Reservation Blues

  Dear Coyote Springs,

  We just heard about Junior, and we wanted to tell you how sorry we are. We’ll miss him.

  Things are going well for us. We signed a deal with Cavalry Records, thanks to your help, and we’re currently working on our debut CD, which will be out next summer. We recorded our first song the other day, and there’s a copy on the tape enclosed.

  We both think that Junior is in a better place now.

  Sincerely,

  Betty and Veronica

  Thomas read the letter over a few times. He held the cassette tape in his hands. He didn’t know what to do and was shocked that Betty and Veronica had signed with Cavalry Records. Should he throw that cassette away and never listen to it? That wouldn’t do any good, because the CD would be all over the place next summer. He’d hear it played on the radio. Betty and Veronica would have a Platinum Album, a number one hit, and videos on MTV. Thomas wanted to protect Chess and Checkers from the music on this cassette tape. He held it in his hands for a while, studied its design, then walked over to the tape player he’d hidden away, dropped the cassette into place, and hit the play button. Thomas heard a vaguely Indian drum, then a cedar flute, and a warrior’s trill, all the standard Indian soundtrack stuff. Then Betty’s and Veronica’s beautiful voices joined the mix.

  Can you hear the eagle crying?

  Can you hear the eagle crying?

  I look to the four directions

  And try to find some connection

  With Mother Earth, Mother Earth

  I offer you tobacco and sweetgrass

  I offer you tobacco and sweetgrass

  I pray to the four directions

  And try to find some connection

  With Father Sky, Father Sky

  And my hair is blonde

  But I’m Indian in my bones

  And my skin is white

  But I’m Indian in my bones

  And it don’t matter who you are

  You can be Indian in your bones

  Don’t listen to what they say

  You can be Indian in your bones

  Can you hear the buffalo dying?

  Can you hear the buffalo dying?

  I look to the four directions

  And try to make the corrections

  For Mother Earth, Mother Earth

  I’ll smoke the pipe with you

  I’ll smoke the pipe with you

  I pray to the four directions

  And try to make the corrections

  For Father Sky, Father Sky

  And your hair is blonde

  But you’re Indian in your bones

  And your skin is white

  But you’re Indian in your bones

  And it don’t matter who I am

  I am Indian in my bones

  I don’t listen to what they say

  I am Indian in my bones

  Thomas hit the eject button, threw the cassette on the floor, and stomped on it. He pulled the tape ribbon from its casing until it spread over the kitchen like pasta. Using a dull knife, he sliced the tape ribbon into pieces. Then he ran around his house, grabbing photos and souvenirs, afraid that somebody was going to steal them next. He had photographs of his mother and father, a Disneyland cup even though he’d never been there, a few letters and cards. He gathered them all into a pile on the kitchen table and waited.

  Victor Joseph

  Wellpinit, WA 99040

  Jobs I had before.

  Leed Gitar Player Coyote Springs

  Viceprezidant Senior Class Wellpinit High School.

  Mowd lawns and shuveled snow.

  Edgeucation.

  Graguatid Wellpinit High School 1978.

  Watched Jepordee a hole bunch on tv.

  Skills.

  Drive water truck & rode with best friend Junior alot. Am strong & fast.

  Refrences.

  Thomas Buildsthefire & Big Mom.

  Coyote Springs was gone. Thomas, Chess, and Checkers packed all their stuff into the blue van and left Coyote Springs behind in the house. Victor didn’t want anything to do with Coyote Springs, either. He just wandered around the reservation with his three dogs. He hadn’t taken a shower in a week. Everybody figured he’d be drinking Sterno before too long. They all worried about the dogs.

  “We’re leaving,” Thomas had said to Victor earlier that morning.

  “For where?”

  “Spokane.”

  “When you coming back?”

  “We aren’t,” said Thomas and then reluctantly asked if Victor wanted to come along. He shook his head and walked away.

  Thomas stood in the driveway, studying his HUD house, the familiar angles and weathered wood. It had never been painted. Thomas closed his eyes and saw his mother and father standing on the front porch, waving. When he opened his eyes, Chess was standing beside him.

