Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (14 page)

"Not if I get there first."

Chess and Checkers pulled on their shoes and tiptoed
into their dad's room, which stank of whiskey and body odor. Luke
Warm Water slept alone and dreamed of his missing wife.

"Hey, Dad," Chess whispered. "We're
going to church. Is that okay?"

Luke snored.

"Good. I'm glad you agree. Do you want to come
this time?"

Luke snored.

"I don't think it's a good idea, either. Maybe
next time?"

Luke snored.

"Don't get mad at me. jeez. If you walked into
church, everybody might die of shock."

"Yeah," Checkers said. "The whole roof
might fall down."

The sisters walked to the church, which was one of
those simple buildings, four walls, a door, a crucifix, and twenty
folding chairs. Those folding chairs were multidimensional. Set them
up facing the front, and they served as pews. Circle them around a
teacher in the middle, and you had Sunday School. Push them up to
card tables, and you feasted on donated food. Fold those chairs,
stack them in a corner, and you cleared a dance space. Folding chairs
proved the existence of God. Chess and Checkers helped with communion
and sang in the church choir. The sisters were the choir, but they
sang loud enough to shake the walls.

"The louder we get," Father James preached,
"the better God can hear us.

Chess and Checkers believed Father James. They sang
until their lungs ached. Chess opened her arms wide and looked toward
heaven; Checkers opened her arms wide and looked at Father James.
Both sisters were in love.

"
Do you remember all those gospel songs we used
to sing?" Chess asked her sister as they continued to brush
Samuel Builds-the-Fire's hair.

"I remember."

Chess and Checkers kept singing as they brushed,
while Samuel dreamed of beautiful Indian nuns.

* * *

"Lucky fuckers," Chief WalksAlong said and
threw the ball back to Lester. Samuel cut behind Lester, took a
handoff, shrugged off Wilson and William, and launched a thirty-foot
jumper.

"For Crazy Horse," Samuel said as he
released the ball.

SAMUEL & LESTER—2
TRIBAL
COPS—0

"
That's traveling," WalksAlong said.

"
No way," Samuel said. "You can't make
that call."

"I can make any call I want. I'm Chief."

"
Yeah, that's the only way you're going to stop
me. With a pistol.

Lester squared off with the other five cops, danced
like a boxer, flicked a few harmless jabs at the Heavy Burden
brothers, and sprained his wrist.

"Our ball, " Samuel said.

* * *

As Thomas stood outside and the Warm Waters brushed
Samuel's hair, Victor dreamed. In his dream, his stepfather was
packing the car. Victor had sworn never to say his parents, names
again. But his stepfather, Harold, roared to life and threw Victor's
mother, Matilda, into the trunk beside the dead body of Victor's real
father, Emery. Victor struggled to leave the nightmare, the naming,
but his mother's cries pulled him back. Matilda held tightly to
Emery's body in the trunk.

Where you going
? Victor
asked Harold.

Away
.

Let me get my stuff?
I've
already packed your stuff? Your suitcase is in the house.

Where we going?

You ain't going anywhere with us. You can go any
damn place you please, but I don't want no Indian kid hanging around
us no more.

Harold slammed the trunk shut, and the force knocked
Victor to the ground. By the time he had gotten to his feet, Harold
was sitting in the driver's seat, turning the ignition. The car
whined and whined but would not start.

Wait for me
, Victor called
and ran to the driver's window.

He pounded on the glass while Harold turned the key
again. Victor ran into the house to find his suitcase. He ran from
room to room. When he finally found it stuffed under a bed, he heard
the car start outside.

Wait for me
, Victor
shouted and ran outside, dropping his suitcase. He ran after his
stepfather's car, followed him down the road as far as he could. He
galloped down the pavement, his suddenly long hair trailing in the
wind. He ran until his body lathered with sweat. He ran until he fell
on all fours.

When he stood again, his head was shaved bald. Huge
white men in black robes milled around.

What happened to your hair?
a
black robe asked.

It's gone.

No, it's not
, the black
robe said. He took Victor's hand and led him through all the other
black robes. The black robe and Victor walked down flights of stairs.

Are you tired?
the black
robe asked.

Yes
.

Doyou want me to carry you?

No.

The black robe lifted him anyway and carried him on
his shoulders. Victor felt the hard muscles through the black robe.
He knew that man could crush him. But the black robe carried him to
the bottom of the stairs and into a large room. Paintings adorned
every wall.

Look here
, the black robe
said.
This is my favorite one.

Victor looked at the painting. A battle scene. Two
armies fighting. Guns, horses, men, flags, horses, smoke, blood,
horses. Victor stared at the painting until he smelled blood and
smoke.

Please,
Victor said,
let
me down.

The black robe set him down. Victor rubbed his head,
scratched his head, and looked at his hand. Blood.

I'm bleeding.

So you are
, the black robe
said, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at Victor's wounds. When
the cloth was saturated, the black robe rolled it up into a little
ball and swallowed it.

Here
, the black robe said,
I want to show you something.

The black robe held Victor's hand and led him through
a series of doors. Victor lost track of place and time. He closed his
eyes and followed the black robe. He heard the black robe sing.
Here
,
the black robe said.
We're here.

