Green Grass, Running Water

by Thomas King

  Eli sat in the cab. It was much as it had always been. The camp. The land. The sky.

  “Maybe we should stop at the band office cafeteria and get some lunch,” said Lionel.

  “Not the kind of place for a birthday lunch, nephew,” said Eli. “Come on.”

  As they got closer, Lionel could see the pickups and station wagons and cars, the square canvas tents that sat next to the tepees, the pressboard outhouses set outside the perimeter of the lodges. Children dashed around the camp chasing dogs, chasing gophers. Chasing themselves.

  Eli circled the camp, occasionally stopping to say hello to someone. Lionel could see Norma’s tepee at the eastern edge of the circle. At first he hoped that she had gone to town, but her car was parked off to one side, and as Lionel watched, he saw her step out of the tepee, pick up a stick of wood, and go back in. Eli maneuvered the truck around the camp and parked it beside Norma’s car.

  “Your auntie makes one hell of a stew,” Eli said, opening the truck door and getting out.

  Lionel sat in the truck for a moment. It was a bad idea. He could feel it getting worse, and he was tempted to slide behind the wheel and drive back to town by himself. But he was too late. As Eli walked to the tepee, Lionel’s father came around the side of the lodge, and all Lionel could do was to smile and wave.

  “Lionel,” his father called, “come on in. We’re just going to eat. Happy birthday, son.”

  Norma was all smiles and compliments. She dished up stew and bread and coffee, the conversation running to community news and gossip.

  “We need more wood,” she said. “Maybe you and Lionel can pick some up.”

  “I have to go to the cabin tonight,” said Eli. “I’ll bring some back first thing in the morning.”

  Lionel’s father put his hand on Lionel’s shoulder. “It’s my boy’s birthday today. He’s just about a man.”

  Norma nodded. “Nice shoes, nephew. But you should have worn your boots.”

  “Where’d you get the jacket, son?”

  It was awkward sitting cross-legged on the blanket, trying to keep from spilling stew on his pants. “After lunch,” Lionel said, “I’ll have to go back into town. I’m working today.”

  “Not anymore, nephew,” said Eli. “Seems to me Bill gave you the rest of the day off.”

  “That’s not exactly what he said.”

  “Besides,” said Eli, dipping his bread in the stew, “we still have to talk.”

  “After lunch,” said Norma, waving a ladle at Lionel and Eli, “you two should go over and get your faces painted. Make you feel better.”

  “That’s a good idea, son,” said his father. “Get your face painted on your birthday.”

  “And,” said Norma as she filled Eli’s cup, “Camelot said you can dance with her family if you want.”

  “That’s right, Eli,” said Harley. “We always got a place for you.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to dance, too, nephew,” said Norma.“You want some more stew?”

  It was late afternoon by the time the stew and the coffee ran out, and Eli and Lionel and Harley left the lodge.

  “Too late to go back anyway, nephew,” said Eli. “The men will start in another hour or so. Might as well stick around for that.”

  “Bill’s going to be mad as hell.”

  “I’ll buy those earphones,” said Eli. “He won’t be that angry.”

  “What do you think, Eli?” said Lionel’s father.

  Eli looked at Harley. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”

  “How about you, son?”

  “Think I’ll just hang around here, Dad. You know, just hang around.”

  “Sure,” said Harley. “You do that.”

  Lionel watched his father and his uncle walk across the circle to a large tent. Lionel felt completely out of place, standing there in the jacket and slacks and dress wing tips.

  The ground was wet and spongy. In places around the entrances to the lodges, it had run to mud. Lionel tried to stay on the grass, but by the time he got halfway to the outhouse, he had collected a fat layer of gumbo that curled up and over the soles of his shoes. He could hear the mosquitoes at his back. And the flies. He could feel them flash across his face as he walked and tried to wave them away.