  “Are you going to say goodbye to your dad?” Chess asked.

  “I don’t even know where he is,” Thomas said. “Besides, he’s got Indian father radar. He’ll show up at our place in Spokane, knocking on the door at three in the morning.”

  “Really?” Chess asked, impressed and not altogether happy about it.

  “Yeah, he’s amazing that way.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll go get Checkers.”

  Chess walked into the house, found Checkers in a back bedroom, and both soon came out.

  “Do you want some time alone?” Chess asked Thomas.

  Thomas looked at his house.

  “No,” he said, “it’s time to go.”

  The trio climbed into the blue van. Thomas drove. Chess sat in the front passenger seat, and Checkers sat in the back. Thomas put the car into drive, and they pulled away from his house. There was a tightness in Thomas’s chest that he could not explain; he took a deep breath. The blue van rolled down the reservation road.

  “Look,” Chess said and pointed. Big Mom was standing on the roadside with a big thumb sticking up. Thomas pulled up beside her. Checkers rolled down her window.

  “Where you headed, sweetheart?” Checkers asked Big Mom.

  “Over to that feast at the Longhouse,” Big Mom said. “You should come with me.”

  “Nah,” Thomas said. “We’ll give you a ride over there. But those people don’t want us around.”

  “Well,” Big Mom said as she climbed into the van. “I think you should eat before you go.”

  “Those people will eat us alive,” Checkers said in the back.

  “Where’s Robert Johnson?” Thomas asked.

  “Oh,” Big Mom said, “he’s up at the house, I guess. He’s getting better every day. He’ll probably be leaving us soon.”

  “That’s good,” Chess said.

  “I suppose,” Big Mom said.

  They were quiet until they arrived at the Longhouse. There were a few dozen reservation cars parked at random angles.

  “Jeez,” Checkers said. “The whole Spokane Tribe must be here.”

  “There are quite a few,” Big Mom said. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat? You can’t leave on an empty stomach. It’s bad luck to travel on an empty stomach.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Thomas asked.

  “I just made it up.”

  “I don’t know,” said Checkers, obviously frightened. “They might try to hurt us.”

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” Big Mom said. “Hey, do you have any money?”

  “A little,” Thomas said.

  “Well,” Big Mom said, “I have a few bucks I’ve saved up. Here. And maybe we can take up a collection inside.”

  “They ain’t going to give us any money,” Chess said.

  “Maybe not,” Big Mom said, “but at least you can get some food.”

  Thomas’s stomach growled loudly.

  “I guess Thomas has made up his mind,” Chess said.

  “Let’s go, then,” Big Mom said and led Chess, Checkers, and Thomas toward the Longhouse. They could hear laughter and loud c
onversation inside, but everybody fell into silence when they walked in. All the Spokane Indians stared at Big Mom and her co-dependents. Big Mom waved, and the crowd gradually resumed their conversations.

  “Jeez,” Chess said. “I thought they were going to scalp us.”

  Chess, Checkers, and Thomas sat at a table with Big Mom. They all waited for the feast to officially begin. But the term feast was a holdover from a more prosperous and traditional time, a term used before the Indians were forced onto the reservations. There was never a whole lot of food, just a few stringy pieces of deer meat, a huge vat of mashed potatoes, Pepsi, and fry bread. But the fry bread made all the difference. A good piece of fry bread turned any meal into a feast. Everybody sat at the tables and waited for the cooks to come out with the meal, the fry bread. They waited and waited. Finally, when there was no sign of the meal, Big Mom stood and walked into the kitchen.

  “What’s taking so long?” Big Mom asked the head cook.

  “There’s not enough fry bread,” said the head cook.

  “You’re kidding. How much do we have?”

  “We have a hundred pieces of bread and two hundred Indians out there waiting to eat.”

  “Do we have enough venison and potatoes?” Big Mom asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How much Pepsi do we have?” Big Mom asked.

  “Enough.”

  “Well, you take the deer, potatoes, and Pepsi out there. I’ll bring the fry bread.”

