Sherman Alexie - Reservation Blues

“I remember.”

Chess and Checkers kept singing as they brushed, while Samuel dreamed of beautiful Indian nuns.

“Lucky fuckers,” Chief Walks Along said and threw the ball back to Lester. Samuel cut behind Lester, took a handoff, shrugged off Wilson and William, and launched a thirty-foot jumper.

“For Crazy Horse,” Samuel said as he released the ball.

SAMUEL & LESTER—2

TRIBAL COPS—0

“That’s traveling,” WalksAlong said.

“No way,” Samuel said. “You can’t make that call.”

“I can make any call I want. I’m Chief.”

“Yeah, that’s the only way you’re going to stop me. With a pistol.”

Lester squared off with the other five cops, danced like a boxer, flicked a few harmless jabs at the Heavy Burden brothers, and sprained his wrist.

“Our ball,” Samuel said.

As Thomas stood outside and the Warm Waters brushed Samuel’s hair, Victor dreamed. In his dream, his stepfather was packing the car. Victor had sworn never to say his parents’ names again. But his stepfather, Harold,roared to life and threw Victor’s mother, Matilda, into the trunk beside the dead body of Victor’s real father, Emery. Victor struggled to leave the nightmare, the naming, but his mother’s cries pulled him back. Matildaheld tightly to Emery’s body in the trunk.

Where you going? Victor asked Harold.

Away.

Let me get my stuff.

I’ve already packed your stuff. Your suitcase is in the house.

Where we going?

You ain’t going anywhere with us. You can go any damn place you please, but I don’t want no Indian kid hanging around us no more.

Haroldslammed the trunk shut, and the force knocked Victor to the ground. By the time he had gotten to his feet, Haroldwas sitting in the driver’s seat, turning the ignition. The car whined and whined but would not start.

Wait for me, Victor called and ran to the driver’s window. He pounded on the glass while Haroldturned the key again. Victor ran into the house to find his suitcase. He ran from room to room. When he finally found it stuffed under a bed, he heard the car start outside.

Wait for me, Victor shouted and ran outside, dropping his suitcase. He ran after his stepfather’s car, followed him down the road as far as he could. He galloped down the pavement, his suddenly long hair trailing in the wind. He ran until his body lathered with sweat. He ran until he fell on all fours.

When he stood again, his head was shaved bald. Huge white men in black robes milled around.

What happened to your hair? a black robe asked.

It’s gone.

No, it’s not, the black robe said. He took Victor’s hand and led him through all the other black robes. The black robe and Victor walked down flights of stairs.

Are you tired? the black robe asked.

Yes.

Do you want me to carry you?

No.

The black robe lifted him anyway and carried him on his shoulders. Victor felt the hard muscles through the black robe. He knew that man could crush him. But the black robe carried him to the bottom of the stairs and into a large room. Paintings adorned every wall.

Look here, the black robe said. This is my favorite one.

Victor looked at the painting. A battle scene. Two armies fighting. Guns, horses, men, flags, horses, smoke, blood, horses. Victor stared at the painting until he smelled blood and smoke.

Please, Victor said, let me down.

The black robe set him down. Victor rubbed his head, scratched his head, and looked at his hand. Blood.

I’m bleeding.

So you are, the black robe said, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at Victor’s wounds. When the cloth was saturated, the black robe rolled it up into a little ball and swallowed it.

Here, the black robe said, I want to show you something.

The black robe held Victor’s hand and led him through a series of doors. Victor lost track of place and time. He closed his eyes and followed the black robe. He heard the black robe sing.

Here, the black robe said. We’re here.

Victor opened his eyes in a room filled with the stink of burning hair. Other black robes shoveled hair into burning barrels, furnaces, and open fires. Long, black hair.

Here we are, the black robe said. We made it.

Victor ran from the room. He ran past doors into strange rooms. He ran until he lost his breath and collapsed on the cold, hard floor of a barren room. He lay there for hours, until the floor grew warm, then grew grass. He dug his fingers and toes into the grass, the dirt. He dug until his fingers and toes bled with the effort. He dug because he had forgotten how to stand. He dug because his father, Emery,and mother, Matilda, waited on a better reservation at the center of the world.

Samuel dribbled the ball between his legs, between William and Wilson, who crashed into each other in their defensive effort, then breezed past Phil, Art, and Scott Heavy Burden, and jumped over WalksAlong for the bucket.

SAMUEL & LESTER—3

TRIBAL COPS—0

“That shot was for every time one of you assholes wrote somebody a traffic ticket on this reservation,” Samuel said. “I mean, how could you fine some Indian who doesn’t have enough money to feed his kids?”

“Yeah,” Lester said. “They wrote old Moses a ticket for failure to stop when there wasn’t another car on the reservation even working at the time. Moses had to pawn one of his eagle feathers to pay that fine. Never got it back either.”

“Fuck both of you,” the Chief said. “Quit talking smack and play ball.”

“Shit,” Samuel said. “I should be writing you all tickets for failing to stop me.”

Samuel gave the ball to Lester, who dribbled it to his left, off his feet, and into the hands of Officer Wilson. Enraged by his turnover, Lester played tough defense by breathing on the officer with Thunderbird Wine breath. Wilson nearly threw up but recovered well enough to break Lester’s nose with an elbow and throw a nice pass to the Chief for an easy basket.

SAMUEL & LESTER—3

TRIBAL COPS—1

Lester kicked and screamed on the ground. The Tribal Police celebrated their first basket, while Samuel stood with hands on hips and knew it was the same old story.

“That was a foul,” Samuel said.

“We didn’t see nothing.”

As Victor, in one corner of the house, dreamed of black robes, Junior fell into his own dream in another corner. In his dream, Junior was in the back seat of his parents’ car outside the Powwow Tavern. Below freezing, so he shared a sleeping bag with his two brothers and two sisters. Junior struggled to remember his siblings’ names.

Run the heat for a little while, his siblings pleaded, because he had the car keys.

No, Junior said. Mom and Dad said I have to save gas. We just got enough to get home.

In his dream, Junior tried to remember his parents’ names, but they eluded him. Those names always eluded him, even in waking. In his dream, Junior’s siblings tried to wrestle the keys away, but he fought them off. They wrestled and argued until their parents staggered out of the bar.

Oh, good, his siblings said. We’re going home.

Junior’s parents knocked on the window; he rolled it down.

You warm? they asked.