Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (21 page)

"Let us pray together now," Father Arnold
said, "in the words Our Father gave us."

Checkers held the hands of the choir members on
either side of her, Nina and Maria Christopher. Checkers always loved
this part most, the Lord's Prayer, the holding of hands, the circling
of the community. She recited the prayer and watched Father Arnold.
He glanced around the church, made eye contact with his flock, and
smiled.

"
Let us now offer each other a sign of peace,"
Father Arnold said.

"Peace be with you."

"
Peace be with you."

"
Peace, sister."

"
Peace, brother."

The members of the choir hugged as they offered peace
to each other. Nina and Maria hugged Checkers, but she held the hugs
way past the comfort level of the Christophers.

"
Peace to all of you," Father Arnold said,
outside the ceremony, and the community responded.

"Peace be with you."

Father Arnold sang his prayers. A beautiful voice.
Checkers wondered if he ever sang in a band. Maybe in college. He
almost had soul. Catholics were supposed to save souls, not possess
them.

"
This is the body, this is the blood."

Checkers greedily took Communion, happy to be one of
the first. She opened her mouth, offered it to Father Arnold, who
placed the bread gently on her tongue. She felt his fingertips,
smelled his soft cologne. The ritual, the ritual. She smiled at
Father, who smiled back, then looked past her.

"
Amen."

Checkers stepped past the Communion wine, though she
still smelled the alcohol. She fought back memories of her father's
breath after he came home from a long night of drinking. 
Checkers? Little one? Are you awake?

Checkers returned to her place in the choir. She
hummed the hymn softly because she had forgotten the words.
Beautiful, she felt beautiful in her twenty-year-old robe. The fringe
was gone, the colors faded, but she knew how beautiful she was.
Father Arnold had complimented her before mass.

"Checkers," he said, "you look very
nice."

She held those words in her pocket, hidden beneath
her robe, and often reached under to touch them. She closed her eyes
and let the music enter her body. The organ was older than the church
itself and sounded like a train, but that made no difference to
Checkers. She Just wanted the music to be loud.

"Before we go today, I wanted to make a few
announcements, " Father Arnold said.

Checkers wanted the service to continue.

"We have a new member of the congregation,"
Father Arnold said. "She's a new arrival on our reservation,
Checkers Warm Water. Some of you may know her as a member of Coyote
Springs, but now she's the newest member of our choir."

Father Arnold motioned for Checkers to raise her
hand. She waved to the church, and they all waved back. Polite
applause and a few shouted greetings. Embarrassed, Checkers ducked
her head and closed her eyes. She thought the Catholics were
celebrating a new member, but they were actually relieved that she
had been saved from the hell called Coyote Springs.

"Also, I want you to remember that we have a
potluck dinner Tuesday night, right after the elders' meeting. And
Bessie, you remember to bring your fry bread."

The crowd cheered. Bessie Moses had taken third place
in the fry bread cook-off for the last ten years, finishing behind
only Big Mom and the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota all that time.

Since Big Mom and the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota
weren't members of the church, Bessie cooked the best Catholic fry
bread on the reservation.

"
One last thing," Father Arnold said. "I
know it's really early, but basketball practice starts next week.
Wednesday. I'm taking signatures. Remember, we only have room for ten
players. We need to start practice early this fall. The Presbyterians
and Assembly of God really kicked our butts last year. And remember,
no matter what you see on television, God really doesn't care if we
win this or not. So, we have to do it by ourselves."

The Spokane Indian Christian Basketball Tournament
was held every November at the Tribal Community Center. The Assembly
of God had won the tourney every year since its inception. Last year,
the Assemblies had beaten the Catholics l26—l05 in a run-and-gun
shooting match. The Presbyterians had played a stall game and beat
the Catholics 42—30.

"Now, I want you all to go out there, go into
the community, and serve God," Father Arnold said.

The congregation applauded and quickly filed out of
the church. Catholics exited churches faster than any other
denomination, but Checkers took her time because she wanted to have a
few minutes alone with Father Arnold. The church was completely empty
when Checkers finally came out of the dressing room.

"
Checkers," Father Arnold said. "I was
wondering what happened to you."

"I was changing," Checkers said.

"Don't change. I like you Just the way you are."

Checkers laughed too loudly at his little joke.

"You did really well today," Father Arnold
said.

"So did you. But I forgot some of the words to
the hymns. It's been a while."

"Yeah, well, things will get better. I have
faith in you."

"Thanks."

Checkers played with the hem of her t-shirt.

"
Well," she said, "I should get going.
The band is coming home tonight. I need to clean up the house."

"Okay, I'll see you next Sunday, right?"

"Yeah, and maybe my sister, too."

"That would be wonderful."

Checkers looked at Father Arnold. He smiled. She
kissed him quickly on the cheek and ran away. Father Arnold watched
her run, touched his cheek, and smiled.

* * *

Father Arnold fell to the couch in his study,
exhausted because of the insomnia he suffered the night before
services. On the couch, he closed his eyes and dreamed. In his dream,
he stood in front of a huge congregation of Indians. He had come to
save them all, his collar starched and bleached so white that it
blinded, and was so powerful that he had a red phone at the altar
that was a direct line to God.

Listen to me,
Father
Arnold said, but the Indians ignored him. They talked among
themselves, laughed at secret Jokes. Some even prayed in their own
languages, in their own ways. Eagle feathers raised to the ceiling,
pipes smoked, sweetgrass and sage burned.