  “But there’s not enough bread,” the head cook said. “There’ll be a fry bread riot. And you remember what happened during the last fry bread riot.”

  Big Mom remembered.

  “Just serve the meal,” Big Mom said.

  The head cook and her helpers served the Pepsi and the rest of the meal, but that only made the Indians more aware of their fry bread deficiency.

  “Fry bread, fry bread,” chanted the mob.

  Chess and Thomas looked at each other; Checkers and Chess looked at each other. They were ready to run.

  “It’s going to be a fry bread riot,” Thomas whispered.

  Just as the feast was about to erupt into a full-fledged riot, Big Mom walked out of the kitchen with a huge bowl of fry bread. The crowd, faithful and unfaithful alike, cheered wildly.

  “Listen,” Big Mom said after the crowd had quieted a little. “There’s not enough fry bread.”

  Indians angrily rose to their feet.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “There are only one hundred pieces of fry bread,” Big Mom said, “and there are two hundred of us. Something needs to be done.”

  The crowd milled around, stared each other down, picked out the opponent they would fight for their piece of fry bread. More than a few people had planned on jumping the surviving members of the band. Thomas, Chess, and Checkers ducked under their table.

  “But there is a way,” Big Mom said. “I can feed you all.”

  “How?” asked somebody.

  Thomas, Chess, and Checkers peered from under the table, listening for the answer.

  “By ancient Indian secrets,” Big Mom said.

  “Bullshit!”

  “Watch this,” Big Mom said as she grabbed a piece of fry bread and held it above her head. “Creator, help me. I have only a hundred pieces of fry bread to feed two hundred people.”

  Big Mom held that fry bread tightly in her huge hands and then tore it into halves.

  “There,” Big Mom said. “That is how I will feed you all.”

  The crowd cheered, surging forward to grab the fry bread. There was a complete feast after all.

  “Big Mom,” Thomas asked later as they were eating, “how did you do that? What is your secret?”

  Big Mom smiled deeply.

  “Mathematics,” Big Mom said.

  Robert Johnson was walking toward the Longhouse when he saw the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota sitting on a rock beside the road.

  “Ya-hey,” Robert Johnson called out. He was learning.

  “Ya-hey,” answered the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota. “Where you headed?”

  “Over to the feast. I’m getting hungry.”

  “Enit? I guess I’ll come with you.”

  Johnson and the old man walked toward the Longhouse. They didn’t say much. Johnson carried his cedar harmonica, and the old man carried a hand drum. They arrived at the Longhouse just as Big Mom tore the fry bread into halves.

  “Ya-hey,” Thomas said when Johnson and the old man walked into the Longhouse. “Look who it is.”

  “Thomas,” Johnson said as he sat at the table, “it’s good to see you.”

  “You look great,” Thomas said, could scarcely believe this was the same man he had met at the crossroads all that time ago.

  “Big Mom’s been good for me,” Johnson said as a means of explaining his appearance. “She even made me this ribbon shirt.”

  Johnson was wearing a traditional Indian ribbon shirt, made of highly traditional silk and polyester.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Thomas asked. “Do you want to leave with us?”

  Johnson looked up at the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota, looked to Big Mom.

  “I’m goin’ to stay here,” Johnson said. “On the reservation. I think I jus’ might belong here. I think there’s been a place waitin’ at this Tribe’s tribal for me. I think this Tribe’s been wait-in’ for me for a long time. I’m goin’ to stay right here.”

  Big Mom smiled.

  “Why do you want to do that?” Checkers and Chess asked.

  “I don’t know. Seems like the right thing to do. I think these Indians might need me. Maybe need my music. Besides, it’s beautiful here. And Thomas, I have seen everythin’.”

  Johnson took Thomas’s hands in his own.

  “We both have places we need to be,” Johnson said.

  “Yeah, Thomas,” Chess said, “we have places to be. We need to get going. It’s late.”

  Thomas looked at Big Mom.

  “We have to go,” he said.

