"Yeah, just like that. Mom would tell him about all that, too. But my dad kept going on and on. He was a war hero, jumped out of airplanes. He killed Hitler."
"Enit?" Thomas asked.
"Yeah," Chess said. "Old Luke Warm Water told us he was the one who killed Hitler. Caught up to him in that bunker and made him drink poison."
Thomas laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"My dad always told me he was the one who killed Hitler. They must have been on that mission together."
"Our fathers, the war heroes."
Thomas thought about all the imagined and real wars their fathers fought. He thought about that New Year's Eve party, all those parties that seemed to celebrate nothing at all. He remembered the two Indians who played the blues at that party, where Samuel burned the furniture on the front lawn. Two old Indian men played blues. In sunglasses. Big bellies. Big knuckles. Thomas tried to remember if they were any good. He searched his mind for some melody they played but heard nothing.
"You know," Chess said. "I heard beer bottles breaking so much that I got used to it. I kind of miss them sometimes."
* * *
Exhausted, Samuel took the ball out. His body ached. Once, pain had been a drug to him. He needed pain, but then it had just become pain. ]ust more weight on his body.
"It's over," the Chief said. "You don't have nothing left."
Art, Scott, and Phil Heavy Burden surrounded Lester and prevented him from moving. The Chief and the two white officers guarded Samuel.
"Fuck you twice," Samuel said.
Samuel looked at Chief WalksAlong, at all the Tribal Cops, at Lester. He shifted the ball from his left hip to his right. He spun the ball in his hands, felt the leather against his fingertips, and closed his eyes.
"What the hell you doing?" the Chief asked.
With his eyes still closed, Samuel drove to the basket, around his defenders, and pulled up for a short jumper. The ball rotated beautifully. Years later, Lester still swore that ball stopped in midair, just spun there like it was on a stick, like the ball wanted to make sure everyone noticed its beauty.
"That shot was vain," Lester said.
"That shot was the best story I ever told," Samuel said.
TRIBAL COPS—9
SAMUEL & LESTER—8
* * *
The-man-who-was-probably-Lakota stood in front of the Trading Post every morning. He studied his watch, waited for the top of the hour, and then started his ceremony at the same exact time every morning. "The end of the world is near!" he chanted. "The end of the world is near!"
"Jeez," Thomas said as he heard the chant. "It can't be six already. We stayed up all night."
Victor and junior stumbled into the room.
"Shit," Victor said. "Does that crazy Lakota have to do that every morning?"
"Enit?" junior said. "He must think he's one of those Plains Indian roosters."
"Jeez," Victor said and looked at Samuel. "How's your old man?"
"He's all right."
"I'm hungry," Junior said.
"There's some applesauce in the fridge."
"Commodity applesauce or real applesauce?"
"Commodity."
"Shit, we"ll eat it anyway."
"Ya-hey," Victor said. "Maybe we should stick an apple in Samuel's mouth and roast him up."
Checkers rose in anger and slapped Victor.
"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Victor asked as he grabbed her wrists.
"That ain't funny. That ain't funny."
Victor held Checkers until she stopped struggling. He let her go, and Checkers slapped him again. She wailed on Victor. The rest of Coyote Springs remained silent, too sleepy and stunned to move. Checkers slapped and kicked the Indian man in front of her. That Indian man, those Indian men.
"Stop it!" Chess shouted as she came back to life. She tried to separate Checkers and Victor, but her sister pushed her away. Checkers balled her hands into fists and started to punch Victor.
"That's it," Victor said, picked Checkers up, and threw her down. Checkers bounced back up and threw a few more wild punches.
Thomas jumped Victor then, and the two wrestled around the room, bumped into walls and the other band members. Checkers crawled under the kitchen table for cover, while Samuel Builds-the-Fire slept on. Chess screamed at Thomas and Victor.
"Knock this shit off!"
Victor pulled away from Thomas. They stood face to face like boxers before a bout. Breathing hard, they stared each other down.
