Sherman Alexie - Reservation Blues

“No fucking way,” Victor said.

“Okay,” Thomas said, “we’re a democracy. We’ll take a vote.”

“Not this voting shit again,” Victor said. “Who pays attention to voting in this goddamn country anyway?”

“All those in favor of Checkers getting a full share if she stays home, raise your hand.”

Thomas, Chess, and Checkers voted for full share. Junior abstained. Victor was pissed.

“She stays home,” Thomas said, “and she gets full share.”

Lord, I’m sorry, Chess said to herself. We need the money.

“Well, Jesus,” Victor said, more worried about his share. “So she gets the money. But we got to get packed. We got to get going. Seattle, Seattle.”

The city waited.

Samuel flew. He had dreamed of flying before. But there he was, flying for real. Flying true. Flying four feet above the basketball court. He flew over the Tribal Cops. Over Chief WalksAlong. He switched the ball from left to right hand and back again. He closed his eyes, opened them, shuttered them like a camera taking photos of a historic moment. Samuel laid the ball gently over the rim. Samuel missed the shot.

“Shit,” Samuel yelled as Officer Wilson grabbed the rebound. He was still cussing as WalksAlong received a pass and drove the baseline. Samuel stopped the drive, forced the Chief toward the middle of the court.

“This is game point!” the Chief yelled. “We make it, we win.”

The Chief dribbled once, twice, three times and lifted off the ground. Samuel leapt with him, arms outstretched, watched the ball float just above his fingertips, and still watched as the ball made its lazy way toward the hoop.

Checkers waved goodbye as the blue van pulled onto the reservation highway. She waved at Chess with most of her hand, saved a little for Thomas, and maybe a bit for Junior. She excluded Victor from her wave.

“What are you going to do this weekend?” Chess had asked her sister before she climbed into the van.

“I think I’ll go to church. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, the Catholic Church is down by the crossroads, enit?”

“Yeah, I’ve walked by it a couple times,” Checkers had said.

Checkers continued to wave goodbye as the blue van rolled out of sight. She walked back into the house, nervous, unsure what to do with her time. Maybe she should sing scales, ready her voice for the Sunday hymns. Father Arnold was the priest down there. She had read his name on the greeting board when she walked by the church. Father Arnold. She wondered about Father Arnold’s favorite song.

“You think Checkers will be all right?” Thomas asked as he drove the van off the reservation.

“She’s a grown woman,” Chess said.

“She makes me groan,” Victor said.

Everybody ignored Victor. In a unanimous vote taken just before they left, Coyote Springs had decided that was the best policy. Even Victor raised his hand for that one.

“What’s Seattle like?” Junior asked.

“It rains there,” Chess said. “It rains a lot.”

The blue van rolled through the wheat fields of eastern Washington, across the central desert, and into the foothills of the Cascades. They climbed Snoqualmie Pass and stopped at the Indian John Rest Area.

“Who is this Indian John?” Victor asked as they parked the van.

“I’m Indian John,” Junior said.

Chess and Thomas sat on the grass and shared a warm Pepsi. Victor and Junior walked to the bathroom. Inside, a little white boy stared at them.

“Hello there,” Junior said.

“Hello,” the boy said.

“What’s your name?”

“Jason. Are you an Indian?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Hey, Daddy, there’s a real Indian out here.”

A huge white man stepped out of a stall.

“Who you talking to?” the white man asked his son.

“This Indian. He’s real.”

Junior waved weakly to the man. Victor turned away and pretended not to know Junior. But they were the only two Indians in the bathroom. Both wore white t-shirts that had COYOTE SPRINGS scribbled across the front, although Junior had on jeans and Victor had on his purple bell bottoms.

“You’re an Indian, huh?” the white man asked.

“Yeah,” Junior said and prepared to run. On a reservation, this white man would have been all alone. In America, this white man was legion.

“That’s cool,” the white man said. “Did you know this rest area was named after an Indian?”

“Yeah,” Victor said and put his arm around Junior. “And you’re looking at the grandsons of Indian John himself.”

“Really? What’s your names?”

“I’m Indian Victor and this is Indian Junior.”

The white man almost believed them but came to his senses and stormed away with his son in tow.

“What took you so long?” the white man’s wife asked.

“Just some Indians,” the white man said.

“Just some Indians,” the little boy repeated.

Victor and Junior grabbed a free cup of coffee from the stand outside the bathroom. The Veterans of War offered free coffee and donuts in return for donations. Junior dropped a dollar into the box; Victor dropped sugar into his coffee. Both knew it was too warm for coffee, but they drank it anyway and talked about the price of guitar strings and drumsticks. They stood near the coffee stand and dreamed about Seattle.

Chess and Thomas sat on the grass for a long time. Neither wanted to rise and leave the rest stop, because Seattle waited somewhere down the mountain. Seattle. Seattle. The word sounded like a song.

“It’s named after an Indian,” Chess said. “Seattle is named after a real Indian chief.

“Really?”

“Really. But I guess it was something like Sealth. Chief Stealth. Or Shelf. Or something like that. Something different.”

“Seattle was his white name, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess. Jeez, you know his granddaughter lived in some old shack before she died. They name the town after her grandfather, and she lives in a shack downtown.”

“Too bad.”

“Ain’t it awful. You know, I was wondering where your father was. Where’d he take off to anyway? I never even saw him get off the table.”

“I don’t know.”

“You never told us who won that game between your father and the Tribal Cops.”

“Who do you think?” Thomas asked. “Who you think won that game?”

MY BRAIDS WERE CUT off in the name of Jesus

To make me look so white

My tongue was cut out in the name of Jesus

So I would not speak what’s right

My heart was cut out in the name of Jesus

So I would not try to feel

My eyes were cut out in the name of Jesus

So I could not see what’s real

chorus:

And I’ve got news for you

But I’m not sure where to begin

Yeah, I’ve got news for you

My God has dark skin

My God has dark skin

I had my braids cut off by black robes

But I know they’ll grow again

I had my tongue cut out by these black robes

But I know I’ll speak ’til the end

I had my heart cut out by the black robes

But I know what I still feel

I had my eyes cut out by the black robes

But I know I see what’s real

(repeat chorus )

Chess wondered which member of Coyote Springs most closely resembled the Cowardly Lion as they pulled into the Emerald City, Seattle. The drive from Indian John Rest Area to downtown Seattle took six hours, because the blue van refused to go more than forty miles per hour.