Sherman Alexie - Reservation Blues

“You know,” Chess said to Thomas in the kitchen, just as Checkers fell into the sleep and familiar nightmares of her uncomfortable bed, “I still miss Backgammon. I didn’t know him very long. But I miss him.”

“What did you do after he died?” Thomas asked.

“We mostly kept to ourselves,” Chess said. “We’d wake up before our parents and be out the door into the trees and hills. We’d play outside all day, eat berries and roots, and only come back home when it got too cold and dark.

“Sometimes we’d climb tall trees and watch the house. We’d watch our father storm out the door and down the road to town. He’d stay away for days at a time, drinking, drunk, passed out on the muddy streets in Arlee. Mom played the piano when Dad was gone, and we could hear it. We’d stay close enough to hear it.

“I used to think her songs drifted across the entire reservation. I imagined they knocked deer over and shook the antlers of moose and elk. Can you believe that? The music crept into the dreams of hibernating bears and turned them into nightmares. Those bears wouldn’t ever leave their dens and starved to death as spring grew warmer. Those songs floated up to the clouds, fell back to the earth as rain, and changed the shape of plants and trees. I once bit into a huckleberry, and it tasted like my brother’s tears. I used to believe all of that.”

Thomas smiled at her. He had just met the only Indian who told stories like his. He took a sip of his coffee and never even noticed it was cold. How do you fall in love with a woman who grew up without electricity and running water, who grew up in such poverty that other poor Indians called her family poor?

“Jeez,” Chess said, “there I go again, running at the mouth. You must be tired. Why don’t you sleep on the couch?”

Thomas stretched in his chair, rubbed his eyes.

“I am tired,” he said. “Do you think it’s okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Why don’t you go lay down and I’ll bring you a blanket.

“Okay. But can I use the bathroom?”

“Sure,” Chess said and went to look for bedding.

Thomas used the bathroom and marveled at the order. The fancy soaps waited perfectly and patiently in their dishes, but Thomas used a little sliver of Ivory soap to wash his hands and face.

“Are you okay in there?” Chess asked through the door.

“Oh, yeah,” Thomas said, unaware of the time he’d spent in the bathroom. “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

“Yeah, use mine. It’s the red one.”

Thomas picked up Chess’s toothbrush, unsure if she meant it. She brushed her teeth with this toothbrush, he thought. She had this in her mouth. He hurriedly squeezed Crest onto the bristles and brushed slowly.

“Jeez,” Chess said after he came out, “I thought you fell in.”

“I had a life preserver,” Thomas said, embarrassed.

“You can sleep here,” Chess said and motioned toward the couch. He lay down and pulled the quilt over himself. She sat beside him and touched his face.

“You know,” she said, “my mom made this quilt.”

Thomas studied the patterns.

“You think Junior and Victor are okay outside?” he asked.

“They’re fine,” she said. “It’s warm.”

“How did your mom die?” he asked.

“Of cancer,” she lied.

“Mine, too.”

“You go to sleep now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She leaned over quickly and kissed him on the cheek. A powerful kiss, more magical than any kiss on the mouth. She kissed him like he was a warrior; she kissed him like she was a warrior.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” she said and walked to her bedroom.

Chess tried to sleep, but the memories crowded and haunted her. The sisters grew strong in those Montana summer days but felt weak when they crawled into their shared bed. Before Backgammon died, they had often listened carefully to their parents’ lovemaking. The hurried breathing and those wet, mysterious noises shook the sisters’ bodies. It was good.

After the baby died, those good sounds stopped. The sisters heard their father push at their mom, wanting it, but Linda rolled over and pretended to sleep. She slapped his hands. Luke fought and fought, but eventually he gave up if sober. If drunk, however, he forced himself on his wife. Sometimes, he came home from drinking and woke everybody with his needs. He fell on their mother while Chess and Checkers listened and waited for it to end. Sometimes their mother fought their father off, punched and kicked until he left her alone. Other times he passed out before he did anything.

The winters and summers arrived and left, as did the family’s seasons. Luke and Linda Warm Water raged like storms, lightning in the summer, blizzards in the winter. But sometimes both sat in the house, placid as a lake during spring or an autumn evening. The sisters never knew what to expect, but Checkers grew taller and more frightened with each day. Chess just wanted to be older, to run away from home. She wanted to bury her parents beside Backgammon, find a way to love them in death, because she forgot how to love them in life.

Then it was winter again, and Linda Warm Water walked into the woods like an old dog and found a hiding place to die. Checkers and Chess nearly fell back in love with their father that winter. He quit drinking after his wife disappeared and spent most of his time searching for her. He refused to believe she had dug a hole and buried herself, or climbed into a den and lay down in the bones of a long dead bear. Because he’d convinced himself that Linda ran away with another man, Luke wandered all over Montana in search of his unfaithful wife.

Whenever he returned from his endless searches, Luke brought his daughters little gifts: ribbons, scraps of material, buttons, pages torn from magazines, even food, candy bars, and bottles of Pepsi. One time, he brought the sisters each a Pepsi from Missoula. Chess and Checkers buried those soft drinks in a snowbank so they would be cold, cold. Luke sat at his piano then and played for the first time since the baby died. The sisters ran inside and sang with him. They sang for a long time.

“Where are those Pepsis?” Luke asked his daughters.

“Outside,” Chess said and knew they were in trouble. The three rushed outside to the snowbank and discovered the Pepsis had exploded from the cold. The snow was stained brown with Pepsi. Luke grabbed Checkers by the arm and shook her violently.

“Goddamn it,” he shouted, “you’ve wasted it all!”

He shook her harder, then let her go and ran away. The sisters fell to their knees in the snow and wept.

“I’m sorry,” Checkers said. “The Pepsi’s gone. It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Chess said, scooped up a handful of Pepsi-stained snow, and held it in front of her sister. “Not everything’s your fault.”

“What?” Checkers asked.

“Look,” Chess said. The snow was saturated with Pepsi. Chess bit off a mouthful, tasted the cold, sweet, and dark. Checkers buried both hands in the snowbank, away from the broken glass, and shoved handful after handful of snow into her mouth. The sisters drank that snow and Pepsi until their hands and mouths were sticky and frozen. Soon, they went into the house to build a fire and wait for their father’s return. Checkers and Chess lay down together by the stove and held onto each other. They held on.

As he slept in the Warm Waters’ house, Thomas dreamed about television and hunger. In his dream, he sat, all hungry and lonely, in his house and wanted more. He turned on his little black-and-white television to watch white people live. White people owned everything: food, houses, clothes, children. Television constantly reminded Thomas of all he never owned.