Sherman Alexie - Reservation Blues

“I hear you’re getting married to that Susan,” Lester said.

“Enit.”

“You want to have kids.

“There’s already one on the way.”

“Congratulations,” Lester said and slapped Samuel hard on the back. Surprised, Samuel swerved across the center line, which caused Spokane Tribal Police Officer Wilson to suddenly appear. Officer Wilson was a white man who hated to live on the reservation. He claimed a little bit of Indian blood and had used it to get the job but seemed to forget that whenever he handcuffed another Indian. He read Tom Clancy novels, drank hot tea year round, and always fell asleep in his chair. At one A.M. every morning, he woke up from the chair, brushed his teeth, and then fell into bed. The years rushed by him.

“Shit,” Lester said. “It’s the cops.”

“Shit. You’re right.”

Samuel pulled over. Wilson stepped out of his car, walked up to the driver’s window, and shone his flashlight inside the Chevy.

“You two been drinking?”

“I’ve been drinking since I was five,” Lester said. “Kindergarten is hard on a man.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Wilson said.

“And we’ll pretend you’re a real Indian,” Samuel said.

Wilson reached inside the Chevy, grabbed Samuel by the collar, and grinned hard into his face. Officer Wilson was a big man.

“Better watch your mouth,” Wilson said. “Or I’ll have to hurt those precious hands of yours. I wonder how you’d play ball after that.”

“He’d still kick your ass,” Lester said.

“Shit,” Wilson said. “Let’s go for it right now. Let’s go over to the courts and go one on one. Hell, I’ll call up Officer William and we’ll play two on two.”

“Two of you ain’t going to be near enough,” Samuel said. “Lester and me will take on all six of you fake bastards. Full court to ten by ones. Make it. Take it.”

“No shit, enit?” Lester asked. “How’s that fucking treaty for you, officer?”

“You’re on,” Wilson said, and got on his radio to round up his teammates.

“Shit,” said Lester, who never played basketball on purpose. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Samuel said. “Just give me the ball and get out of the way.”

Samuel and Lester arrived at the basketball courts behind the Tribal School a few moments after the entire Spokane Tribal Police Department. Wilson and William were the big white men. Certifiably one-quarter Spokane Indian, William had made the varsity basketball team in junior college. The brothers Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle Heavy Burden were the forwards. Everybody on the reservation called them Phil, Scott, and Art. The Tribal Police Chief, David WalksAlong, tied up his shoes and stretched his back. He would later be elected Tribal Chairman, but on that night, he played point guard.

“You take it out first,” WalksAlong said and threw the ball hard at Samuel’s chest.

“You better take it out,” Samuel said and threw the ball back. “It’s the only time you’ll touch it.”

The Chief faked a pass to his right and passed left, but Samuel stole the ball and dribbled downcourt for the slam.

SAMUEL & LESTER—1

TRIBAL COPS—0

Thomas stood outside while Chess and Checkers jealously watched Samuel Builds-the-Fire sleep. The sisters really needed to sleep but knew those Stick Indians might haunt Thomas if he stayed up alone.

“What should we do?” Chess asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either.”

“I know you’re falling in love, enit?”

“With Samuel?” Chess asked. “No way.”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I ain’t. I mean, he’s got a lot going for him. He’s got a job, he’s sober, he’s got his own teeth.”

“Yeah,” Checkers said. “Remember the one I dated? Barney?”

Chess remembered that Checkers always chased the older Indian men and never even looked at the young bucks. Checkers dated Indian men old enough to be her father. Once she went after Barney Pipe, a Blood Indian old enough to be her grandfather. “Jeez,” Chess had said after she first met the old man, “I know we’re supposed to respect our elders, but this is getting carried away.” Barney liked to take out his false teeth while dancing and usually dropped them in the front pocket of his shirt. One night, old Barney pulled Checkers really close during a slow dance, and his false teeth bit her.

“Do you remember Barney’s false teeth?” Chess asked.

“Damn right, I remember. I still have a scar. Biggest hickey I ever got,” Checkers said. “Samuel’s about the same age as Barney, enit?”

“Enit.”

“Man, Barney had a house, a car, and three pairs of cowboy boots.”

Samuel Builds-the-Fire wore a ragged pair of Kmart tennis shoes. The laces had been broken and retied a few times over.

“Indians would be a lot better off,” Chess said, “if we took care of our feet.”

“Yeah,” Checkers said. “And those cavalry soldiers would’ve been much nicer if the government had given them boots that fit. Ain’t nothing worse than a soldier with an ingrown toenail.”

“Samuel would be all right if he’d gotten a good pair of hiking boots when he was little.”

Chess tried to fix Samuel’s hair with her fingers. Then she took out her brush and went to work. Samuel breathed deeply in his sleep. Chess hummed a song as she brushed; Checkers pulled out her brush and sang along. The song, an old gospel hymn, reminded the sisters of the Catholic Church on the Flathead Reservation. Their hands stayed in Samuel’s hair, but their minds traveled back over twenty years.

“Hurry up!” Chess, age twelve, shouted at Checkers, who had just turned eleven. “We’re going to be late for church.”

The Warm Water sisters struggled into their best dresses, dingy from too many washes but still the best they owned, and hurried to Flathead Reservation Catholic Church.

“Father James says I get to sing the lead today,” Checkers said.

“Not if I get there first.”

Chess and Checkers pulled on their shoes and tiptoed into their dad’s room, which stank of whiskey and body odor. Luke Warm Water slept alone and dreamed of his missing wife.

“Hey, Dad,” Chess whispered. “We’re going to church. Is that okay?”

Luke snored.

“Good. I’m glad you agree. Do you want to come this time?”

Luke snored.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, either. Maybe next time?”

Luke snored.

“Don’t get mad at me. Jeez. If you walked into church, everybody might die of shock.”

“Yeah,” Checkers said. “The whole roof might fall down.”

The sisters walked to the church, which was one of those simple buildings, four walls, a door, a crucifix, and twenty folding chairs. Those folding chairs were multidimensional. Set them up facing the front, and they served as pews. Circle them around a teacher in the middle, and you had Sunday School. Push them up to card tables, and you feasted on donated food. Fold those chairs, stack them in a corner, and you cleared a dance space. Folding chairs proved the existence of God.

Chess and Checkers helped with communion and sang in the church choir. The sisters were the choir, but they sang loud enough to shake the walls.

“The louder we get,” Father James preached, “the better God can hear us.”

Chess and Checkers believed Father James. They sang until their lungs ached. Chess opened her arms wide and looked toward heaven; Checkers opened her arms wide and looked at Father James. Both sisters were in love.

“Do you remember all those gospel songs we used to sing?” Chess asked her sister as they continued to brush Samuel Builds-the-Fire’s hair.