* * *
Chess, Checkers, and Thomas stood in the hotel lobby with no idea what to do about Junior and Victor, who were getting drunk somewhere in Manhattan. But there were thousands of bars, taverns, lounges, and dives in New York. Thousands and thousands. Victor and Junior could be anywhere.
"Jeez," Checkers said, "what are we going to do?"
"I don't know," said Thomas, a reservation storyteller without answers or stories.
"Well," Chess said, "we have to find those two. It's dangerous here. Especially for them."
Thomas was truly frightened. He felt totally out of control. He could only think about the instruments they left in the studio.
"Our stuff," Thomas said.
"What stuff?" Chess asked.
"Our guitars and stuff. They're still in the studio."
"Forget them, it's all over now, anyways. Can't you feel it?"
Thomas touched his body and felt the absence, like some unnamed part of him had been cut away.
"What are we going to do?" Checkers pleaded. She dropped into a chair and held her head between her knees."I think I'm going to pass out."
Chess watched Thomas and Checkers collapse. She knew Victor and Junior had to be found. There was no time for drama. Victor and Junior, two small-town reservation hicks, were out drunk somewhere in New York City. There were only a few ways to die on the reservation but a few thousand new and exciting ways in Manhattan. All of it felt like a three-in-the-morning movie on television. Some punks would kill Victor and Junior for their shoes and dump their bodies in the Hudson River. And Kojak would never find them.
"Listen," Chess said, but Thomas and Checkers stared off into space.
"Listen, goddamn it!" Chess shouted. Thomas and Checkers looked at her."Thomas and I will grab a phonebook and hit all the bars in this whole town. Checkers, you stay here in case they come back. How does that sound?"
"That's crazy," Thomas said."There are thousands of bars."
"I know it's crazy," Chess said."But what else are we going to do? Who knows what Victor and Junior are going to do? They might get themselves killed."
"Where do we start?"
"With the A's," Chess said."And work our way from there."
Chess hugged her sister; Checkers wouldn't let her go. We've got to go," Chess said.
"Don't, " Checkers whispered.
Chess led her sister across the lobby and into the elevator.
"Eleventh floor," Chess said to the elevator man.
"Yes, ma'am."
The elevator doors slid closed. Chess and Thomas left the hotel with a few dozen pages of the phonebook.
* * *
Victor and Junior sat in a smoky lounge with a half dozen empty glasses in front of them.
"Fucking assholes," Victor shouted.
"Be quiet," Junior said."You'll get us kicked out of here, too."
It was the fourth bar that Junior and Victor had been in since they ran away from the rest of Coyote Springs. The bouncers had tossed them out of the first bar for fighting. The second lounge had closed early, and the third established a new dress code fifteen minutes after Junior and Victor sat down. Still, these bars they visited in New York City weren't all that different from the bars on the reservation. A few tables and chairs, a few stools at the bar, a television, and a pool table. The only difference between bars was the program on the TV.
"Everybody's a liar," Victor whispered. He laughed drunkenly and looked around the bar. The bartender stared at Victor and mentally cut him off.
"Man," Victor said."Look at all the beautiful white women in here."
Junior looked around the room. He saw beautiful white women in the bar, had seen beautiful white women in all four bars that night, and Victor had made sure to shout about it. There were beautiful women of all colors in those bars and some plain white ones, but Victor and Junior never seemed to notice the plain ones.
"This city's filled up with beautiful white women," Victor said and laughed his drunk laugh. Phlegm rattled in his throat and spit fell from his mouth.
"Victor," Junior said. "Why you like white women so much?"
"Don't you know? Bucks prefer white tail."'
Junior didn't feel like laughing. He Just ate a handful of peanuts and stared at the television. Victor babbled on about nothing. The bartender cleared the glasses away from Junior's and Victor's area. Victor ordered another beer, but Junior gave the bartender a look that said he don't need no more. The bartender gave Junior a look back that said I wasn't going to give him one anyway.
