Sins of Our Fathers (9781571319128) (24 page)

His heart was racing. He felt as if he were lurking in the room and might somehow be caught. He had the combination! He heard the fine rustling of a plastic baggie. The pot. Eagle was getting stoned, he thought. It was getting even better. He heard the pipe being lit, and the sizzling of the pot in the bowl. He sighed, thinking again of the fire and its consequences. He balanced the earbud and went and poured himself a Dewar's. JW lifted the glass in a toast to the earbuds still lying on the mattress, and to the man getting stoned beyond them, then downed the harsh firewater in a long gulp that rushed back up and pounded him between the ears.

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E
AGLE HELD THE
red calumet in his hand and stared at the rising band of smoke. The pipe had feathers carved into its bowl, and there were stones held to its six-inch stem with leather bindings. He put a disc in the CD player on the bookshelf—“Buffalo Soldier”—and turned the volume down.

He sat back in his Aeron chair, then slowly spun the pipe in his hand, watching the small gray stream of smoke
spiral around and around in the holy way of his mother's ancestors. He looked up at the clock, and his eye fell on a book on his shelf called
The Assassination of Hole in the Day
by Anton Treuer, an Ojibwe historian and writer. Wenonah had given it to him, and one particular passage had always struck him powerfully. The book chronicled the age-old hostilities between the Dakota and Ojibwe people, fought across the battleground of Minnesota as the Ojibwe migrated west, encroaching on Dakota territory in search of the land where food grew on water. It was a feud fueled by the guns and the economic interests of French traders who wanted the gold of the age: beaver pelts. And yet, despite the often brutal hostilities, each autumn the two great warring tribes of the North would call temporary truces in order to hunt and prepare for winter. The Ojibwe word for it was
biindigodaadiwin
, which meant “to enter one another's lodges.” Even in the most heated periods of conflict, biindigodaadiwin was a common practice, he remembered reading. Ojibwe and Dakota would enter one another's lodges, sleep in the same buildings, smoke the same pipes, form friendships, and even marry. Then they would be at war again the next spring, killing one another and taking the scalps home as trophies—or for bounties paid by the French, the Dutch, and the English.

For Eagle, the
biindigodaadiwin
was also over.

22

JW woke sweaty from a tangled passage of darkness. His mind lurched into the self-reproaching lucidity that had become an all-too-familiar midnight companion. He rose and paced the dark trailer, his mouth thick and dry, replaying his situation like a caged lion: a fruitless ambulation with no exit. He drank two glasses of water and took an aspirin against the hangover, a trick his father had taught him in junior high, and went back to bed. He dreamed of the wild horses. They milled around near the smoldering embers of Johnny's bank as the sun climbed past dawn, their many colors visible through the smoke.

In the morning, JW looked outside. Eagle's Bronco was gone. Ernie and the other Indians were already at work, stocking and turning. The bank fire was distressing, but the wild rice business went on. Ricers were still coming in and Johnny needed them now more than ever, he supposed.

JW sat on the edge of the bed, stiff-jointed and aching, a dull throbbing in his temples, and hardened himself to what he had to do. The fire would not stop the bank. In fact, it was stupid and unnecessary, and would only make his job worse. As sickened as he was by it, he had a larger mission, and that hadn't changed. If anything, it was more important now than ever. And for this reason, first and foremost, he had to maintain access.

A hot shower cleansed any remaining doubts from his mind. He dressed for work and stepped out into a bracing
morning—a high, crystal ring to the air, the thin scent of the fire, and the smell of fall. He crossed the road and headed up the drive toward the wide-open barn as if nothing had happened. But when he neared the parching fire, Ernie stepped out of the smoke and blocked his path. The others continued working silently.

“Good morning,” said JW.

“We don't need you today.”

“Oh, come on, Ernie.” JW went to step around him, but Ernie blocked his path again.

“Johnny says you're no longer welcome here.”

His face was as hard as granite.

“Okay. Fair enough.”

JW nodded, worlds shifting. His only chance to maintain access would be through Jacob. As JW passed the paddock, he saw him in the lean-to. He walked over. Jacob ignored him.

“I came to work, but Ernie says they don't need me today. You want to work on the horse?”

“I can't believe I trusted you.”

JW had expected this on some level. The kid deserved an explanation, but a disavowal would have to do.

“Jacob, I had no idea that anybody was going to burn down the bank, I promise you. Okay?” And it was true. Jorgenson had hinted at it, he could see in retrospect, but at the time he couldn't have predicted it.

JW could see that Jacob wanted to believe him, but then the boy pulled away. “I'm going to sell the horse,” he said.

“Don't do that,” JW said, stepping forward. Firm. He took another step closer, into the lean-to. “Look, I've made some pretty bad mistakes. But two things I know for sure. One, I didn't burn down that bank. And two, you are at the beginning
of something really special with Pride. And I'd hate to see you throw that away because you're mad at me. You set a goal, and you shouldn't give up on it.”

Jacob looked at him. “Fuck you.”

JW stood frozen. There was nothing to say. “Maybe you're right.” He walked out of the lean-to and into the pale morning sunlight. He saw his blue trailer in the copse across the road, and headed for it with a growing feeling of resignation.

“Wait.”

JW turned around. Jacob was standing in the lean-to opening. JW softened his face. They stood and looked at each other for a moment, and then Jacob said softly, “Okay, let's train.”

Jacob walked back into the lean-to and picked up a saddle off the rack. JW stood there for a moment to let the feeling subside. Jacob cinched up the saddle, put the bit into the horse's mouth, and pulled the headstall up over his ears. He led the horse into the paddock and closed the gate. He climbed on and sat in the saddle, concentrating.

“Okay,” he said. “I'm going to do everything you said.”