  The afternoon sun was high and in the west. The wind was beginning to blow, a gentle current in the grass. Beyond the camp, the mountains towered above the world, black and bright. Lionel felt the wind in his face and watched the light play across the camp in shifting patterns. It was beautiful, he conceded. If you didn’t mind the flies and the mosquitoes, the summer heat and the wind.

  As he stood next to the outhouse, Lionel felt peaceful, as if the rest of the world, the store, the town, the dam, had all disappeared. And he was sorry that Alberta wasn’t here to share it with him.

  And the old Indians.

  For just a moment, Lionel wondered where they had gone.

  “Hello, grandson,” said a voice behind him. “Are we late?”

  Even before he turned around, Lionel was sorry he had asked the question.

  Latisha stopped at the Petro-Can in Medicine River and got gas and six bags of ice.

  “What about us?” said Christian. “Elizabeth would really like a pop.”

  “Yes, I can,” said Elizabeth.

  “Me, too,” said Benjamin.

  “The little creep wants one too.”

  “Christian called me a little creep.”

  “It’s a joke, you little creep.”

  Alberta got a ginger ale and a box of soda crackers.

  “Still feeling lousy?”

  “Everything aches.”

  “When I was pregnant with Benjamin,” said Latisha, “that’s how I felt.”

  “There’s no way I can be pregnant.”

  “That’s what I said, too.”

  Alberta curled up against the door and watched the clouds through the side window. The nausea was back, and she felt like throwing up. Christian and Benjamin were wrestling in the back seat. Elizabeth was bouncing in her car seat.

  “What was marriage like?”

  Latisha looked at Alberta and shook her head. “You were married.”

  “Not even a year. It didn’t count.”

  “They all count,” said Latisha. “Look, with George the sex was great until I got pregnant, which was almost immediately. And the companionship was nice for the first couple of years.”

  “And then?”

  “Then things got ordinary and predictable.”

  “After just a couple of years?”

  “Nothing wrong with ordinary and predictable.” Latisha lowered her voice. “George beat me. You knew that.”

  Alberta nodded and drew her feet up under her on the seat.“I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’re doing just fine. Having a child on your own is not a bad idea. Look at me. That’s what I did.”

  “You had George.”

  “It was easier without George than with him. He took off when I was pregnant with Elizabeth, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Oh, he writes me letters. I get one or two a month. You ought to see them. They go on and on. Ten, twelve, sometimes twenty pages.”

  Alberta closed her eyes for a moment, but it only made matters worse. With her eyes open, she could keep track of the horizon. With them closed, the car began to spin.

  “What do they say?”

  “I stopped reading them about a year ago. I just stick them in a box in the closet.”

  “What for?”

  Latisha gestured toward the back seat. Christian and Benjamin had stopped wrestling. Benjamin was comparing his hands and fingers with his brother. “For the kids. In case they ever want to know what their father was like.”

  Alberta leaned in toward Latisha. “Why’d he beat you?”

  Latisha turned into the town site and drove past the band
office and the community center. Just beyond the school, the pavement stopped and the gravel started.

  “Thought they were going to pave this thing,” said Latisha.

  “They say that every year.”

  Latisha pushed herself back from the wheel and sighed.“Well, I figure it was because he was bored. George wanted each day to be a new adventure. Men get bored easy, you know. Most of them don’t have much of an imagination.”

  Christian and Benjamin were playing a game that involved slapping each other’s hands as hard as they could. Benjamin was squealing with pain and delight. Elizabeth was asleep in her car seat.

  Alberta shifted her feet. “So what do you think? Lionel or Charlie?”

  Latisha reached over and rubbed Alberta’s leg. “No wonder you’re sick.”

  Latisha turned off the lease road and rode the deep ruts and high centers out on the prairies toward the camp. For as long as Latisha could remember, Norma’s lodge was always in the same place on the east side of the camp. And before that Norma’s mother. And before that.