"You assholes," Chess said. "Quit this macho bullshit."
"Ya-hey," Junior said. "I've got applesauce."
Junior stepped between Thomas and Victor.
"I've got enough spoons for all of us, too."
"I don't want any, " Thomas said and walked out the door. Chess followed him. Victor took the applesauce and spoons from Junior. Checkers stayed beneath the table, while Samuel sat up, looked around, then fell back to sleep.
"Hey," Chess said as she caught up to Thomas outside. "What the hell you think you're doing? You think you're some kind of tough guy, enit?"
"He can't do that to people no more," Thomas said. "I won't let him. I don't give a shit what that guitar said. I don't care."
"Well, call it off," Chess said. "Let's kick them out of the band. We don't need them. We can be a trio. Me, you, and Checkers. We'll get a new name. We'll move to a new place. Get the hell away from this reservation. Any reservation."
The horses screamed.
"What do you think?" Thomas asked. "Should we do that?"
"Yeah, we should."
Victor swallowed the last bite of applesauce just as Thomas and Chess returned to the house. Junior had crawled beneath the table with Checkers. She pushed and kicked at him, but he still sat under there. He wanted some applesauce.
"I think she's hurt," Junior said to Chess, who crawled beneath the table, too.
"Is she okay?" Thomas asked.
"My ass hurts," Checkers said. She shook as Chess held her.
"She's completely fucking nuts is what she is," Victor said.
"Listen," Thomas said, and the rest of Coyote Springs looked at him. He wanted to tell them about the new plan to kick Junior and Victor out of the band, but he heard a knock on the door.
"Who the hell is that?" Victor asked.
Thomas opened the door to nothing. He looked around. Nobody. He was about to shut the door when he heard a voice.
"Hey," the voice whispered from inside a bush on the front lawn. "You're Builds-the-Fire, right?"
"Yeah."
"The lead singer, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," the voice said. "I have a letter for you."
The Federal Express guy jumped out of the bush and handed the letter to Thomas. Then he saluted him, jumped off the porch, and ran for his truck. Thomas watched the FedEx truck kick up dust and smoke as it peeled out of the driveway.
"What was that?" Chess asked.
"This," Thomas said and opened the letter. He read it slowly.
"Well," Chess said, "what is it?"
"We got an offer to play at this place in Seattle. The Backboard. I guess they saw us play in Ellensburg. They"ll pay us a thousand dollars."
"No shit! " Victor yelled and started to dance with Junior. They tangoed up and down the floor. Junior picked up a stray feather and stuck it in his teeth.
"It's our chance," Thomas said.
"Chance for what?" Chess asked.
"The money. We need the money. Don't we?"
Chess knew that Coyote Springs needed the money. She needed the money. The forest fire season was nearly over. Nobody hired Flathead Indians on the Spokane Indian Reservation. Two hundred dollars a head. Checkers and Chess would have four hundred together. With Thomas and his share, they would have enough money to dump Victor and Junior.
'"What do you think?" Chess asked her sister.
"I ain't going anywhere with that asshole," Checkers said.
"Besides, how the hell do these people know who we are? They couldn't have seen us in Ellensburg. That was just last night. I don't trust them. I don't trust any of this."
"We don't need you," Victor said. "You can't sing anyway."
Checkers, Chess, and Junior climbed out from under the table. Victor stepped behind Thomas because Checkers knew how to punch.
"I think we all need to sleep on this," Chess said. "Jeez, Checkers and I ain't got any sleep at all. You neither, Thomas."
"We ain't got time to sleep on it," Thomas said. "They want us to be there tomorrow night for sound check."
"Are you serious?"
"Serious enough."
"Jeez," Chess asked her sister again, "what do you want to do?"
"I told you. I ain't going anywhere with that caveman."
"I'm going," Victor said.
"Me, too," Junior said.
"This ain't enough time to decide anything," Chess said.
