Native Affairs

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “Nah,” he answered, adding a dollop to her cup, “these Indian choppers are indestructible. They may not be perfectly straight, we didn’t go in much for orthodontics on the reservation, but they’re strong as iron.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Comes from chewing buffalo hides.”

  He was teasing, as usual. “I may not be that well versed in the practices of your culture,” Jennifer said archly, “but even I know that only women did that work.”

  Lee shrugged. “That was before the ERA hit the tribe. Now we all do it.”

  Jennifer kept a straight face. “Sounds like a sensible plan.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Actually, the Blackfeet were always a pretty liberated bunch. The teepee belonged to the wife, you know, and if she and her husband had a fight, she could throw him out and leave him homeless.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Jennifer said, and did so.

  “And,” Lee went on, “the wife kept her maiden name all her life. She was not regarded as her husband’s property, but his partner.”

  Jennifer set down her cup and applauded.

  He grinned. “I thought you’d like that.”

  Jennifer looked at her watch. “Don’t you think we’d better get started?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he responded, putting the cups in the sink. He walked around and switched off the stereo just as the record was going into the title cut, “Born to Run.”

  “My theme song,” Lee said. He looked back at her. “In more ways than one.”

  What exactly did that mean? He was talking on two levels, and Jennifer had a suspicion that the hidden meaning had something to do with her.

  As they walked into the hall she pointed to one of the photographs on the mantelpiece. “Is that your father?”

  Lee nodded.

  “He must be very proud of you.”

  Lee’s eyes became distant, focused elsewhere. “Yes, he is. I think he’s living his life over again, through me. The reservation mined him, took away his ambition, initiative, everything. He wanted to see that the same thing didn’t happen to me, so when sports gave me the chance to break free of that life, he made sure I took it.”

  Jennifer was silent.

  “Of course,” Lee continued, “getting off the reservation isn’t always the answer. Take my sister. Please.”

  Jennifer waited for what was to come. The old joke was stated in a bitter tone that signified more.

  “Her name,” Lee said, “is Spring Flower, except now she’s changed it to ‘Reur.’ She says it sounds more sophisticated, but what she really means is that it sounds French, which is okay, as opposed to Indian, which is not.”

  His voice was filled with rancor. “She won a scholarship to college, like me, except once she got there she forgot where she came from. She hasn’t been back to see my parents in six years.”

  Jennifer didn’t know what to say.

  “She’s a research chemist for some big laboratory in New Jersey. It’s not that far from here, actually, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to go see her. She acts like she has no past, that her life began at eighteen when she left home. I’m sure none of the people she works with know about her background. She’s careful to conceal it That doesn’t explain her looks, though, so I understand the guy she’s engaged to tells everybody that her mother is Greek.”

  Jennifer couldn’t imagine why he was telling her all this. Her innocent question about the picture had prompted this outpouring of personal information.

  “Well,” Lee added, “I’m sure they’ll be very happy. The only successful marriages I’ve ever seen between Indians and non-Indians occur when the Indian is totally absorbed in WASP culture. And my sister is well on her way to becoming an imitation WASP. Something,” he said with precision, “that I will never be.”

  Jennifer was sure of that. If the transformation hadn’t occurred by now, it never would.

  “Your sister doesn’t mean to hurt anyone, Lee,” Jennifer said soothingly. “She’s probably just confused.”

  “I’m not,” Lee said firmly. “I don’t know how people can just dismiss their heritage like that, no matter what it could gain them or how much they loved someone. I could never do it.”

  Jennifer felt a chill. Was he trying to tell her something? But his expression was abstracted, as if he had forgotten she was there and he were talking to himself.

  “Surely it doesn’t always have to be like that,” Jennifer said softly, “with one person selling out for the other. I’m certain that sometimes both people can accept what they are and love each other while still keeping their identities intact.”

  “I’ve never seen it,” Lee answered.

  Jennifer had nothing to add to that. After all, he was in a position to know.

  He turned his head and seemed to remember the reason for her presence.

  “Let’s go, counselor,” he said, sighing. “Our chariot awaits.”

  * * * *

  The parade route began at the Museum of Art and traveled through downtown Philadelphia, winding up at Independence Hall. Lee rode a float with several other athletes, including Joe Thornridge, while Jennifer used the interim time to advantage talking to the newspaper and television people about Lee’s visit to the children’s hospital, scheduled for that afternoon. It was a great human interest story, and Jennifer planned to get a lot of mileage out of it.

  After the parade there was a short press conference, and Jennifer waited for Lee in the background. She was looking over her notes when she felt a touch on her shoulder and jumped.

  “Hi,” Lee said.

  She had been so absorbed that she hadn’t realized he was already finished.

  “Don’t creep up on me like that,” she said breathlessly. “How’d it go?”

  “Fine. I waved at everybody and looked appropriately macho. The crowd seemed suitably impressed.”

  His tone was dry. Obviously, being on display was not his favorite thing.

  “Well, you have a couple of hours before you’re due at the hospital,” Jennifer said. “The driver can take you home if you like.”

  “Are you going home, too?” he quizzed.

  “I guess so. I have to change.”

