Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (35 page)

I can't bury my fear
Before
I bury my friend
Wake alive, alive, wake
alive, alive
Sweetheart, I know this
cirrhosis is nearly genetic
Sweetheart, I
know this heart has been shaking for generations
And
it shakes and shakes and shakes and shakes
Sweetheart,
I know these suicides are always generic
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
And I think it's
time for us to find a way
Yeah, I think it's
time for us to find a way
And I think it's
time for us to find a way
Yeah, I think it's
time for us to find a way
To wake alive, to
wake alive, to wake alive, to wake alive

There wasn't much of a wake for Junior Polatkin.
Coyote Springs just laid Junior in the homemade coffin and set it on
top of the kitchen table in Thomas's house. Coyote Springs didn't
have the energy to sing or mourn properly, and the rest of the
reservation didn't really care, although a few anonymous Indians did
send flowers and condolences. Simon, whose rifle had been used in the
suicide, felt so bad that he drove his pickup backwards off the
reservation, and nobody ever saw him again.

"
Assholes," Victor said when another
reservation bouquet arrived. He kept thinking of the guitar he saw in
the bathroom, in his dream."Why the fuck they sending flowers
now?"

"Well," Chess said, "at least they
sent something."

"
Yeah," Victor said, holding his hands
close to his body, trying to hide the scars." But nobody gave a
shit when he was blowing his brains out. They were all cheering him
on."

"
That ain't true," Chess said. "Nobody
cheered."

Lester FallsApart showed
up then and gave Coyote Springs three dogs. It was an unusual gift at
a wake, but Lester didn't have anything else to offer. He owned a
dozen dogs. That's to say, a dozen dogs followed him all over the
reservation. Thomas wanted to name those three dogs Larry, Moe, and
Curly. Chess wanted to name them John, Paul, and Peter. Checkers
didn't care what they were named. But Lester said he'd already named
them the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Those dogs sniffed at
Junior's coffin and began to howl.

*

On top of Wellpinit Mountain, Big Mom sat on her
porch and cried. She could hear the dogs howling down below. She'd
had no idea that Junior was going to kill himself but still felt like
she could have saved him. If she had only known, if she had only paid
attention.

"
Big Mom," Robert Johnson said, "what
you goin' to do? You're scarin' me."

Big Mom felt a weakness in her stomach, in her knees.
She didn't know if she could even stand, let alone walk down her
mountain. Another one of her students had fallen, and Big Mom had
felt something fall inside her, too. Maybe all those bodies, those
musicians, those horses had been stacked too high inside her.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore,"
Big Mom said."I just don't know."

"They need you," Johnson said."We all
need you."

Big Mom looked at Robert Johnson, noticing how he had
changed since his arrival. He had gained weight, his eyes were clear,
his hands had healed.

"
I saved you," Big Mom said.

"Yes, you did."

Big Mom stood, breathed deep, and began the walk down
her mountain. She turned back, dug through her purse, and threw a
small object back at Robert Johnson. He caught it gently in his
hands.

"What is this?" Johnson asked.

"It's yours," Big Mom said.

Johnson held a cedar harmonica. He could feel a
movement inside the wood, something familiar.

"Why this?" Johnson asked.

"
You don't need that guitar anymore," Big
Mom said.

"You were supposed to be a harp player. You're a
good harp player. All by yourself, you can play a mean harp."

"Thank you."

"
You're welcome,"
Big Mom said and walked down the mountain.

*

Father Arnold, wearing a t-shirt and Jeans, had Just
loaded his last box into his yellow VW when Big Mom walked up to him.

"Holy cow," Arnold said."You scared
me."

"I'm sorry," Big Mom said and then noticed
the boxes.

"
So, you really are leaving then?"

"I have to, " Arnold said. "The Bishop
reassigned me."

"That's not true."

Father Arnold was ashamed. He pulled at the neck of
his t-shirt.

"You're right," he said."It's because
of Checkers."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes. No. I mean, I love her. But it's not like
that."

Father Arnold leaned heavily against the VW.

"Listen," he said, "I don't know what
to do. I think about her. I dream about her. Sometimes I want to give
it all up for her. But I don't even know why. I haven't known her
very long. I mean, she's beautiful and smart and funny. She's got a
tremendous faith. I just don't know."

"What are you supposed to know?" Big Mom
asked.

"Everything, I guess. Don't you know
everything?"

"No, I'm Just as scared as you are."

"
What am I supposed to do?"

Big Mom closed her eyes. She listened to the wind,
the voices of the reservation. She heard the horses.

"I'm not sure," Big Mom said."But it's
up to you, no matter what, enit?"

Arnold nodded his head, pulled the car keys from his
pocket, and looked down the road. Big Mom touched his arm, smiled,
and then started to walk away.

"
Wait," Arnold said."Where are you
going?"

"Those kids need me," Big Mom said."They
lost somebody, and they need help to say goodbye."

Father Arnold swallowed hard. He ran his hand along
his neck.

"
Well," Big Mom said, "are you coming
or not?"

"I don't know. I mean, what about Checkers? What
about all of it? You're not even Catholic, are you?"

"Listen," Big Mom said, "you cover all
the Christian stuff; I'll do the traditional Indian stuff. We'll make
a great team."

"
Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure," said Big Mom as she
grabbed Father Arnold's hand."Come on."

