Low Man wondered if that was true; he wondered what it meant; he knew what he wanted it to mean.
“Please,” said Sara. “Let’s just go, Tracy, let’s go.”
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” said Sid. “Not until this is over.”
Estelle’s eyes glowed with tears.
“I’m being dead serious here, Sid,” said Low. “I mean, Jesus was an incredibly decent human being and they crucified him for it. He sounds like a fag to me.”
“Jesus was a human being,” said Sid. “At least, you’ve got that much right. He didn’t rise from the dead. He wasn’t the Son of God. He was just a man.”
“No, Sid, you and me, we’re just men. Simple, stupid men.”
“Yes, yes, I’m simple,” said Sid. “I’m a man who is simply afraid of God. And next to God, we’re all stupid. That much we can agree on.”
“Fine, fine, Sid, we agree.”
Sid stared at Low Man. The question: How does any father prove how much he loves his child? One answer: the father must hate his child’s enemies. Another answer: the father must protect his child from all harm.
“Listen to me,” said Sid. “I’m being terrible. I’m not being good. Not good at all. We’re all hungry and angry and tired. Why don’t we eat and then figure out whether we’re going to stay or go? How does that sound?”
Because they all loved one another, in one form or another, in one direction or another, they agreed.
All five of them ordered soda pop, except for Tracy, the white woman, who ordered red wine. Low Man wondered what would happen when every drunk Indian quit drinking — and he truly believed it would someday happen — when Indians quit giving white people something to worry about besides which wine went with fish and which wine went with Indians.
“So, you’re a writer?” Sid asked Low Man.
“Yes.”
“You make a living at it?”
“Sid,” said Low Man, leaning close to the table. “I make shitloads of money. I make so much money that white people think I’m white.”
Nobody laughed.
“You’re one of the funny Indians, enit?” Sid asked Low Man. “Always making the jokes, never taking it seriously.”
“What is this it you’re talking about?” asked Low Man.
“Everything. You think everything is funny.”
Low knew for a fact that everything was funny. Homophobia? Funny! Genocide? Hilarious! Political assassination? Side-splitting! Love? Ha, Ha, Ha!
“Low, honey,” said Tracy. “Maybe you should get some coffee. Maybe you should shut up, huh?”
Low Man looked at Tracy, at Sara. He wanted to separate them.
Sara looked at Low and wondered yet again why Indian men insisted on being warriors. Put down your bows and arrows, she wanted to scream at Low, at her father, at every hypermasculine Injun in the world. Put down your fucking guns and pick up your kids.
“Sid,” said Low Man. “How many women have you had in your life?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, counting lovely Estelle here, how many women have you slept with, bedded down, screwed, humped, did the nasty with?”
Estelle gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth — a strangely mannered gesture for a reservation Indian woman.
“I think we made a mistake here,” said Sid, rising with his wife. “I think we should just go home. Whatever treaties we signed here are broken now.”
“No, no, no,” said Sara. “Please, Mom, Dad, sit down.”
Sid and Estelle might have left then, might never have returned to their daughter’s life, but the salmon arrived at that moment.
“Eat, eat,” said Sara, with tears in her eyes. She turned her attention to Low Man.
“I think you should leave,” she said, understanding that Indian men wanted to own the world just as much as white men did. They just wanted it for different reasons.
Low Man looked to Tracy. He wanted her to choose.
“I think she’s right, Low,” said Tracy. “Why don’t you take the truck and drive back to our place?”
Low Man stared into her eyes. He stepped through her pupils and searched for some sign, some indication, some clue of what he was supposed to do.
“Low, go, just go,” said Tracy.
“Mom,” said Sara, as she held her mother’s hand. “Please, stay.”
Tracy said, “Go, Low, just go for a ride. Sid and Estelle can give us a ride back to our place, right?”
Sid nodded his head. He sliced into his salmon and shoved a huge piece into his mouth.
“Please, Low,” said Tracy. “Go.”
“Sid,” said Low Man. “I was wondering why you came here. I mean, if you don’t approve of this, of them, then why the hell are you here?”
Sid chewed on his salmon. The great fish was gone from the Spokane River. Disappeared.
“I love my daughter,” said Sid. “And I don’t want her to go to hell.”
Estelle started weeping. She stared down at the salmon on her plate.
“Mom,” said Sara. “Please.”
Sid finished his salmon with two huge bites. He washed it down with water and leaned back in his chair. He stared at Low Man.
“Come on, boys,” said Tracy. “No need for the testicle show, okay?”
“You have a filthy mouth,” Sid said.
“Yeah, I guess I fucking do,” she said.
“Whore.”
“Dad, stop it,” said Sara. Her mother lowered her chin onto her chest and wept like she was thirty years older.
“I raised my daughter to be better than this,” said Sid.
“Better than what?” asked Low.
“My daughter wasn’t, wasn’t a gay until she met this, this white woman.”
“Maybe I should go,” said Tracy.
“No,” said Sara. “Nobody’s going anywhere.”
In Sara’s voice, the others heard something new: an adulthood ceremony taking place between syllables.
“What’s wrong with you?” Low asked Sid. “She’s your daughter. You should love her no matter what.”
Low Man wanted this father to take his daughter away.
“I don’t think this is any of your business,” said Sid. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”
“I’m not supposed to be anywhere,” said Low. “But here I am.”
Low Man smiled at himself. He sounded like a character out of film noir, like Lee Marvin or Robert Mitchum. Or maybe like Peter Lorre.
“What are you smiling at?” asked Sid.
“I’m going to the room,” said Estelle as she stood up. Sara rose with her.
“Mom, Mom, I love you,” said Sara as she hugged her.
Low Man wondered what would have happened if he had a pistol. He wondered if he would have shot Sid Polatkin in the face. No, of course not. Low Man probably would have raced out into the dark and tried to bring down one of the airplanes that kept passing over the motel.
“Do you know what I want?” Low asked Sid.
“No. Tell me.”
“I want to take Tracy out of here. I want to take her back home with me. I want her to fall in love with me.”
“Go ahead,” said Sid. “And I’ll take my daughter back home where she belongs.”
“Sid,” said Low. “These women don’t belong to us. They live in whole separate worlds, man, don’t you know that?”
Sid couldn’t answer. His jaw worked furiously. When he was a young man, he used to fight Golden Gloves. Even at his advanced age, he could have beaten the crap out of Low Man. Both men knew this to be a fact.
Tracy stood up from the table. She took two steps away, then turned back.
“I’m leaving, Sara,” she said. “Finally, I’m leaving.”
Sara looked to her father and mother. Together, the three of them had buried dozens of loved ones. The three of them knew all of the same mourning songs. Two of them had loved each other enough to conceive the third. They’d invented her! She was their Monster; she was surely going to murder them. That’s what children were supposed to do!