Truth and Bright Water (22 page)

On the rise behind Happy Trails, I can see people getting ready for the race.

“You seen Lum?”

“I hear there was trouble,” says Edna.

“I guess.”

“And generally speaking,” says Edna, “things are always worse than what you hear.”

By the time I get to the starting line, there are people all over the place, jogging and stretching and tying their shoes. In the old days,
the race was just for the men of the tribe, but over the years, white runners, men and women, began showing up. At first, no one knew what to do with them. There was some talk about not letting them run, but that didn’t seem friendly. Carleton Coombs wanted to make them pay an entry fee, but Franklin argued that letting them run was good for business. From the look of the crowd in their Nike sweatsuits and Nike shoes and Nike headbands, setting their Nike stopwatches, I can see where Franklin is probably right.

Lum wouldn’t miss the race, but as I move through the runners, I don’t see him. Out at the point, Franklin is standing on a stool by a red flag. He has a gun in his hand, and even though he’s smiling, I’m not sure he’s in a good mood.

“Have you seen Lum?”

“Nope.” Franklin looks at his watch.

“If he doesn’t hurry, he’s going to miss the race.”

“You going to run?”

“No,” I say. “Lum’s the runner.”

“Then get out of the way,” says Franklin. He raises the gun in the air, and the runners move to him. “Ready!” he shouts.

And for a moment, the world is quiet. Even the seagulls stop their squawking and ride the wind in silence. I back up a little and look through the runners. A couple of times I think I see Lum, but each time I’m wrong.

“Maybe you should wait for Lum.”

“Maybe you should mind your own business.” Franklin drops the gun and fires a single shot into the ground. The runners take a breath and spring away, and all you can hear in their going is the earth trembling beneath your feet. They plunge down the slope, a bright herd on the move.

I stand at the starting line and wait. In the distance, the runners begin to fan out across the flat on their way to the river. I keep expecting Lum to arrive any second, to come flying past me, lean and naked, and chase the pack down from behind.

Franklin shoves the gun into his pocket and picks up the stool.

“Is he hurt?”

Franklin brushes by me, carrying the stool like a club. “How the
hell should I know?” He walks back to the big tent, and I watch him until he disappears inside.

“Hey, Chief. How much to take your picture?”

The guy behind me is dressed in a red Hawaiian shirt and a white cowboy hat. A nice pair of sunglasses covers his eyes and most of his face, and a large black camera hangs around his neck. I start to tell him that it’ll cost him five dollars, but before I can say anything, he aims the camera at me and takes a picture.

“Stay calm,” he says, and he pulls the dark glasses down just a bit so I can see his eyes.

“Monroe?”

“Shhhhh!” says Monroe. “I’m in disguise. Did I fool you?”

“A little.”

“Good,” he says, and he cocks the camera. “Smile.”

I look around to see if anyone else recognizes Monroe. “Why are you wearing a disguise?”

“You wouldn’t believe the number of people who want to shake the hand of a famous artist,” he says. “Guess who I just saw.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to bother you.”

“Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley,” says Monroe. “You got a minute?”

I can’t see the runners any longer, but I’m sure now that Lum is not with them.

“I could use your help.”

“Sure,” I say. “What’s up?”

Monroe works his way through the crowd up to the parking lot. I follow, but I keep an eye out for my mother and Lum. The Karmann Ghia is where my father parked it. The beer cans are still on the seat, but my father isn’t there. I figure he’s gone looking for my mother so he can show her the surprise himself. Monroe doesn’t stop until he’s out of the parking lot and into the grass.

“Here we are.”

I look around, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to see.

“I finished painting the church,” says Monroe. “What do you think?”

I know where the church used to be. Across the river and on the
bluff above Truth. But even from this distance, I can see that it isn’t there anymore. No roof, no steeple, no door. No church.

“Neat.”

“So,” says Monroe, “you think you can help?”

“With what?”

He takes off his sunglasses, tilts his head to one side as if he’s trying to catch a glimpse of the church, and smiles. “Finding the church,” he says.

