Sherman Alexie - Reservation Blues

Checkers wasn’t dreaming as she walked across the church, her muddy feet leaving tracks on the wood floor. She trailed her right hand over the pews, felt the splintered wood. Father Arnold had once told her those pews were over fifty years old. But Checkers didn’t really care about the age of that wood. She walked up to Father Arnold and stood just inches away.

“Checkers,” Father Arnold whispered.

“Father.”

Checkers closed her eyes and expected the next kiss.

“Checkers,” Father Arnold said, “this is not going to happen. It can’t. I’m sorry.”

Checkers looked up at him.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

Father Arnold led Checkers to a pew and sat beside her.

“I’m leaving the reservation,” he said. “I’ve lost my direction here.”

Father Arnold had served the Spokane Indian Reservation for five years and ministered with self-conscious kindness. He effusively praised even the smallest signs of an Indian’s faith. He had cried at his first service when Bessie, the oldest Spokane Indian Catholic, presented him with a dreamcatcher. Other priests would have dismissed the dreamcatcher as Indian mysticism or mythological arts and crafts, but Father Arnold was genuinely thrilled by its intricate system of threads and beads. He had laughed out loud when he noticed the dreamcatcher was actually decorated with rosary beads.

“Hang this over your bed,” Bessie had said, “and it will catch those Protestant nightmares before they can sneak into your sleep.”

“But what about Catholic nightmares?” Father Arnold had asked.

“Protestants are a good Catholic’s worst nightmare.”

Father Arnold had rushed home and hung it over his bed. Later that night, he stared up at the dreamcatcher over his head. He willed himself to think of the worst possible things. Murders, rapes, loss of faith. Father Arnold imagined that he was nailed to the cross. He heard the dull thud of hammer on nail.

“Come on, nightmares,” Arnold had whispered. “You can’t touch me now.”

“Where are you going?” Checkers asked Father Arnold. “Where are they sending you?”

“They aren’t sending me anywhere,” Arnold said. “I’m leaving the church. I’m letting it all go.”

Checkers leaned back in the pew. She felt some winged thing bump against the interior of her ribcage. She felt the slight brush of wingtips as it struggled between her ribs and left her body. She had no name for it. Checkers heard that winged thing flutter against the stained-glass windows. Then it flew so close that she felt a slight breeze. She closed her eyes, and the winged thing was gone.

“But I love you,” Checkers said.

“I love you, too,” Father Arnold said. “But not like that. It can’t work that way.

“But you kissed me.”

“I know I kissed you. It was wrong.”

“You can’t do this. You can’t. Not now,” Checkers said. She didn’t know how much she had left. Coyote Springs had failed, had not even bothered to bring their instruments home from Manhattan. Checkers could see the guitars and keyboards strewn around the studio. Victor’s guitar was smashed into pieces, but everything else was just as useless.

“Would you like some headphones?” the attendant had asked Checkers during the flight home from Manhattan. Checkers just shook her head. The rest of Coyote Springs refused the headphones, too.

Checkers sat next to the window, Chess in the middle, and Thomas in the aisle seat. Junior and Victor sat directly across the aisle, one on either side of an empty seat. It was the only empty seat on the plane.

Coyote Springs didn’t have much to say on the way home. They all drank their complimentary Pepsis and ate their roasted peanuts. Junior and Victor didn’t order any booze. They didn’t have the money. They might not have drank anyway, even if given the chance. After they returned home, both just sipped at tall glasses of ice water.

“Thomas and I had a talk,” Chess whispered to Checkers somewhere over Iowa. “We’re going to move back to Arlee. We want you to come with us.”

“Why Arlee?” Checkers asked.

“What do you mean? Those are our people. We don’t have anywhere else to go anyway.”

“We can go anywhere. We can stay on the Spokane Reservation.”

“Jeez, Checkers. Will you get your head out of your ass? They don’t want us there anymore.”

“How do you know that?” Checkers asked. “Besides, it’s only that White Hawk causing all the trouble. The people at the church still like me.”

“They only liked you because you quit the band,” Chess said. “And all you’re worried about is Father Arnold anyway.”

The plane bounced through rough air, but Coyote Springs barely noticed. Junior looked out his window and wondered how he would feel if the plane lost power and began the long dive to the ground. The oxygen masks would drop from the ceiling while the flight attendants rushed from row to row, speaking in calm and practiced tones.

Remove your eyewear. Remove all jewelry. Make sure the aisles are clear. Buckle yourself in tightly. We’re going to make it. We’re going to make it. Don’t panic. Panic is your enemy. Don’t feel guilty that you left college in the middle of an English class. During a boring discussion about the proper way to write an essay. Remember that you had no idea she was going to get an abortion. It’s not your fault. You didn’t want the baby either. Not really. Not until she didn’t want you anymore. Not until she didn’t want some half-breed baby. Not until you thought about how much her parents hated you. How they deserved a half-breed grandchild. How would they explain it to their friends? Please, breathe slowly. Hold on to the hand of the person next to you at impact. Don’t let them go. Don’t let them go even when the flames roll through the cabin and melt you into your seat. She had no other choice. She had no other choice. Our pilot has thousands of hours of flying experience. The whole crew has been trained to deal with these emergencies. No matter what happens, the coroners will be able to identify you from your dental records. Indian Health Service keeps excellent records. And if you do survive the impact, survive the flames and the toxic smoke, then you will hear music. A cedar flute perhaps. Follow that music. Even though you don’t deserve it. Follow that thin music.

Junior closed his eyes and listened for the music. He didn’t hear anything. He looked over at Victor, who was fighting back tears. Chess, Checkers, and Thomas could not have seen Victor from where they sat. Nobody could have known exactly why he was in mourning. The rest of Coyote Springs might have assumed it was because he had lost his chance to be a rock star. But he mourned for the loss of that guitar. Junior watched his best friend mourn, but he wanted to reach across the seat, touch Victor’s arms, and point out the exits.

“You can’t leave,” Checkers said to Father Arnold. “You can’t leave me, us, alone.”

“The Bishop will send another priest,” Father Arnold said. “They won’t have any other option. They can’t leave the community alone. I’m sure the new priest will be here soon. They can arrange for a few visitors to conduct the services until he arrives.”

“That’s not what I mean. You know that’s not what I mean.”

Father Arnold searched his soul for the right words, the right prayer. He had always had them before. God, he had been sure of the answers. Self-deprecating and modest, he had still believed he was a great priest. He knew he was a great priest, in a quietly arrogant way. On some spiritual scoreboard in his head, he had kept count of the people he was saving.

Checkers had taken all that away. No. That wasn’t fair to Checkers. She didn’t love him any more than other parishioners had. Father Arnold had resisted advances before. It happened to priests often enough to warrant a few good-natured jokes in the seminary. But Checkers had truly shaken Father Arnold and his vows. He dreamed about her every night. In those dreams, she led him into a tipi, lay down with him on a robe, and touched him. Frightened and aroused, Father Arnold woke and prayed that his dreamcatcher would work. He prayed that his dreams of Checkers would be trapped in the dreamcatcher’s web.