Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (19 page)

I don't pray like that,
Junior said.

What do you do?

I sing.

Well, I think it's time for you to sing.

In his dream, Junior started his death song and was
barely past the first verse when the platform dropped from under him
and the rope snapped tightly.

"Shit!" Junior shouted as he woke suddenly
from his dream. Victor rolled over, but Thomas woke up, too.

"
What's going on?" Thomas asked, confused.

"Junior's dreaming," Chess said. "Both
of you go back to sleep."

Junior flopped over and quickly snored, but Thomas
rubbed his eyes and looked at Chess.

"
You can't sleep, enit?" Thomas asked.

'"No, I'm thinking too much," Chess said.

'"About what?"

"
About Checkers. About church."

"What about church?"

"
Are you a Christian, Thomas?"

"No. Not really."

"Are these two Christian?"

Junior and Victor? No way. All they know about
religion they saw in Dances with Wolves."

"
Do you pray?" Chess asked but wasn't sure
what she wanted to hear. Of course Thomas prayed. Everybody prayed;
everybody lied about it. Even atheists prayed on airplanes and bingo
nights.

"Yeah, I pray," Thomas said and made the
sign of the cross.

"
What was that?"

"
I'm a recovering Catholic."

"
Get out of here."

"
No, really. I was baptized Catholic, like most
of us on the Spokane Reservation. I think even Junior and Victor are
baptized Catholic."

"Those two need a whole shower of the stuff."

"Yeah, maybe. You know, I quit when I was nine.
I went to church one day and found everybody burning records and
books. Indians burning records and books. I couldn't believe it. Even
if I was just nine."

These are the devil 's tools! the white Catholic
priest bellowed as his Indian flock threw books and records into the
fire. Thomas figured that priests everywhere were supposed to bellow.
It was part of the job description. They were never quiet, never
whispered their sermons, never let silence tell the story. Even
Thomas knew his best stories never found their way past his lips and
teeth. Thomas mourned the loss of those books and records. He still
mourned. He had read every book in the reservation library by the
time he was in Fifth grade. Not a whole lot of books in that library,
but Thomas read them all. Even the auto repair manuals. Thomas could
not fix a car, but he knew about air filters. Thomas! the priest
bellowed again. Come forward and help us rid this reservation of the
devil 's work!

Thomas stepped forward, grabbed the first book off
the top of the pile, and ran away. He ran until he could barely
breathe; he ran until he found a place to hide. In the back seat of a
BIA pickup, he read his stolen book: How to Fool and Amaze Your
Friends: 101 Great Tricks for the Master Magicians.

"Jeez," Chess said. "That really
happened?"

"Yeah," Thomas said. "I still got that
book at home."

"
That wasn't Father Arnold who did that, was
it?"

"No. This happened a long time before he got to
the reservation. I don't even know Father Arnold too much. I Just see
him around."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"
Why you want to know?"

"Checkers wants to go to church there, you know?
Maybe I'lI start going when I get back."

"But I thought you wanted to leave the
reservation if we won this contest. You still want to leave, enit?"

"I don't know. Maybe I just want Victor and
Junior out of the band. I like your reservation. It's beautiful."

"
You haven't seen everything," Thomas said.

* * *

Victor was a hundred miles from home. He was nine
years old. He was at the Mission School for the summer. His mother
and real father often sent him there for camp. Catholic summers,
Catholic summers. Victor mopped the floors.

Victor missed his parents. He cried constantly for
the first few weeks away from the reservation. After a while, he
cried only late at night, when all the Catholic Indian boys tried to
sleep in their dormitories. Victor muffled his cries in a pillow and
heard the muffled cries of others.

But on that day when Victor was nine years old and
mopped the floors, he lost himself in other thoughts. He remembered
picking huckleberries with his family. He remembered climbing trees
with his friends, other Indian boys allowed to stay on the
reservation. Those Indian boys climbed the limbs off the trees every
summer. Victor was still lost in his memories when the priest stormed
into the room.

Victor!
the priest
shouted.

Victor Jumped back, frightened, and knocked his
bucket of water over. Even more terrified, he mopped frantically and
tried to clean up that minor flood.

Stop it!
the priest
yelled.

Victor stopped, stood at attention, shivered.

What are you afraid of?
the priest asked.

Victor was silent.

Are you afraid of God?

Victor nodded his head.

Are you afraid of me?

Victor nodded his head faster. The priest smiled and
leaned down.

There's no reason to be afraid, the priest said,
taking a softer tone. Now why don't we clean up this mess together?

Victor and the priest mopped up the water, mopped the
rest of the floor clean, and put the supplies back in their places.

The priest touched Victor's newly shaved head.

It's a shame we had to cut your hair, the priest
said. You are such a beautiful boy.

Victor looked up at the priest and smiled. The priest
smiled back, leaned over, and kissed Victor full and hard on the
mouth.

* * *

From Checkers Warm Waters Journal:

I went to see Father Arnold today and I think I fell
in love. He held me closely and I held him back and I think he might
love me, too. He rubbed my back and whispered nice things to me. No
man has ever held me that gently. He listened to me. Really listened
to me. I don't even know what to think or do. I'm afraid to breathe.
I don't want to tell Chess. I don't want to tell anybody. There's a
reason I got in that fight with Victor. I didn't know why I got so
crazy at Victor. Couldn't figure out what made me so mad. But now I
know there's a reason. God made me stay home so I could meet Father
Arnold. God threw those punches at Victor! God wanted me to meet
Father Arnold. But did God want me to fall in love with his priest? I
don't know what to do. All I know is, I still smell Father Arnold
when I close my eyes. He smells like smoke and candles.

