Sherman Alexie - The Toughest Indian in the World

Anyway, they’d filmed the scene, a funny one where Jeffrey Hunter had inadvertently traded a hat for a Navajo wife, for Look — how positively amusing! — and all the while, Etta had looked on and wished that Jeffrey Hunter had traded for her. Not Jeffrey Hunter the actor in the scene, but Jeffrey Hunter the blue-eyed man.

“Mr. Hunter, you were wonderful,” she’d said when she’d approached him after the scene.

Without a word to her, he’d turned and walked away. She’d admired his silence, his commitment to his craft. He hadn’t wanted to be distracted by the shallow attentions of some Indian girl other than Look. Still. Her feelings had been hurt and there might have been a tear in her eye when John Wayne sidled up close to her — yes, sidled — and shook his head.

“I don’t understand actors,” the Duke had said. “It’s the audience that matters, and yet, so often, we shun them.”

“What does shun mean?” she asked.

“Exactly. I mean, how can we, as actors, get close to the soul, to our hearts, if we don’t look deeply into the souls and hearts of others? In the end, how can we fragile human beings possibly be sympathetic actors if we don’t refuse to show sympathy for other people’s emotions? How can we realistically project love, hope, and faith if we are not loving, hopeful, and faithful ourselves?”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Yes, yes. If we don’t feel it in here, in our chest, then the audience will never feel it in their hearts.”

“That’s why I act,” she said.

“Hello, my name is John Wayne.”

“I’m Etta Joseph.”

Now, three days after Jeffrey Hunter had walked away from her, Etta was naked with John Wayne.

“I love you, I love you,” he whispered to her. He was gentle with her, of course, but he was strong as well. He rolled onto his back and lifted her, then lowered her down onto him. His penis was huge! It was a movie star’s penis, for sure. Etta had never really thought about John Wayne’s penis before. She’d never really thought about any man’s or actor’s penis before. Sure, she’d felt strong desires for men, sexual desires, but they’d always taken the form of vague shapes and sizes inside of her body. She’d never imagined what John Wayne would look like naked, but there he was! Strong arms, long legs, a pot belly. As he lay beneath her, as he closed his eyes, Etta wondered what she should do with her hands. Nobody had ever taught her how to do this, how to make love to a man. And it was John Wayne, so he must have made love to a thousand different women in his life. Other movie stars! He must have made love to Bette Davis, Vivien Leigh, Greta Garbo, Grace Kelly, maybe even Judy Garland. All those perfect women. Etta felt small and terrified in the presence of John Wayne.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m afraid.”

“If you get pregnant, I’ll take care of it.”

In the rush, she’d never even thought about pregnancy. How stupid! She was only eighteen years old, unmarried, a thousand miles away from home. What would she do with a baby? And what did he mean by taking care of it? Did he want to marry her, be the husband of an Indian woman and the father of an Indian child, or did he want her to have an abortion? God, she’d heard about abortions, how they reached inside of you with a metal hook and scraped out all of your woman parts. In terror, she rolled away from John Wayne and ran naked through the desert, toward the lights of the distant set, where John Ford and Jeffrey Hunter were sure to have the answers to all of her questions.

“Wait, wait, wait,” cried John Wayne as he chased after her. He was not a young man. He wondered if he could possibly catch her. But she was a child of the river and pine tree, of wild grass and mountain. She understood gravity in a different way and, therefore, tripped in the rough sands of the desert. She fell face first into the red dirt and waited for John Wayne to catch and hurt her. Isn’t that what he had always done? Wasn’t he the man who killed Indians?

“Etta, Etta.” He kneeled beside her. He stroked her long black hair. She flinched and pushed him away.

“Go away, go away, John Wayne,” she cried out.

“Oh, Etta, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I couldn’t hurt you. I love you.”

“But you can’t love me. You don’t even know me.”

John Wayne wept.

There, in Navajo Monument Valley, John Wayne wept. His tears fell to the sand and flooded the desert.

“Nobody knows me,” he cried. “Nobody knows me.”

He was so afraid! Etta was shocked into silence. This was the great John Wayne and he was afraid.

“But, but, but,” Etta stammered. “But you’re a star.”

“John Wayne is the star. I’m Marion, I’m just Marion Morrison.”

She held him for a good long time.

Q: I can’t believe this. Are you telling me the truth?

A: Yes, as far as I can remember it.

Q: This is not a lie, one of those good lies you were talking about?

A: Spencer, I was fooling you. There’s no such thing as a good lie.

Q: Bad lies, good lies, whatever. Just tell me the truth. Did you really lose your virginity to John Wayne?

(seven seconds of silence)

A: He was afraid of horses, did you know that?

Q: John Wayne was afraid of horses? That’s completely implausible. I mean, I’d sooner believe that you slept with him. We’re talking about John Wayne here.

A: When he was seven years old, a horse kicked him in the head. He was in a coma for nearly three months. Everybody thought he was going to die. In the hospital, his mother brought in a Catholic priest to baptize him. His father brought in a Presbyterian priest for last rites. They thought he was going to die. They were sure he was going to die.

Q: I don’t recall reading any of this about John Wayne. Kicked in the head by a horse? That must be urban legend.

A: He showed me the scar. Just behind his right ear. About five inches long. They hid it with makeup. The horse’s name was Rooster. He liked me to kiss it whenever we made love.

Q: Wait, wait, wait, he liked you to kiss the horse?

A: Oh, no, no, no, silly. He liked me to kiss his scar. He said it was really sensitive, still, after all those years. He was really a sensitive man, you know? He knew how to cry. He cried every time we made love. Well, this is really embarrassing, but he cried every time he had, every time, he, well, you know, had an orgasm.

Q: Wait, wait, wait, what are you telling me? How many times did you make love?

A: Most every night during the filming of the movie. Except for those nights when his wife and kids came to visit.

Q: So, hold on here, let me get my head around this. Not only were you having sex with John Wayne, you were also having an affair with him?

A: I’m not proud of that particular nature of our relationship, but yes, John Wayne was a married man.

In Navajo Monument Valley, during a long day of filming, John Wayne stepped into the makeup trailer for a touch-up and discovered his sons happily covering their faces with lipstick and mascara.

“Well, hello there,” John Wayne said to his sons.

They were petrified, afraid of this large man, this male.

“Are you having fun?” the Duke asked his sons.

They didn’t know how to answer. If they said no, they’d be lying, and their father always knew when they were lying. If they said yes, well, then, that could mean all sorts of things, and all of them were bad.

“Are you having fun?” he asked again. His face revealed nothing, his thin mouth was closed tight, his teeth were hidden behind that weathered face.

The eldest son cried, so the youngest son decided to join him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said John Wayne. “What’s with all of the tears?”