Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (18 page)

"Oh, that's too bad. Do you want to talk about
it?"

"No, not really."

Checkers thought about Coyote Springs. She already
missed the stage. There was something addicting about it. She loved
to hear her name shouted by strangers.

"Are you interested in joining our community
here?" Father Arnold asked.

"
I'm thinking about it, " Checkers said.
"But I'm from the Flathead Reservation. Is that okay?"

"
Are you confirmed?"

"Yeah. Father James over there did that. A long
time ago."

Checkers swore she remembered her baptism, though she
was only a few months old at the time. Sometimes, she still felt that
place on her forehead where Father James poured the water. Once,
while fighting fires in her teens, she found herself trapped in a
firestorm. Convinced she was going to burn, she suddenly felt the
cold, damp touch on her forehead. She felt the water flow down her
face, into her mouth, and she drank deeply. Satiated, she burned down
a circle of grass, lay down in the middle, and lived as the fire
crowned the pine trees above her.

"So," Father Arnold said, "tell me
about your faith."

"You know," Checkers said, "it's hard
to talk about. I mean, there's a lot I want to talk about."

"I'm sure."

Checkers thought about what she had seen during her
brief time with Coyote Springs. She remembered Junior and Victor
naked in the van with those two white women, Betty and Veronica, who
had disappeared soon after.

"You know," Checkers said, "two of the
guys in the band, junior and Victor. They've been doing bad things."
 
 
"I know them. Are you here to
talk about them or you?"

"
Both, I guess?

Father Arnold reached for Checkers's hand and held it
gently. Her heart quickened a little.

"You can talk to me," Father Arnold said.

"
It's just that everywhere I look these days, I
see white women. We caught Junior and Victor having sex with some
white women. They're always having sex with white women. It makes me
hate them."

"
Hate who?"

"White women. Indian men. Both, I guess."

"
Are you romantically involved with Junior or
Victor?"

"
Oh, God, no."

"
Well, then, what is it?"

"Those white women are always perfect, you know?
When I was little and we'd go to shop in Missoula, I'd see perfect
little white girls all the time. They were always so pretty and
clean. I'd come to town in my muddy dress. It never mattered how
clean it was when we left Arlee. By the time we got to Missoula, it
was always a mess."

"
Did you travel with your parents?"

"
Yeah, Dad drove the wagon. Can you believe
that? We still had a wagon, and Dad made that thing move fast. The
horses and wheels would kick up dirt and mud. Chess, my sister, and I
always tried to hide under blankets, but it never worked. There'd be
mud under our nails, and we'd grind mud between our teeth. There'd be
dirt in the bends of our elbows and knees. Dirt and mud everywhere,
you know?"

Father Arnold nodded his head.

"Anyway, all those little white girls would be
so perfect, so pretty, and so white. White skin and white dresses.
I'd be all brown-skinned in my muddy brown dress. I used to get so
dark that white people thought I was a black girl.

"I wanted to be just like them, those white
girls, and I'd follow them around town while Mom and Dad shopped.
Chess was always telling me I was stupid for doing it. Chess said we
were better than those white girls any day. But I never believed
her."

"How does that make you feel now?" Father
Arnold asked.

"I don't know. I just looked at that blond hair
and blue eyes and knew I wanted to look like that. I wanted to be
just like one of those white girls. You know, Father James even
brought his little white nieces out to visit the reservation, and
that was a crazy time."

"What happened?"

"Oh, Father James wanted us all to be friends,
Chess, me, and his little nieces. So we all sat together in our
folding chairs and knelt down on the floor to pray. We even got to
help with the candles at mass. I remember I always held onto my
candle tight, because I didn't want to drop it. I always thought
flames were beautiful, you know?

"
All four of us helped with Communion once. It
all worked great. It was the best Communion. Then we carried the
bread and wine back to the storage closet. While we were in there,
those nieces pushed me over, and I dropped the wine and it spilled
all over everything. On the floor, on my best dress. Everywhere.
Those nieces started laughing. Me and Chess tried to clean it up.
Father James came running to see what the noise was all about. When
he came into the closet, those nieces started crying like babies.
They told Father James that Chess and I'd been messing around and
dropped the bottles. Father James really scolded Chess and me and
never let us help with Communion for a long time."

"That's a sad story," Father Arnold said.

"Yeah, it is, I guess. But his nieces could be
nice, too. They let me play with their dolls sometimes. They were
really good dolls, too. I taught the nieces how to climb trees and
watch people walk by. I'd leave Chess at home and stand outside
Father James's house and wait for his nieces to come out and play.
Sometimes I waited until after dark. I'd walk home in the dark all by
myself. But sometimes they came out, and we played.

"And when they left the reservation, Chess and I
rode down to the train station with Father James to say goodbye.
Chess really didn't want to come, but Mom and Dad made her. We stood
there on the train platform, and those nieces wouldn't even look at
us. They were in their perfect little white dresses. They looked like
angels. I wanted to go with them. I wanted to go live in the big
city. I knew I wouldn't get in the way. I'd sleep with their perfect
dolls and eat crackers. I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to
have everything they had. I knew if I was like them, I wouldn't have
to be brown and dirty and live on the reservation and spill Communion
wine.

"
I wanted to be as white as those little girls
because Jesus was white and blond in all the pictures I ever saw of
him."