I wait for the rest of the joke, but Monroe stands there rocking back and forth on his heels. “You lost the church?”

“That’s about it.”

“You don’t know where it is?”

“I have a general idea.”

“How could you lose the church?”

“I didn’t lose the church,” says Monroe. “I just lost track of it. Where’s your dog?”

“Soldier?”

Monroe smiles some more and takes a picture of me with the parking lot in the background. “Bring him by tomorrow morning, okay?” he says. “He’ll be able to find it.”

“Soldier can’t find his own butt.”

“Dogs know about these sorts of things,” says Monroe. He looks to see if anyone is watching and then takes a couple of shots of Truth and the bluff where the church used to be. “I better get going before word leaks out that I’m here.”

I walk Monroe to his pickup. “What if he can’t find it?”

Monroe leans against the truck and looks across the river. “I just wasn’t thinking,” he says. “I should have left the door alone until it was all finished.” He slides into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and then hands me the camera. “Take a picture,” he says. “‘Famous Indian artist attends Indian Days on the reserve.’ You can sell it for a ton of money after I’m dead.”

I wander around the rest of the day, and even though I’m looking, I don’t see my mother or my father or Lum anywhere. Soldier shows up that evening, excited and out of breath. I’m happy to see him, but
I’m also upset that he’s been gone for most of the day and hasn’t even bothered to check in from time to time.

“You seen mom?” Soldier lies down and rolls over on his back. “What about Lum?”

When I get back to my grandmother’s lodge, she has the propane lantern going and is bent over the stove dishing up plates of stew for Lucille and Teresa Rain. My mother is nowhere to be seen. I guess I look annoyed because my grandmother catches it right away.

“Gone,” says my grandmother.

“Where’s auntie Cassie?”

“Gone.”

“So, I told him,” says Lucille, “a beaded belt buckle will do the job just as well.”

“And it’s a lot cheaper,” says Teresa.

“How’s business?” I ask.

“Better than ever,” says Lucille. “Going to sell out again this year.”

“Never met a European I didn’t like,” says Teresa.

“Here,” says my grandmother, and she hands me a plate of stew.

“Thanks,” I say.

My grandmother looks over my shoulder. “It’s not for you.”

Rebecca Neugin is sitting on the cooler in the shadows of the tipi, out of the light. “Hi,” she says.

“Rebecca’s from Georgia,” says Teresa. “She’s Cherokee.”

“We’ve never met a Cherokee,” says Lucille, “so we invited her to have some of your grandmother’s stew.”

“Your grandmother makes the best stew on the reserve,” says Teresa.

I hand the plate to Rebecca. I can see that she wants to be polite and take her time with the stew. But she must be hungry, too, because she never puts the spoon down until the plate is empty.

“All the Cherokee as skinny as you?” says Lucille.

“No, ma’am.”

“Certainly are polite,” says Teresa. “Some people around here I know could take some lessons.”

“I was in Georgia once,” says Lucille. “It was beautiful.”

“That was very good stew,” says Rebecca.

My grandmother takes her plate and fills it again.

“Now the rules are,” says Lucille, “if you’re a guest, we have to feed you, and you have to tell us all about the Cherokee.”

Rebecca tries to smile, but she looks as if she’s going to cry, too. Not so you can see unless you’re up close.

“Do you speak your language?” says Teresa.

“Yes, ma’am,” says Rebecca.

“Good,” says Lucille. “Then you can tell your story in Cherokee.”

“You guys don’t speak Cherokee,” I say.

“More to a story than just the words,” says my grandmother. “You going to stay or go?”

I pick up a couple of pieces of frybread and two apples. “I promised Soldier I’d let him watch the dancers.”

“You going to feed Edna’s frybread to that dog?” says my grandmother.

“No,” I say. “This is for me. For later.”

“All right,” says Lucille, settling into the chair. “Let’s have that story.”

Rebecca nods, and for the first time, she doesn’t look unhappy. “Before the soldiers came, we used to live near Dahlonega in a really nice house,” she says. “Maybe I’ll start there.”