* * *

Coyote Springs woke, cramped and smelly, in a strange
parking lot in downtown Seattle. The blue van groaned as the band
stumbled out to stretch their backs in the cool morning mist.

"Jeez, " Junior said, "what's that
smell?"

"
It's the ocean," Chess said. "It's
wonderful, isn't it?"

"
Yeah," Junior said and tried to hide his
excitement. "It's all right."

Thomas breathed deep. He tasted salt.

"
So what's the plan today?" Victor asked.

"I don't know, " Thomas said. "How
about that Pike Place Market. That's supposed to be cool. What do you
think, Chess?"

"Sounds good."

Everybody climbed back into the van. With Thomas as
driver and Chess as navigator, Coyote Springs soon found the market.
Along the way, they noticed there were brown people in Seattle. Not
everybody was white. They watched, dumbfounded, as two men held hands
and walked down the street.

"Jeez," Junior said, "look at that."

"Those men are two-spirited," Thomas said.

"
They're too something or other," Victor
said.

Coyote Springs parked the van and walked around the
market, surprised by all of it. The market was old and beautiful,
built by wood that had aged and warped. No amount of paint could
change the way it looked now. There were flowers and flshmongers, old
shops filled with vintage clothing and rare books. The whole market
smelled like the ocean, which was Just a few blocks away. Coyote
Springs was even more surprised by the old Indian men there. Old
drunks. Victor kept talking to them. Junior, too. Chess figured
drunks talked to drunks like it was a secret club. An Indian liked to
talk to anybody, especially another Indian. Chess knew those old
Indians were a long way from home, trapped by this city and its
freeway entrances and exits. She thought a few of those drunks looked
familiar.

"Hey, nephew," one of those old Indians
called to Victor.

"What tribe you are?"

Indians always addressed each other intimately, even
when they were strangers.

"I'm Spokane Indian, uncle," Victor said.

"Oh, yeah, huh? Had a buddy who was Spokane long
time ago."

"
Who was that?"

"Amos Joseph."

"That was my grandfather."

"No shit. Who you?"

"
Victor Joseph."

"
Hey, grandson. I'm Eddie Tap Water. Used to be
Spring Water. But I'm Urban Indian now."

"
Good to meet you, grandfather."

"
Yeah, you, too. Where'd you get that shirt
anyway? Think your grandfather wore one like that when we was
dancing."

The rest of Coyote Springs listened as Victor and
Eddie traded stories, but nobody was all that surprised. The Indian
world is tiny, every other Indian dancing just a powwow away. Every
Indian is a potential lover, friend, or relative dancing over the
horizon, only a little beyond sight. Indians need each other that
much; they need to be that close, tying themselves to each other and
closing their eyes against the storms.

"Goodbye, grandfather," Victor said and
gave him a dollar. Victor talked to most every drunk at the market.
He spent all of his time with those old Indians, while the other band
members roamed together. Junior left Victor to the drunks. Chess
thought those drunks scared Junior. He might have seen himself in
their faces. Junior wondered if their disease was contagious. A
fall-asleep-on-a-heating-grate disease. Junior was frightened.

Victor should have been frightened. Drunks had always
caused him to shake before. But some voice whispered in his ear and
pushed him to the old Indians in the market. As a child, each member
of Coyote Springs had run from drunks. They all still ran from
drunks. All Indians grow up with drunks. So many drunks on the
reservation, so many. But most Indians never drink. Nobody notices
the sober Indians. On television, the drunk Indians emote. In books,
the drunk Indians philosophize.

Lester FallsApart, the most accomplished drunk on the
Spokane Reservation, was a tribal hero. Indians run from those tough
and angry drunks, but they always flock to the kindest alcoholic on
the reservation. One on every reservation, one on every reservation.
Everybody on the Spokane Indian Reservation loved Lester so much they
showed up at his dog's wake and funeral. A couple hundred Spokanes
mourned with Lester.

The market had entranced Coyote Springs and they
forgot the time. The little curiosity stores and restaurants pulled
them in and refused to let go. Thomas got all wrapped up in the magic
store and practiced a few coin tricks.

"Jeez," Thomas said suddenly, "what
time is it?"

"
About fve," Chess said.

"Oh, man. We're going to be late for that
soundcheck at the Backboard."

‘"
Where's Victor?"

"
Shit," Junior said. "I don't know.
Hanging out with those drunks somewhere."

"
Man," Thomas said, "we have to find
him quick. We can't be late. They'll kick us out of the contest."

"Okay," Chess said, "let's split up.
Thomas and I will look in the market, and Junior, look outside."

"We got to find him," Thomas said again and
looked desperate. Coyote Springs was about to break up to search for
Victor when the music started.

"
Wait," Junior said. "Listen to that."

Coyote Springs listened. They heard the city, the
ocean, but something else, too. They heard a beautiful voice, Just
barely audible. The band couldn't hear the lyrics but picked up the
rhythm.

"
Who is that?" Chess asked. "That's
the most beautiful voice I ever heard."

Coyote Springs walked without talking, searched for
the source of that voice. As they got closer, they also heard a
guitar accompanying the voice. A nice, simple chord progression, but
something hid behind it. Something painful and perfect.

"Shit," Chess said. "I don't believe
it."