* * *
From a live interview on KROK, Seattle's best rock:
Hello, this is Adam the Original, your favorite D.J. in Seattle for six years straight, coming to you live from the Backboard in the shadow of the Space Needle. Tonight, as you all know, was the Tenth Annual Battle of the Bands. After thirty acts, the Judges chose a winner. And it's a shocker, folks. The best band tonight happened to be a bunch of Spokane Indians from the Spokane Reservation on the other side of the mountain. The name of the band is Coyote Springs, of all things, and I have with me the lead singer, Thomas Builds-the-Fire. Now, Thomas, tell me about
yourself.
Like you said, I'm a Spokane Indian from the Spokane Indian Reservation. I play bass guitar and share vocals with Chess Warm Water. She's a Flathead Indian from Montana, not Spokane.
I've talked to some people here tonight who said they've seen quite a few of your shows. They were really impressed. You're not Just a cover band, areyou? When did you make the decision to play original material? And who writes your songs?
Well, we started out as a cover band. But it was sort of weird, enit? We covered great stuff, like Aretha Franklin and Alex Chilton, but none of those songs were Indian, I you know? I mean, some of those songs we covered should've been written by Indians, but they weren't. So I decided to write some songs myself. I write all the songs now. But I was wondering who heard of us before. We mostly played on the reservations. I didn't see no Indians here tonight.
A couple people mentioned they saw you. But seriously, how does songwriting make you fell?
Good.
I've noticed that you had two white women singing backup for the band tonight. That seemed sort cf unusual. How do you think other Indians look at that? And how do you think it affects your sound?
I don't even know those women all that well. They were waiting for us when we got here. I've seen them before though. They've been following us for a while, way back on the reservation even, then in Montana. I caught Junior and Victor, the drummer and lead guitarist, all naked with them a while back. They sound really good, enit? We took a quick vote to see if they would sing with us, and the vote was 2-2. So we flipped a coin, and the white women were in. It's kind of tough, though. They only sang backup because they're sleeping with Junior and Victor. I don't know how it affected the music. But we won, didn't we? I don't know what Indian people will think about those white women. But hey, an Indian woman invented the blues a day before Columbus landed, and rock 'n' roll the next day. We're not stealing those white women or stealing the music. It's not like we're all white because we have
white women in the band.
Well, if nothing else, the irony is incredible, isn't it? And I was wondering who voted against the white women. And what are the white women's names?
Chess and I voted against them. And their names are Betty and Veronica.
Really?
Really.
How would you assess their relationship with Junior and Victor?
I'm not like a therapist or something. But I don't think it has much of a chance. I mean, I think they're all using each other as trophies. Junior and Victor get to have beautiful white women on their arms, and Betty and Veronica get to have Indian men.
Do you think you could elaborate on that? Our listeners out there in the rock world would love to know.
Jeez, I Just realized. Them two are the ones who saw us play before. They must really be following us around. That Betty and Veronica. Man. They are beautiful, enit?
Yes, they are. But what do Betty and Veronica have to gain in all of this?
Look at them. They got more Indian jewelry and junk on than any dozen Indians. The spotlights hit the crystals on their necks and nearly blinded me once. All they talk about is Coyote this and Coyote that, sweatlodge this and sweatlodge that. They think Indians got all the answers. How long do you think that relationship will last? Until the next slow song.
Well, I don't know when that's going to be. That Victor plays a wicked guitar. I 've never actually seen a guitar set a table on fire, though. It's a good thing that Chess had fire safety training, isn't it?
We almost lost the whole damn thing because Victor got drunk. How did you know Chess had fire experience?
An amateur would never have put a fire out that quickly. Forgive me for asking, but I noticed that you and Chess seem to have a close relationship.
Jeez, getting personal, enit? She's my partner. We're in love, I guess. No. We are 1n love. She's pretty amazing. I write songs for her, you know. She's the first Indian woman who ever paid me much attention. That's something special.
