Reservation Blues - Alexie Sherman (24 page)

"Well, I might have been. It would have been
cool to have white women singing backup for us Indian women. It's
usually the other way around."

"Yeah, maybe."
 
Checkers
and Chess went back inside the house to check on Junior and Victor,
while Thomas drove the blue van down the driveway.

"
Indian men with concussions should not get
their own glasses of water," Victor said as Chess and Checkers
walked into the house.

"Indian men with concussions should not irritate
Indian women with access to blunt objects," Chess said.

The blue van rolled down the highway, past all the
pine trees and rocks filled with graffiti. RUNNING BEAR LOVES LITTLE
WHITE DOVE. That van rolled past the HUD houses with generations of
cars up on blocks, past Indian kids standing idly on the side of the
road. Not hitchhiking, not going anywhere at all. Just standing there
to watch traffic. One car every ten minutes or so.

"
What is it about this place?" Betty asked
and waved her arms around.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked. "What
place?"

"She wants to know what's wrong with all of it,"
Veronica said.

"Wrong with all of what?"

"This reservation, you Indians."
Thomas smiled.

"
There's a whole bunch wrong with white people,
too," he said."Ain't nothing gone wrong on the reservation
that hasn't gone wrong everywhere else."

Thomas drove off the reservation, through the wheat
fields past Fairchild Air Force Base, and into Spokane. The Greyhound
Station was, of course, in the worst section of town.

"You sure you'll be all right here?" Thomas
asked as Betty and Veronica climbed out of the van.

"What's the difference between here and the
reservation?"

"More pine trees on the reservation,"
Thomas said.

Betty and Veronica walked into the bus station.
Thomas was about to drive away when Betty stepped back out of the
station. She waved. Thomas waved and drove home.

* * *

Coyote Springs spent most of their time in Thomas's
house over the next few weeks. They ventured out for food but were
mostly greeted with hateful stares and silence. They didn't go to
church.

Only a few people showed any support. Fights broke
out between the supporters and enemies of Coyote Springs. After a
while, the Trading Post refused to let Coyote Springs in the door
because there had been so many fights. The Tribal Council even held
an emergency meeting to discuss the situation.

"I move we excommunicate them from the Tribe,"
Dave WalksAlong said."They are creating an aura of violence in
our community."

The Tribe narrowly voted to keep Coyote Springs but
deadlocked on the vote to kick Chess and Checkers off the
reservation.

"They're not even Spokanes," WalksAlong
argued. The Council was trying to break the tie when Lester
FallsApart staggered into the meeting, cast his vote to keep Chess
and Checkers,
and passed out.

Chess and Checkers sat in the kitchen of Thomas's
house and chewed on wish sandwiches. Two slices of bread with only
wishes in between.

"Jeez," Chess said, "maybe we should
go back to Arlee. They like us there. How come all the Indians like
us, except the Indians from here?"
 
"
I'm
not leaving," Checkers said and thought of Father Arnold."And
besides, we don't have money to leave. What are we going to do when
we get to Arlee?"

"We don't have much money left to live here."

The $1,000 prize money from the Battle of the Bands
had disappeared. Thomas, Junior, and Victor had each received his
monthly stipend of commodity food, but that wouldn't last long.
Thomas called small record companies in Spokane, but they weren't
interested in the band.

"Indians?" those record companies said.
"You mean like drums and stuff? That howling kind of singing? We
can't afford to make a record that ain't going to sell. Sorry."

He even called a few companies in Seattle, like Sub
Pop. Sub Pop discovered Nirvana and a lot of other bands, but they
never returned Thomas's phone calls. They just mailed form
rejections. Black letters on white paper, just like commodity cans.
U.S.D.A. PORK. SORRY WE ARE UNABLE TO USE THIS. JUST ADD WATER. WE
DON'T LISTEN TO UNSOLICITED DEMOS. POWDERED MILK. THANK YOU FOR YOUR
INTEREST. HEAT AND SERVE.

The taverns refused to hire Coyote Springs.

"We heard you was causing some trouble,"
the taverns said."We don't need any more trouble than we already
got."

Coyote Springs shivered with fear.

"Shit, " Junior said as he ate another
mouthful of commodity peanut butter, the only source of protein in
reservation diets. Victor strummed his guitar a little; his fingers
had long since calloused over. He barely felt the burning. Thomas
snuck out of the house to make frantic calls at the pay phone outside
the Trading Post. Chess and Checkers sat beside each other on the
couch, holding hands. The television didn't work.

Coyote Springs might have sat there in Thomas's house
for years, silent and still, until their shadows could have been used
to tell the time. But that Cadillac rolled onto the reservation and
changed everything. All the Spokanes saw it but just assumed it was
the FBI, CIA, or Jehovah's Witnesses. That Cadillac pulled up in
front of the Trading Post. The rear window rolled down.

"Hey, you," a voice called out from the
Cadillac.

"
Me?" the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota
asked.

"Yeah, you. Do you know where we can find Coyote
Springs?"

"Sure, you go down to the dirt road over there,
turn left, follow that for a little while, then go right. Then left
at Old Bessie's house. You'll recognize her house by the smell of her
fry  bread. Third best on the reservation. Then, right again."

"Wait, wait," the voice said."Why
don't you just get in here and show us the way?"

"
That's a nice car. But I can't fit in there,"
the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota said."I'll just run. Follow me."

"Okay, but this ain't our car anyway. We rented
it and this goofy driver, too."