“Start anywhere you want,” says Teresa.

I open the flap. My grandmother leans back in the lawn chair and closes her eyes. Lucille and Teresa fold their hands in their laps and look up at the smoke hole, as if they expect to see something pass by in the night sky.

“Gha! Sge!” says Rebecca, and now her voice sounds better, too. “Hila hiyuhi u’:sgwanighsdi ge:sv:i…”

“Ah,” I hear my grandmother say. “A creation story. Those ones are my favourite.”

Soldier is waiting for me at the side of the tipi. The hair on his back is up, and he is all snarls and bristles. “Cool it,” I tell him. “You could have come in if you wanted to.” Soldier moves on the tipi and jams his nose into the canvas. “It’s just granny and Lucille and Teresa Rain,” I say. “You know them.”

Through the canvas, I can hear Rebecca’s voice. It sounds almost as
though she’s singing. “That’s Cherokee,” I tell Soldier. “Sounds pretty nice, doesn’t it?” I grab his collar and drag him off towards the big tent. He fights me all the way, whining and grumbling, and stares back at the tipi and the forms thrown off against the outside of the canvas by the lantern.

Up ahead, the big tent is ablaze with lights and sound. The drum is going pretty good, and the speakers send the song out to the mountains and back, and if you use your imagination a little, it sounds like thunder and rain.

Soldier calms down as we get to the tent. The place is packed. The tourists have taken all the benches and chairs, and they stand at the corners and the edges of the tent, with their kids perched on their shoulders. Everyone has a camera, and even though Soldier knows it’s not lightning, he flinches as the flashes fill the night.

I keep a firm hold on his collar. If he gets loose and works his way through the crowd to the dance floor, I’ll never find him. “No time for dancing,” I remind him. “We have to find Lum.” I pull Soldier around the side of the big tent and run into Lucy Rabbit, who is leaning against a pole having a smoke.

“What’s up, Doc?” I say, before I see that it’s not the right time for jokes.

“Ah,” says Lucy. Her eyes are red, and her face is puffy. “It’s one of the wascally wabbits.”

“You okay?”

“Marilyn Monroe cried a lot,” says Lucy. “Did you know that?”

“Where’s Elvis Presley?”

In the lights of the tent, Lucy’s hair almost looks blonde, and if she knew this, I’m sure it would please her.

“Out with his truck.”

“Smuggling?”

Lucy shrugs and sucks on her cigarette. “You wouldn’t believe the crap he’s hauling these days.”

“Soldier likes to watch the dancers.”

“One of these times, they’re going to catch him again,” says Lucy. “And then it’s
hasta la vista
, baby.”

“Pretty good crowd,” I say.

“You came too late.” Lucy wipes her mouth. Most of the lipstick is gone and her lips look pale and cold. “No room left for the Indians.” And she drops her shoulders, eases her way back into the crowd, and disappears.

Soldier turns and lopes off towards the river. I follow as best I can, bumping into people as I go. When he gets to the edge of the coulee, he stops and waits. Across the river, Truth is all lit up against the evening sky. “I know,” I tell him. “The church is gone.”

Soldier barks.

“Monroe doesn’t know where it is either,” I say. “Tomorrow, we’re supposed to help him find it.” But that’s not what Soldier has found. I don’t see it at first, and then I do. Along the river, the fog has begun to sneak out of the bushes, but by the bridge, the mist is light, and you can see the thin dark lines that rise out of the prairie and into the sky.

“Good boy,” I tell Soldier, “good boy.”

I can’t see Lum’s camp or his fire from this side of the river. Everything is too far away. But the smoke that hangs in the evening sky tells me he’s come home.

F
inding my mother turns out to be easy. As Soldier and I head for the ferry, I see her standing in the parking lot talking with my father. He’s leaning against the side of the Karmann Ghia with his arms folded across his chest, and for a moment, he reminds me of the German guy who bought the frybread recipe from Edna Baton.

