Reservation Blues

  What do you want? Checkers asked.

  I came to apologize, Sheridan said. Where is everybody?

  They all just left. They’ll be back soon.

  You’re alone?

  For just a little while, Checkers said and edged back toward the door. Sheridan stepped around her, shut the door, and locked it. He stared at Checkers. His eyes were wild, furtive.

  You guys really blew it, Sheridan said.

  What do you mean?

  You blew it by acting like a bunch of goddamn wild Indians. I might have been able to talk Mr. Armstrong into listening to you again. He might have given you another chance. But not after that shit you pulled in the studio. You caused a lot of damage.

  We didn’t start it.

  That’s what you Indians always say. The white men did this to us, the white men did that to us. When are you ever going to take responsibility for yourselves?

  Sheridan paced around the room, lit a cigarette, and waved it like a saber.

  You had a choice, Sheridan said. We gave you every chance. All you had to do was move to the reservation. We would’ve protected you. The U.S. Army was the best friend the Indians ever had.

  What are you talking about? Checkers asked. We’re not in the army. We’re a rock band.

  Checkers made a move for the door, but Sheridan grabbed her.

  This is just like you Indians, Sheridan shouted in her face. You could never stay where we put you. You never listened to orders. Always fighting. You never quit fighting. Do you understand how tired I am of fighting you? When will you ever give up?

  Sheridan threw Checkers to the floor. He pulled off his coat and necktie.

  Listen, he said and tried to regain composure. I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anybody. But it was war. This is war. We won. Don’t you understand? We won the war. We keep winning the war. But you won’t surrender.

  Sheridan kneeled down beside Checkers and tied her hands behind her back with his necktie.

  I remember once, he said, when I killed this Indian woman. I don’t even know what tribe she was. It was back in ’72. I rode up on her and ran my saber right through her heart. I thought that was it. But she jumped up and pulled me off my mount. I couldn’t believe it. I was so angry that I threw her to the ground and stomped her to death. It was then I noticed she was pregnant. We couldn’t have that. Nits make lice, you know? So I cut her belly open and pulled that fetus out. Then that baby bit me. Can you believe that?

  I don’t know what you’re talking about, Checkers said.

  You know exactly what I’m talking about. You Indians always knew how to play dumb. But you were never dumb. You talked like Tonto, but you had brains like fucking Einstein. Had us whites all figured out. But we still kept trying to change you. Tried to make you white. It never worked.

  Mr. Sheridan, what are you going to do to me?

  I don’t know, Sheridan said and sat on the floor beside Checkers. I never know what to do with you.

  Sheridan studied Checkers. He had watched her during the last few centuries. She was beautiful. But she was Indian beautiful with tribal features. She didn’t look anything at all like a white woman. She was tall with narrow hips and muscular legs. Large breasts. She had arms strong as any man’s. And black, black hair that hung down past her shoulders. Sheridan wanted to touch it. He had always been that way about Indian women’s hair.

  You know, Sheridan said, you’re more beautiful than your sister.

  She didn’t listen. She didn’t really care one way or the other. She just wanted help.

  I don’t care what you think, Checkers said. I don’t believe in you.

  What?

  I don’t believe in you. I’m just dreaming. You’re a ghost, a dream, a piece of dust, afoul-smelling wind. Go away.

  Sheridan reached across the years and took Checkers’s face in his hands. He squeezed until she cried out and saw white flashes of light.

  Do you believe in me now? he asked.

  Thomas and Chess walked into Carson’s All-Night Restaurant on the Lower East Side. They had been lost on the subway for hours, sure they were going to be mugged at any time.

  “Why aren’t we dead?” Chess asked Thomas as they sat in a booth.

  “Probably because we looked too pathetic to mug,” Thomas said.

  “What do you want?” asked the waitress who came to the table. She had an unusually beautiful voice for a waitress, but it was New York. That waitress had been blonde at several different points during her lifetime, even though she was currently redheaded. Still, she was pretty and had even been called back for a few television commercials. She hadn’t gotten a role yet, but there was a bathroom cleaner spot in her future.