Victor opened his eyes in a room filled with the
stink of burning hair. Other black robes shoveled hair into burning
barrels, furnaces, and open fires. Long, black hair.

Here we are
, the black
robe said.
We made it.

Victor ran from the room. He ran past doors into
strange rooms. He ran until he lost his breath and collapsed on the
cold, hard floor of a barren room. He lay there for hours, until the
floor grew warm, then grew grass. He dug his fingers and toes into
the grass, the dirt. He dug until his fingers and toes bled with the
effort. He dug because he had forgotten how to stand. He dug because
his father, Emery, and mother, Matilda, waited on a better
reservation at the center of the world.

* * *

Samuel dribbled the ball between his legs, between
William and Wilson, who crashed into each other in their defensive
effort, then breezed past Phil, Art, and Scott Heavy Burden, and
jumped over WalksAlong for the bucket.

SAMUEL & LESTER—3
TRIBAL
COPS—0

"That shot was for every time one of you
assholes wrote somebody a traffic ticket on this reservation,"
Samuel said. "I mean, how could you find some Indian who doesn't
have enough money to feed his kids?"

"Yeah," Lester said. "They wrote old
Moses a ticket for failure to stop when there wasn't another car on
the reservation even working at the time. Moses had to pawn one of
his eagle feathers to pay that fine. Never got it back either."

"
Fuck both of you," the Chief said. "Quit
talking smack and play ball."

"Shit," Samuel said. "I should be
writing you all tickets for failing to stop me."

Samuel gave the ball to Lester, who dribbled it to
his left, off his feet, and into the hands of Officer Wilson. Enraged
by his turnover, Lester played tough defense by breathing on the
officer with Thunderbird Wine breath. Wilson nearly threw up but
recovered well enough to break Lester's nose with an elbow and throw
a nice pass to the Chief for an easy basket.

SAMUEL & LESTER—3
TRIBAL
COPS—l

Lester kicked and screamed on the ground. The Tribal
Police celebrated their first basket, while Samuel stood with hands
on hips and knew it was the same old story.

"
That was a foul, " Samuel said.

"
We didn't see nothing."

* * *

As Victor, in one corner of the house, dreamed of
black robes, Junior fell into his own dream in another corner. In his
dream, Junior was in the back seat of his parents' car outside the
Powwow Tavern. Below freezing, so he shared a sleeping bag with his
two brothers and two sisters. Junior struggled to remember his
siblings' names.

Run the heat for a little while
,
his siblings pleaded, because he had the car keys.

No
, Junior said.
Mom
and Dad said I have to save gas. We just got enough to get home.

In his dream, Junior tried to remember his parents'
names, but they eluded him. Those names always eluded him, even in
waking. In his dream, junior's siblings tried to wrestle the keys
away, but he fought them off. They wrestled and argued until their
parents staggered out of the bar.

Oh, good
, his siblings
said.
We're going home.

Junior's parents knocked on the window; he rolled it
down.

You warm?
they asked.

Warm enough
, Junior said
and silenced his siblings with a mean look.

Here's some food
,
mother-and-father said, and shoved potato chips and Pepsi through the
open window into the arms of their children.

We'll be out soon, okay?
mother-and-father said.

Junior and his siblings watched their parents stagger
back toward the bar. Mother-and-father turned and waved. Then they
danced a clumsy two-step.

Jeez
, junior said in his
dream.
They love each other.

Mother-and-father wove their way back inside the bar,
and junior turned back to his siblings.

Make sure everybody gets enough,
Junior said.

They ate their potato chips and Pepsi.

I'm bored,
his siblings
said after dinner, so Junior sang to them.

I'm bored
, his siblings
said again, and Junior started to cry.

He cried as each of his siblings climbed out of the
car and ran away on all fours. They ran into the darkness; hands and
feet sparked on the pavement. They ran to other reservations and
never returned. They ran to crack houses and lay down in the debris.
They ran to tall buildings and jumped off. They joined the army and
disappeared in the desert. Junior cried until his parents came out of
the bar at closing time.

Where is everybody?
mother-and-father
asked.

Gone, gone, gone, gone.

Mother-and-father cried. Then they drove down the
highway and looked for their children.

I don't mean to say it's all your fault,
mother-and-father said.
But it is all your
fault.

They drove and drove. Mother-and-father sat behind
the wheel and drank beer. When finished, they rolled down the window
and threw the empty bottles into the dark. Junior heard them shatter
against road signs. He saw the little explosions they made at impact.
Impossible reds, impossible reds. He lost count of the bottles.

Ya-hey
, Junior called out,
but his parents pushed him back.

I don't want to hurt you
,
mother-and-father said.
But I might hurt you.

Junior leaned back, curled into a ball in the back
seat. He heard the road sing under the wheels of the car. He heard
his parents' soft tears and quiet whispers. Then he noticed the car
moving faster and faster, his parents' tears and whispers growing
into sobs and shouts.

Wait
, Junior said, but the
car suddenly rolled. Junior counted the revolutions; one, two, three,
four, all the way to twenty. The car came to rest on its wheels, with
Junior still tucked into a ball in the back seat. He listened to a
faint song in the distance. He heard something dripping in the
engine. He heard coughing.