The-man-who-was-probably-Lakota shrugged his
shoulders and ran down the road with the Cadillac in close pursuit.

"
Can't we go any faster?" the voice yelled
from the Cadillac.

"Sure," the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota
said and picked up the pace. He ran past a few other cars, which
forced the Cadillac to make daring passes. They raced by Old Bessie's
house and then made a right.

"Damn, that fry bread does smell good, doesn't
it?" one white man in the car said to another.

Thomas's house sat in a little depression beside the
road. "That's where you'll find Coyote Springs,"
the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota said. He leaned down to look inside
the car.

"You sure, Chief?" the voice asked.

"
I'm sure. Did you know the end of the world is
near?"

"We've been there and back, Chief."

The-man-who-was-probably-Lakota saw two pasty white
men sitting in the back seat. They looked small inside the car, but
the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey was huge. The driver was some
skinny white guy in a cheap suit. Curious,
the-man-who-was-probably-Lakota watched for a while, then ran back
toward the Trading Post. He had work to do.

The driver stayed in the Cadillac, but the two other
white men climbed out of the back of the Cadillac. Both were short
and stocky, dark-haired, with moustaches that threatened to take over
their faces. Those short white men walked to the front door and
knocked. They knocked again. Thomas opened the door wide.

"Hello," the white men said. "We're
Phil Sheridan and George Wright from Cavalry Records in New York
City. We've come to talk to you about a recording contract."

* * *

From a fax transmitted from Wellpinit to Manhattan:

Dear Mr. Armstrong:
We
just met with that Indian band we heard about. Coyote Springs. They
played a little for us and quite frankly, we're impressed. The lead
singer, Thomas Builds-the-Fire, is good, but his female singers,
Chess and Checkers Warm Water, are outstanding. There may be a little
dissension in the group because Checkers apparently quit the band
earlier. She rejoined when we showed up. I think that shows ambition.
Checkers is quite striking, beautiful, in fact, while Chess is
pretty. Both would attract men, I think. Sort of that exotic
animalistic woman thing.

We had the band play a few sets for us in
their home, and we feel confident in their abilities. Builds-the-Fire
plays a competent bass guitar, while Victor Joseph is really quite
extraordinary on the lead guitar. He is original and powerful, a
genuine talent. Junior Polatkin is only average on drums but is a
very good-looking man. Very ethnically handsome. He should bring in
the teenage girls, which will make up for the looks of
Builds-the-Fire and Joseph. Builds-the-Fire is just sort of goofy
looking, with Buddy Holly glasses and crooked teeth. Victor Joseph
looks like a train ran him over in 1976. Perhaps we can focus on the
grunge/punk angle for him.

Overall, this band looks and sounds Indian.
They all have dark skin. Chess, Checkers, and Junior all have long
hair. Thomas has a big nose, and Victor has many scars. We're looking
at some genuine crossover appeal.

We can really dress this group up, give them
war paint, feathers, etc., and really play up the Indian angle. I
think this band could prove to be very lucrative for Cavalry Records.

We should fly the band out to New York to do
a little studio work perhaps. To see what they can do outside their
home environment.
Peace,
Phil
Sheridan
George Wright

* * *

"Father Arnold," Checkers called, "are
you in here?"

She searched the church but finally found Father
cleaning graves out in the cemetery. He cleaned the graves of five
generations of Spokane Indian Catholics.

"
Hello there, Checkers."

"Hello, Father."

"I'm really sorry to hear about Victor and
Junior. Are they okay?"

"Yeah, they just got their heads bumped a
little. A few bruises here and there. Sore ribs. Might knock some
sense into them."

"It might," Father Arnold said and laughed.
He leaned against his rake. Checkers studied the rings on his
lingers. A college ring, a gold ring. She wanted to kiss his hands.

"What about those two white women?"

"They left. I guess we were too Indian for
them."

"Yeah, I know how that is."

Checkers looked around at all the graves. She didn't
know anybody buried there.

"
So," Father said, "I heard there was
some fancy car out at Thomas's place."

"Yeah."

"
And?"

"It was some record company guys from New York.
They really liked us."

"And?"

"And I rejoined the band."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

Father Arnold dropped the rake, took Checkers's
hands. He squeezed her fingers a little, smiled at her. She tried to
maintain eye contact but turned her head, ashamed.

"I'm really sorry," she said.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"
No. But we need the money. We ain't got no
money."

"Does everything have to be about money?"

"Of course it does. Only people with enough
money ever ask that question anyway."

"There's a kind of freedom in poverty."

Thais a lie, Checkers thought and felt worse for
contradicting a priest, her priest.

"Jesus didn't have any money," Father
Arnold said.

"Yeah, but Jesus could turn one loaf of bread
into a few thousand. I can't do that."

"You're right, Checkers. You're right."

Checkers looked down at the ground. She had not
wanted to be right. She wanted Father Arnold to forbid, her to leave.

"I think we should pray for all of your safety,"
Father Arnold said.

"Okay," she said.

Both kneeled on the ground, still face to face,
holding hands.

"You pray," Father said.

"Dear Father," she began, stopped, started
again. She struggled through a brief prayer. "Amen."

"Amen."

"Checkers," he whispered, "it will be
okay."

She leaned forward and kissed him, full on the lips.
Surprised, he pulled back. She kissed him again, with more force, and
he kissed her back, clumsily.

"Checkers," he said and pushed her away.

She looked up at him; he closed his eyes and prayed.