  “Hey,” Chess said, “you ain’t seen two Indian men come in here, have you?”

  “What?” the waitress asked. “What do you mean? From India?”

  “No,” Chess said. “Not that kind of Indian. We mean American Indians, you know? Bows-and-arrows Indians. Cow-boys-and-Indians Indians.”

  “Oh,” the waitress said, “that kind. Shoot, I ain’t ever seen that kind of Indian.”

  “We’re that kind of Indian.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Hey, Kit,” the waitress yelled back at the fry cook and owner of the deli. “Have you seen any Indians in here?”

  “What do you mean?” Kit asked. “You mean from India or what?”

  “No, stupid,” the waitress yelled. “Indians like in the western movies. Like Geronimo.”

  “Oh, I ain’t seen none of those around for a long time. I saw a few in a book once. You sure there are still Indians around at all?”

  “These two right here say they’re Indian.”

  Kit the fry cook came out to look at the two potential Indians. Chess and Thomas saw a fat man in a dirty white t-shirt, although they weren’t sure where the shirt ended and the man began.

  “Shit,” Kit said. “They don’t look nothing like those Indians in the movies. They look Puerto Rican to me.”

  “Yeah,” the waitress said. “They kind of do.”

  “Do you speak English?” Kit asked.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Chess said to Thomas.

  “Yeah, let’s go home,” Thomas said.

  “Hey, you speak good English,” Kit yelled after Chess and Thomas. “Have a good trip back to Puerto Rico.”

  I’m pregnant, Lynn had told Junior after they dated for a few months during that first year in college.

  “I’m pregnant,” Junior said aloud as he sat with Victor in their sixth bar of the night. After hours. Victor would have been falling down drunk if he had been standing up.

  “Who’s the father?” Victor asked and laughed.

  What do you want to do? Junior had asked Lynn after she told him.

  “Am I the father?” Victor asked and laughed some more.

  Lynn had just shrugged her shoulders.

  Do you want to get married? Junior had asked her then.

  “Do you want to get married?” he said aloud in the bar.

  “I ain’t going to marry you if I ain’t the father,” Victor said.

  I can’t marry you, Lynn had said. You’re Indian.

  Junior had turned and walked away from Lynn. He always wondered why they had been together at all. Everybody on campus stared at them. The Indian boy and the white girl walking hand in hand. Lynn’s parents wouldn’t even talk to him when they came to campus for visits.

  Junior walked away from Lynn and never looked back. No. That wasn’t true. He did turn back once, and she was still standing there, an explosion of white skin and blonde hair. She waved, and Junior felt himself break into small pieces that blew away uselessly in the wind.

  “Nothing as white as the white girl an Indian boy loves,” Junior said aloud.

  “What the fuck you talking about?” Victor asked. “I ain’t white. I’m lower sub-chief of the Spokane Tribe.”

  Junior walked away
from his memories of Lynn and looked Victor square in the face.

  “You know,” Junior said, “the end of the world is near.”

  “Shit, I know that. Don’t you think I know that? I’m a fatalist.”

  Spittle hung from Victor’s mouth, his eyes were glazed over, and his hair was plastered wetly to his forehead. He smiled a little, a single tear ran down his face, and then he passed out face first onto the table.

  “It’s time to take you home,” Junior said.

  Junior picked him up and carried him out the door. The bartender watched them leave, cleaned the glasses they had drunk from, and erased their presence from that part of the world.

  Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed about you? Sheridan asked Checkers.

  It couldn’t have been very many, Checkers said. You haven’t known me very long.

  I’ve known you for centuries.

  Jeez, now you’re starting to sound like Dracula. And I don’t believe in monsters.

  I want to kiss you, Sheridan said.

  No, Checkers said. I don’t believe in you.

  Sheridan slapped Checkers hard, drew a little blood. A little is more than enough.

  Do you believe in me now? he asked.

  You ain’t nothing, you ain’t nothing.

