Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman

by Alexie Sherman

  "What are you supposed to know?" Big Mom asked.

  "Everything, I guess. Don't you know everything?"

  "No, I'm Just as scared as you are."

  "What am I supposed to do?"

  Big Mom closed her eyes. She listened to the wind, the voices of the reservation. She heard the horses.

  "I'm not sure," Big Mom said."But it's up to you, no matter what, enit?"

  Arnold nodded his head, pulled the car keys from his pocket, and looked down the road. Big Mom touched his arm, smiled, and then started to walk away.

  "Wait," Arnold said."Where are you going?"

  "Those kids need me," Big Mom said."They lost somebody, and they need help to say goodbye."

  Father Arnold swallowed hard. He ran his hand along his neck.

  "Well," Big Mom said, "are you coming or not?"

  "I don't know. I mean, what about Checkers? What about all of it? You're not even Catholic, are you?"

  "Listen," Big Mom said, "you cover all the Christian stuff; I'll do the traditional Indian stuff. We'll make a great team."

  "Are you sure?"

  "No, I'm not sure," said Big Mom as she grabbed Father Arnold's hand."Come on."

  "But what about my collar, my cassock?" Arnold asked.

  "You don't need that stuff. That's a very powerful t-shirt you have on."

  "Really?"

  "Really," Big Mom said and led the way toward Coyote Springs.

  * * *

  From The Spokesman-Review/s classified ads:

  Help Wanted

  Western Telephone Communications seeking operators for entry-level positions. Must have good communication skills, ability to type 45 wpm, and experience with computers. Please send resumes to P.O. Box 1999, Spokane, WA 99204.

  * * *

  Coyote Springs buried Junior in the Spokane Tribal Cemetery, in the same row with his mother and father. Big Mom and Father Arnold took turns leading the service, while Checkers, Chess, Victor, and Thomas stood at the graveside. Lester FallsApart and the three dogs kept a polite distance. No other Spokane Indians showed up.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  Father Arnold finished the ceremony and asked if anybody had any final words for the dearly departed.

  "Final words?" Chess asked. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop talking about this."

  The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost howled. Lester tried to quiet them, but Big Mom had to walk over. She knelt down beside the dogs, whispered to them, and stroked their fur. The dogs whimpered and kissed Big Mom.

  "What are their names?" Big Mom asked Lester and laughed when he told her.

  "Well," she said, "I think we should change their names. That isn't exactly respectful."

  "Well," Lester said, "they ain't my dogs no more. I gave them to Coyote Springs."

  "Ya-hey," Big Mom called out. "What are you going to name your dogs?"

  Thomas looked at Chess.

  "I don't know," Thomas said."It's not really up to us to decide. We're going to let Victor have the dogs. We've got other plans."

  "How come I get the dogs?" Victor asked.

  Big Mom wondered about Thomas's and Chess's plans but knew they had something to do with leaving the reservation.

  "Is there anything anybody wants to say about the departed?" Father Arnold asked.

  "Junior never hurt anybody, not on purpose," Victor said and surprised everybody. He was lying, of course, but he wanted to make sense of Junior's life.

  "He hurt himself the most," Big Mom said.

  "He tried to be good," Thomas said. "He tried really hard."

  Big Mom sang under her breath, a quiet little mourning song. Coyote Springs trembled with the music. They didn't sing along.

  "Did you know that Junior had a kid?" Victor asked.

  Everybody on the Spokane Indian Reservation had heard the rumors, but nobody had known the truth except Junior. After Junior killed himself, Victor found that note in Junior's wallet and learned the whole story. Lynn, the little romance, the abortion. "Yeah, a half-breed little boy," Victor lied, trying to make more significance out of his best friend's life and death.

  "How old is the kid?" Chess asked.

  "Almost ten years old now. Named him Charles."

  "Wow," Chess said. "Where did all this happen?"

  "When Junior was in college," Victor said. "In Oregon."

  "It was a white woman, enit?" Chess asked.

  "Yeah, what about it?" Victor said and continued the lie, feeling the guilt that he was responsible for the suicide, that he'd sold his best friend's life."Her parents didn't like it either. And sent that baby away. Junior never saw him. Just heard about him once in a while."

