest, “I . . . thought—”
“Let me look,” said Babo. Babo slipped the strap over her neck and looked through the lenses at the light in the distance. “Well, now,” she said, “isn’t that the trick.”
Lionel groaned his way to the edge of the bed, found the floor with his feet, and sat up. It was black out, dead black. He could hear the clock radio making its click, click, click insect sound as it built up the energy to flip the next minute placard over. Why was it so black? What time was it? Lionel rubbed his eyes and discovered that they were still closed. Well, it wasn’t so dark out after all.
Happy birthday. Forty years old. Lionel sat on the edge of the bed and watched his stomach settle comfortably on his thighs. If he sucked hard, he could still pull it back to the outer limits of his groin.
Life, Lionel mused as he felt his chest slide on top of his stomach, had become embarrassing. His job was embarrassing. His gold blazer was embarrassing. His car was embarrassing. Norma was right. Alberta wasn’t about to marry an embarrassment. Lionel sucked his stomach in for the fourth time and lurched to a standing position.
Happy birthday. Forty years old. Lionel padded his way to the bathroom. He had gotten into the habit of not turning the bathroom light on in the mornings. It hurt his eyes, but mostly he did not want to look at what he had become—middle aged, overweight, unsuccessful. But today he flicked out a hand like a whip and snapped the light on. The effect was startling and much worse than he had imagined.
“Today,” he shouted at the mirror. “Today things change.”And he whacked himself in the stomach and grabbed his saggy chest for good measure. He stood there naked, glaring into the mirror, pleased with the fire that burned in his eyes. Just above his left nipple, Lionel spotted the mole with the single long hair growing out of it.
All right!
He opened the medicine cabinet and threw out his toothbrush and opened one of the new ones that had, over the years, piled up at the back. The tube of toothpaste was almost gone, but he wasn’t going to wait and use up the last little drop, squeezing and rolling the zinc until all he could get were little white bubbles that popped out and popped in as you worked the tube.
Into the trash. Along with the tiny motel soap squares he had been saving for years. Lionel opened a new tube of toothpaste. He unwrapped a large bar of soap, a green one with white stripes that smelled like lemon spice. A new blade for the razor. Deodorant. Aftershave.
Tomorrow, he would begin to floss.
Lionel pinched the end of the hair, pulled it taut, and snipped it off with the scissors. Defiantly, he turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder at his butt.
Jesus!
After he showered and dressed, Lionel felt better. What the blazer needed, he concluded, looking at himself in the mirror, was a good cleaning. The cuffs were beginning to thin out and the polyester had rolled up into hard balls that hung off his wrists like tiny ornaments. And a new tie. The brown knit had seen better days and was probably out of style. Red. Bright red in silk. With little ducks or something like that.
And this year would be his last year at Bursum’s. University. Of course, it was the key to everything. He had always known that. Alberta had a degree. Charlie had a degree. Eli had a degree. He’d ask Alberta to pick up a calendar for him. Law, Lionel thought as he buttoned the blazer, or maybe medicine, though perhaps he was a little too old for medicine. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. Doctor, lawyer, television salesman.
John Wayne.
By the time Lionel was six, he knew what he wanted to be.
John Wayne.
Not the actor, but the character. Not the man, but the hero. The John Wayne who cleaned up cattle towns and made them safe for decent folk. The John Wayne who shot guns out of the hands of outlaws. The John Wayne who saved stagecoaches and wagon trains from Indian attacks.
When Lionel told his father he wanted to be John Wayne, his father said it might be a good idea, but that he should keep his options open.
“We got a lot of famous men and women, too. Warriors, chiefs, councillors, diplomats, spiritual leaders, healers. I ever tell you about your great-grandmother?”
“John Wayne.”
“Maybe you want to be like her.”
“John Wayne.”
“No law against it, I guess.”
One of the cereal companies offered a free John Wayne ring for three box tops and fifty cents handling charge. When the ring arrived six weeks later, Lionel put it on and showed it to Charlie.
“So, what does it do?”
“It’s a John Wayne ring.”
“My father knew John Wayne.”
“It’s got this secret compartment.”
“My father knew all the big stars.”
“Watch this.” And Lionel slipped his thumbnail under the crest of the ring to pop it open.
It took a while to find the crest in the prairie grass. One part of the hinge had broken, and now the crest wouldn’t stay on.
“Way to go, John Wayne. You broke your ring.”
“Did not.”
“Some secret compartment.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to work.”
“So how you going to get it back together?”
“That’s part of the secret.”
Later that day, Lionel used his father’s white glue to try to fix the hinge, but it wouldn’t hold, and Lionel was stuck with gluing the crest down so that it couldn’t open at all. The next week the adjustable band broke.
Lionel sucked his stomach in and tightened the belt. He’d talk to Bill next week or so about the future, give him some warning, so Bill wouldn’t be caught unaware when Lionel resigned later. But he’d tell Alberta about his plans today, make sure she understood that he could make decisions. Happy birthday.
Things were coming together, Lionel told himself. Happy birthday. Happy birthday to you.
The morning air was damp. The clouds were arching above the Rockies, and Lionel could feel the wind coming in. By noon it would be rattling the plate glass windows at Bursum’s and swirling the dirt up into a storm.
The reserve was just across the river. His parents would have set up their tepee at the Sun Dance by now.
“Be nice if you came out for your birthday,” his mother told him.
“Give it a try.”
“It would really please your father, you know.”
“Sure.”
“We’re right next to Norma. You can’t miss us. Wait till you see what I’m cooking.”
“Alberta’s coming down.”
“Wonderful, honey. Bring her along.”
Lionel started for his car and
then stopped. No. He’d walk today. It wasn’t that far to the store, and it would be a good way to start the day, a good way to start his new life.
That’s what you did when you began again. That’s what John Wayne would do.
Latisha lay in bed with her eyes closed and listened to Elizabeth climb out of her crib. Christian, when he was small, had stood up in his crib and shouted “Mummy” until Latisha came and picked him up. Benjamin had sat up in a corner of the crib and cried until she arrived. Elizabeth was silent and determined. The first time she tried to get out of the crib, she had fallen and hurt herself. Latisha had thought that the experience might make her more cautious. It hadn’t. The next morning, Elizabeth fell again, and the next morning and the next. She cried only the first two times, and by the end of the week, she had stopped falling.
Latisha kept her eyes closed. If she was lucky, Elizabeth would crawl into bed with her and fall asleep. Just another hour, Latisha prayed. Let me have one more hour.
“Mummy.”
Latisha tried breathing deeply, hoping the breathing and the rhythm would have a soothing effect on her daughter.
“Mummy.”
Somewhere in the room, someone was unwrapping a piece of gum or opening a plastic bag. For a moment, Latisha couldn’t place the sound. Then she heard the diaper hit the floor, a heavy, full splat.
Latisha cracked one eye. Elizabeth was naked. She had shed her pajamas and her diaper and was standing next to Latisha’s head, looking right at Latisha’s face.
“Get up, Mummy.”
“Mummy’s very tired, honey.”
“Get up!”
“Why don’t you crawl into bed with Mummy? We can play Mummy and baby ground squirrel.”
“Poopy, Mummy, poopy,” said Elizabeth.
“Well, go jump on the toilet.”
“You.”
“Show Mummy what a big girl you are now.”
“You.”
One year, after he had left yet another job, George announced that he was going to stay home and look after the kids.
“It’s no problem, Country,” George told her. “We’ll have a great time.”
Latisha had thought it was a crazy idea, couldn’t see how it was going to work.
“I’ll cook dinner each night. Hell, you work all day at the restaurant. It’s the least I can do.”