  “All right. You can drop me off on the way.” He folded his arms and surveyed the impressive facade of Independence Hall over her shoulder. She turned to follow his gaze, taking in the colonial brick structure with the gleaming white bell tower.

  “Look at this place,” he said. “You ever been inside?”

  “I took the tour once, a while ago.”

  “The walls speak to you, don’t they? You can almost imagine old Patrick Henry making that speech: ‘Give me liberty, or give me death.’ Great stuff. Them’s fightin’ words. Quite a phrase to echo down through the generations. You have to admire those people. They risked everything, and I mean everything, for what they thought was right I remember some history teacher talking about that comment John Hancock made when he signed the Declaration of Independence. You know, ‘I’ll write this big enough for King George to see without his glasses on.’”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, this teacher said that people repeat it today as though it were a joke or something, but they forget that Hancock thought he might have been signing his death warrant What courage that took. When I saw the original, preserved, the way they have it, there was John’s signature, three times as large as the others, and I couldn’t believe it You hear about something all your life, and it becomes almost a myth, as though it doesn’t really exist anywhere but in your mind. It was a kick to finally see the real thing.”

  Jennifer stared at him. Here he was expressing admiration for the colonial patriots, the forerunners of those who had eventually enslaved his people.

  He saw her look, and knew its meaning. He shrugged. “Great Britain was wrong,” he said. “It’s my country, too,” he added quietly. Then he cupped her chin in the palm of one large hand and turned her face up to his. “In fact, it was my country b
efore it was yours.”

  That was certainly true. She locked eyes with him for a few seconds, and then stepped back, saying briskly, “I’ll go inside and call Max to pick us up.”

  Lee leaned gracefully against a lamppost and said, “I’ll be here.”

  As Jennifer walked away she thought about what he had said Upon closer examination, his enthusiasm for the Founding Fathers was more understandable. She could see how their actions would appeal to his sense of style. He had a flair for the dramatic himself. She had seen him pause in the end zone after making a touchdown and hold the ball aloft, like a lady’s favor in a joust, to the vocal delight of the fans. Then he would bend from the waist in a sweeping, courtly bow. She had thought at first that the other players might resent these histrionics, and think him a hot dog, but he really wasn’t one, and they apparently knew it In interviews, he never failed to give credit to his defense people, the blockers and tackles who cleared the way for his flashy footwork, and he always praised Joe Thornridge for his magic arm.

  On the way back he was quiet and merely nodded when she reminded him of the time she would return for him. She watched him walk up the path to his house, admiring, as always, the broad shoulders and narrow waist, the perfect proportions of his athlete’s body. The sun made a shining black helmet of his hair. Then she tore her eyes away and ordered Max, in a firmer tone than was necessary, to take her back to her apartment.

  She told herself sternly that she really hadn’t been hoping Lee would ask her inside.

  * * * *

  They were due at the hospital at two, and Jennifer ate a quick lunch before changing into a tailored dress and brushing her hair. She glanced at the evening dress laid out on the bed for the dinner that night Sponsored by the Freedom’s management, it was being held at the Bellevue Stratford downtown, to welcome the new players and kick off the season. It was a social event, rather than business, so she wouldn’t be going with Lee. For lack of a better idea, she had asked John Ashford to escort her, and she assumed Lee was bringing a date also.

  Jennifer shook her head. One thing at a time. She had to get through this afternoon first. She would worry about tonight when the time came.

  Lee remained introspective during the ride to the hospital. He sat next to her in the back seat of the limousine, his knee almost touching hers, staring out the window. He had changed also, into dark slacks and a light blue shirt and a knit tie. He turned once to find her watching him, and she looked away.

  A group of reporters and a news team from a local television station were already waiting outside the ward when they arrived. A cameraman with his equipment strapped to his shoulders zeroed in on Lee and followed his every move. Lee glanced at Jennifer quickly, uncertainly, as if for guidance, and then plunged ahead.

  The kids could hardly control their excitement. The ambulatory cases had been assembled at one end of the ward, where rows of folding chairs were interspersed with wheelchairs and cots. The children who were bedridden had been propped up with pillows so they could see better. Nurses and aides stood by, beaming, to shake hands with Lee as he entered. A hospital spokesman, who had met them in the lobby, cleared the way and led Lee to a vantage point where he could address the group.

  Lee’s reaction to the sick children was not lost on Jennifer. His sharp eyes took in everything, and they filled with compassion at the sight of illness and incapacity in ones so young. He paused a couple of times, once by the bedside of a little black boy who had tubes running from his nose and the inside of his arm. He sat on the edge of the child’s bed, as everyone waited for him, and talked to the boy for several minutes. He stopped again to tell a girl of about nine or ten, who had a broken leg in traction, about the time he had broken his own leg. He reassured the girl that his was as good as new now, and hers would be, too.

  Jennifer walked just behind him, and she could see his face change during his progress through the ward. When he got to his appointed spot, he looked around for her.

  “Jen?” he said softly.

  She had never heard that tone from him before. He, who was always so sure of himself, sounded…shaken.

  “Right here,” she said, stepping forward.