  Big Mom sang another mourning song, a little louder this time.

  "Jeez," Chess said. "Now I know why he never talked about it."

  Checkers whispered a prayer to herself.

  Chess looked around the graveyard, at all the graves of Indians killed by white people's cars, alcohol, uranium. All those Indians who had killed themselves. She saw the pine trees that surrounded the graveyard and the road that led back to the rest of the reservation. That road was dirt and gravel, had been a trail for a few centuries before. A few years from now, it would be paved, paid for by one more government grant. She looked down the road and thought she saw a car, a mirage shimmering in the distance, a blonde woman and a child standing beside the car, both dressed in black.

  *

  Look, Chess said and ran down the road toward the woman and child. She had so many questions.

  Why did you love him, that broken Indian man? Chess asked the white woman. Why did you conceive him a son?

  Chess wanted to tell the white woman that her child was always going to be halfway. He's always going to be half Indian, she'd say, and that will make him half crazy. Half of him will always want to tear the other half apart. It's war. Chess wanted to tell her that her baby was always going to be half Indian, no matter what she did to make it white.

  All you can do is breed the Indian out if your family, Chess said. All you can do is make sure your son marries a white woman and their children marry white people. The fractions will take over. Your half blood son will have quarter-blood children and eight-blood grandchildren, and then they won't be Indians anymore. They won't hardly be Indian, and they can sleep better at night.

  Chess ran down that road toward the white woman and her half-Indian son, because she wanted to save them from the pain that other Indians would cause.

  Your son will be beaten because he's a halfbreed, Chess said. No matter what he does, he'll never be Indian enough. Other Indians won't accept him. Indians are like that.

  Chess wanted to save Indians from the pain that the white woman and her half-Indian son would cause.

  Don't you see? Chess asked. Those quarter-blood and eighth-blood grandchildren will fade out they're Indian and torment the rest of us real Indians. They'll come out to the reservation, come to our powwovvs, in their nice clothes and nice cars, and remind the real Indians how much we don't have. Those quarter-bloods and eighth-bloods will get all the Indian jobs, all the Indian chances, because they look white. Because they're safer.

  Chess wanted to say so much to the white woman and her half-Indian son. She closed her eyes, opened them again, and the white woman and her son were gone. They'd never been there.

  *

  "What is it?" Thomas asked Chess. The rest of Coyote Springs, Big Mom, and Father Arnold had already begun the walk away from the cemetery. Lester FallsApart and the three dogs followed closely behind. Chess still stood at the graveside, staring into the distance.

  "Chess?" Thomas asked again."What is it?"

  "Thomas," Chess said and took his hand, "let's get married. Let's have kids."

  Thomas was surprised. He couldn't respond.

  "Really," Chess said."Let's have lots of brown babies. I want my babies to look up and see two brown faces. That's the best thing we can give them, enit? Two brown fa
ces. Do you want to?"

  Thomas smiled.

  "Okay," he said.

  * * *

  Checkers went straight to bed when they returned to Thomas's house after the burial. Thomas and Big Mom sat in the kitchen and talked about making lunch. Victor jumped in the blue van and drove away. Father Arnold stood alone outside on the front lawn, feeling unwelcome.

  "Checkers?" Chess asked her sister."Are you okay?"

  "Yeah," Checkers said."I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well."

  "Those nightmares, enit? Does Sheridan keep coming back for you?"

  "It ain't Sheridan anymore. It's Dad who comes every night now."

  "What?" Chess asked. Luke Warm Water rarely entered her dreams.

  "Yeah," Checkers said."He stands in the doorway of the bedroom. Just like he used to. He's been drinking. I can smell him. He doesn't say nothing. He just stands there in the doorway, holding his arms out to me. Then I wake up."

  "Do you think it's really him?" Chess asked.

  "Yeah, it's him."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because he's crying the whole time."

  The sisters sat for a long while in silence. They held hands; they cried.

  "We're leaving soon, you know," Chess said after a while."Thomas and I are leaving for Spokane. Are you coming or not?"

