Sherman Alexie - Indian Killer

“THE ESTABLISHMENT OF GAMBLING casinos on Indian reservations is very much an act of fiscal rebellion,” said Dr. Clarence Mather during that second session of the Native American literature class. “However, I worry about the longtime cultural implications of such a rebellion. Are the Indians polluting their cultural purity by engaging in such a boldly capitalistic activity? As Jack Wilson writes in his latest novel, ‘Indians are gambling with their futures.’”

“Dr. Mather,” said Marie, raising her hand. Mather ignored her.

“Mr. Rogers,” Mather said to David. “How do you feel about this?”

“Well,” said David. “I’ve never been to a casino before. I don’t know how I feel about it. But the state runs a lottery, doesn’t it? Aren’t the Indian casinos and the state lottery the same kind of thing?”

Marie was surprised by David’s logic, but still suspicious. He tried to talk to her after that class, but she avoided him. Instead, she followed Dr. Mather back to his office. He was clueless, of course, as she tailed him through the dark campus, past quiet buildings and empty tennis courts. She could have closed her eyes and found her way. She had been negotiating the campus’s maze of buildings and paths for a few years. At that late hour, the campus was surprisingly busy. A few students recognized Marie because she was a very vocal Indian student leader, but she ignored the friendly greetings of some and the hostile stares of others. Instead, she silently followed Mather into the Anthropology Building and up the stairs to his office. He was unlocking his office door, with his name stenciled in black on its gray-green opaque window, when Marie tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh, Ms. Polatkin, you startled me.”

Marie stared at the professor, who soon became very uncomfortable.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

“It’s Wilson’s book,” Marie said and handed the mystery novel over to Mather. “I refuse to study it.”

“Ms. Polatkin, Marie. Why do you insist on challenging everything I say?”

“I only challenge you when you’re wrong. You just happen to be wrong about Wilson. I mean, we need the casinos. It’s not like we’re planning a rebellion. We’re just putting food in our cupboards. If eating is rebellious, then I guess we’re the biggest rebels out there. Indians are just plain hungry. Not for power. Not for money. For food, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Wilson doesn’t know anything about that. You don’t know anything about that.”

Dr. Mather shook his head sadly.

“There you go again, creating an antagonistic situation. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to teach? I’m trying to present a positive portrait of Indian peoples, of your people. Of you. I simply cannot do that if you insist on this kind of confrontational relationship. I mean, with all this negative publicity surrounding the murder of that white man, don’t you understand I am trying to do a good thing here? People actually think an Indian killed and scalped that young man. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, people still think that Indians are savages. Don’t you understand that I’m on your side?”

“On my side?”

“Yes, Ms. Polatkin, we, you and I, are on the same side of this battle.”

Marie stared up at the tenured professor.

“What gives you the right to say that?” Marie asked him. “Who are you to tell me what battles I’m fighting?”

“Listen,” said Mather. “I understand what you’re going through, I really do. An Indian woman in college. I understand. I’m a Marxist.”

“Really,” said Marie. “I’m a Libra.”

Unable to respond, Dr. Mather walked into his office and closed the door in her face. She heard Mather throw the deadbolt and Marie felt a sudden urge to smash the glass, break down the door, pull down the building. She wanted to tear apart the world. Mather would have never treated a white student that badly, nor would he have shut the door in the face of a man. At that moment, she wanted Dr. Mather to disappear. She wanted every white man to disappear. She wanted to burn them all down to ash and feast on their smoke. Hateful, powerful thoughts. She wondered what those hateful, powerful thoughts could create.

She was still fuming when she stepped into the QuickMart convenience store on the Ave. A penniless student, Marie usually had cereal for breakfast and dinner every day, and also for lunch on weekends. She was out of milk and QuickMart had the cheapest quart of nonfat in the University District. She was standing in the cashier’s line when David and Aaron Rogers walked into the store.

“Hey, Marie,” said David, obviously happy to see her. “How you doing?”

Marie was in no mood to talk to David, nor the big hulk with him. Aaron Rogers was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Marie. Aaron was more conventionally handsome than his younger brother, but Aaron’s features seemed temporary, as if his blue eyes, aquiline nose, and strong jawline were simply borrowed from his parents’ faces.

“Hey. What’s your name again?” Marie asked David. She knew his name but wanted to offend him by pretending to forget it.

“It’s David, David Rogers. And this is my brother Aaron.”

With open disdain, Aaron stared down at Marie. She could smell the beer on his breath. She never drank, and absolutely hated its effect on people.

“So,” Aaron said to Marie. “I hear you’ve been a pain in the ass.”

Marie looked to David for an explanation.

“Hey, I never said that,” David said to Marie. “I just said you were tough on the professor.”

“Politically correct bullshit,” said Aaron. “That’s what I think.”

Without a word, Marie turned away from the brothers, paid for her milk, and walked out of the store. She was halfway down the block when David caught up to her.

“Hey, hey,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. Ignore him. He’s kind of a jerk.”

“He’s your brother,” said Marie. “Blood runs thick, enit?”

“Yeah, maybe. Listen, it’s just Aaron, you know? He doesn’t mean it. He just talks tough. He’s really a nice guy. I mean, he’s really good to me. He’s kind of been taking care of me since our mother died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. But Aaron just had to be tougher. He’s not very good at showing his feelings and stuff.”

“David,” asked Marie. “Why are you trying so hard?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you trying so hard to impress me? I’m really sorry your mother died, but it doesn’t mean much to me. And I couldn’t care less about your brother, you know? So, why are you telling me all of this?”

“I don’t know. I guess, well, it’s because I’m really sorry for what happened to Indians. It was a really bad deal.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“I just never got the chance to talk to a real Indian before. And you’re real, so I wanted to tell you how I felt.”

Marie looked at David. She knew he was hiding something.

“Listen,” he said. “I heard about this casino up on the Tulalip Indian Reservation. I was wondering if you’d come with me. Kind of be my tour guide. Maybe Mather would give us extra credit. We could work on a paper together. Get the white boy’s and Indian girl’s take on it, you know?”

“David,” Marie said. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not falling for it. Just leave me alone, okay?”

Marie left him standing there. David wanted to tell her about the camas fields back home. She was from the reservation. She must know about camas. He wanted to tell her about the Indian family that had come in the middle of the night to dig roots. Mother, father, four children, the old woman. Maybe Marie knew those Indians. Maybe Marie was one of those Indians. Maybe little Marie was running as David and Buck fired shots above her head. As Aaron shot at the Indian father. David wanted to tell Marie how he’d found one of those Indian root-digging sticks the morning after the shooting, and had buried it where his brother and father would never find it.