Sherman Alexie - War Dances

LE: Sure, my name is Leonard Elmore.

Me: How old are you?

LE: I’m eighty-five-and-a-half years old (laughter). My great-grandkids are always saying they’re seven-and-a-half or nine-and-a-half or whatever. It just cracks me up to say the same thing at my age.

Me: So, that’s funny, um, but I’m here to ask you some questions about my grandfather—

LE: Adolph. It’s hard to forget a name like that. An Indian named Adolph and there was that Nazi bastard named Adolph. Your grandfather caught plenty of grief over that. But we mostly called him “Chief,” did you know that?

Me: I could have guessed.

LE: Yeah, nowadays, I suppose it isn’t a good thing to call an Indian “Chief,” but back then, it was what we did. I served with a few Indians. They didn’t segregate them Indians, you know, not like the black boys. I know you aren’t supposed to call them boys anymore, but they were boys. All of us were boys, I guess. But the thing is, those Indian boys lived and slept and ate with us white boys. They were right there with us. But, anyway, we called all them Indians “Chief.” I bet you’ve been called “Chief” a few times yourself.

Me: Just once.

LE: Were you all right with it?

Me: I threw a basketball in the guy’s face.

LE: (laughter)

Me: We live in different times.

LE: Yes, we do. Yes, we do.

Me: So, perhaps you could, uh, tell me something about my grandfather.

LE: I can tell you how he died.

Me: Really?

LE: Yeah, it was on Okinawa, and we hit the beach, and, well, it’s hard to talk about it — it was the worst thing — it was Hell — no, that’s not even a good way to describe it. I’m not a writer like you — I’m not a poet — so I don’t have the words — but just think of it this way — that beach, that island — was filled with sons and fathers — men who loved and were loved — American and Japanese and Okinawan — and all of us were dying — were being killed by other sons and fathers who also loved and were loved.

Me: That sounds like poetry — tragic poetry — to me.

LE: Well, anyway, it was like that. Fire everywhere. And two of our boys — Jonesy and O’Neal — went down — were wounded in the open on the sand. And your grandfather — who was just this little man — barely five feet tall and maybe one hundred and thirty pounds — he just ran out there and picked up those two guys — one on each shoulder — and carried them to cover. Hey, are you okay, son?

Me: Yes, I’m sorry. But, well, the thing is, I knew my grandfather was a war hero — he won twelve medals — but I could never find out what he did to win the medals.

LE: I didn’t know about any medals. I just know what I saw. Your grandfather saved those two boys, but he got shot in the back doing it. And he laid there in the sand — I was lying right beside him — and he died.

Me: Did he say anything before he died?

LE: Hold on. I need to—

Me: Are you okay?

LE: It’s just — I can’t—

Me: I’m sorry. Is there something wrong?

LE: No, it’s just — with your book and everything — I know you want something big here. I know you want something big from your grandfather. I knew you hoped he’d said something huge and poetic, like maybe something you could have written, and, honestly, I was thinking about lying to you. I was thinking about making up something as beautiful as I could. Something about love and forgiveness and courage and all that. But I couldn’t think of anything good enough. And I didn’t want to lie to you. So I have to be honest and say that your grandfather didn’t say anything. He just died there in the sand. In silence.

11. Orphans

I was worried that I had a brain tumor. Or that my hydrocephalus had returned. I was scared that I was going to die and orphan my sons. But, no, their mother was coming home from Italy. No matter what happened to me, their mother would rescue them.

“I’ll be home in sixteen hours,” my wife said over the phone.

“I’ll be here,” I said. “I’m just waiting on news from my doctor.”

12. Coffee Shop News

While I waited, I asked my brother-in-law to watch the boys again because I didn’t want to get bad news with them in the room.

Alone and haunted, I wandered the mall, tried on new clothes, and waited for my cell phone to ring.

Two hours later, I was uncomposed and wanted to murder everything, so I drove south to a coffee joint, a spotless place called Dirty Joe’s.

Yes, I was silly enough to think that I’d be calmer with a caffeinated drink.

As I sat outside on a wooden chair and sipped my coffee, I cursed the vague, rumbling, ringing noise in my ear. And yet, when my cell phone rang, I held it to my deaf ear.

“Hello, hello,” I said and wondered if it was a prank call, then remembered and switched the phone to my left ear.

“Hello,” my doctor said. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” I said. “So, what’s going on?”

“There are irregularities in your head.”

“My head’s always been wrong.”

“It’s good to have a sense of humor,” my doctor said. “You have a small tumor that is called a meningioma. They grow in the meninges membranes that lie between your brain and your skull.”

“Shit,” I said. “I have cancer.”

“Well,” my doctor said. “These kinds of tumors are usually noncancerous. And they grow very slowly, so in six months or so, we’ll do another MRI. Don’t worry. You’re going to be okay.”

“What about my hearing?” I asked.

“We don’t know what might be causing the hearing loss, but you should start a course of prednisone, the steroid, just to go with the odds. Your deafness might lessen if left alone, but we’ve had success with the steroids in bringing back hearing. There are side effects, like insomnia, weight gain, night sweats, and depression.”

“Oh, boy,” I said. “Those side effects might make up most of my personality already. Will the ’roids also make me quick to pass judgment? And I’ve always wished I had a dozen more skin tags and moles.”

The doctor chuckled. “You’re a funny man.”

I wanted to throw my phone into a wall but I said good-bye instead and glared at the tumorless people and their pretty tumorless heads.

13. Meningioma

Mayoclinic.com defines “meningioma” as “a tumor that arises from the meninges — the membranes that surround your brain and spinal cord. The majority of meningioma cases are noncancerous (benign), though rarely a meningioma can be cancerous (malignant).”

Okay, that was a scary and yet strangely positive definition. No one ever wants to read the word “malignant” unless one is reading a Charles Dickens novel about an evil landlord, but “benign” and “majority” are two things that go great together.

From the University of Washington Medical School Web site I learned that meningioma tumors “are usually benign, slow growing and do not spread into normal brain tissue. Typically, a meningioma grows inward, causing pressure on the brain or spinal cord. It may grow outward toward the skull, causing it to thicken.”

So, wait, what the fuck? A meningioma can cause pressure on the brain and spinal fluid? Oh, you mean, just like fucking hydrocephalus? Just like the water demon that once tried to crush my brain and kill me? Armed with this new information — with these new questions — I called my doctor.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he said. “We’re going to closely monitor you. And your meningioma is very small.”

“Okay, but I just read—”

“Did you go on the Internet?”

“Yes.”

“Which sites?”

“Mayo Clinic and the University of Washington.”