“Why’d they ask for me?” Harry said.
“Don’t know. Won’t say. But you’re the man they want. Claim they’re through wasting time with the locals.”
Though the air was getting colder, Harry removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, a flamboyant gesture of openness to everyone in the street: I’m hiding nothing. “Where am I going?” he asked.
Van Buren pointed to the courthouse. “The leader’s in there.”
“Stay put, Pancho. I’ll be back shortly.”
Despite my tiff with him, I wasn’t going to let him walk by himself through a hostile crowd. When Van Buren turned to confer with his aides, I followed Harry down the road. He was too intent, watching the men with guns, to notice me behind him. When he reached the fortlike courthouse, spun and saw me, he shook his head and whispered, “All right, sit down, Pancho. Don’t move.”
The Indians hadn’t shifted as we’d passed them in the street. Silent sentries. A man with football-colored skin told us to wait, then slipped inside the courthouse.
“Got your pencil and paper?” Harry asked me.
He knew I did. I nodded.
“May be a good story in this.”
At that, a faint macaroni taste filled the back of my mouth. My lungs hurt.
A tall man in black denims and a blue cotton shirt came out of the courthouse. “Representative Shaughnessy. Thank you for coming,” he said.
Harry shook his hand. We all shivered in the cold. “Why me?” Harry asked. “I’m not from this district.”
“You have the reputation, statewide, of being a fair and honest man.”
This didn’t satisfy Harry — I could tell from the curl of his mouth — but he let it go for now. “All right,” he said. “Fill me in.”
“My name is John Tasuda, from the Kiowa tribe. As you may know, the Kiowas, Cherokees, and Creeks live and work harmoniously here.”
Harry nodded.
“I’ve been elected to be their spokesman.”
“In this deer hunting matter?”
“In the illegal arrest by the Department of Wildlife of my Cherokee cousin, Louis Chewie.”
I wheezed. My ribs felt like straps.
“The hunting laws are clear. Posted well in advance,” Harry argued.
“Louis Chewie is a good family man. A farm laborer.” John Tasuda scratched his ear through a tassel of long black hair. “You grew up on a farm, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Have you forgotten, in your nice, air-conditioned office in the capitol building, how arduous farm life can be?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Most of us work in the strawberry fields when we can, but much of the year we’re out of work. We do what we can to feed our families.”
The straps were tightening.
“Still — ”
“The buck in question was killed on the Kenwood Reserve, in the thickest part of the woods. Do you know the place?” John Tasuda asked.
“Yes. I did a little homework before coming here,” Harry said. “The government holds it in trust for the Cherokee tribe.”
“That’s right. So the land belongs to Chewie’s people.”
“Even so, under federal mandates — ”
“What? Is he to be licensed like a dog, just so he can feed his children?”
Tightening, squeezing all the air. Harry rubbed his face. “As one elected official to another, I can tell you, you’ll get nowhere with this. I know it doesn’t seem fair — ,” Harry said.
“It’s not a question of fairness.” Tasuda crossed his blocky arms. “It’s a matter of survival. Last September, Chewie’s aunt starved to death in her cabin.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said.
“I heard a long time ago, Mr. Shaughnessy, that you believed in equality for Native folks. That’s why I’ve turned to you.”
At that moment I completely lost my breath. My worst asthma attack in months. Probably it had been building for a while, prompted by Harry’s cigarette smoke in the car, Zorah’s tree, the stress of our situation on the courthouse steps, but it seemed at the time a rebuke to Harry — I felt it, he felt it — a cynical response to John Tasuda’s faith in him.
It was as though I’d shouted, “I’ve always been proud to bear your name. But you’re wrong about Vietnam. You’re wrong here. I don’t want to keep your history anymore.” I saw the shock on his face — and it was shock, more than concern — as I stood there gasping.
A hawk called in the sky.
“Do you have an inhaler?” Harry asked.
“Left it … in the car. I’ll be okay. Just let me sit.”
It took me a while, but I like to believe, now, that I was mature enough to compose myself in a crucial moment.
I closed my eyes and pictured Zorah’s bubbles.
“We’ve got to go,” Harry said, worried for me now, even as I was starting to get better.
“I’d hoped we could work things out,” said John Tasuda.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really.”
“Mr. Shaughnessy, I’ve followed your career for many years.”
Harry looked at him. “Why?”
“My grandmother used to talk about you. She heard you speak once, somewhere. You wouldn’t have known her. Just a face in a crowd. But she was a great admirer of yours.”
Harry looked chilled, a slightly bewildered old man — as if trying to recall what he used to say, how he used to feel.
“I want you to understand, I don’t trust politicians,” Tasuda said. “Never have. I know, to you, we’re all just faces in a crowd — ”
“No no, everyone’s important,” Harry said automatically. “Of course you are.”
“But I asked to speak to you because I know what’ll happen if shooting breaks out. We may win the day, but eventually we’ll lose the war. We always do. I figured if I could reason with any white man, it might be you. Grandmother always believed you were principled and fair.”
“He is,” I said, still wheezing. My lungs felt hard and small. Harry watched me closely, probably to see if I was being a smart-ass again. “She was right, wasn’t she?” I asked Harry.
John Tasuda spread his arms. “We need your help, Mr. Shaughnessy. You see for yourself, we’ll force change if we have to. We can’t go on like this.”
A man sneezed in the street. Shifting rifles. Shuffling feet.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “About all I can do is push for the case to be taken to federal court, so you’re not dealing with locals. It’s likely the judges there would be more impartial, more mindful of public opinion, especially in a civil rights case. Your friend Chewie might have a better chance at a fair trial.”
“But the local authorities have been adamant — ,” Tasuda began.
“I’ll handle the local authorities.”
“I’m not sure if that’s — ”
“Look, all you want’s a fair trial for the man, right?” Harry asked.
Tasuda nodded slowly.
“Can you convince your people?” Harry said.
“Maybe. They’re getting cold and tired …”
“Well then, you’d better get them the hell off the streets. You said it yourself. They’re not helping your cause.”
They talked a while longer, trading timetables and possible arrangements. I took deeper and deeper breaths, watching guns in the gray light, studying angles and lines and the subtle shadings of clothes. The images swirled together, turning all the men into bright, brittle ornaments.
Harry offered Tasuda a Chesterfield. They held the cigarettes away from me, so the smoke wouldn’t blow in my face.
Harry coughed. “Where’d your grandmother hear me? Do you know?”
“I think it was after a Golden Gloves tournament once, somewhere in the city.”
“I remember that. Sure. Long time ago.”