  I’m everything.

  You ain’t much at all. You’re just another white guy telling lies. I don’t believe in you. All you want to do is fight and fuck. You never tell a story that’s true. I don’t believe in you.

  Sheridan kissed Checkers, bit down hard on her lips. He was pulling at her clothes when there was a knock on the door.

  George Wright knocked on the door of Coyote Springs’s hotel room. He couldn’t sleep at all. He had tossed and turned, worrying about the band. So he jumped into a taxi and came over. He wasn’t even sure why. He knocked on the door again. He heard a woman’s voice inside and then her scream.

  “Shit,” Wright said and threw his shoulder against the door. He was surprised when the unlocked door flew wide open and sent him sprawling.

  From a letter Junior kept hidden in his wallet:

  Dear Junior:

  It’s over. I went to the free clinic and it’s over. My parents will never know about it. You don’t have to worry about it. I’m okay. I barely even felt anything. I just closed my eyes and then it was over. I hummed a little song to myself so I couldn’t hear anything and then it was over. My parents will never even know it happened. You don’t have to think about it anymore. Just remember that I love you. But that’s all over now.

  Love,

  Lynn

  Just before sunrise, Thomas and Chess walked into the lobby of their hotel and discovered America. No. They actually discovered Victor and Junior sleeping on couches in the lobby. No. They actually discovered Victor passed out on a couch while Junior read USA Today.

  “Where’ve you two been?” Chess asked. “We’ve been looking for you all damn night.”

  “We’ve been here a couple hours,” Junior said.

  Thomas and Chess looked at each other.

  “Didn’t the hotel hassle you for being here?” Thomas asked.

  “No,” Junior said. “I think they figured we was rock stars and didn’t want to piss us off.”

  “Well,” Chess said, “we certainly ain’t rock stars.”

  “Why didn’t you go up to the room?” Thomas asked.

  “I couldn’t carry him any farther,” Junior said. “And those damn bellboys wanted five bucks to help me.”

  “Where’s Checkers?” Chess asked.

  “I don’t know,” Junior said. “Where is she supposed to be?”

  “In the room,” Chess said.

  “Well, then,” Junior said, “she’s probably upstairs. You want to help me carry Victor up?”

  “Yeah,” Thomas said, and all three of them carried Victor into the elevator.

  “Oh, man, he stinks,” Chess said, and they all agreed.

  Chess looked closely at Junior. His eyes were bloodshot, but they weren’t glossed over. He didn’t even smell like booze. He just smelled like day-old clothes.

  “Don’t you have a hangover?” Chess asked.

  “Nope,” Junior said. “I didn’t drink none. Just orange juice.”

  “How come?”

  “Somebody needed to stay sober,” Junior said. “This is New York City, enit?”

  Chess was surprised at Junior’s logic.

  “You know, Junior,” Chess said, “you’re always saving Victor from something.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  They dragged Victor to their hotel room and knocked on the door. They were shocked all to hell when George Wright answered.

  “What’s going on?” Thomas and Junior asked, ready to fight.

  “Listen,” Wright said, “it’s all right. I was just waiting for you to get back. Checkers asked me to wait. She’s sleeping now.”

  “What happened?” asked Chess as they dragged Victor into the room. “Where’s Checkers? What did you do to her?”

  “She’s okay, she’s okay,” Wright said. “I didn’t do anything. It was just a nightmare. She just had a nightmare.

  “A nightmare?” Chess asked.

  “Yes,” Wright said, “a nightmare.”

  Chess went to look in on Checkers. Thomas and Junior surrounded Wright as best as they could. Victor snored on the floor.

  “What are you doing here?” Junior asked. “And where’s that asshole Sheridan?”

  “I don’t know where he is,” Wright said. “I just came here to apologize.”

  “Apologize for what?” Junior asked.

  Chess walked out of the bedroom.

  “How is she?” Thomas asked.

  “She’s sore, but okay, I guess,” Chess said. “She said it was the worst nightmare she ever had.”