I grab Soldier, and we duck in behind a row of pickup trucks and work our way between the vehicles. I’m not trying to spy on them, but I’m curious to see how my mother feels about the Karmann Ghia. I’m excited about having a car, and I’m betting she is, too. We sneak in behind a red van with a herd of buffalo painted on the side. Soldier hikes his leg on the rear tire and just misses me.

“So, what do you want me to do?” I can hear my father’s voice, and he doesn’t sound happy.

My mother doesn’t say anything. I get down on my hands and knees and look under the truck, but all I can see is their feet, and it doesn’t look as if they’re going to get back together right away.

“If you want to chase ghosts,” says my father, “go right ahead.”

I try looking through the windows of the van, but they’ve got that blackout film on them, and all I can see of my mother and father is dark shapes. I look around to see if Soldier and I can get to the next row of cars without being seen.

“Even if you do find her,” I hear my father say, “you think she’s going to be happy to see you?”

And then I hear a car door open. I drop down again, and now all I can see is my mother’s legs in the grass.

My father starts the car. I expect he’s going to drive off, but he sits there and revs the engine. Which is why I don’t hear my mother until it is too late. I’m squatting by the tire when she walks right by the van on her way back to the camp. I freeze, but Soldier coughs,
and it is only then, when she turns back and finds Soldier and me in the shadows, that I see it isn’t my mother after all. It’s auntie Cassie.

My father is still revving the car, and even if auntie Cassie wanted to say something to me, I wouldn’t have been able to hear it. But she doesn’t. She just looks at me. She’s not surprised, and she’s not angry. I fumble with my shoelaces as if to suggest that that’s the reason why I’m kneeling by the side of a van in the dark.

My father turns the radio on. It’s loud, and I can hear him trying to sing along with the song. I keep my head down and tie both shoes, and when I look up, auntie Cassie is gone.

There is no moon tonight, and this makes it hard to see what you’re doing and where you’re going. Getting across on the ferry is easy enough, even though Soldier pees for the first part and cries the rest of the way. But as we head across the prairies for the bridge, the darkness really closes in, and the fog begins to rise, and I wind up floundering around in the grass, stepping into holes and walking into bushes. In the end, I have to hold onto Soldier and let him lead me across the prairies as if I were drunk or blind.

I smell the fire before I see the bridge or Lum’s camp, and I’m debating whether to call out so I don’t surprise him or to stay hidden until I can see that everything is okay, when Soldier stops and braces his feet.

“What is it?”

Soldier drops his head, and I can feel the fur on his neck roll forward.

“If this is about a rabbit,” I whisper, “you can forget it.”

Soldier moves forward cautiously, and I let him drag me along. The fog is thicker now, but as we come over a rise, I see the fire. Soldier grunts once and then suddenly, without warning, he bolts and disappears into the night.

The camp looks deserted. The fire has burned down until it’s really just a glow, and the place feels cold and spooky. Soldier has already ruined the surprise, so I decide it’s probably better if I announce myself.

“Hey, Lum!” I walk down the hill, trying to keep my footing. “It’s me!”

The camp hasn’t changed much, and I’m thinking maybe Lum has gone home and made up with his father. The hockey stick is lying in the same place and the sleeping bag doesn’t look as if it’s been moved. I wonder if the skull is still there, but I don’t look.

“I brought some food.” I hold up the frybread and the apples, and stand in the centre of the camp and wait and listen. When I hear the noise behind me, I don’t turn around right away. It’s Soldier. Sometimes he likes to play games like creeping up and jumping me. “I can hear you,” I say.

The noises stop. And then they begin again. This time I turn, casually, so that Soldier knows he hasn’t fooled me for a second. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” I’m expecting to see Soldier or maybe even Lum. I’m not expecting to see the Cousins. The dogs stand at the edge of the camp with just their heads poking through the fog. They fall back into the darkness for a moment, and then they reappear and slide out into the light.

