by Thomas King
So there is a boat. A small boat. And there are a bunch of men in that boat. A big bunch. And that boat is rocking back and forth. And those waves are getting higher.
Rock, rock, rock, rock, says that Boat.
Whee, says those Waves. We are getting higher.
Help us! Help us! shout those men.
Pardon me, says Young Man Walking On Water. But I have to rescue my . . . rescue my . . . ah . . .
Factotums? says Old Woman. Civil servants? Stockholders?
You must be new around here, says Young Man Walking On Water. You don’t seem to know the rules.
What rules? says Old Woman.
“I know, I know,” says Coyote. “Young Man Walking On Water is talking about Christian rules.”
“Yes,” I says. “That’s true.”
“Hooray,” says Coyote. “I love Christian rules.”
Christian rules, says Young Man Walking On Water. And the first rule is that no one can help me. The second rule is that no one can tell me anything. Third, no one is allowed to be in two places at once. Except me.
I was just floating through, says Old Woman.
But you can watch, says Young Man Walking On Water. There’s no rule against that.
Well, says Old Woman, that’s a relief.
So that you’re not confused, says Young Man Walking On Water, I am now going to walk across the water to that vessel. I am going to calm the seas and stop all the agitation. After that, I will rescue my . . . my . . . ah . . .
Deputies? says Old Woman. Subalterns? Proofreaders?
And they will love me and follow me around.
“That’s a really good trick,” says Coyote.
“Yes,” I says. “No wonder this world is a mess.”
“Maybe the . . . ah . . . would follow me,” says Coyote.
“Now that’s a really scary thought,” I says.
So Young Man Walking On Water walks on the water to that Boat. With those men.
Help us! Help us! says those men.
And Young Man Walking On Water raises his arms and that one looks at those Waves and that one says, Calm down!
Stop rocking! He says that to the Boat. Stop rocking!
But those Waves keep getting higher, and that Boat keeps rocking.
Help us! says those men. Help us!
Whee, says those happy Waves.
Rock, rock, rock, rock, says that Boat.
Calm down! Stop rocking! Calm down! Stop rocking, says Young Man Walking On Water.
But that doesn’t happen, and those men on that Boat begin to throw up.
Yuck, says that Boat. Now look what happened.
Well. Old Woman watches Young Man Walking On Water. She watches him stomp his feet. She watches him yell at those Waves. She watches him shout at that Boat. So, she feels sorry for him. Pardon me, she says. Would you like some help?
There you go again, says Young Man Walking On Water. Trying to tell me what to do.
Well, says Old Woman, someone has to. You are acting as though you have no relations. You shouldn’t yell at those happy Waves. You shouldn’t shout at that jolly Boat. You got to sing a song.
Sing songs to waves? says Young Man Walking On Water. Sing songs to boats? Say, did I tell you about our Christian rules?
It’s a simple song, says Old Woman. And Old Woman sings her song.
Boy, says those Waves, that is one beautiful song. We feel real relaxed.
Yes, says that Boat, it sure is. Maybe I’ll take a nap.
So that Boat stops rocking, and those Waves stop rising higher and higher, and everything calms down.
Hooray, says those men. We are saved.
Hooray, says Young Man Walking On Water. I have saved you.
Actually, says those men, that other person saved us.
Nonsense, says Young Man Walking On Water. That other person is a woman. That other person sings songs to waves.
That’s me, says Old Woman.
A woman? says those men. Sings songs to waves? They says that, too.
That’s me, says Old Woman. That’s me.
By golly, says those men. Young Man Walking On Water must have saved us after all. We better follow him around.
Suit yourself, says Old Woman. And that one floats away.
“Not again,” says Coyote.
“You bet,” I says.
“Hmmmm,” says Coyote. “All this floating imagery must mean something.”
“That’s the way it happens in oral stories,” I says.
“Hmmmm,” says Coyote. “All this water imagery must mean something.”
Alberta was soaked right through to her underwear. She pulled the blanket around her and watched Latisha try to keep from laughing.
“You want another blanket?” Latisha said, and she had to put a hand over her face and turn away.
Alberta’s hair had fallen in wet clumps around her face, and she could feel the first waves of shivering roll up her body. She clutched her hands tightly in her lap and rubbed her thighs together to try to get warm.
“You want some more coffee?”
“Why don’t you just pour a pot over me.”
“You know,” said Latisha, “my granny had a story about a woman who didn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain.”
“Your granny ever tell you it was impolite to laugh at people?”
“Yes, she did,” said Latisha, and she burst out laughing.
Alberta snuggled deeper into the blanket and considered the cup of coffee in front of her, trying to figure out a way to get the cup to her lips without opening the blanket.
Latisha was still giggling. “You want a straw?”
Alberta thrust a hand out of the blanket and picked up the cup. Her skin had a slightly blue tint to it and the skin between the fingers looked transparent.
“I could have hypothermia,” Alberta said.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Latisha, biting her lower lip to keep her mouth quiet. “Billy, that old hair dryer still in the back room?”