  “Okay,” Big Mom said. “But hold on a second. You need some start-up money. That operator job won’t pay you much. And you need first month, last month, and deposit to move into an apartment.”

  “We’ll manage,” Chess said.

  “You’ll do more than that,” Big Mom said and stood. She cleared her throat, and the feast crowd turned all their attention to her.

  “Listen,” Big Mom said. “Thomas, Chess, and Checkers are leaving the reservation today. They need some money. We need to have a collection.”

  “Bullshit!” shouted somebody.

  “Now, I know some of you aren’t happy with how this all turned out,” Big Mom said, “but think of poor Junior Polatkin. Think of how hard these kids worked. Think of your tribal responsibilities.”

  “Think of getting them off the goddamn reservation,” shouted a voice in the back. It was David WalksAlong. He threw a hundred dollar bill into his cowboy hat and sent it around the room. “We’ll never have to see their faces again. We won’t have to hear any of their stink music.”

  The cowboy hat made its way around the room. Some Indians gave money out of spite; some gave out of guilt; a few gave out of kindness. There was a few hundred dollars in the hat when it finally made its way to Big Mom.

  “There you go,” Big Mom said and dumped the cash in front of Chess, Checkers, and Thomas. “It ain’t a whole lot. But that should be enough to get you started.”

  “You better take care of it,” Thomas said to Chess. She stuffed the bills into her pockets.

  “Well,” Big Mom said, her voice breaking a little, “I guess this is it.”

  “Jeez,” Chess said, “we ain’t going that far. Just to Spokane. It’s an hour away.”

  “Anywhere off the reservation,” Thomas said, “is a long ways from the reservation.”

  Thomas, Chess, and Checkers left the Longhouse. A few Indians waved goodbye. Big Mom, Robert Johnson, and the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota foll
owed them outside.

  “We’ll see you soon,” Thomas said but knew he was lying.

  “Just call information,” Chess said, “and maybe I’ll be your operator.”

  Checkers climbed quietly into the van.

  “Goodbye,” Big Mom said. “You can always come back.”

  Robert Johnson pulled out his harmonica and blew a few chords. The-man-who-was-probably-Lakota played along on his hand drum. The blue van pulled away.

  “The end of the world is near! The end of the world is near!”

  They drove away from the Spokane Indian Reservation in silence, Chess, Thomas, and Checkers all struggling with the silence and wanting to find something to say. They smiled at each other and tried to read each other’s mind. Chess could feel Thomas and Checkers trying to read her mind, but she wouldn’t let them in. She tried to read their minds, but they wouldn’t let her in. What were they all thinking? What did they think was going to happen in Spokane? Would Thomas be ignored in the city, would those Urban Indians try to hurt him? Would some friend of David WalksAlong or Michael White Hawk come running out of the crowd with a knife, a gun, or a razor-sharp piece of a broken dream? Was Checkers still thinking about Father Arnold? Did she think she’d come running back to the reservation? And what about Victor? Would he still be trying to drink himself to death when he was eighty years old, a complete failure at everything he ever did?

  “I’m scared,” Chess said to Thomas.

  “Chess,” he said, “we’re all scared.”

  They all held their breath as they drove over the reservation border. Nothing happened. No locks clicked shut behind them. No voices spoke, although the wind moved through the pine trees. It was dark. There were shadows. Those shadows took shape, became horses running alongside the van.

  Chess, Checkers, and Thomas all looked at each other with fear and wonder. A shadow horse was running so close to the van that Chess could have reached out and touched it. Then she rolled down her window and reached out to touch that shadow, that horse. It was hot and wet. Checkers reached out of her window and touched a horse of her own, while Thomas drove the van, illuminating more shadows galloping down the road in front of them.

  Those horses were following, leading Indians toward the city, while other Indians were traditional dancing in the Longhouse after the feast, while drunk Indians stood outside the Trading Post, drinking and laughing. Robert Johnson and the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota played a duet. Big Mom sat in her rocking chair, measuring time with her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth there on the Spokane Indian Reservation. She sang a protection song, so none of the Indians, not one, would forget who they are.