Please
, Father Arnold
said, but the Indians continued to ignore him. He preached for hours
without effect. He eventually tired and sat in a pew beside an old
Indian woman. Suddenly, the church doors opened, and the local
missionaries, Marcus and Narcissa Whitman, walked in with black boxes
in their arms.

The Indians were silent.

The Whitmans walked to the front of the church, bowed
to Father Arnold, then turned to the congregation.

Children
, the Whitmans
said,
you shall listen to Father and believe.

Each placed a hand on a black box, and the Indians
sat at attention.

You may continue with your sermon, the Whitmans said
to Father Arnold.

Father Arnold hesitated, then stood and preached. The
Indians' emotions swayed with his words. Whenever an Indian's mind
wandered, Marcus and Narcissa threatened to open the black boxes, and
the rebellious calmed.

Father Arnold loved his newfound power, although it
was the Protestant missionaries who were responsible for it. He
delivered the best sermon ever, and he heard God's cash register ring
as it added up all the Indian souls saved. But those black boxes
distracted Father Arnold. They kept the Indians quiet, but he
wondered why. He was curious about them and Jealous of the Whitmans'
secret power over the Indians.

Amen.

After the sermon ended, the Indians left quietly and
respectfully. Father Arnold turned to the Whitmans.

What's in those black boxes?

Faith.

Show me.

The Whitmans opened the boxes. Father Arnold expected
to see Jewels, locks of hair, talismans, but discovered nothing.

They're empty.

Of course.

What do you mean?

We told the Indians the boxes contained smallpox,
and we opened them, the disease would kill them.

Why would you do something like that?
 
I
t's the only way to get them
to listen. And you saw how well it works. They listened to you.

But it's wrong. We should teach through love.

Don't be such a child. Religion is about fear.
Fear is just another word for faith, for God.

Father Arnold looked at the empty black boxes. In his
dream, he stared at them for days, until the boxes closed tight.

Wait,
Father Arnold said
and noticed the Whitmans were gone, replaced by two Indian women who
held the boxes.

These are for you
, the
Indian women said.

What's in them?

We don't know.

* * *

With a thousand dollars in prize money, Coyote
Springs made the trek from Seattle back to the Spokane Indian
Reservation. Thomas drove from Seattle to Moses Lake, and Chess drove
the rest of the way. Junior and Victor slept the whole time. Betty
and Veronica, the new white women backup singers, slept beside Junior
and Victor.

"So," Chess asked Thomas as the blue van
crossed the reservation border, "are you coming to church
Sunday?"

"
I don't know. It's been a long time, "
Thomas said.

"What's that Father Arnold like?"

"He seems pretty nice. He's always hanging
around the Trading Post and stuff."

Thomas looked at Chess, looked at the pine trees
outside the car window. He looked at the highway, at the deer
continually threatening to cross in front of the van.

"Checkers probably has a crush on him by now,"
Chess said.

"On who?" Thomas asked.

"On Father Arnold."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She always does that. She had a crush on
the guy who delivered our mail back home. She stays away from young
guys but always gets crushes on older guys, you know?"

They drove for a while in silence.

"
You haven't answered my question," Chess
said.

"Which question?" Thomas asked.

"Will you go to church with me Sunday?"

Thomas closed his eyes, searched for the answer, and
opened them again.

"How can you go to a church that killed so many
Indians?" Thomas asked.

"The church does have a lot to atone for,"
Chess said.

"
When's that going to happen."

"
At the tipi flap to heaven, I guess."

"I don't know if I can wait that long. Besides,
how do we know they're going to pay for it? Maybe we got it all
backwards and you get into heaven because of hate."

"You have to have faith."

"But what about Hitler and Ted Bundy? How do you
explain George Bush and George Custer? If God were good, why would he
create Rush Limbaugh?"

"Sometimes the devil is easier to believe in,
enit?"

"Really. How do you explain all of that? How do
you explain all of the murdered Indians?"

The van rolled on.

"How do you explain Gandhi and Mother Theresa?"

Chess asked. "How do you explain Crazy Horse and
Martin Luther King? There's good and bad in the world. We all get to
make the choice. That's one of the mysteries of faith.

"Now you sound like Agatha Christie,"
Thomas said.

"Yeah, and it was God whodunnit."

"Who done what?"

"God created all of this. I mean, how can you
look at all of this, all this life, and not believe in God? Look at
this reservation. It's so pretty. Do you think the river and the
trees are mistakes? Do you think everything is accidental?"

"No," Thomas said, looked at his hands, at
the reservation as it rushed by. He loved so much. He loved the way a
honey bee circled a flower. Simple stuff, to be sure, but what magic.
A flower impressed Thomas more than something like the Grand Coulee
Dam. Once he'd stood on the dam for hours and stared at a nest some
bird built atop an archway. Thomas looked into himself. He knew his
stories came from beyond his body and mind, beyond his tiny soul.

Thomas closed his eyes and told Chess this story: "We
were both at Wounded Knee when the Ghost Dancers were slaughtered. We
were slaughtered at Wounded Knee. I know there were whole different
tribes there, no Spokanes or Flatheads, but we were still somehow
there. There was a part of every Indian bleeding in the snow. All
those soldiers killed us in the name of God, enit? They shouted
‘Jesus Christ' as they ran swords through our bellies. Can you feel
the pain still, late at night, when you're trying to sleep, when
you're praying to a God whose name was used to justify the slaughter?