"That's not fair. How could they do that to us?"
"Strangers ask us to sing for them, and they'll pay us a thousand bucks," Victor said. "And you think they're being assholes. We should be grateful."
"Will you shut up? I'm trying to think."
"I'm going," Thomas said. "I have to go."
Victor whooped. Junior hugged Thomas.
"Checkers," Chess said, "are you sure you don't want to go?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay, she's not going. But she still gets her share of the money."
"No fucking way, " Victor said.
"Okay," Thomas said, "we're a democracy. We'll take a vote."
"Not this voting shit again," Victor said. "Who pays attention to voting in this goddamn country anyway?"
"All those in favor of Checkers getting a full share if she stays home, raise your hand."
Thomas, Chess, and Checkers voted for full share. Junior abstained. Victor was pissed.
"She stays home," Thomas said, "and she gets full share."
Lord, I'm sorry, Chess said to herself. We need the money."
"Well, Jesus," Victor said, more worried about his share.
"So she gets the money. But we got to get packed. We got to get going. Seattle, Seattle."
The city waited.
* * *
Samuel flew. He had dreamed of flying before. But there he was, flying for real. Flying true. Flying four feet above the basketball court. He flew over the Tribal Cops. Over Chief WalksAlong. He switched the ball from left to right hand and back again. He closed his eyes, opened them, shuttered them like a camera taking photos of a historic moment. Samuel laid the ball gently over the rim. Samuel missed the shot.
"Shit," Samuel yelled as Officer Wilson grabbed the rebound. He was still cussing as WalksAlong received a pass and drove the baseline. Samuel stopped the drive, forced the Chief to ward the middle of the court.
"This is game point!" the Chief yelled. "We make it, we win."
The Chief dribbled once, twice, three times and lifted off the ground. Samuel leapt with him, arms outstretched, watched the ball float just above his fingertips, and still watched as the ball made its lazy way toward the hoop.
* * *
Checkers waved goodbye as the blue van pulled onto the reservation highway. She waved at Chess with most of her hand, saved a little for Thomas, and maybe a bit for Junior. She excluded Victor from her wave.
"What are you going to do this weekend?" Chess had asked her sister before she climbed into the van.
"I think I'll go to church. It's been a while."
"Yeah, the Catholic Church is down by the crossroads, enit?"
"Yeah, I've walked by it a couple times," Checkers had said.
Checkers continued to wave goodbye as the blue van rolled out of sight. She walked back into the house, nervous, unsure what to do with her time. Maybe she should sing scales, ready her voice for the Sunday hymns. Father Arnold was the priest down there. She had read his name on the greeting board when she walked by the church. Father Arnold. She wondered about Father Arnold's favorite song.
"You think Checkers will be all right?" Thomas asked as he drove the van off the reservation.
"She's a grown woman," Chess said.
"She makes me groan, " Victor said.
Everybody ignored Victor. In a unanimous vote taken just before they left, Coyote Springs had decided that was the best policy. Even Victor raised his hand for that one.
"What's Seattle like?" Junior asked.
"It rains there," Chess said. "It rains a lot."
The blue van rolled through the wheat fields of eastern Washington, across the central desert, and into the foothills of the Cascades. They climbed Snoqualmie Pass and stopped at the Indian John Rest Area.
"Who is this Indian john?" Victor asked as they parked the van.
"I'm Indian John," Junior said.
Chess and Thomas sat on the grass and shared a warm Pepsi. Victor and junior walked to the bathroom. Inside, a little white boy stared at them.
"Hello there," Junior said.
"Hello," the boy said.
"What's your name?"
"Jason. Are you an Indian?"
"Yes, I am."
"Hey, Daddy, there's a real Indian out here."
A huge white man stepped out of a stall.
"Who you talking to?" the white man asked his son.
"This Indian. He's real."
Junior waved weakly to the man. Victor turned away and pretended not to know Junior. But they were the only two Indians in the bathroom. Both wore white t—shirts that had COYOTE SPRINGS scribbled across the front, although Junior had on jeans and Victor had on his purple bell bottoms.