  When Latisha was in high school, her history teacher asked her to give a short presentation on Indian culture. After the class, Ann Hubert, a white girl who wore a new dress to school each week, asked her if the Sun Dance was like going to church. Latisha tried to think of ways to explain exactly what the Sun Dance was, how the people felt about it, why it was important. Ann stood there smiling while Latisha searched for the words.

  “We sit in pews and listen to the priest and then we receive communion, which is the body and blood of Christ,” Ann told her. “What do you do?”

  Latisha started to tell her about the women’s society, but Ann jumped in and asked her if she had ever heard of the Catholic Women’s League. “It’s famous,” Ann said. “They organize the big church supper and welcome new families to the parish.”

  Latisha started again, remembering the women’s lodge and then the men’s lodge, the dancing, the giveaway, but Ann continued to hobble her with questions.

  “Nine days seems a long time,” she said. “What exactly do you do?”

  Latisha stood there in the corridor of the school and worked her hands in her lap. Finally Ann said that it was probably a mystery, something you could never know but believed in anyway, like God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost. Latisha wanted to tell Ann that that wasn’t it, but in the end she said nothing.

  As soon as Latisha parked the car and opened the door, Christian and Benjamin were off like rabbits.

  “Mind your relations,” Latisha shouted after them.

  “What about Elizabeth?”

  “I hate to wake her. She’s such a grump when she first wakes up. Feeling any better?”

  “Nope.”

  “Come on,” said Latisha. “Why don’t you lie down inside.”

  Latisha got Elizabeth out of the car. She woke up for a second, looked around, opened her mouth to yell, and then fell back to sleep.

  “Hooray,” said Latisha. “If I can get her down, she might sleep for another hour.”

  Norma was inside cleaning the plates and the cups. “You guys are right on time.”

  “Brought some food,” said Latisha.

  “All the work is done,” said Norma.

  “Alberta’s not feeling too good.”

  “You got your period?”

  “No,” said Alberta. “I just don’t feel very good.”

  “Nausea,” said Latisha. “And sore breasts.”

  Norma looked at Latisha and cocked her head to one side. Then she looked hard at Alberta.

  “I’m not pregnant,” said Alberta. “There’s no way I could be pregnant.”

  “Like to have a dime for every time I’ve heard that,” said Norma.“Here, give me my granddaughter. Where are the boys?”

  “Somewhere out there,” said Latisha.

  Norma settled down in a lawn chair with Elizabeth and rocked her. “They’ll come back when they get hungry.”

  “Is it okay if Alberta stays here for a while? I’ve got to take the food around.”

  “Maybe get that brother of yours to help,” said Norma.

  “Lionel?” said Latisha. “Is Lionel here?”

  “Him and Eli drove in about an hour ago. Ate most of the stew all by themselves.”

  “Lionel’s at the Sun Dance?” said Alberta.

  “Must be snowing in hell,” said Latisha.

  “No point pouring water on a spark,” said Norma. “Eli and Lionel are probably over getting their faces painted.”

  Alberta and Latisha looked at each other. Norma caught the movement and squeezed her lips in a scold. “It’s his birthday. Most men don’t even start to get smart until after they turn forty.”

  Latisha put her purse on the bed. “Then what happens?”

  Latisha got the boxes of food from the car. The prairies were aglow with light. For as many times as she had seen it, Latisha still marveled at the land in the late afternoon, the way it moved under the sky, the way it caught the light, the way it turned to follow the sun.

  Latisha worked her way around the camp, leaving food with relatives and friends, staying for coffee and conversation, but never staying long. In the center of the camp, people were setting their chairs and blankets in a circle, getting ready for the dancers. Latisha stood there at the far edge of the circle and watched the people gather.

  “Hello, Country.”

  Even before she turned, Latisha’s arms instinctively came up and she stepped back, setting a distance between herself and the man behind her.

  “Hello, George,” she said.