Alberta felt a little weird sitting at the table, looking out the window at the parking lot, wrapped in a heavy blanket, holding a hair dryer on her lap. But it felt wonderful. And it was drying her clothes. Already she was beginning to feel her breasts again, and her panties had lost that awful clammy texture. In fact, working the nozzle of the hair dryer in particular directions felt slightly erotic.
“So,” said Latisha, seeing the color return to Alberta’s face.“Besides wanting to play with my hair dryer, what brings you to town?”
“Lionel’s birthday.”
“You drove down from Calgary for Lionel’s birthday?”
“I promised him I would come.”
“Well,” said Latisha, a smile edging its way out of her mouth. “I love my brother, but standing in the rain in the parking lot makes a lot more sense now.”
Alberta shook her head. Latisha was right. What was worse was that as she got warmer, she began to feel nauseous and her breasts began to hurt. They felt swollen and hot.
“You okay?”
“I’m just wet and a little dizzy.”
“I used to get like that when I was pregnant. For the first few months, I’d be sick all the time. And my breasts would just ache.”
Alberta looked at Latisha, who was looking at her expectantly.
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Just wet, right?”
“That’s right.”
Latisha leaned back in the chair and drank her coffee.“Well, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be anyway.”
Alberta sipped her coffee. The hair dryer continued to purr on her lap. The nausea was beginning to subside, but her breasts still hurt. She could feel every seam in her bra, could feel the sides chafing and squeezing. She tried to adjust herself, but it didn’t help.
“So,” said Latisha, “what’s new with you?”
It was an hour before Albert
a stopped talking and realized that the blanket had slipped off her shoulders and that the hair dryer was burning a hole in her skirt.
“All that and your car gets stolen, too?” said Latisha.
“I can’t believe it,” said Alberta.
“Neither can I.”
“That I would just rattle on like that. I’m really sorry.”
“Hey,” said Latisha, “what are friends for. The artificial insemination part was wonderful. With alternatives like Charlie and Lionel, it makes perfect sense.”
“It probably seems a little crazy,” said Alberta.
“No, not at all,” said Latisha. “Now let me get it straight. Attractive university professor. No, that’s sexist. Successful university professor seeking employment as a single parent desires discreet short-term relationship with attractive, considerate person. Men need not apply. Intercourse not required. Willing to drive great distances. Own car essential.”
Alberta started to laugh.
“Is that about it?” said Latisha.
“That’s about it,” said Alberta.
Billy stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Food’s up and packed. Ready whenever you are.”
“Thanks, Billy.”
“If you’re about done with the dryer,” said Billy, smiling at Alberta, “there are other customers waiting for it.”
Latisha picked up the coffee cups. “I’ve got to go. Why don’t you stay here and have lunch. When you see my brother, wish him happy birthday for me.”
“Where you going?”
“Sun Dance,” said Latisha. “I take food out for the dancers and their families every year. The men begin dancing this afternoon.”
“You taking the kids?”
“Always do.”
Alberta looked out at the sky. It was clearing to the west.“You staying with your folks?”
“Kids’ll stay with them. I’ll stay with Norma.”
Alberta draped the blanket over the chair and wrapped the cord around the dryer.
“You mind if I come along?”
“What about Lionel?”
Outside, the rain had slowed to a gentle mist, and Alberta could almost see the vague shadow of the Rockies on the horizon. Alberta pulled her hair out of her face and straightened her dress.
“Let him get his own hair dryer,” she said.
The Lone Ranger, Ishmael, Robinson Crusoe, and Hawkeye sat down in the grass on a rise and waited for Coyote to catch up.
“Boy,” says Coyote, “this is a lot of running back and forth. Has anything happened?”
“Nope,” said the Lone Ranger. “We didn’t want to start without you.”
“Yes,” said Ishmael. “We always feel better knowing where you are.”
“Nothing to worry about,” says Coyote. “I’m right here.”
“Look,” said Robinson Crusoe. “The grass.”
“Look,” said Hawkeye. “The light.”
The clouds had moved away from the mountains, opening a path to the sky. From where they sat, the old Indians and Coyote watched the prairies lean away and turn blue and green and gold as the edges of sunlight touched the storm. It was as if a bright fire had sprung up in the deep grass, running before the wind, seeking the world ablaze with color.
“How beautiful it was,” said the Lone Ranger.
“Yes,” said Ishmael. “How beautiful it is.”
“It is ever changing,” said Robinson Crusoe.
“It remains the same,” said Hawkeye.
“Hey, hey,” says Coyote. “That’s all very profound, but I’m a little cold, you know. Maybe we could look and talk as we walk.”
The old Indians got to their feet. The Lone Ranger gestured toward the mountains. “You can see them now.”
Coyote looked toward the west, but all he could see was the mountains and the sky and the land.
“See what?” says Coyote. “Say, is this a trick?”
“We should hurry,” said Ishmael, “or we’ll be late.”
“Late for what?” says Coyote, and he looks across the land again.
“And that wouldn’t be polite,” said Robinson Crusoe.
“No,” said Hawkeye, starting down the slope. “It certainly would not.”