  Junior shivered.

  “Checkers said you saved her life,” Chess said to Wright.

  “I just woke her up,” Wright said.

  “Why you helping us?”

  “Because I owe you.

  “Owe us for what?”

  Wright looked at Coyote Springs. He saw their Indian faces. He saw the faces of millions of Indians, beaten, scarred by smallpox and frostbite, split open by bayonets and bullets. He looked at his own white hands and saw the blood stains there.

  9

  Small World

  INDIAN BOY TAKES A drink of everything that killed his brother

  Indian boy drives his car through the rail, over the shoulder

  Off the road, on the rez, where survivors are forced to gather

  All his bones, all his blood, while the dead watch the world shatter

  chorus:

  But it’s a small world

  You don’t have to pay attention

  It’s the reservation

  The news don’t give it a mention

  Yeah, it’s a small world

  Getting smaller and smaller and smaller

  Indian girl disappeared while hitchhiking on the old highway

  Indian girl left the road and some white wolf ate her heart away

  Indian girl found naked by the river, shot twice in the head

  One more gone, one more gone, and our world fills with all of our dead

  (repeat chorus)

  A week after Coyote Springs staggered from Manhattan back onto the Spokane Indian Reservation, Junior Polatkin stole a rifle from the gun rack in Simon’s pickup. Junior didn’t know anything about caliber, but he knew the rifle was loaded. He knew the rifle was loaded because Simon had told him so. Junior strapped that rifle over his shoulder and climbed up the water tower that had been empty for most of his life. He looked down at his reservation, at the tops of HUD houses and the Trading Post. A crowd gathered below him and circled the base of the tower. He could hear the distant sirens of Tribal Police cars and was amazed the cops were already on their way.

  Junior unshouldered the rifle. He felt the smooth, cool wood of the stock, set the bu
tt of the rifle against the metal grating of the floor, and placed his forehead against the mouth of the barrel. There was a childhood game like that, Junior remembered, with a baseball bat. Standing at home plate, you placed one end of the bat on the ground and held your forehead against the other. You were supposed to spin round and round the bat, once, twice, ten times. Then you had to run from home plate to first base, weaving and falling like a drunk. Junior remembered. He flipped the safety off, held his thumb against the trigger, and felt the slight tension. Junior squeezed the trigger.

  The night before Junior Polatkin climbed the water tower, Checkers Warm Water crawled out of a bedroom window in Thomas Builds-the-Fire’s house. She had to climb out of the window because the Tribal Police had ordered the band to stay inside the house. The death threats had started soon after Coyote Springs returned to the reservation, and the Tribal Police weren’t taking any chances. Michael White Hawk had been released from Tribal Jail but didn’t have much to say about the band. He just walked blankly around the softball field with his huge head still wrapped in bandages, like some carnival psychic. The Tribal Cops kept suggesting that he should go to Indian Health Service, but White Hawk refused to go and just stood for hours at the softball field. He wouldn’t say anything at all, but then he would burst into sudden frenetic conversations with himself. He swung his fists at the air and tried to dig up that grave in center field before the Tribal Police calmed him down. White Hawk had been crazy and dangerous before he was knocked twice on the head. Now he had become crazy, dangerous, and unpredictable. Even White Hawk’s buddies were afraid.

  “He’s just acting,” White Hawk’s friends reassured each other. “He’s just trying to fool everybody into thinking he’s goofy.”

  White Hawk was asleep on third base when Checkers slipped out of the window in Thomas’s house. Thomas didn’t even move, but Chess stirred in bed as Checkers slipped away. Even sound asleep, Chess reached out for her sister. Checkers had not slept well since her return from New York. Phil Sheridan had come back again and again. Sometimes he threatened her. Other times he remained on the edge of her dreams. No matter what she dreamed about, Sheridan sat in a corner with a cup of coffee in his hands. He wore a wool suit or his cavalry dress blues. Sheridan had eventually forced Checkers to abandon her own room and sleep on the floor beside the bed that Thomas and Chess shared.