Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (34 page)

* * *

The day before Big Mom carved a good piece of wood
into a cedar harmonica while Robert Johnson watched the reservation,
Father Arnold stood in the phone booth Just outside the Trading Post.
He had dialed the Bishop's phone number a dozen times but hung up
before it rang. Father Arnold Just held the phone to his mouth and
pretended to talk as Spokane Indians walked in and out of the Trading
Post.

"The end of the world is near!" shouted
the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota as he stood in his usual spot.

Father Arnold dialed the Bishop' s number again.

"Hello," answered the Bishop.

Father Arnold held his breath.

"Hello," said the Bishop."Is there
anybody there?"

"
Hello, Father," Father Arnold said."It's
Father Arnold. Out on the Spokane Indian Reservation."

"Father Arnold? Oh, yes. Father Arnold. How are
you?"

"I'm good. Well, no. I'm not. I have a problem."

"What ever could that be?"

"I don't think I'm strong enough for this place.
I'm having some doubts."

"Really? Tell me about them."

Father Arnold closed his eyes, saw Checkers Warm
Water singing in the church choir.

"
I don't know if I'm being effective out here,"
Father Arnold said."I think we might need a fresh perspective.
Somebody younger perhaps. Maybe somebody with more experience."

Silence.

"Are you there?" Father Arnold asked, his
favorite prayer.

"Father Arnold," the Bishop said, "I
know it's never easy ministering to such a people as the Indians.
They are a lost people, God knows. But they need you out there. We
need you out there."

"
Please."

"Father, we have no one to send out there. We
have a shortage of priests as it is. Let alone priests to serve the
Indian reservations. Father John has to serve three separate
reservations, did you know? He has to drive from reservation to
reservation for services. No matter the weather. Did you know that,
Father?"

"No, I didn't."

"If Father John can serve three communities, I
think you can serve Just one."

"Yes."

"
For better or worse, you and those Indians are
stuck together. Do you understand?"

"
Yes."

"‘
Well, perhaps you need some more time in
study. More prayer. Ask for strength and guidance. Quit worrying so
much about the basketball out there and worry more about your
commitment to God."

"
Yes."

"Well, then. Is there anything else?"

"No," Father Arnold lied.

"Okay, then. I'll talk to you soon."

Dial tone.

Father Arnold felt the connection break, hung up the
phone, and opened the phone booth. He couldn't face Checkers again.
He was ashamed and had to leave the reservation, no matter what the
Bishop said.

"I'm leaving," Father Arnold said. "I'm
leaving."

"The end of the world is near! It's near! The
end of the world is near! "

* * *

On the day after Coyote Springs returned to the
reservation, just a day before Father Arnold decided to leave the
Catholic Church entirely, Betty and Veronica sat in Cavalry Records's
recording studio in Manhattan.

Betty and Veronica had already heard the story of
Coyote Springs's disaster in the studio and weren't all that
surprised. The white women had been truly shocked when Wright and
Sheridan showed up at their very first show in Seattle.

What a coincidence
,
Veronica had said to Sheridan.
I can't believe
you're going to sign Coyote Springs. We just left them. Did they tell
you about us? Is that how you heard about us?

No, Coyote Springs doesn't know anything about
this
, Sheridan had said.
And
we'd like to keep it that way. A little bird landed on my shoulder
and told me about you. Told me to bring you to New York City. What do
you think?

"These the girls from Seattle?" Armstrong
asked Wright and Sheridan in the control booth. Betty and Veronica
shifted nervously on their stools in the studio.

"Yes, sir, they are," Sheridan said. "We
think you're going to love them. They have a unique sound. Sort of a
folk sound."

"Folk doesn't sell shit."

"Yes, sir, folk hasn't been much of a seller for
us," Sheridan said. "But I think these girls might change
all of that."

"What do you think?" Armstrong asked
Wright.

"
They"re talented, " Wright said. He
felt sick.

"You said those Indians were talented, too,"
Armstrong said.

"Listen," Sheridan said to Armstrong,
"these two women here are part Indian."

"What do you mean?" Armstrong asked.

"
I mean, they had some grandmothers or something
that were Indian. Really. We can still sell that Indian idea. We
don't need any goddamn just-off-the-reservation Indians. We can use
these women. They've been on the reservations. They even played a few
gigs with Coyote Springs. Don't you see? These women have got the
Indian experience down. They really understand what it means to be
Indian. They've been there."

"Explain."

"Can't you see the possibilities? We dress them
up a little. Get them into the tanning booth. Darken them up a bit.
Maybe a little plastic surgery on those cheekbones. Get them a little
higher, you know? Dye their hair black. Then we'd have Indians.
People want to hear Indians."

"What do you think?" Armstrong asked
Wright.

"I don't have to have anything to do with it,"
Wright said and left the room.

Wright walked out of Cavalry Records and hailed a
cab.

The driver was an old white woman. She had beautiful
blue eyes.

"Where you going?" asked the driver.

"I Just want to get home,'" Wright said.

The driver laughed and took Wright to a cemetery in
Sacramento, California.

"How much I owe you?" Wright asked when he
climbed out of the cab.

"
You don't owe me anything," the woman
said."Just go on home now. Just go on home."

The cab pulled away. Wright watched it disappear in
the distance, then he walked through the cemetery to a large
monument. He studied the monument, remembering the ship that went
down in the Pacific and the water rushing into his lungs. He read the
monument:

Gen. George Wright, U.S.A..
and his wife
died
July 30, 1865
Lovely
and pleasant in their lives,
and in
their death they
were not divided

"Margaret," Wright said as he lay down on
top of his grave. "I'm home. I'm home. I'm so sorry. I'm home."