  "What are we going to do about money?" Checkers asked.

  "I got a job. At the phone company. As an operator."

  "Enit?"

  "Enit. It'll hold us over until you and Thomas find Jobs."

  "Does Victor know?"

  "No."

  "Does Big Mom know?"

  "Probably. You should tell Father Arnold."

  "I don't want to talk to him, " Checkers said."I don't care what he does."

  A knock on the door.

  "Who is it?" Chess asked.

  "It's me, Big Mom."

  "Come in."

  Big Mom stepped in, and Father Arnold was right behind her.

  "He wants to talk to you, " Big Mom said to Checkers.

  "Alone."

  Checkers shook her head.

  "Okay," Big Mom said."How about if Chess stays?"

  Checkers looked at her sister. Chess nodded in the affirmative.

  "Good," Big Mom said and left the room."I've got some lunch to make."

  Arnold closed the door, sat in a chair at the foot of the bed."

  "Hello," he said.

  Checkers looked at Chess.

  "Hello," Checkers said to Arnold.

  "How are you?" he asked. He looked scared.

  "I'm okay."

  Arnold looked at Chess, then back at Checkers.

  "Can we talk?" he asked.

  "About what?" Checkers asked.

  "About us."

  "Yeah, I guess so."

  The three all looked uncomfortable, exchanged glances, stared at the floor, walls, and ceiling.

  "I'm sorry for everything," Arnold said.

  "You should be."

  "This is all my fault. I led you on."

  "Well," Checkers said, "none of that matters much now. We're leaving the reservation. So you don't have to worry about me. I'm leaving and you can stay."

  "You're leaving?" Arnold asked, feeling a combination of sadness and relief.

  "We're moving to Spokane. Chess got a job as a telephone operator."

  "When are you leaving?"

  "Soon," Checkers said and reached under the bed. "And here's a bottle of your Communion wine. I stole it because I was mad at you."

  "Why'd you steal that?" Chess asked, shocked at her sister.

  "I was going to get drunk. But then Junior shot himself."

  Arnold took the bottle. There was a long silence.

  "Do you forgive me?" Checkers asked Arnold.

  "Yes, do you forgive me?"

  "I don't know. Am I allowed to?"

  "Yes, you're allowed to."

  "Well, then. I don't think I do. Not yet. I mean, I still love you. I still feel that, you know? It ain't like that changes. But I can still tell you to shove your God up your ass. But I don't know if I mean it. I don't know what I mean. I don't know nothing, and you don't know any more than I do."

  Arnold didn't say anything. He agreed with Checkers. He'd been just all of the other performers in the world. He'd wanted to be universally loved. He wasn't all that different from Victor, Thomas, or even Junior. They all got onstage and wanted the audience to believe in them. They all wanted the audience to throw their room keys, panties, confessions, flowers, and songs onstage. They wanted the audience to trust them with all their secrets. But Victor, Thomas, and Junior had fallen apart in the face of all of that. Arnold had fallen apart, too. Junior could never be put back together again, but maybe the rest of them could.

  "Discipline," Father Arnold said with much difficulty. It was only one word, but he needed to find the one word that would make Chess and Checkers understand."I knew how to pray with discipline. I can do it again."

  Chess and Checkers both understood but still felt suspicious. They'd grown up with priests and their churches. The sisters had loved them all. The sisters had loved to kneel in the pew and pray in exactly the way they'd been taught. For years, the sisters said those same prayers over and over, as if sheer repetition could guarantee results. As if their little prayers had a cumulative effect on God, adding one on top of another, until all of their prayers were as tall as a priest's single prayer.

  "Checkers," Father Arnold said, "I can't believe you stole the Communion wine."

  "Enit?" Checkers asked."Not very original, was it?"

  "No," Father said. "And that stuff is awful anyway. How did you ever think you could drink it?"

  "Discipline," Checkers said and laughed. Chess and Father Arnold laughed, too. But it was forced, awkward, as if everything depended on it.

  * * *

  After Victor left Thomas's house in the blue van, he drove around for a few hours before he finally parked at Turtle Lake. There was nobody else around. He turned on the radio and heard Freddy Fender.