“Lum.” I back up slowly and move around the firepit so that it’s between me and the dogs. “Hey, Lum! You home?” I take another step backwards and almost trip over the hockey stick. One dog stalks to the front of the campfire. The other two move around the edges of the light. I’m trying to hook my toe under the stick so I can raise it up without the dogs’ noticing, but not having much luck, when something flashes out of the fog and the shadows and knocks the first dog down. I’m as surprised as the dog is, and I step on my own foot and go down in a heap. I roll over and grab the hockey stick just as I see Soldier pivot and plant his feet and go for the second dog’s throat.

But the second dog has already seen the danger, and he turns and plunges into the night as Soldier’s jaws snap shut on air. I’m on my feet in a second, the hockey stick at the ready. Soldier stands in front of the fire, his body sprung and swollen with rage.

“Way to go!” Soldier ignores me and watches the perimeter of the camp, in case the Cousins are waiting for him to make a mistake. “Good dog,” I say. “That’s a really good dog.”

I feel the click and see the flash, before I hear the first explosion.

“Dead dog,” says a voice, and the dirt around Soldier’s feet erupts. Soldier stands his ground. He doesn’t growl and he doesn’t snarl.

“God,” says Lum. “You can smell the mutt all the way to the river.” He is limping badly, and I can see that the hip has gotten worse. He has the gun in his hand, and it’s aimed at Soldier’s head. But as soon as Soldier sees Lum, his butt begins to wiggle, and the tremor quickly moves up his body and gathers energy. Soldier bends himself in half and dances sideways towards Lum. “You miss me, mutt?” he says. “Did you miss me?” Lum tucks the gun into his waistband and squats down, and Soldier drops his shoulder and slides against Lum’s legs like a baseball player stealing second.

I pick the frybread out of the dirt and dust it off. “I brought you some food.”

Lum runs his hand under Soldier’s front legs and scratches his chest. “That from Edna?”

“Nothing but the best.”

Lum has cut his hair. It’s short and uneven, as if it’s been hacked off with a chain saw. And he’s painted his face. Red on one side. Black on the other. He looks weird.

“I heard about what happened.”

Lum shrugs. “What’s to hear?” He takes the frybread and begins tearing it into pieces.

“My mother said you could stay with us.”

Lum is naked to the waist. He has a red circle on his chest and long black marks on his arms. He looks like the Indians you see at the Saturday matinee.

“I’m fine here.” Lum tosses a piece of the frybread into the fog. “Why don’t you get your stuff? There’s plenty of room here.”

The Cousins emerge from the fog. Lum tosses the rest of the frybread to them. Soldier watches, but he doesn’t growl or show his teeth. Finally, the first dog comes slinking over, and she and Soldier dance around each other, sniffing butts. The other two reluctantly join in, and for the moment, they’re friends again.

Lum picks up the second piece of frybread, tears it in two, and tosses half to me.

You can’t see across the river to Bright Water now, but the drumming from the tent cuts through the fog and fills the night. Lum listens for a moment, and then begins to sing. “How’s Indian Days going?”

“Great,” I tell him. “The buffalo run is a big hit.”

“You see my father?”

“Yeah,” I tell Lum. “He said he was sorry for throwing you out of the house.”

In addition to looking weird with the paint and his hair cut like that, it’s clear that Lum hasn’t eaten for a while, and I’m sorry I didn’t bring more food.

“She came back,” says Lum.

“The woman?”

Lum squats down by the fire. He’s not angry anymore. He’s smiling now. Soldier crawls over and puts his head in Lum’s lap. “It’s my mother,” says Lum, stroking Soldier’s head and rubbing his ears. “She’s come home.”

I find a couple of sticks and throw them on the fire. I know Lum is waiting for me to say something. I know it couldn’t be Lum’s mother we saw on the Horns that night. And Lum knows I know.

“Jeez,” I say. “I don’t know. It was real dark.”

“And that was her we saw at the church.” Lum nods his head as if he’s agreeing with himself. The Cousins are lying in a knot by the abutment. They look asleep, but I’m not going to bet on it.

“My father fixed up that car for my mother,” I say. “He brought it out to Indian Days as a surprise.”

“So, my old man’s been lying to me all this time.”

“It’s in pretty good shape now.”

“He tells everyone that she’s dead,” says Lum.