Junior knew that white women were trophies for Indian boys. He always figured getting a white woman was like counting coup or stealing horses, like the best kind of revenge against white men.
Hey, Indian men said to white men. You may have kicked our ass in the Indian wars, but we got your women.
But that was too easy an explanation, and Junior knew it.
He knew he loved to walk around with Betty and Veronica. Especially on the reservation. He loved to have something that other Indians didn't have. He'd had his first white woman back when he was in college in Oregon.
Junior had met Lynn when he had spent a Christmas break in the dorms; neither of them could afford to go home. All during the break, Junior read books and stared out the window into the snow. He watched cars pass by and wondered if white people were happier than Indians.
They met each other while checking their mail the day after Christmas.
"So," Lynn had asked, "what's it like being the only Indian here?"
"It gets pretty lonely, I guess."
"Do you drink much?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I see you at parties. You seem to drink a lot."
"Yeah, maybe I do."
Lynn studied Junior"s face.
"You know," she said, "you're very pretty."
"You're pretty, too."
They walked around campus for hours, talking and laughing. Then Lynn suddenly stopped and stared at Junior.
"What?" he asked.
"Listen, " she said and kissed him. Just like that. Junior had never kissed a white woman before, so he used his tongue a lot, and tried to find out if she tasted different than an Indian woman.
"Irish," said Lynn as she broke the kiss."I'm Irish."
"Who's Irish?" Victor asked Junior and pulled him from his memories.
"What?" Junior asked.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
'"What do you mean?"
"You said you were Irish."
‘"I didn't say that."
"Yeah, you did," Victor said."Where the hell were you? On another planet?"
"Yeah," Junior said."On another planet."
* * *
From the night report, 34th precinct, Manhattan:
12:53 A.M. Two Native Americans, Thomas Builds-the-Fire and Chess Warm Water, reported disappearance of two friends, Victor Joseph and Junior Polatkin. All are from Wellpinit, Washington, and are in a rock band called Coyote Springs, along with a Checkers Warm Water, who is waiting at the band's hotel. The disappeared supposedly took off on drinking binge after confrontation at record company. Took down stats on the missing but informed others that we couldn't do much unless there was some evidence of foul play. Joseph and Polatkin will probably stagger into hotel at dawn.
Builds-the-Fire was lead singer of the band.
* * *
Checkers waited in the hotel room and stared out the window, at the clock, at the door. She was afraid for the rest of Coyote Springs, because she knew that Indians always disappeared. She knew about Sam Bone, that Indian who waved to a few friends, turned a corner, and was never seen again.
"Please," Checkers said, her only prayer. She lay on the bed, closed her eyes, and prayed. She prayed until she fell asleep, and then she dreamed.
Checkers? asked the voice, like a knock on the door.
Chess, Checkers whispered as she rushed to the door and opened it.
Hello, said Phi
l Sheridan as he pushed his way into the room.
What do you want? Checkers asked.
I came to apologize, Sheridan said. Where is everybody?
They all just left. They'll be back soon.
You're alone?
For Just a little while, Checkers said and edged back toward the door. Sheridan stepped around her, shut the door, and locked it. He stared at Checkers. His eyes were wild, furtive.
You guys really blew it, Sheridan said.
What do you mean?
You blew it by acting like a bunch of goddamn wild Indians. I might have been able to talk Mr. Armstrong into listening to you again. He might have given you another chance. But not after that shit you pulled in the studio. You caused a lot of damage.
We didn't start it.
That's what you Indians always say. The white men did this to us, the white men did that to us. When are you ever going to take responsibility for yourselves?
Sheridan paced around the room, lit a cigarette, and waved it like a saber.
You had a choice, Sheridan said. We gave you every chance. All you had to do was move to the reservation. We would've protected you. The U.S. Army was the bestf riend the Indians ever had.
