Sherman Alexie - Reservation Blues

Chess suffered through an entire tribe of Indian boyfriends. Roscoe, the champion fancydancer, who passed out in full regalia during the Arlee Powwow and was stripped naked during the night. Bobby, the beautiful urban Indian, transferred to the reservation to work for the BIA, who then left Chess for a white third-grade teacher at the Tribal School. Joseph, the journalist, who wrote a powerful story on the white-owned liquor stores camped on reservation borders and then drank himself into cirrhosis. Carl, the buck from Browning, who stashed away a kid or two on every reservation in the state, until his friends called him The Father of Our Country.

“Really?” Chess asked Thomas again to make sure. Maybe she had snagged the only sober storyteller in the world. “You mean, you’ve never drank. Not even when you were little?”

“No,” Thomas said. “I read books.”

“Do you have any kids?” Chess asked.

Thomas hid his face.

“Oh,” Chess said, disappointed. “You do have kids. How many?”

She loved kids but placed a limit on the number of children and ex-wives she allowed her potential snags to claim.

“No, no,” Thomas said. “I don’t have any kids. You just surprised me. I’m not used to personal questions. Nobody ever asked me any personal questions before.”

“You ever been married?”

“No, have you?”

“No. Any girlfriends?”

“Not really,” Thomas said.

“Ya-hey!” Victor shouted from the kitchen. “I think Junior is going to throw up.”

“You know,” Chess said, “that Victor is a jerk. And his clothes. He looks like he got in a fight with the seventies and got his ass kicked.”

“Well,” Thomas said, “he doesn’t have any money. That’s why he’s in the band. That’s why we’re all in the band, you know?”

“I was wondering why you put up with him,” Chess said. She and Checkers fought fires for the BIA during the summers, traveling all over the country, and struggled to make the money last through winter.

“Only problem is we’re not making any money.”

“Really? Even a bad band can make money, enit?”

“I hope so. But we’re pretty good, really.”

“I believe you, really,” Chess said. “That Junior is nice, enit? He’s good-looking, but sort of goofy, though. He sure lets Victor boss him around, enit?”

“Yeah, it’s always been that way.”

“Too bad,” Chess said. “Junior could be a major snag.”

“You mean,” Thomas said, “that he’s in the way?”

“No,” Chess said. “I mean he could be a good catch for an Indian woman. A snag, you know?”

“Oh,” Thomas said, still clueless, so he changed the subject. “I really liked singing with you last night. You’re really good.”

“Yeah, I had a good time, too.”

“You know,” Thomas said, “I have an idea. How would you and Checkers like to join the band?”

“I don’t know,” Chess said. “Do we have to dress like Victor?”

“Not at all.”

“I don’t know,” she said again. “We have to hang around here during the summer. In case we get called to fight a fire.”

“Listen. You can sing great, and I’m sure Checkers can sing, too. We need you. Something tells me we need you.”

“I don’t think so, Thomas. I mean, I like you a lot, but Checkers and I live here. We’re from here. We shouldn’t leave.”

“You have to think about it,” Thomas said. “Give us a chance.”

Chess shook her head.

“Wait!” Thomas shouted. “Victor. Junior. Get out here. Let’s practice some.”

Victor and Junior strolled outside, followed by Checkers.

“What’s all the shouting about?” Checkers asked.

“Thomas wants us to join Coyote Springs,” Chess said to her sister.

“No fucking way,” Victor said. “We’re a warrior band.”

“Well,” Thomas said. “We’re a democracy. How about we vote on it?”

“Okay, go for it,” Victor said, confident that Junior hated the idea, too.

“All those in favor, raise your hand,” Thomas said and held his right hand up. Junior raised his hand and smiled weakly at Victor.

“That does it,” Thomas said. “The women are in.”

“No way,” Victor said again.

“You agreed to vote,” Thomas said.

“Hey,” Chess said. “I said we don’t want to be in the band.”

Checkers never liked her sister to speak for her, but she agreed with Chess. Forest fires paid the bills.

“Wait,” Thomas pleaded with everybody. “How about we play some? Then you can decide if you want to join.”

Junior ran to the van, pulled out a hand drum, and beat out a rhythm. He surprised the sisters with his sudden talent. Thomas sang the first bar of a jazzed-up Carpenters song, while Victor stood sullenly with his guitar at his side. He wanted to resist all of it, but the guitar moved in his hands, whispered his name. Victor closed his eyes and found himself in a dark place.

Don’t play for them. Play for me, said a strange voice.

Victor opened his eyes and hit the first chord hard. Junior and Thomas let him play alone; Chess and Checkers stepped back. Victor grew extra fingers that roared up and down the fingerboard. He bent strings at impossible angles and hit a note so pure that the guitar sparked. The sparks jumped from the guitar to a sapling and started a fire. It was a good thing that Chess and Checkers had extensive firefighting experience, and they hurriedly doused the flames, but Victor continued to toss sparks. His hair stood on end, his shirt pitted with burn holes, and his hands blistered.

Victor raised his right arm high above the reservation and windmilled the last chord, which echoed for hours. He dropped the guitar, staggered back a few steps, then bowed.

“Jeez,” Chess and Checkers said after a long while. “Where do we sign up?”

Thomas, Junior, and Victor camped on the Flathead Reservation for a week after the Warm Waters joined the band, living meagerly on their shared money. The boys stayed at the sisters’ house, although Chess and Checkers objected to the smell, but all agreed the band needed to practice with its new members. Thomas even drove down into Missoula to buy a thirdhand synthesizer for Chess and Checkers to share.

“How much that cost you?” Victor asked him.

“Five bucks and a funny story,” Thomas told him.

Coyote Springs rehearsed for hours in the Warm Waters’ backyard. At first, they sounded awful, dissonant, discordant. Victor only occasionally replicated the stunning performance that convinced the sisters to join the band. Junior broke so many drumsticks that he switched to pine branches instead. Chess and Checkers sang better than Thomas, which made the distinction between backup and lead singers less sure. Thomas decided to share the lead. Still, Coyote Springs melded faster than any garage band in history.

“We should call that Tipi Pole Tavern guy,” Victor said. “I think we’re ready to rock.”

The owner of the Tipi Pole Tavern listened to the newest incarnation of Coyote Springs and agreed to hire them again. Coyote Springs packed their gear into the blue van and headed for the tavern.

“Ladies and braves,” the bartender announced. “It’s a great honor to welcome back that rocking band from the Spokane Indian Reservation, Coyote Springs.”

The crowd cheered.

“And it’s a special honor to introduce the two newest members of the band,” the bartender continued. “Two of our own Flathead Indians, Chess and Checkers Warm Water.”

Coyote Springs walked on stage with confidence. Thomas smiled as he stepped to the microphone.

“Hello, Arlee,” Thomas shouted, and the place went crazy. Victor counted off, and the band launched into its first song, a cover of an old KISS tune.