Then he lifted the reins, and JW forgot about everything else. Before him was not a rider and horse, but a single living animal, smooth and reflexively intuitive. The boy just needed to be pointed in the right direction. JW threw himself into the task, forgetting temporarily the more unsavory aspects of what he intended to do.

By mid-morning he and Jacob were working Pride at a trot, practicing a more refined way of turning the horse without using the reins. Dust hung around JW's ankles as the horse turned in the sand, over and over. Several more carloads of Indians arrived, and as they weighed in their fresh rice deposits, most of them observed the unlikely pair. Ernie
and Supersize Me stretched a large blue plastic tarp out on the lawn near the paddock to accommodate the extra volume, and soon there were six or seven hundred pounds of rice spread out across it, drying green and purple in the sun. JW felt like heading to his trailer for a drink of water and a break from the sun and dust, but he saw Ernie watching him and decided not to.

He ducked through the rail to the outside of the paddock. As he put his elbows up on the top rail he heard loud rap music coming down the hill behind him. He turned and saw the car full of Indian boys.

“Hey, man,” one of them yelled from the front passenger seat. “It's Tonto and the Lone Ranger!”

JW started walking toward them. “Why don't you just leave him alone,” he said. The biggest one was driving. He looked to be eighteen or nineteen. He casually put a hand out the window and JW saw a gun in it. He stopped in his tracks.

“Yeah, I thought so, old man,” the driver said.

He aimed the gun at the tarp full of wild rice and a shot rang out. Rice jumped and Pride leaped sideways and into a run, frightened by the report. The boys laughed as the car sped off.

“Damn it!” yelled Jacob. His voice was scattershot with panic. He was trying to control the racing horse, but he was halfway down one side of the saddle, hanging onto the saddle horn to keep from falling to the ground.

“Hold it!” replied JW. “Turn him! Pull the left rein! Turn him around you!”

Jacob grabbed the left rein and pulled it with all his might to turn the horse tightly around his body.

“Don't stop!” JW said. “Keep him going! Stick your heel into his side!”

Jacob was tiring, but he kept turning Pride with the
inside rein and goading him on with his outside foot and hand, still partway out of the saddle.

“That's right! Keep him going! Use his lungs against him! Urge him into it! If he runs, he has to learn he doesn't stop until you say stop!”

The horse began to tire.

“Keep him going! Make those lungs burn!”

After another few turns, JW could see that Jacob was starting to get sloppy and might fall off.

“Okay,” he said.

Jacob let up on the reins and Pride came to a stop. The horse was drenched in sweat and his breath was steaming even though the day was warm. Jacob pulled himself back up into the saddle. JW could see that his leg was shaking.

“You okay?”

Jacob nodded weakly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You hung on, that was good. So what happened?”

Jacob swallowed and exhaled. He looked as if he was going to cry. “He got scared. They were assholes.”

“Forget them. You almost got dumped. That's on you.”

Jacob's eyes were wet. He turned away.

“He doesn't need you, either,” said Ernie, approaching the paddock.

“Fuck off, Ern!” said Jacob.

“Language,” said JW gently.

“Fuck!” Jacob yelled, shedding adrenaline. He looked back at Ernie. “Just leave us alone, okay?” He rubbed the tears from his eyes on the back of his sleeve.

Ernie looked from Jacob to JW, then shook his head and headed back toward the pole barn.

“Okay, I know you're upset. Let's talk it out. What happened?”

“He shied.”

“Right. With you on him. What you always gotta remember is that a horse is insecure. He's a herd animal, just like a stupid banker,” JW said.

Jacob laughed through his tears. He was beginning to calm down.

“Herd's got to have a leader to keep 'em safe, right? If you're a herd of two and you don't lead, who will?”

“He will, I guess.”

“That's right, but he's not as smart as you, and he's much bigger. He's not going to look out for you. So how do you lead?”

“I don't know, I was trying.”

“You were hanging on. I'm talking before he shied. You gotta
lead
. That means you gotta anticipate what might happen and check him before he gets scared. Okay?”

“They shot a fricking gun, how'm I supposed to—”

“You just do! Okay? Look, out here everybody shoots guns. You could be riding anywhere and somebody'd shoot a gun. You could be hunting on horseback.”

Jacob was unconvinced.

“How do you anticipate anything?” asked JW.

Jacob shrugged. “I don't know.”

“You know your horse, and you know which situations might cause a problem for him. You let him know that you know, that you're in charge, and if he does what you say he'll be okay.”

A breeze took up all the leaves of the nearby trees, setting them fluttering in yellows and reds. Jacob shook his head, not really understanding, but more receptive now.

“You saw them coming, right?”

“I guess.”

“Okay. Now. He's going to shy at that tarp because of
what just happened. Right? Horses have long memories when it comes to danger and survival. So take him around and get him to face it. Teach him that it's not dangerous.”

Jacob sighed, then took Pride back out to the rail and began circling the paddock. JW could see Jacob's leg shaking with fear as he worked Pride up toward the tarp. It was a safe bet Pride was also aware of the shaking, and it was probably eroding his confidence. “Keep his mind occupied. Ask him to side step to the left and then to the right,” he said.

He watched as Jacob got Pride to take the hesitant steps. He saw the horse's legs quivering, on the verge of leaping sideways or bucking and running away again. “Okay, ask him to stop and then turn and turn back. We all need to keep our minds busy so we don't get overwhelmed by life. Same for him. Keep him busy with stuff to think about.”

He watched Jacob turn the horse back, and this time he gave him a small reminder check with the reins and his left knee, just before the tarp. Pride weaved in slightly, but Jacob's knee was there already, nudging him back out. And with that little bit of anticipation and resistance, Pride stayed the course.