What are you talking about? Checkers asked. We're not in the army. We're a rock band.
Checkers made a move for the door, but Sheridan grabbed her.
This is Just like you Indians, Sheridan shouted in her face. You could never stay where we put you. You never listened to orders. Always fighting. You never quit fighting. Do you understand how tired I am of fighting you? When will you ever give up?
Sheridan threw Checkers to the floor. He pulled off his coat and necktie.
Listen, he said and tried to regain composure. I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anybody. But it was war. This is war. We won. Don't you understand? We won the war. We keep winning the war. But you won't surrender.
Sheridan kneeled down beside Checkers and tied her hands behind her back with his necktie.
I remember once, he said, when I killed this Indian woman. I don't even know what tribe she was. It was baok in '72. I rode up on her and ran my saber right through her heart. I thought that was it. But she Jumped up and pulled me off my mount. I couldn't believe it. I was so angry that I threw her to the ground and stomped her to death. It was then I noticed she was pregnant. We couldn't have that. Nits make lice, you know? So I cut her belly open and pulled that fetus out. Then that baby bit me. Can you believe that?
I don't know what you're talking about, Checkers said.
You know exactly what I'm talking about. You Indians always knew how to play dumb. But you were never dumb. You talked like Tonto, but you had brains like fucking Einstein. Had us whites all figured out. But we still kept trying to change you. Tried to make you white. It never worked.
Mr. Sheridan, what are you going to do to me?
I don't know, Sheridan said and sat on the floor beside Checkers. I never know what to do with you.
Sheridan studied Checkers. He had watched her during the last few centuries. She was beautiful. But she was Indian beautiful with tribal features. She didn't look anything at all like a white woman. She was tall with narrow hips and muscular legs. Large breasts. She had arms strong as any man's. And black, black hair that hung down past her shoulders. Sheridan wanted to touch it. He had always been that way about Indian women's hair.
You know, Sheridan said, you're more beautiful than your sister.
She didn't listen. She didn't really care one way or the other. She just wanted help. I
I don't care what you think, Checkers said. I don't believe in you.
What?
I don't believe in you. I 'm just dreaming. You're a ghost, a dream, a piece of dust, a foul-smelling wind. Go away.
Sheridan reached across the years and took Checkers's face in his hands. He squeezed until she cried out and saw white flashes of light.
Do you believe in me now? he asked.
* * *
Thomas and Chess walked into Carson's All-Night Restaurant on the Lower East Side. They had been lost on the subway for hours, sure they were going to be mugged at any time.
"Why aren't we dead?" Chess asked Thomas as they sat in a booth.
"Probably because we looked too pathetic to mug," Thomas said.
"What do you want?" asked the waitress who came to the table. She had an unusually beautiful voice for a waitress, but it was New York. That waitress had been blonde at several different points during her lifetime, even though she was currently red-headed. Still, she was pretty and had even been called back for a few television commercials. She hadn't gotten a role yet, but there was a bathroom cleaner spot in her future.
"Hey," Chess said, "you ain't seen two Indian men come in here, have you?"
"What?" the waitress asked."What do you mean? From India?"
"No," Chess said."Not that kind of Indian. We mean American Indians, you know? Bows-and-arrows Indians. Cowboys-and-Indians Indians.
"Oh," the waitress said, "that kind. Shoot, I ain't ever seen that kind of Indian."
"We're that kind of Indian."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Hey, Kit," the waitress yelled back at the fry cook and owner of the deli."Have you seen any Indians in here?"
"What do you mean?" Kit asked. ""You mean from India or what?"
"No, stupid," the waitress yelled."Indians like in the western movies. Like Geronimo."
"Oh, I ain't seen none of those around for a long time. I saw a few in a book once. You sure there are still Indians around at all?"
"These two right here say they're Indian."
Kit the fry cook came out to look at the two potential Indians. Chess and Thomas saw a fat man in a dirty white t-shirt, although they weren't sure where the shirt ended and the man began.