Well, I think you'll be getting a lot of attention from all kinds of women now. Especially white women.
I don't need that.
Well, I hope that's true. I also heard that Chess has a sister who used to be in the band. Is that true?
Yeah, Checkers, her sister, stayed home on the reservation. She wants to sing in the church choir instead. They're both Catholic women, you know?
Don't you think that's odd?
I don't think it's odd at all. I mean, I think God loves to dance as much as the rest of us. I think we'd all be better off if we put more rock music into our churches. Chess told me that God is a long ways up, and we need to be loud so God can hear us. What's louder than rock 'n' roll?
Do you believe in God?
Yeah, I do.
Do you believe in the devil?
I don't know. I'm beginning to. Seems there's more proof of the devil than proof of God, enit?
Is God a man or a woman?
God could be an armadillo. I have no idea.
* * *
Checkers stood in the back row of the choir; she was much taller than all the altos, baritones, and sopranos. She was taller than everybody in the church and wondered if Spokane Indian Catholics were short by nature. Easily distracted by the details, she tried to concentrate on the service. Father Arnold led the service with intensity and passion, like he was more Baptist than Catholic. Most priests Just went through the motions, recited platitudes by rote, and turned Communion into a Sunday brunch.
"Let us pray together now," Father Arnold said, "in the words Our Father gave us."
Checkers held the hands of the choir members on either side of her, Nina and Maria Christopher. Checkers always loved this part most, the Lord's Prayer, the holding of hands, the circling of the community. She recited the prayer and watched Father Arnold. He glanced around the church, made eye contact with his flock, and smiled.
"Let us now offer each other a sign of peace," Father Arnold said.
"Peace be with you."
"Peace be with you."
"Peace, sister."
"Peace, brother."
The members of the choir hugged as they offered peace to each other. Nina and Maria hugged Checkers, but she held the hugs way past the comfort level of the Christophers.
"Peace to all of you," Father Arnold said, outside the ceremony, and the community responded.
"Peace be with you."
Father Arnold sang his prayers. A beautiful voice. Checkers wondered if he ever sang in a band. Maybe in college. He almost had soul. Catholics were supposed to save souls, not possess them.
"This is the body, this is the blood."
Checkers greedily took Communion, happy to be one of the first. She opened her mouth, offered it to Father Arnold, who placed the bread gently on her tongue. She felt his fingertips, smelled his soft cologne. The ritual, the ritual. She smiled at Father, who smiled back, then looked past her.
"Amen."
Checkers stepped past the Communion wine, though she still smelled the alcohol. She fought back memories of her father's breath after he came home from a long night of drinking. Checkers? Little one? Are you awake?
Checkers returned to her place in the choir. She hummed the hymn softly because she had forgotten the words. Beautiful, she felt beautiful in her twenty-year-old robe. The fringe was gone, the colors faded, but
she knew how beautiful she was. Father Arnold had complimented her before mass.
"Checkers," he said, "you look very nice."
She held those words in her pocket, hidden beneath her robe, and often reached under to touch them. She closed her eyes and let the music enter her body. The organ was older than the church itself and sounded like a train, but that made no difference to Checkers. She Just wanted the music to be loud.
"Before we go today, I wanted to make a few announcements, " Father Arnold said.
Checkers wanted the service to continue.
"We have a new member of the congregation," Father Arnold said. "She's a new arrival on our reservation, Checkers Warm Water. Some of you may know her as a member of Coyote Springs, but now she's the newest member of our choir."
Father Arnold motioned for Checkers to raise her hand. She waved to the church, and they all waved back. Polite applause and a few shouted greetings. Embarrassed, Checkers ducked her head and closed her eyes. She thought the Catholics were celebrating a new member, but they were actually relieved that she had been saved from the hell called Coyote Springs.
"Also, I want you to remember that we have a potluck dinner Tuesday night, right after the elders' meeting. And Bessie, you remember to bring your fry bread."
