Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (27 page)

"Jeez," Victor said. "You sound like
we're in some goddamn reservation coming-of-age movie. Who the fuck
you think you are? Billy Jack? Who's writing your dialogue?"

Big Mom looked at Thomas as Victor tried once again
to play the chord she had requested.

"Will you play that chord again, please?"
Big Mom asked again. "Just a few more times, and then we'll all
go to sleep."

Victor flipped Thomas off. He needed a drink. He had
been up on that goddamn mountain for a week without a drink. He was
starting to see snakes crawling around. There were snakes up there,
but Victor saw a few too many. Victor breathed deep, flexed his tired
hands, and hit the chord a few more times. The rest of the band
Joined in, and they ran off a respectable version of a new song.

Thomas and Chess whispered in their sleeping bag.
After everyone else had fallen asleep, they stayed up to talk.

"I'm scared," Thomas said.

"Scared of what?"

"
I"m scared to be good. I'm scared to be
bad. This band could make us rock stars. It could kill us."

"
Shit, Thomas. That would scare anybody."

Thomas closed his eyes and told this story: "Coyote
Springs opens a show for Aerosmith at Madison Square Garden. We get
up on stage and start to play. At first, the crowd chants for
Aerosmith, heckles us, but gradually we win them over. By the time
our set is over, the crowd is chanting our name. Coyote Springs.
Coyote Springs. Coyote Springs. They chant over and over. They keep
chanting our name when Aerosmith comes out. They boo Aerosmith until
we come back out. For the rest of our lives, all we can hear are our
names, chanted over and over, until we are deaf to everything else."

Thomas opened his eyes and stared into the dark.

"Listen, Chess," Thomas said, "I've
spent my whole life being ignored. I'm used to it. If people want to
hear us now, come to hear us play, come to listen. Just think how
many will come if we get famous."

Chess was just as scared as Thomas, maybe more so.
She was scared of the band, scared of Victor and Junior, and of
Thomas, too. All her life, she had been measured by men. Her father,
her priest, her lovers, her employers, her God. Men decided where she
would go, how she would talk, even what clothes she was supposed to
wear. Now they decided how and where she was supposed to sing. Now,
even sweet, gentle Thomas covered her with his shadow. Even in his
dreams and stories, Thomas covered her. She sang his songs, she
played his music. She played for Phil Sheridan and George Wright and
hoped for their approval. And Thomas still there with his shadow.
Chess didn't know whether she should run from that shadow or curl up
inside it. She wanted to do both.

"
I get scared, Thomas," Chess said. "When
I'm up there singing, and I look out at the crowd, sometimes I see a
thousand different lovers. All those men. It's not like I love all of
them like I love you. I don't. And I know they don't love me like you
do. But I still feel all this pressure from them. Sometimes I feel
like I have to be everybody's perfect lover and I ain't nobody's
perfect nothing."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Thomas
asked. "Sing songs and tell stories. That's all we can do."

Thomas thought back to all those stories he had told.
He had whispered his stories into the ears of drunks passed out
behind the Trading Post. He had written his stories down on paper and
mailed them to congressmen and game show hosts. He had climbed up
trees and told his stories to bird eggs. He had always shared his
stories with a passive audience and complained that nobody actively
listened.

"Thomas," Chess said, "if you don't
want to be famous and have your stories heard, then why'd you start
the band up?"

"
I heard voices," Thomas said. "I
guess I heard voices. I mean, I'm sort of a liar, enit? I like the
attention. I want strangers to love me. I don't even know why. But I
want all kinds of strangers to love me."

The Indian horses
screamed.

* * *

Big Mom sat in her favorite chair on the porch while
Coyote Springs rehearsed for the last time in her yard.

"You know," Big Mom said, "this is the
first time I've ever actually worked with a whole band. I mean, Benny
Goodman eventually brought most of his band up here, but that was one
at a time."

Coyote Springs played an entirely original set of
music now. Thomas still wrote most of the lyrics, but the whole band
shaped the songs.

"I think you're as good as you're going to get,"
Big Mom said. "You have to leave for New York tomorrow, enit?"

"Don't you know?" Victor asked. "I
thought you knew everything."

"I know you're a Jerk," Big Mom said and
surprised everybody.

"Ya-hey," Chess said. "Good one, Big
Mom."

The band ran through a few more songs before they
packed everything up. Thomas wanted to practice even more, right up
until they had to leave, but the rest of the band quickly vetoed that
idea. Even Big Mom had had enough.

"
But we're not good enough yet,"' Thomas
said.

"
Thomas," Chess said, "this is as good
as we're going to get. Even you think we're pretty good. You said so
yourself. "

"
Pretty good ain't good enough," Thomas
said.

"
It's going to have to be."

"
But it ain't. We have to come back as heroes.
They won't let us back on this reservation if we ain't heroes. Unless
we're rock stars. We already left once, and all the Spokanes hate us
for it. Shit, Michael White Hawk wants to kill all of us. Dave
Walks-Along wants to kick us completely out of the Tribe. What if we
screw up in New York and every Indian everywhere hates us? What if
they won't let us on any reservation in the country?"

Coyote Springs and Big Mom stared at Thomas. He
stared back.

"Don't look at me like that," Thomas said.
"We need more help. We need Robert Johnson. We need him. Where
is he, Big Mom?"

"
He's out there right now," Big Mom said
and pointed with her lips toward the treeline. "Watching us."

Thomas scanned the pine for any signs of Johnson.

"Robert Johnson! " Thomas shouted. "We
need you!"

