Sherman Alexie - Indian Killer

“I’ve told you everything I can remember.”

“Can we please reconstruct the events one more time?”

“I’ve told you. I came home from work.”

“At what time?”

“A little after six. I usually get home a little after six. Then I walked into the house, and Mark and Sarah, the nanny, were watching television.”

“What were they watching?”

“Some superhero show, I think. I just went right into the kitchen to make dinner and Sarah went home.”

“And where was Mark at this time?”

“I told you, he was watching television.”

“Now, what time did the nanny, Sarah, leave the house?”

“I don’t know. Twenty after six, something like that.”

“Okay, and what were you doing at that time?”

“I was making dinner.”

“And what were you preparing?”

“Shit, I don’t remember.”

“Okay, okay, and then what happened?”

“I got Mark ready for bed, read him a couple stories, and then he went to sleep.”

“And then what happened?”

“I went to sleep.”

“Okay, and what do you sleep in?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you sleep in a T-shirt, a nightgown, what?”

“Why is that important?”

“Well, there might be fiber evidence. Trace materials, you know?”

“Really? Well, I sleep in the nude.”

“Naked?”

“Yes, you have a problem with that?”

“None at all. Does your husband sleep in the nude?”

“Sometimes. But since he was in Japan at the time, I have no idea what he was wearing.”

“Okay, so you went to sleep. And then?”

“And then I was asleep.”

“Where was Mark?”

“He was asleep in his bed.”

“And then?”

“Shit, how many times do I have to tell you this? I woke up in the middle of the night and knew something was wrong. At first, I thought there must have been an earthquake. I mean, I used to live in southern California, so I know that feeling. But everything was still. And I was scared. So I went into Mark’s bedroom to check on him.”

“In the nude?”

“Of course not.”

“And what did you find in Mark’s bedroom?”

“Nothing. He was gone. But I saw the feathers. Two of them.”

“And what time was this?”

“I don’t know. Do we have to keep going through this? I mean, are you trying to find my son or not? And what the hell were those feathers about?”

“Mrs. Jones, we’re doing our best. Now, is it true that Mark has had some discipline problems at school?”

“Yes, but they have nothing to do with this.”

“But he’s been in a few altercations?”

“Yes, he has.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“He’s a six-year-old boy. They have altercations.”

“I’m sure. And how is your relationship with your husband?”

“It’s fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine.”

“Is there any reason you can think of that Mark might have run away? Have you checked with all your friends and relatives who live in the area?”

“Mark didn’t run away. Somebody took him.”

“Mrs. Jones, do you know of anybody who might want to hurt Mark? Or take him?”

“No. Don’t you know?”

“Well, there are certain other crimes that may be connected to your son’s disappearance.”

“Listen, I want to know: what kind of monster do you think would take somebody’s child?”

JOHN SMITH STOOD IN the darkness outside the UW Anthropology Building and stared at Marie Polatkin through the classroom windows. She was arguing with the professor, a white man wearing a gray ponytail and turquoise bolo tie. He also had a large bandage on his forehead, though John had no idea that the professor had injured himself by running into a low basement ceiling. John didn’t know Dr. Clarence Mather, but he’d seen many other white men in Seattle who dressed that way. Those white men thought long hair and turquoise were rebellious, but John knew that, for white men, long hair and turquoise were simply another kind of military uniform. John wondered if Marie understood that. Perhaps she was telling the professor how she felt about his ponytail and turquoise bolo tie. Of course, John couldn’t hear anything Marie was saying, but he could tell she was angry. She sat up straight in her seat, her finger jabbing the air as she made some point, one hand running nervously through her long, black hair. John thought she was beautiful.

After the class was over, as John followed Marie through the dark campus, he’d been surprised to learn that she was following the professor. She was good. She used trees and statues as cover, slipped into shadows and blind spots, stepped quietly across cement and gravel walkways. She was so good that John had lost sight of her a few times and, only by following the professor himself had he picked her back up again.

Dr. Mather, completely unaware of both Marie and John, walked to the faculty parking lot. A few cars were still left in the lot, which was faintly illuminated by two rows of streetlights. Mather set his briefcase on top of his car and began a methodical search for his keys, shoving his hands into every pocket. Marie crept so close to the professor that John was left breathless by her daring. She was just ten feet away from the professor when another white man called out. Marie disappeared behind a car as Mather turned toward the voice.

“Dr. Mather!” said the white man as he approached. “Dr. Mather, it’s me. It’s Dr. Faulkner.”

Mather recognized Faulkner, the chair of the Anthropology Department.

“Good evening, Dr. Faulkner. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. How was your class?”

“Well, I’m having trouble with a student. An Indian student, actually. She is very disruptive.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What’s her name?”

“Marie Polatkin.”

“Polatkin? Polatkin? Why is that name familiar?”

“She’s a cousin of Reggie Polatkin. You remember him, of course. He assaulted me in the Student Union Building.”

“Of course. My God, Dr. Mather! You don’t think there’s some sort of conspiracy going on, do you?”

“No, no. Marie is a very bright girl, just confused. I’m sure things will work out. I mean, things are very tense in the class since David Rogers disappeared.”

“He was your student?”

“And since that other man was scalped, my white students have been reluctant to express their opinions. Marie seems to be taking advantage of their fear.”

“Listen, would you like to go for a drink? Perhaps we can discuss this.”

“That would be fine.”

Mather and Faulkner climbed into separate cars and drove out of the parking lot toward the same destination. John watched the cars pull away and wondered what Marie had thought of the white men’s conversation. John stood at the edge of the parking lot and looked for Marie, but she had disappeared.

WALKING DOWN THE BURKE-GILMAN Trail, Arthur Two Leaf thought about the evening chemistry class he’d just left. He was a carbon-based life-form. The chemistry professor, Dr. McMinn, was a carbon-based life-form. The plants on either side of the trail were carbon-based life-forms.

“We are all made of essentially the same DNA, the same genetic material,” Dr. McMinn had said. “In fact, women and men share about ninety-nine percent of the same genetic material.” She’d then looked at Arthur, who had a wild crush on the white professor. “And people of different races, such as Native Americans and European-Americans, also share about ninety-nine percent.”

That might be true, Arthur had thought, but that one percent makes all the difference.