Margaret Wright rose wetly from her place and took
her husband in her arms. She patted his head as he wept and
remembered all those horses who had screamed in that field so long
ago. He remembered shooting that last colt while Big Mom watched from
the rise.

"
I was the one," Wright said to his wife."I
was the one. I was the one who killed them all. I gave the orders."

The horses screamed in his head.

"Shh, " Margaret whispered."It's okay.
I forgive you."

Wright closed his eyes and saw the colt standing
still in that field. He remembered that he had taken a pistol from a
private. This is how it's done, he had said as he dismounted from his
own horse. He pressed the pistol between the colt's eyes, pulled the
trigger, and watched it fall.

"Oh, God," Wright sobbed to his wife on
their graves. The grief rushed into his lungs. I'm a killer. I'm a
killer."

"You've come home,"
Margaret whispered. "You're home now."

*

Betty and Veronica watched Armstrong and Sheridan
talking in the control booth.

"What do you think they're talking about?"
Betty asked.

"The assholes are probably wondering how our
asses will look on MTV," Veronica said.

"Hey, girls, " Sheridan said over the
intercom.

"
Yeah," Betty and Veronica said.

"Could you come in here?"

Betty and Veronica set their guitars down, walked
into the control booth.

"Listen," Sheridan said, "Mr.
Armstrong and I have been talking about your potential. Well, you
see, there's a market for a certain kind of music these days. It's a
kind of music we think you can play, given your heritage. But there's
a whole lot of marketing we have to do. We have to fine tune your
image."

"What do you mean?" Veronica asked."What's
our heritage?"

"Well," Sheridan said, "there's been
an upswing in the economic popularity of Indians lately. I mean,
there's a lot of demographics and audience surveys and that other
scientific shit. But I leave that to the boys upstairs. What I'm
talking about here is pure musical talent. That's you. Pure musical
talent shaped and guided by me. Well, I mean, under the direction of
Mr. Armstrong, certainly."

Veronica looked at Betty.

"
Now," Veronica said, "what the hell
are you talking about?"

"Well," Sheridan said, "our company,
Cavalry Records, has an economic need for a viable Indian band. As
you know, Coyote Springs self-destructed. We were thinking we needed
a more reliable kind of Indian. Basically, we need Indians such as
yourselves."

"But we ain't that much Indian."

"
You're Indian enough, right? I mean, all it
takes is a little bit, right? Who's to say you're not Indian enough?"

"You want us to play Indian music or something?"

"Exactly," Sheridan said. "Now you
understand."

Mr. Armstrong shifted in his seat. He was bored.

"Cut to the chase," Armstrong said.

"Okay," Sheridan said."What it comes
down to is this. You play for this company as Indians. Or you don't
play at all. I mean, who needs another white-girl folk group?"

"But we want to play our music," Betty
protested.

"Listen," Sheridan said, "you do
things for us, we can do things for you. It's a partnership. We want
you to have everything you ever wanted. That's the business we're in.
The dream business. We make dreams come true. That's who we are. We
just ask I for a little sacrifice in return. A little something in
exchange for I our hard work. What do you think?"

Betty and Veronica looked at each other. They could
hear drums.

* * *

Coyote Springs staggered onto the reservation a
couple of hours after they left the Spokane International Airport.
Actually, they were hiding beneath a tarp in Simon's pickup. Coyote
Springs had managed to walk only a few miles on Highway 2 before
Simon pulled up. He'd been back on the reservation for just a few
days after his visit with relatives on the coast. He only drove his
truck in reverse, using the rearview mirror as guide, even on white
people's highways. He'd never been caught.

"
Jeez," Simon said, "I thought you
guys were in New York City."

"
We were, " Thomas said. "But
everything went wrong."

"Oh, man," Simon said."I don't know if
you want to go back to the reservation. Ain't nobody too happy with
you up there. I can't believe it. It's like the Spokane Indian
Reservation has become Republican or something."

"Enit?" Chess asked. "What are you?"

"Shit, " Simon said."I'm a Communist.
A goddamn pinko redskin. Joe McCarthy would have pissed his pants if
he ever saw me."

"Well," Thomas said, "we have to go
back there. We ain't got any money. We ain't got no place to go."

"
Well," Simon said, "if you insist.
Climb in the back and get under that tarp. I don't want nobody seeing
you."

"What if they do?" Victor asked.

"Any problems," Simon said as he patted the
rifles hanging in his gun rack, "and I'll have to take care of
business."

"
Are those loaded?" Junior asked.

"You bet your ass," Simon said.

Coyote Springs climbed under the tarp and pulled it
over them. They had no idea where they were at any given time. They
could only guess by certain curves in the road, the sudden stops, the
sound of water rushing over Little Falls Dam as they crossed onto the
Spokane Indian Reservation.
 

10

Wake
I saw ten
people die before I was ten years old
And I
knew how to cry before I was ever born
Wake
alive, alive, wake alive, alive
Sweetheart, I
know these car wrecks are nearly genetic
Sweetheart,
I know these hands have been shaking for generations
And
they shake and shake and shake and shake
Sweetheart,
I know these suicides are always genetic
Sweetheart,
I know we have to travel to the reservation
For
the wake and wake and wake and wake
And
sweetheart, all these wakes for the dead
Are
putting the living to sleep
I can't bury my
grief
Unless I bury my fear