The crowd cheered. Bessie Moses had taken third place in the fry bread cook-off for the last ten years, finishing behind only Big Mom and the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota all that time.
Since Big Mom and the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota weren't members of the church, Bessie cooked the best Catholic fry bread on the reservation.
"One last thing," Father Arnold said. "I know it's really early, but basketball practice starts next week. Wednesday. I'm taking signatures. Remember, we only have room for ten players. We need to start practice early this fall. The Presbyterians and Assembly of God really kicked our butts last year. And remember, no matter what you see on television, God really doesn't care if we win this or not. So, we have to do it by ourselves."
The Spokane Indian Christian Basketball Tournament was held every November at the Tribal Community Center. The Assembly of God had won the tourney every year since its inception. Last year, the Assemblies had beaten the Catholics l26—l05 in a run-and-gun shooting match. The Presbyterians had played a stall game and beat the Catholics 42—30.
"Now, I want you all to go out there, go into the community, and serve God," Father Arnold said.
The congregation applauded and quickly filed out of the church. Catholics exited churches faster than any other denomination, but Checkers took her time because she wanted to have a few minutes alone with Father Arnold. The church was completely empty when Checkers finally came out of the dressing room.
"Checkers," Father Arnold said. "I was wondering what happened to you."
"I was changing," Checkers said.
"Don't change. I like you Just the way you are."
Checkers laughed too loudly at his little joke.
"You did really well today," Father Arnold said.
"So did you. But I forgot some of the words to the hymns. It's been a while."
"Yeah, well, things will get better. I have faith in you."
"Thanks."
Checkers played with the hem of her t-shirt.
"Well," she said, "I should get going. The band is coming home tonight. I need to clean up the house."
"Okay, I'll see you next Sunday, right?"
"Yeah, and maybe my sister, too."
"That would be wonderful."
Checkers looked at Father Arnold. He smiled. She kissed him quickly on the cheek and ran away. Father Arnold watched her run, touched his cheek, and smiled.
* * *
Father Arnold fell to the couch in his study, exhausted because of the insomnia he suffered the night before services. On the couch, he closed his eyes and dreamed. In his dream, he stood in front of a huge congregation of Indians. He had come to save them all, his collar starched and bleached so white that it blinded, and was so powerful that he had a red phone at the altar that was a direct line to God.
Listen to me, Father Arnold said, but the Indians ignored him. They talked among themselves, laughed at secret Jokes. Some even prayed in their own languages, in their own ways. Eagle feathers raised to the ceiling, pipes smoked, sweetgrass and sage burned.
Please, Father Arnold said, but the Indians continued to ignore him. He preached for hours without effect. He eventually tired and sat in a pew beside an old Indian woman. Suddenly, the church doors opened, and the local missionaries, Marcus and Narcissa Whitman, walked in with black boxes in their arms.
The Indians were silent.
The Whitmans walked to the front of the church, bowed to Father Arnold, then turned to the congregation.
Children, the Whitmans said, you shall listen to Father and believe.
Each placed a hand on a black box, and the Indians sat at attention.
You may continue with your sermon, the Whitmans said to Father Arnold.
Father Arnold hesitated, then stood and preached. The Indians' emotions swayed with his words. Whenever an Indian's mind wandered, Marcus and Narcissa threatened to open the black boxes, and the rebellious calmed.
Father Arnold loved his newfound power, although it was the Protestant missionaries who were responsible for it. He delivered the best sermon ever, and he heard God's cash register ring as it added up all the Indian souls saved. But those black boxes distracted Father Arnold. They kept the Indians quiet, but he wondered why. He was curious about them and Jealous of the Whitmans' secret power over the Indians.
Amen.
After the sermon ended, the Indians left quietly and respectfully. Father Arnold turned to the Whitmans.
What's in those black boxes?
Faith.
Show me.
The Whitmans opened the boxes. Father Arnold expected to see Jewels, locks of hair, talismans, but discovered nothing.