Johnson cowered behind a pine tree, covered his ears
with his hands, and cried. He wanted to help; he wanted to take back
that guitar. Coyote Springs was messing with things they didn't
understand. Big Mom couldn't teach them everything. Big Mom couldn't
stop them if they were going to sign their lives away. Johnson
wondered briefly if he should build his new guitar quickly, hop on
the plane with Coyote Springs, and play music with them. A black man
and Five Indians. It had to work, didn't it? But all Robert Johnson
could do was burrow a little deeper into himself.

"He can't help you," Big Mom said. "He's
still trying to help himself. "

"I mean," Thomas shouted at everybody,
"look at all of us! What are any of us going to do if this
doesn't work? Robert Johnson's hiding in the woods. What are you
going to do, Victor? You and Junior will end up drunk in the Powwow
Tavern. You'll go back to ignoring me or beating the crap out of me.
Checkers will join some convent. And what happens to us, Chess? What
happens if people don't listen?"

Chess took Thomas's hands in hers, and the silence
wrapped around them like a familiar quilt.

* * *

From a note left by Junior:
Dear
Big Mom,
I Just wanted to thank you for your
drumsticks and for teaching us how to play better. I know you're
probably mad at Victor. He can be a Jerk but he's a good guy, too.
He's always taken
care of me.

I was kind of small and sick when I was little. But I
was really smart, too. Nobody liked me, except Victor. He was my
bodyguard. If anybody beat me up then Victor would get even for me.
He taught me how to fight, too.  Once, a bunch of Colville
Indians beat me up at a powwow. Victor spent the rest of the powwow
finding and fighting all those guys. He beat them up one by one.
Really kicked the crap out of them. He was nine years old. He didn't
even drink at all during that powwow. He Just wanted to get me
revenge. Victor's tough that way.

It seems like Victor's always been there for me.
After his real dad left and my dad died, we hung out a lot. We took
turns being the dad, I guess. Sometimes all we had was each other. I
know we both picked on Thomas too much but we didn't really mean it.
We never really hurt him too much. I never wanted to really hurt
anybody. So I hope you ain't too mad at Victor. He was the one who
came and got me when I flunked out of college. Victor just borrowed
money and his uncle's car and drove to Oregon and got me. He even
bought me a hamburger and fries at Dick's. We just sat there at a
picnic table outside Dick's and ate. We didn't talk much. Just passed
the ketchup back and forth.

You know, I get mad at Victor all the time, but I
remember that he's been good to me, too. He's Just a kid sometimes,
even though he's a grown-up man. Anyway, I hope you have a good life
and I hope we get to see you again. Wish us luck in New York.
Sincerely,
Junior Polatkin

* * *

Big Mom watched Coyote Springs walk down her
mountain. She had watched many of her students, her children, walk
down that mountain. She was never sure what would happen to them.
They could become the major musical voice of their generation, of
many generations, but they could also fade into obscurity. Her
students also fell apart, and were found in so many pieces they could
never be put back together again.

"What's going to happen to us?" Chess asked
Big Mom just before Coyote Springs left.

"
I don't know," Big Mom said. "It's
not up to me."

"You sound like a reservation fortune cookie
sometimes," Victor said. "You know, you open up a can of
commodity peanut butter, and there's Big Mom's latest piece of
wisdom."

"Listen," Big Mom said. "Maybe you'll
go out there and get famous. I've had plenty of students get famous,
really famous. I've had students invent stuff I never would have
thought of, like Jazz and rap. I've seen it all. But I ain't had many
students who ended up happy, you know? So what do you want me to say?
It's up to you. You make your choices."

Coyote Springs looked at Big Mom. They sort of felt
like baby turtles left to crawl from birth nest to ocean all by
themselves, while predators of all varieties came to be part of the
baby turtle beach buffet. They sort of felt like Indian children of
Indian parents.

"Thank you, Big Mom," Chess and Checkers
said, and Big Mom took them in her arms. Thomas hugged Big Mom;
Junior managed a shy smile and wave. Then everybody turned to Victor.

"
What?" Victor said. "What do you
want? I ain't going to say I had a great time. I ain't going to say
you were a tough teacher, Big Mom, and I know we had our differences,
but aw shucks, I love you anyway. I was a great guitar player when I
came in here and I'm a great guitar player as I walk out. You taught
me a few new tricks. That's it."

"
Well," Big Mom said, "that may be all
I taught you. But you should still thank me for it."

"Fine," Victor said. "Thank you."

"
You be careful with that guitar," Big Mom
said.

Coyote Springs walked down the hill. Big Mom watched
them, for years it seemed, watched them over and over. She watched
them walk into Wellpinit, meet up with Sheridan and Wright. She
watched them all climb into a limousine and drive off the reservation
and arrive suddenly at the Spokane International Airport.

* * *

Coyote Springs waited in the Spokane International
Airport for their flight. Wright and Sheridan had already boarded
because they were in first class. The flight attendant called for
their rows, and Coyote Springs made their way toward the gate.

"Wait a second, " Victor said, suddenly
understanding that he was getting on an airplane. "I ain't
flying in that fucking thing."

"Been in a little bit of denial, enit?"
Chess asked him.

Victor refused to board the plane.

"
Come on, you chicken," Chess said. "Get
on the plane."

"Damn right I'm a chicken," Victor said.
"Because chickens don't fly."

"It'll be cool," Junior said. "Don't
be scared."

"I ain't scared. I'm being smart."

Everybody looked to Thomas for help.

"Victor," Thomas said, "I brought an
eagle feather for protection. You can have it."

"Get that Indian bullshit away from me!"

The crowd at the gate stared at Coyote Springs. They
worried those loud dark-skinned people might be hijackers. Coyote
Springs did their best not to look middle eastern.

"That ain't going to do nothing," Victor
continued, in a lower volume. "It's just a feather. Hell, it
fell off some damn eagle, so it obviously wasn't working anyway,
enit?"

Victor was being as logical as a white man.