“Mom said I can drive it as soon as she breaks it in.”

“That’s the kind of fucking liar my father is.” Lum has the gun in his hand again. He turns it over once, pulls the hammer back, and lays the barrel next to Soldier’s ear. “You know what’s wrong with this world?”

“We could go anywhere we wanted.”

“I said, you know what’s wrong with this world?” Lum stares at me. I try not to blink or turn away. Soldier twists his head around and licks at Lum’s hand.

“Bullets,” says Lum, and he begins to laugh. “There aren’t enough bullets.” And he slides the gun up under his chin and pulls the trigger.

The snap of the hammer on the empty chamber hardly makes any sound at all, but in my mind, I hear the bullet and I see Lum’s head jerk backwards. He is still laughing as he sticks the gun back in his waistband. “You okay, cousin?”

“Fine.”

“I was just kidding, okay?”

“Okay.”

“We’re still friends, right?”

“You could stay in my room,” I say. “Soldier wouldn’t mind.”

Lum shakes his head. “He’ll cool off once Indian Days are over.”

“Sure.”

“We fight all the time,” says Lum. “It’s normal.”

“Same here.”

“All in all,” says Lum, “he’s a great guy.”

I can see why Lum likes it here on the prairies. The fog stays low and wraps itself around the camp like a quilt, while above us the sky is black and clear and bright with stars, and it’s easy to imagine that you are at the centre of the universe.

“My grandmother has her tipi up,” I say. “Got a big pot of stew.”

“Sure,” says Lum. “Your grandmother’s cool.”

“Auntie Cassie said to say hello.”

“She’s cool, too.” Lum feeds a handful of twigs and grass into the fire. Soldier gets to his feet and nudges me, and I remember the apples.

“Brought these for you.”

Lum takes both the apples and wipes them on his pants. “Who won the race?”

“That Cree guy from Hobbema.”

“I can beat him.”

“No contest,” I say.

Lum turns his back and pokes at the fire with a stick. It flares for a moment, and he slowly stacks branches and pieces of cottonwood against the flame. Soldier and I walk to the edge of the camp. I look up at the stars and breathe the air, and I think about my bedroom in the shop with its windowless walls and starless ceiling and wonder why I ever expected Lum would want to share that with me. “So, I’ll see you over at Indian Days?”

“Sure.”

As we leave the camp, the fog sucks in around us. Soldier shakes himself as if he’s just come up out of cold water, and then he pulls me into the darkness. When I get back, I’m thinking I should tell my mother that Lum is sleeping under the bridge and that he’s not getting enough to eat.

You can’t see a thing, and I begin listening for the river or the creak of the ferry as it hangs and swings on the cables to give me some sense of distance and direction. So, when Soldier pulls me around a hill, and I see the fire and Lum’s camp in front of me, I’m surprised.

Soldier sits down and licks his face. You can see he’s pleased with himself. I try not to make any noise in case Lum hears me and thinks I’m spying on him. I sit down on the ground next to Soldier. “You want to try again?”

But Soldier isn’t listening to me. His ears are up, and all his muscles are cocked, and my first thought is that he’s caught the scent of the Cousins sneaking up on us in the dark. Soldier whines and twitches his ears, and as he does, a low sound comes out of the fog, hangs in the air for a moment, and disappears.

I look through the camp. The fire is bright, and as it flashes and cracks, I see Lum. He’s in the shadow of the abutment, sitting on the sleeping bag. Piled up around him are the Cousins. I count them just to make sure they’re all there.

And then suddenly, the sound is back, and I realize that what Soldier hears is Lum singing. I can’t hear the words, just a soft melody, and as I look, I see that Lum has something cradled in his arms and is rocking it gently back and forth.

Soldier stands and stretches. He looks up at the sky and opens his mouth. The fog floats in, and Lum and the Cousins and the camp disappear. I find Soldier’s collar and pull him off the hill, but the singing follows us as we make our way down the coulees and across the cutbanks. And all the way back to the ferry, Soldier walks beside me, whimpering and humming along with the song.