They're empty.
Of course.
What do you mean?
We told the Indians the boxes contained smallpox, and we opened them, the disease would kill them.
Why would you do something like that?
It's the only way to get them to listen. And you saw how well it works. They listened to you.
But it's wrong. We should teach through love.
Don't be such a child. Religion is about fear. Fear is just another word for faith, for God.
Father Arnold looked at the empty black boxes. In his dream, he stared at them for days, until the boxes closed tight.
Wait, Father Arnold said and noticed the Whitmans were gone, replaced by two Indian women who held the boxes.
These are for you, the Indian women said.
What's in them?
We don't know.
* * *
With a thousand dollars in prize money, Coyote Springs made the trek from Seattle back to the Spokane Indian Reservation. Thomas drove from Seattle to Moses Lake, and Chess drove the rest of the way. Junior and Victor slept the whole time. Betty and Veronica, the new white women backup singers, slept beside Junior and Victor.
"So," Chess asked Thomas as the blue van crossed the reservation border, "are you coming to church Sunday?"
"I don't know. It's been a long time, " Thomas said.
"What's that Father Arnold like?"
"He seems pretty nice. He's always hanging around the Trading Post and stuff."
Thomas looked at Chess, looked at the pine trees outside the car window. He looked at the highway, at the deer continually threatening to cross in front of the van.
"Checkers probably has a crush on him by now," Chess said.
"On who?" Thomas asked.
"On Father Arnold."
"Really?"
"Yeah. She always does that. She had a crush on the guy who delivered our mail back home. She stays away from young guys but always gets crushes on older guys, you know?"
They drove for a while in silence.
"You have
n't answered my question," Chess said.
"Which question?" Thomas asked.
"Will you go to church with me Sunday?"
Thomas closed his eyes, searched for the answer, and opened them again.
"How can you go to a church that killed so many Indians?" Thomas asked.
"The church does have a lot to atone for," Chess said.
"When's that going to happen."
"At the tipi flap to heaven, I guess."
"I don't know if I can wait that long. Besides, how do we know they're going to pay for it? Maybe we got it all backwards and you get into heaven because of hate."
"You have to have faith."
"But what about Hitler and Ted Bundy? How do you explain George Bush and George Custer? If God were good, why would he create Rush Limbaugh?"
"Sometimes the devil is easier to believe in, enit?"
"Really. How do you explain all of that? How do you explain all of the murdered Indians?"
The van rolled on.
"How do you explain Gandhi and Mother Theresa?"
Chess asked. "How do you explain Crazy Horse and Martin Luther King? There's good and bad in the world. We all get to make the choice. That's one of the mysteries of faith.
"Now you sound like Agatha Christie," Thomas said.
"Yeah, and it was God whodunnit."
"Who done what?"
"God created all of this. I mean, how can you look at all of this, all this life, and not believe in God? Look at this reservation. It's so pretty. Do you think the river and the trees are mistakes? Do you think everything is accidental?"
"No," Thomas said, looked at his hands, at the reservation as it rushed by. He loved so much. He loved the way a honey bee circled a flower. Simple stuff, to be sure, but what magic. A flower impressed Thomas more than something like the Grand Coulee Dam. Once he'd stood on the dam for hours and stared at a nest some bird built atop an archway. Thomas looked into himself. He knew his stories came from beyond his body and mind, beyond his tiny soul.
Thomas closed his eyes and told Chess this story: "We were both at Wounded Knee when the Ghost Dancers were slaughtered. We were slaughtered at Wounded Knee. I know there were whole different tribes there, no Spokanes or Flatheads, but we were still somehow there. There was a part of every Indian bleeding in the snow. All those soldiers killed us in the name of God, enit? They shouted ‘Jesus Christ' as they ran swords through our bellies. Can you feel the pain still, late at night, when you're trying to sleep, when you're praying to a God whose name was used to justify the slaughter?
Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman Page 14