"You do know that Jesus was Jewish?" Father
Arnold asked. "He probably had dark skin and hair."

"That's what they say," Checkers said. "But
I never saw him painted like that. I still never see him painted like
that. You know, we had to hug those little white nieces, too. We're
standing there on the platform, and Father James tells us to hug each
other. Chess refuses to hug anybody. But I hug those nieces, and the
big one pinches my breast, my little nipple. Nobody sees it at all.
It hurts so bad, and I start to cry. The nieces get on the train and
leave. Father James hugs me because I'm crying. He says it will be
all right, he knows how much I'll miss his nieces. I stood there in
Father James's arms and cried and cried."

Checkers cried in the little Catholic Church in
Wellpinit. Father Arnold put his arms around her, and she cried into
his shoulder, the soft fabric of his cassock. She put her arms around
his
waist, wanted to look into his eyes, but
kept her face hidden.

"
Checkers," he whispered. "What's
going on? There must be something more. You can talk to me."
Checkers squeezed Father Arnold tighter, until her grip became
uncomfortable. But he would not release her.

* * *

Coyote Springs slept fitfully in the blue van. The
city frightened them, especially since the thin walls of the van
barely protected them. Chess never slept much at all, hadn't slept
well for two nights in a row. She sat in the driver's seat and
listened to the men stir and moan in their sleep. She recognized the
sounds of nightmares but only guessed at the specifics.

Junior dreamed about horses. He rode a horse along a
rise above the Columbia River, leading a large group of warriors.
They all wanted to attack a steamship, but the boat remained anchored
beyond their range. The Indians watched it jealously. The Indians
cried in frustration. Some splashed their ponies into the river and
attempted to swim out to the boat. Others fell off their horses and
wept violently. Junior slumped, hugged his horse's neck, and closed
his eyes. In his dream, he listened for the music. He heard bugles.
Cavalry bugles.

From where?
a young Indian
boy asked Junior.

Junior whirled his horse, looked for the source of
the bugle. Everywhere. Junior heard a gunshot, and the young Indian
fell dead from his mount. Then the young Indian boy's horse was shot
and fell, too. The gunshots came from all angles. The bugles
increased.

Where are they?
the Indian
men screamed as the bullets cut them down. They fell, all of them,
until only Junior remained.

Cease Fire!
a white voice
shouted. That voice sounded so close that Junior knew he should have
seen the source. But there was nothing in the dust and sunlight.

Drop your rifle!
the white
voice shouted.

Where are you?
Junior
asked.

Drop your rifle!
the voice
shouted again, louder, so loud that Junior dropped his rifle and
clapped his hands to his ears in pain. Suddenly he was dragged from
his horse by unseen hands. Thrown to the ground, kicked and beaten,
Junior heard the labored breathing of the men who were beating him.
He could not see anybody.

Where are you?
Junior
asked again, and he heard only laughter. Then the attackers began to
materialize. Soldiers. White men in blue uniforms. They laughed. They
spat on Junior. One soldier walked over to Junior's pony, placed a
pistol carefully between its eyes, and pulled the trigger. The horse
took a long time to fall.

Who are you?
Junior asked
in his dream.

A large soldier walked up to Junior and offered him a
hand.

Junior took it and got to his feet.

I'm General George Wright
,
the large soldier said.

Junior looked at Wright, then down at his dead horse.

You killed my pony
, Junior
said.

This is war
, Wright
replied.

A few other soldiers tied Junior's arms behind his
back, dragged him to a table, and sat him down. He sat across from
Wright. No voices. Wright drummed his fingers across the table, and
it echoed all over the river valley.

What are we waiting for?
Junior asked.

General Sheridan
, Wright
said.

They waited for a long time, until an even larger
white man rode up on a pale pony. The larger white man dismounted,
walked over to the table, and took a seat next to Wright. General
Sheridan, the larger white man said and offered his hand to Junior.
Junior looked at the hand, but his hands were tied.

Sheridan smiled at his mistake and pulled out a sheet
of parchment.

You've been charged with the murder cf eighteen
settlers this past
year
,
Sheridan said.
How do you plead?

Not guilty
, Junior said.

Well, well,
Sheridan said.
I find you guilty and sentence you to hang by
the neck until you are dead.

The soldiers pulled Junior to his feet and dragged
him to the gallows. They hustled him up the stairs and fitted the
noose. Junior closed his eyes in his dream. He heard a sportscaster
in the
distance.

Ladies and gentlemen, we're here to witness the
execution of Spokane Indian warrior Junior Polatkin for murder.
Eighteen murders, to be exact. Quite a total for such a young man.
General Sheridan and General Wright are presiding over the hanging.

In his dream, Junior opened his eyes, and General
Sheridan stood in front of him.

I can save your life
,
Sheridan said.

How?
Junior asked.

Sign this.

What is it?
Junior asked
and looked at the clean, white paper in Sheridan's hand.

Just sign it,
Sheridan
said.

What am I signing?

Just sign it, and God will help you.

Okay.

Sheridan untied Junior's hands and gave him the pen.
Junior looked at the pen and threw it away. The pen revolved and
revolved. The sun rose and set, snow fell and melted. Salmon leapt
twenty feet above the surface of the Columbia River, Just feet from
the hanging.

Do you want to say a prayer?
Sheridan asked.