"You're an Indian, huh?" the white man asked.
"Yeah," junior said and prepared to run. On a reservation, this white man would have been all alone. In America, this white man was legion.
"That's cool," the white man said. "Did you know this rest area was named after an Indian?"
"Yeah," Victor said and put his arm around junior. "And you're looking at the grandsons of Indian John himself."
"Really? What's your names?"
"I'm Indian Victor and this is Indian Junior."
The white man almost believed them but came to his senses and stormed away with his son in tow.
"What took you so long?" the white man's wife asked.
"Just some Indians," the white man said.
"Just some Indians, " the little boy repeated.
Victor and Junior grabbed a free cup of coffee from the stand outside the bathroom. The Veterans of War offered free coffee and donuts in return for donations. Junior dropped a dollar into the box; Victor dropped sugar into his coffee. Both knew it was too warm for coffee, but they drank it anyway and talked about the price of guitar strings and drumsticks. They stood near the coffee stand and dreamed about Seattle.
Chess and Thomas sat on the grass for a long time. Neither wanted to rise and leave the rest stop, because Seattle waited somewhere down the mountain. Seattle. Seattle. The word sounded like a song.
"It's named after an Indian, " Chess said. "Seattle is named after a real Indian chief."
"Really?"
"Really. But I guess it was something like Sealth. Chief Stealth. Or Shelf. Or something like that. Something different."
"Seattle was his white name, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess. Jeez, you know his granddaughter lived in some old shack before she died. They name the town after her grandfather, and she lives in a shack downtown."
"Too bad."
"Ain't it awful. You know, I was wondering where your father was. Where'd he take off to anyway? I never even saw him get off the table."
"I don't know."
"You never told us who won that game between your father and the Tribal Cops."
"Who do you think?" Thomas asked. "Who you think won that game?"
5
My God Has Darla Skin
My braids were cut off in the name of Jesus
To make
me look so white
My tongue was cut out in the name of Jesus
So I would not speak what's right
My heart was cut out in the name of Jesus
So I would not try to feel
My eyes were cut out in the name of Jesus
So I could not see what's real
chorus:
And I've got news for you
But I'm not sure where to begin
Yeah, I've got news for you
My God has dark skin
My God has dark skin
I had my braids cut off by black robes
But I know they'll grow again
I had my tongue cut out by these black robes
But I know I'll speak 'til the end
I had my heart cut out by the black robes
But I know what I still feel
I had my eyes cut out by the black robes
But I know I see what's real
(repeat chorus)
Chess wondered which member of Coyote Springs most closely resembled the Cowardly Lion as they pulled into the Emerald City, Seattle. The drive from Indian John Rest Area to downtown Seattle took six hours, because the blue van refused to go more than forty miles per hour.
"This van don't want to go to Seattle, enit?" Junior asked.
"Van might be the only smart one," Chess said.
The van drove into downtown and found a Super 8 Motel, right next to the Pink Elephant Car Wash. Coyote Springs all strained their necks to look at everything: the Space Needle, the Olympic and Cascade mountains, the ocean. None of them had ever visited Seattle before, so the sheer number of people frightened them. Especially the number of white people.
"Jeez," Victor said, "no wonder the Indians lost. Look at all these whites."
Thomas parked the van at the motel, and the band climbed out.
"How many rooms should we get, Chess?" Thomas asked.
"How much money we got?"
"Not much."
"Shit," Victor said, "shouldn't those guys at the Backboard be paying for all of this anyway?"
"Yeah, they probably should," Chess said, forced to agree with Victor for the very first time.
Coyote Springs walked into the lobby and surprised the desk clerk. Up to that point, how many desk clerks had seen a group of long-haired Indians carrying guitar cases? That clerk was a white guy in his twenties, a part-time business student at the University of Washington.
Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman Page 11