Louise Erdrich - The Round House

Happy birthday, old man, she said.

Mooshum’s smile glowed. Tears flowed down the grooves in his cheeks. He put his arms around her waist, rested his forehead between her breasts, and took one deep groaning breath. He did not take another.

Oh no. Sonja lifted her arms away and lowered him cautiously onto his cot. She put her ear to his chest and listened.

I can’t hear his heart, she said.

I held on to Mooshum too. Should we do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? CPR? What? Sonja?

I don’t know.

We looked down at him. His eyes were closed. He was smiling. He looked the happiest I’d seen him.

He’s in a dream now, Sonja said tenderly. Her words burst through a sob. He’s going away. Let’s not disturb him. She leaned over Mooshum, smoothing his hair back and murmuring.

He opened his eyes once, smiled at her, closed his eyes again.

Maybe his heart is beating after all! Sonja knelt down and put her ear to his chest again, biting on her lip.

I hear a thump or two, she said, relieved.

Dazed, I watched Mooshum for signs of life. But he did not stir.

Pick my stuff up, said Sonja, her head still on Mooshum’s chest. Yes, she said. There’s a beat. They’re just coming really slow. And I think he took a breath.

I went around the room picking up her things, took them into the bathroom, and put them in the shopping bag. I brought the tracksuit and tennis shoes into the bedroom and turned my back as she put them on. I wouldn’t look at her.

When she was all dressed, she picked up the shopping bag holding her stripper outfit and dropped it at my feet.

Keep it, jerk off in it, I don’t care, she said. She plucked a fallen tassel I’d missed off the floor and threw it in my face.

I’m really sorry, I said.

Sorry doesn’t cut it. But I couldn’t care less. You know where I’m from?

No.

Outside Duluth. That’s a nice town, right?

Yeah, I guess.

I went to a Catholic school. I finished eighth grade. Know how I made it through?

No.

My mom. My mom was a Catholic. Yeah. She went to church. She went—she worked the boats. Know what she did?

No.

She went with men, Joe. Know what that means?

I mumbled something.

That’s how I came along in the first place. She tried to keep her own money too. Know what that means, Joe?

No.

She got beat up a lot. She took drugs, too. And guess what? I never met my dad. I never saw him, but my mom was good to me sometimes, sometimes not, whatever. I quit school, had my baby. I did not learn nothing. Anything. My mom said if you got nothing, you can strip. Just dance around, right? Don’t do nothing more, just dance around. I had a friend, she was doing it, making money. I said yes, I wouldn’t do any other stuff. Think I did something else?

No.

I got stuck in that life. Then I met Whitey, see. They open up more bars for dancing during the hunting season. Whitey courted me. Followed me around the circuit. Whitey started protecting me. He asked me to quit. Come live with me, he says. I didn’t ask if he would marry me. You know why, Joe?

No.

I’ll tell you. I didn’t think I was worth marrying, that’s why. Not worth marrying. Why should even an over-the-hill Elvis with a bridge for teeth, an old guy no more educated than me, a drunk who hits me, why should even a guy like that marry me, huh?

I don’t know. I thought ...

You thought we were married. Well, no. Whitey did not do me that honor, though I got a cheap ring. I don’t give a rat’s ass now. And you. I treated you good, didn’t I?

Yes.

But all along you just were itching. Sneaking a good look at my tits when you thought I didn’t know. You think I didn’t notice?

My face was so red and hot that my skin burned.

Yeah, I noticed, said Sonja. Take a good look now. Close up. See this?

I couldn’t look.

Open your frickin’ eyes.

I looked. A thin white scar ran up the side and around the nipple of her left breast.

My manager did that with a razor, Joe. I wouldn’t take a hunting party. Think your threats scare me?

No.

Yeah, no. You’re crying, aren’t you? Cry all you want, Joe. Lots of men cry after they do something nasty to a woman. I don’t have a daughter anymore. I thought of you like my son. But you just turned into another piece a shit guy. Another gimme-gimme asshole, Joe. That’s all you are.

Sonja left. I sat with Mooshum. Time collapsed. My head rang like I’d been clocked. Sometimes with the ancient, their breath comes so shallow it cannot be discerned. The afternoon went on and the air went blue before he finally stirred. His eyes opened and then closed. I ran for water, and gave him a little sip.

I’m still here, he said. His voice was faint with disappointment.

I continued to sit with Mooshum, at the edge of his cot, thinking about his wish for a happy death. I’d had a chance to see about the difference between Sonja’s right and left breasts, but I wished I never had. Yet I was glad I did. The conflict in me skewed my brain. About fifteen minutes before Clemence and Edward returned with the freezer, I looked down at my feet and noticed the golden tassel by the leg of the cot. I picked it up and put it in my jeans pocket.

Idon’t keep the tassel in a special box or anything—anymore. It’s in the top drawer of my dresser, where things just end up, like Mooshum’s limp stray sock where he kept money. If my wife has ever noticed that I have it, she’s said nothing. I never told her about Sonja, not really. I didn’t tell her how I stuffed the rest of Sonja’s costume in a garbage can by the tribal offices where the BIA was contracted to pick it up. She wouldn’t know that I put that souvenir tassel where I’ll come across it by chance, on purpose. Because every time I look at it, I am reminded of the way I treated Sonja and about the way she treated me, or about how I threatened her and all that came of it, how I was just another guy. How that killed me once I really thought about it. A gimme-gimme asshole. Maybe I was. Still, after I thought about it for a long time—in fact, all my life—I wanted to be something better.

Doe had built a little deck onto the front of the house and it was filled, as all of our decks tend to be, with useful refuse. There were snow tires stored in black garbage bags, rusted jacks, a bent hibachi grill, banged-up tools, and plastic toys. Cappy slumped amid all that jetsam in a sagging lawn chair. He was running both hands over his hair as he stared at the dog-scratched boards. He didn’t even look up when I stepped next to him and sat down on an old picnic bench.

Hey.

Cappy didn’t react.

So, aaniin ...

Still, nothing.

After a lot more nothing it came out that Zelia had gone back to Helena with the church group, which I already knew, and after still more nothing Cappy blurted out, Me and Zelia, we did something.

Something?

We did everything.

Everything?

Everything we could think of ... well, there might be more, but we tried ...

Where?

In the graveyard. It was the night of your Mooshum’s birthday. And once we did a few things there—

On a grave?

I dunno. We were kind of on the outskirts of the graves, off to the sides. Not right on a grave.

That’s good; it could be bad luck.

For sure. Then after, we got into the church basement. We did it a couple of more times there.

What!

In the catechism room. There’s a rug.

I was silent. My head swam. Bold move, I said at last.

Yeah, then she left. I can’t do nothing. I hurt. Cappy looked at me like a dying dog. He tapped his chest and whispered. It hurts right here.