  He looked at her for a moment, and then reached down and pressed her hand.

  Alarmed, she said, “Lee, are you all right?”

  He swallowed. “Sure. Fine. Just…stay here, okay?”

  In that moment, she would have done anything he asked. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  He nodded. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  The photographers snapped pictures, and the reporters held up their microphones to catch his words, as he began a dialogue with the children, answering their questions and telling them stories. As he relaxed, and the effects of what had been bothering him initially wore off, he loosened his tie and pulled a chair forward to lean on as he talked.

  His audience was fascinated. They listened, quiet as cloistered nuns, their eyes round, while he described the rigors of the Sun Dance, a solemn ceremony performed by the Indians of the Plains for hundreds of years. Jennifer was as riveted as the children by the narration. Lee told of the preparation involved, the feasting, the courtships, and the selection of the assistants for the rites by the shamans. Virtuous women were chosen to chop down the sacred cottonwood tree, used as an integral part of the dance. Later, a mentor would be chosen from the shamans to be in charge of the activities.

  The cottonwood tree was then stripped, painted, and raised as a pole in the center of the dancing ground. At dawn, the dancers were prepared for their ordeal. The warriors were decorated with colors that showed what degree of pain they had chosen to suffer. Some would merely fast and dance, others would have bits of flesh cut from their bodies, and the bravest were those who had agreed to have skewers implanted through flaps cut in their skin. They were attached to the tree, or to buffalo skulls, by rawhide thongs, and would dance until the skin of each man ripped free from the skewers, experiencing, through their great pain, a communion with the spirit of the sun.

  Jennifer watched the children’s expressions as Lee detailed, vividly, the endurance of the dancers, the trancelike state of the participants as they approached union with their god. It was clear that this group had never heard anything like it. She hadn’t, either.

  One child, bolder than the others, began to beg for a demonstration. Jennifer could tell that Lee was tempted, but he glanced at the reporters crowding around him, and it was obvious that he didn’t want to be filmed for presentation on the six o’clock news. The spokesman had acquired a following, and Lee shushed them with the promise of another story. Jennifer watched, overwhelmed with tenderness, as Lee lost the last of his reserve and sat cross-legged on the floor, telling the children about the Blackfoot societies, through which the men of the tribe advanced all their lives. As boys they entered the Little Birds, where they learned the art of warfare. After three trials, a boy went on to the Pigeons, and when he was finally accepted as a warrior, to the Mosquitoes. He gave the Pikuni name for all of these. And, Lee said, if a man had the largest number of coups in his society, and had become a living god, then he could join the Mutsik, the society reserved for the bravest and best warriors. Lee’s grandfather, Spotted Horse, had been a Mutsik, Lee told them proudly, and a great chief.

  “What are coups?” a towheaded midget in the front row asked in a piping voice.

  Lee explained that coups were blows delivered to the enemy by touching him with a coup stick. It was like a game of tag, he said, but a dangerous one, in which you had to get close enough to an armed enemy to touch him, but had to get away again to tell the story. The tribal council then listened to the story of the deed, and if it was determined to be the truth, supported by witnesses, the brave was awarded a coup feather, a tail feather of the male golden eagle. The warrior collected these, and when he had enough, he wore them in a war bonnet.

  By this time, the reporters had material for their stories, and the nurses were making n
oises about getting the children back to bed. When it was time for Lee to go, amidst much protest, the redhead who had talked the most touched Lee on the arm and said wistfully, “Sure wish we could have seen that dance.”

  The members of the press were gone, and Lee said goodbye to the staff, promising to return. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and exhaled sharply.

  “Do you think you could go along without me?” he asked Jennifer. “I’m through here, but I want to talk to the administrator about some fund raiser they want me to do. I don’t want to hold you up, so you might as well go home. I’ll call a cab.”

  This was another breach of the rules, but she wasn’t about to debate it with him. “All right, Lee. You look tired, though; you’d better get out of here early enough to get some rest before tonight By the way, what was upsetting you when you first came in?”

  His eyes flashed to her face. “Oh, nothing.”

  “Something, I think.”

  He sighed. “It was just, well, I had a brother who died of leukemia when he was eleven, and this sort of brought it all back to me. I had forgotten how… painful... it is to see sick children and not be able to help them.”

  Jennifer was silent.

  “I did want to help them, once. I wanted to be a doctor. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “I think you mentioned it, yes.”

  He nodded slowly. “All water under the bridge, now, I guess.” He eyed her, his head slightly tilted to one side. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

  “Yes.”

  His lips curved in the trace of a smile. “Thanks for the moral support.”

  “That’s my job,” she said lightly, and then was sorry for the superficial comment. His expression changed.

  “Ah, yes, the job. You are very good at your job.”

  The closeness between them had vanished in an instant Jennifer lifted her hand in farewell and headed out to the parking lot, as Lee turned away.

  She was almost to the glass double doors at the end of the hall when something made her stop. Lee’s behavior had been abrupt, suspect in a vague way, as if he had wanted to be rid of her. The story about the fund raiser had sounded hastily manufactured. What was he up to? Jennifer turned around and retraced her steps.