  Charlie lay on the bed and thumbed through a copy of Alberta Now. The phone sat on the pillow beside him. He tried the number. Busy.

  There was an article in the magazine on how old movie Westerns were finding a new life in the home video market and what this meant for the industry as a whole. Another article was on how small specialty restaurants were developing new ways to sustain themselves during a recession. A third was a demographic study of the number of lawyers in western Canada.

  Charlie tried the number again. Busy.

  He didn’t read any of the articles. He skimmed through them, catching a phrase here, a graph there, glancing at the photographs, considering the illustrations.

  Busy.

  At the back of the magazine was a real estate section for luxury properties. Immaculate rambler with water glimpses in Vancouver. Elegant studio brownstone in Toronto. Panoramic lakefront property in southern Alberta. Stunning three-bedroom condo in the West Edmonton Mall.

  Busy.

  Busy.

  Charlie rolled over. The storm had passed and sunlight was leaking in under the curtains. But in the room, everything was dark and cool. Charlie put the magazine on the floor and tried the number again.

  Busy.

  Busy. Busy. Busy.

  Eli walked with Harley around the camp. When he was a child, the tepees had stood six and seven deep. Now the circle was only two or three deep. At the south side of the circle, two young men worked on tying down a cook tent.

  “That’s Martha Oldcrow’s grandkids. The oldest boy was in prison for a while. The youngest was on drugs. Almost killed him.”

  “So they come back,” said Eli.

  “Some do,” said Harley. “Some don’t. There are a few more jobs on the reserve now, but most everybody has to work off reserve.”

  “Hasn’t changed much.”

  “Nope,” said Harley. “You see that young couple over there? That’s Eaton Redbow’s son and Bertha Morley’s daughter. They started coming out about four years ago.”

  “In the old days,” said Eli, “everybody had to leave the reserve to get work.”

  “Jason First Runner is a lawyer in Vancouver. He and his family haven’t missed a Sun Dance in eight, ten years.”

  Harley pulled up a seat on the bumper of a red pickup truck. “What about you, Eli?” said Harley. “You still li
ving out at your mother’s place?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Must have one great view of that dam.”

  “If you like that kind of thing.”

  “Emmett over at Brocket figures that the dam is killing the river.”

  “Not doing it any good.”

  “He was on the radio the other day. Said if the river doesn’t flood like it does every year, the cottonwoods will die.”

  “Hadn’t heard that.”

  “That’s what he said. When the river floods, it brings the cottonwoods . . . you know . . .”

  “Nutrients?”

  “That’s it. No flood. No nutrients. No cottonwoods.”

  “Emmett ought to know.”

  “And if the cottonwoods die, where are we going to get the Sun Dance tree? You see what I mean?”

  “Emmett write his member of Parliament?”

  Harley turned his face away from the wind and began to laugh. “What do you think? You figure the dam’s going to make us all millionaires?”

  Eli looked at Harley and shook his head. “Maybe we should give the Cree in Quebec a call.”

  “Yeah,” said Harley. “That’s what I figure, too.”

  Eli reached down and pulled up a long stalk of grass. The sun felt good on his face. More cars and trucks began to arrive. Families unpacked chairs and blankets and dragged them toward the circle. Eli leaned back and watched the people gather.

  “Just like the old days,” said Harley. “Only then, we were younger.”

  Alberta lay on the mattress with the blankets piled around her and tried to sleep. The nausea had passed, and she didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she had.

  “How you feeling now?” said Norma.

  “Okay.”

  “It’ll come and go until you get past the third or fourth month,” said Norma, setting the coffeepot on the fire.

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  “You’ll probably have to pee a lot.”

  Alberta sat up, the blankets still wrapped around her.“Maybe I should find Lionel. You know where he went?”

  Norma put the pot of stew next to the coffeepot. “After that, you’ll feel great. For a while.”

  Alberta shook off the blankets and tested her legs. “I feel better.”

  “But it won’t last,” said Norma.