"Shit," Kit said."They don't look nothing like those Indians in the movies. They look Puerto Rican to me."
"Yeah," the waitress said."They kind of do."
"Do you speak English?" Kit asked.
"Let's get out of here," Chess said to Thomas.
"Yeah, let's go home," Thomas said.
"Hey, you speak good English, " Kit yelled after Chess and Thomas. "Have a good trip back to Puerto Rico."
* * *
I 'm pregnant, Lynn had told Junior after they dated for a few months during that first year in college.
"I'm' pregnant," Junior said aloud as he sat with Victor in their sixth bar of the night. After hours. Victor would have been falling down drunk if he had been standing up.
"Who's the father?" Victor asked and laughed.
What do you want to do? Junior had asked Lynn after she told him.
"Am I the father?" Victor asked and laughed some more.
Lynn had Just shrugged her shoulders.
Do you want to get married? Junior had asked her then.
"Do you want to get married?" he said aloud in the bar.
"I ain't going to marry you if I ain't the father," Victor said.
I can't marry you, Lynn had said. You're Indian.
Junior had turned and walked away from Lynn. He always wondered why they had been together at all. Everybody on campus stared at them. The Indian boy and the white girl walking hand in hand. Lynn's parents wouldn't even talk to him when they came to campus for visits.
Junior walked away from Lynn and never looked back. No. That wasn't true. He did turn back once, and she was still standing there, an explosion of white skin and blonde hair. She waved, and Junior felt himself break into small pieces that blew away uselessly in the wind.
"Nothing as white as the white girl an Indian boy loves," Junior said aloud.
"What the fuck you talking about?" Victor asked."I ain't white. I'm lower sub-chief of the Spokane Tribe."
Junior walked away from his memories of Lynn and looked Victor square in the face.
"You know, " Junior said, "the end of the world is near."
"Shit,
I know that. Don't you think I know that? I'm a fatalist."
Spittle hung from Victor's mouth, his eyes were glazed over, and his hair was plastered wetly to his forehead. He smiled a little, a single tear ran down his face, and then he passed out face first onto the table.
"It's time to take you home," Junior said.
Junior picked him up and carried him out the door. The bartender watched them leave, cleaned the glasses they had drunk from, and erased their presence from that part of the world.
* * *
Do you know how many times I've dreamed about you? Sheridan asked Checkers.
It couldn't have been very many, Checkers said. You haven't known me very long.
I've known you for centuries.
Jeez, now you're starting to sound like Dracula. And I don't believe in monsters.
I want to kiss you, Sheridan said.
No, Checkers said. I don't believe in you.
Sheridan slapped Checkers hard, drew a little blood. A little is more than enough.
Do you believe in me now? he asked.
You ain't nothing, you ain't nothing.
I'm everything.
You ain't much at all. You're just another white guy telling lies. I don't believe in you. All you want to do is fight and fuck. You never tell a story that's true. I don't believe in you.
Sheridan kissed Checkers, bit down hard on her lips. He was pulling at her clothes when there was a knock on the door.
George Wright knocked on the door of Coyote Springs's hotel room. He couldn't sleep at all. He had tossed and turned, worrying about the band. So he Jumped into a taxi and came over. He was'n it even sure why. He knocked on the door again. He heard a woman's voice inside and then her scream.
"Shit, " Wright said and threw his shoulder against the door. He was surprised when the unlocked door flew wide open and sent him sprawling.
* * *
From a letter Junior kept hidden in his wallet:
Dear Junior:
It's over. I went to the free clinic and it's over. My parents will never know about it. You don't have to worry about it. I'm okay. I barely even felt anything. I just closed my eyes and then it was over. I hummed a little song to myself so I couldn't hear anything and then it was over. My parents will never even know it happened. You don't have to think about it anymore. Just remember that I love you. But that's all over now.
Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman Page 20