Minnie leaned on the counter and watched Bursum put another tape in the VCR and fast-forward it to the big scene at the river.
“Damn,” said Bursum. “How many more copies of the movie do we have?”
“That’s it,” said Minnie. “Is it just the one movie?”
Bursum looked at the tape in his hand. He looked at the VCR. He looked at The Map. He looked at Minnie.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” said Minnie, “we have lots of other Westerns. What if they all have the same problem?”
It was time to go to the lake. Time to spend a day in the sun and enjoy the quiet of nature. Time to forget about Lionel and Charlie and Eli and the old Indians. And the movie.
“Of course,” said Minnie, “it could be a computer virus. You can make a virus do anything.”
Time to relax.
“It’s still weird, though,” said Minnie. “Who would want to kill John Wayne?”
Eli turned onto the lease road and felt the pavement give way to gravel.
“Dead Dog’s the other way,” said Lionel.
“I’ve got just the place to eat,” said Eli.
The road was a long run of potholes and washboards, dusty and slippery in the late summer and fall. But in the spring and early summer, when the rains came, the water spread out across the low places in the road until all you could see was the water, and you were left to guess where the danger lay. The truck lurched and plunged through the holes, sending Eli against the wheel and Lionel onto the dash.
“Council’s going to pave the road,” Eli shouted.
“So I hear,” Lionel shouted back. “Where are we going?”
“Thought we’d go Native.”
“Where are we going?”
“Nephew,” said Eli, “did I ever tell you why I came home?”
Lionel watched his uncle negotiate the road, swinging around the potholes that he could see, diving into the ones he could not, riding out the bone-rattling teeth of the washboards. The Dead Dog Café and Blossom were disappearing behind the truck, and as Lionel held himself in the seat, he discovered that he was hungry.
Eli leaned against the wheel and settled into how he had left the reserve as a young man and had gone to Toronto and on to the university.
“Those were good days, nephew. Everything was new. There weren’t enough hours in the day to see everything. I’d always lived on the reserve. When I got to Toronto, well, I’d never seen anything like it.”
The first few years had been lonely, Eli told him. But he finished his degrees and got a teaching job, and then he met Karen.
“Did Norma ever tell you that Karen and I came out for the Sun Dance one year?”
“Turned your life around. That’s what she says,” said Lionel.
“Says that, does she?” said Eli. “Not surprised.”
“Did it?”
“What?”
“Change your life?”
Eli swerved around a pothole and wound up sideways for a moment on a washboard. “No,” he said. “Can’t say that it did.”
“So why’d you come home?”
“Can’t just tell you that straight out. Wouldn’t make any sense. Wouldn’t be much of a story.”
Karen really liked the Sun Dance, Eli told Lionel, wanted to go back the next year. But they didn’t. And they didn’t go back the year after that.
“Karen got sick,” said Eli. “She was sick for a long time.”
“Norma said she was nice.”
“Then she got well.”
“That’s great,” said Lionel.
“Then she was killed in a car accident.”
Lionel was sorry that Eli had started th
e story. He could see that it was going to be depressing.
“A drunk ran a red light.”
“Well,” said Lionel, looking at the clearing sky, “it’s sure turned into a nice day.”
“Good day for a birthday, nephew. You hungry?”
“A little.”
The cab of the truck was hot. Lionel rolled down a window, but it didn’t help. The jacket had become uncomfortable, tight, as if it were slowly shrinking around him.
“After she died, I thought about coming home,” Eli continued. “But I didn’t.”
The road ran on in front of them, a pitch of hills and coulees that dipped and rose on the land. It had been a long time since Lionel had traveled the lease road. Normally, he came in through Medicine River on the road that ran to Cardston. That road was all asphalt and mileage signs and billboards. This road was a wild thing, bounding across the prairies, snaking sideways, and each time they came to a rise, Lionel had the uneasy feeling that just over the crest of the hill the road would vanish, and they would tumble out into the tall grass and disappear.
“I stayed in Toronto. My friends were there, and I had the university.”
“Then Granny died, right?”
“That’s right,” said Eli. “You know, Norma was so mad at me for never coming home that she didn’t tell me my mother had died until almost a month after the funeral.”
“That’s Norma.”
“That’s the truth.”
“So you came home.”
“So I came home.”
“Well,” said Lionel, “it sounds like a good reason to me.”
The truck labored up a steep hill, and as they got near the top, Eli slowed down.
“That wasn’t the reason, nephew,” said Eli. “That wasn’t the reason at all.”
The truck gained the crest, and Eli ran it out on the flat for a way and pulled off on the shoulder.
“Karen and I stopped right here when we came out that time. She thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. What do you think?”
Below in the distance, a great circle of tepees floated on the prairies, looking for all the world like sailing ships adrift on the ocean.
Eli turned sideways in the seat. “What about it, nephew? Where would you want to be?”
Lionel could feel his neck begin to sweat. The jacket was pulling at his arms, and the cuffs were chafing his wrists.
“Anywhere in the world, nephew. Anywhere at all.”