  "Junior," Victor said."What the fuck did you do?"

  Victor closed his eyes and saw Junior sitting in the passenger seat when he opened them. Junior looked exactly like someone who had shot himself in the head with a rifle.

  "Happy reservation fucking Halloween," Junior said, and Victor screamed, which made Junior scream, too. They traded screams for a while.

  "So," Junior said after the screams had stopped, "are you happy to see me?"

  "Jesus," Victor said. "What do you think this is? An American Werewolf in London? You're supposed to be a ghost, not a piece of raw meat."

  "Ya-hey," Junior said."Good one."

  "I don't believe this," Victor said and closed his eyes. He heard a rifle blast. He was shaking.

  "Are you going to miss me?"

  Victor opened his eyes and looked at Junior. He didn't know what to feel.

  "I'm going to miss getting drunk with you," Victor said.

  "Oh, yeah, enit? We had some good times, didn't we?"

  Victor smiled. Junior pulled a silver flask out of his coat and offered it to Victor.

  "Hey, look, " Junior said, "somebody put this in my coffin during the wake. Was it you? Must be worth fifty bucks. Maybe you can hock it. I don't really need it where I 'm going."

  Victor took the flask, opened it, and sniffed.

  "It's whiskey," Victor said."It must've been Father Arnold. You know those priests."

  "Sure. Take a drink."

  "I don't know, man. I've been thinking about going on the wagon."

  "Since when?"

  "Since you killed yourself. I ain't drunk any since then, you know?"

  Junior and Victor stared at the silver flask.

  "It's pretty, enit?" Junior asked.

  "Yeah," Victor said. "I wonder if Father Arnold really gave it to you."

  "Maybe."

  Victor was nervous. He'd never talked to the dead before. It felt like
a first date.

  "This feels like a first date, enit?" Junior asked.

  "Yeah, it does."

  "So," Junior said, "am I going to get lucky?"

  Both laughed. There was silence. They laughed at the silence. There was more silence.

  "Why'd you do it?" Victor asked.

  "Do what?"

  "You know, shoot yourself. In the head."

  "You know," Junior said, "I heard some people talking at the Trading Post after I did it. They thought I couldn't hear them. But I could. They said I didn't mean to kill myself. That I was Just looking for attention. Assholes."

  "Some people sent you flowers, though, did you see?"

  "Yeah, the assholes."

  Silence.

  "You know," Junior said, "I really am going to miss getting drunk with you. Remember when we used to go out chasing white women? Before you got fat and ugly."

  "Fat and ugly, my ass. Those white women loved me."

  "Do you remember Betty and Veronica?"

  "Of course."

  "Those two weren't bad," Junior said."Maybe we should've held on to them."

  "Yeah, maybe. Junior, why'd you do it?"

  "Do what?"

  "Kill yourself."

  Junior looked away, watching the sunlight reflecting off Turtle Lake.

  "Because life is hard," Junior said.

  "That's it?"

  "That's the whole story, folks. I wanted to be dead. Gone. No more."

  "Why?"

  "Because when I closed my eyes like Thomas, I didn't see a damn thing. Nothing. Zilch. No stories, no songs. Nothing."

  Victor looked down at the silver flask of whiskey in his hands. He wanted to take a drink. He wanted that guitar back, still dreamed about it every night.

  "And," Junior added, "because I didn't want to be drunk no more."

  Victor rolled down his window and threw the flask out into Turtle Lake. It sank quickly.

  "I don't need that no more," Victor said."I'm going on the wagon."

  "Here, " Junior said and handed Victor another flask.

  "You better throw this one out, too."

  "How many of these you got?"

  "A whole bunch. We better get to work."

  "What are we going to do after this?" Victor asked.

  "Well, I've got other places to go. But I think you should go get yourself a goddamn job. I ain't going to be around to take care of your sorry ass anymore."

  Like some alcoholic magician, Junior pulled flask after flask from his clothes and handed them to Victor, who threw them out the window into Turtle Lake. Those silver flasks floated down through the lake rumored to have no bottom, rumored to be an extinct volcano, and came to rest miles below the surface.