"But what about my collar, my cassock?"
Arnold asked.

"You don't need that stuff. That's a very
powerful t-shirt you have on."

"
Really?"

"
Really," Big Mom said and led the way
toward Coyote Springs.

* * *

From The Spokesman-Review/s classified ads:

Help Wanted
Western
Telephone Communications seeking operators for entry-level positions.
Must have good communication skills, ability to type 45 wpm, and
experience with computers. Please send resumes to P.O. Box 1999,
Spokane, WA 99204.

* * *

Coyote Springs buried Junior in the Spokane Tribal
Cemetery, in the same row with his mother and father. Big Mom and
Father Arnold took turns leading the service, while Checkers, Chess,
Victor, and Thomas stood at the graveside. Lester FallsApart and the
three dogs kept a polite distance. No other Spokane Indians showed
up.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Father Arnold finished the ceremony and asked if
anybody had any final words for the dearly departed.

"Final words?" Chess asked. "I don't
know if I'll ever be able to stop talking about this."

The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost howled.
Lester tried to quiet them, but Big Mom had to walk over. She knelt
down beside the dogs, whispered to them, and stroked their fur. The
dogs whimpered and kissed Big Mom.

"
What are their names?" Big Mom asked
Lester and laughed when he told her.

"Well," she said, "I think we should
change their names. That isn't exactly respectful."

"Well," Lester said, "they ain't my
dogs no more. I gave them to Coyote Springs."

"
Ya-hey," Big Mom called out. "What
are you going to name your dogs?"

Thomas looked at Chess.

"I don't know," Thomas said."It's not
really up to us to decide. We're going to let Victor have the dogs.
We've got other plans."

"How come I get the dogs?" Victor asked.

Big Mom wondered about Thomas's and Chess's plans but
knew they had something to do with leaving the reservation.

"Is there anything anybody wants to say about
the departed?" Father Arnold asked.

"Junior never hurt anybody, not on purpose,"
Victor said and surprised everybody. He was lying, of course, but he
wanted to make sense of Junior's life.

"He hurt himself the most," Big Mom said.

"He tried to be good," Thomas said. "He
tried really hard."

Big Mom sang under her breath, a quiet little
mourning song. Coyote Springs trembled with the music. They didn't
sing along.

"
Did you know that Junior had a kid?"
Victor asked.

Everybody on the Spokane Indian Reservation had heard
the rumors, but nobody had known the truth except Junior. After
Junior killed himself, Victor found that note in Junior's wallet and
learned the whole story. Lynn, the little romance, the abortion.
"Yeah, a half-breed little boy," Victor lied, trying to
make more significance out of his best friend's life and death.

"How old is the kid?" Chess asked.

"
Almost ten years old now. Named him Charles."

"Wow," Chess said. "Where did all this
happen?"

"When Junior was in college," Victor said.
"In Oregon."

"It was a white woman, enit?" Chess asked.

"Yeah, what about it?" Victor said and
continued the lie, feeling the guilt that he was responsible for the
suicide, that he'd sold his best friend's life."Her parents
didn't like it either. And sent that baby away. Junior never saw him.
Just heard about him once in a while."

Big Mom sang another mourning song, a little louder
this time.

"Jeez," Chess said. "Now I know why he
never talked about it."

Checkers whispered a prayer to herself.

Chess looked around the
graveyard, at all the graves of Indians killed by white people's
cars, alcohol, uranium. All those Indians who had killed themselves.
She saw the pine trees that surrounded the graveyard and the road
that led back to the rest of the reservation. That road was dirt and
gravel, had been a trail for a few centuries before. A few years from
now, it would be paved, paid for by one more government grant. She
looked down the road and thought she saw a car, a mirage shimmering
in the distance, a blonde woman and a child standing beside the car,
both dressed in black.

*

Look, Chess said and ran down the road toward the
woman and child. She had so many questions.

Why did you love him, that broken Indian man?
Chess asked the white woman.
Why did you
conceive him a son?

Chess wanted to tell the white woman that her child
was always going to be halfway. He's always going to be half Indian,
she'd say, and that will make him half crazy. Half of him will always
want to tear the other half apart. It's war. Chess wanted to tell her
that her baby was always going to be half Indian, no matter what she
did to make it white.

All you can do is breed the Indian out if your
family
, Chess said.
All
you can do is make sure your son marries a white woman and their
children marry white people. The fractions will take over. Your half
blood son will have quarter-blood children and eight-blood
grandchildren, and then they won't be Indians anymore. They won't
hardly be Indian, and they can sleep better at night.

Chess ran down that road toward the white woman and
her half-Indian son, because she wanted to save them from the pain
that other Indians would cause.

Your son will be beaten because he's a halfbreed
,
Chess said.
No matter what he does, he'll
never be Indian enough. Other Indians won't accept him. Indians are
like that.

Chess wanted to save Indians from the pain that the
white woman and her half-Indian son would cause.

Don't you see?
Chess
asked.
Those quarter-blood and eighth-blood
grandchildren will fade out they're Indian and torment the rest of us
real Indians. They'll come out to the reservation, come to our
powwovvs, in their nice clothes and nice cars, and remind the real
Indians how much we don't have. Those quarter-bloods and
eighth-bloods will get all the Indian jobs, all the Indian chances,
because they look white. Because they're safer.