“But we ain’t that much Indian.”
“You’re Indian enough, right? I mean, all it takes is a little bit, right? Who’s to say you’re not Indian enough?”
“You want us to play Indian music or something?”
“Exactly,” Sheridan said. “Now you understand.”
Mr. Armstrong shifted in his seat. He was bored.
“Cut to the chase,” Armstrong said.
“Okay,” Sheridan said. “What it comes down to is this. You play for this company as Indians. Or you don’t play at all. I mean, who needs another white-girl folk group?”
“But we want to play our music,” Betty protested.
“Listen,” Sheridan said, “you do things for us, we can do things for you. It’s a partnership. We want you to have everything you ever wanted. That’s the business we’re in. The dream business. We make dreams come true. That’s who we are. We just ask for a little sacrifice in return. A little something in exchange for our hard work. What do you think?”
Betty and Veronica looked at each other. They could hear drums.
Coyote Springs staggered onto the reservation a couple of hours after they left the Spokane International Airport. Actually, they were hiding beneath a tarp in Simon’s pickup. Coyote Springs had managed to walk only a few miles on Highway 2 before Simon pulled up. He’d been back on the reservation for just a few days after his visit with relatives on the coast. He only drove his truck in reverse, using the rearview mirror as guide, even on white people’s highways. He’d never been caught.
“Jeez,” Simon said, “I thought you guys were in New York City.”
“We were,” Thomas said. “But everything went wrong.”
“Oh, man,” Simon said. “I don’t know if you want to go back to the reservation. Ain’t nobody too happy with you up there. I can’t believe it. It’s like the Spokane Indian Reservation has become Republican or something.”
“Enit?” Chess asked. “What are you?”
“Shit,” Simon said. “I’m a Communist. A goddamn pinko redskin. Joe McCarthy would have pissed his pants if he ever saw me.”
“Well,” Thomas said, “we have to go back there. We ain’t got any money. We ain’t got no place to go.”
“Well,” Simon said, “if you insist. Climb in the back and get under that tarp. I don’t want nobody seeing you.”
“What if they do?” Victor asked.
“Any problems,” Simon said as he patted the rifles hanging in his gun rack, “and I’ll have to take care of business.”
“Are those loaded?” Junior asked.
“You bet your ass,” Simon said.
Coyote Springs climbed under the tarp and pulled it over them. They had no idea where they were at any given time. They could only guess by certain curves in the road, the sudden stops, the sound of water rushing over Little Falls Dam as they crossed onto the Spokane Indian Reservation.
10. Wake
I SAW TEN PEOPLE die before I was ten years old
And I knew how to cry before I was ever born
Wake alive, alive, wake alive, alive
Sweetheart, I know these car wrecks are nearly genetic
Sweetheart, I know these hands have been shaking for generations
And they shake and shake and shake and shake
Sweetheart, I know these suicides are always genetic
Sweetheart, I know we have to travel to the reservation
For the wake and wake and wake and wake
And sweetheart, all these wakes for the dead
Are putting the living to sleep
I can’t bury my grief
Unless I bury my fear
I can’t bury my fear
Before I bury my friend
Wake alive, alive, wake alive, alive
Sweetheart, I know this cirrhosis is nearly genetic
Sweetheart, I know this heart has been shaking for generations
And it shakes and shakes and shakes and shakes
Sweetheart, I know these suicides are always generic
Sweetheart, I know we have to travel to the reservation
For the wake and wake and wake and wake
And sweetheart, all these wakes for the dead
Are putting the living to sleep
And I think it’s time for us to find a way
Yeah, I think it’s time for us to find a way
And I think it’s time for us to find a way
Yeah, I think it’s time for us to find a way
To wake alive, to wake alive, to wake alive, to wake alive
There wasn’t much of a wake for Junior Polatkin. Coyote Springs just laid Junior in the homemade coffin and set it on top of the kitchen table in Thomas’s house. Coyote Springs didn’t have the energy to sing or mourn properly, and the rest of the reservation didn’t really care, although a few anonymous Indians did send flowers and condolences. Simon, whose rifle had been used in the suicide, felt so bad that he drove his pickup backwards off the reservation, and nobody ever saw him again.
“Assholes,” Victor said when another reservation bouquet arrived. He kept thinking of the guitar he saw in the bathroom, in his dream. “Why the fuck they sending flowers now?”
“Well,” Chess said, “at least they sent something.”
“Yeah,” Victor said, holding his hands close to his body, trying to hide the scars. “But nobody gave a shit when he was blowing his brains out. They were all cheering him on.”
“That ain’t true,” Chess said. “Nobody cheered.”
Lester FallsApart showed up then and gave Coyote Springs three dogs. It was an unusual gift at a wake, but Lester didn’t have anything else to offer. He owned a dozen dogs. That’s to say, a dozen dogs followed him all over the reservation. Thomas wanted to name those three dogs Larry, Moe, and Curly. Chess wanted to name them John, Paul, and Peter. Checkers didn’t care what they were named. But Lester said he’d already named them the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Those dogs sniffed at Junior’s coffin and began to howl.
On top of Wellpinit Mountain, Big Mom sat on her porch and cried. She could hear the dogs howling down below. She’d had no idea that Junior was going to kill himself but still felt like she could have saved him. If she had only known, if she had only paid attention.
“Big Mom,” Robert Johnson said, “what you goin’ to do? You’re scarin’ me.”
Big Mom felt a weakness in her stomach, in her knees. She didn’t know if she could even stand, let alone walk down her mountain. Another one of her students had fallen, and Big Mom had felt something fall inside her, too. Maybe all those bodies, those musicians, those horses had been stacked too high inside her.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Big Mom said. “I just don’t know.”
“They need you,” Johnson said. “We all need you.”
Big Mom looked at Robert Johnson, noticing how he had changed since his arrival. He had gained weight, his eyes were clear, his hands had healed.
“I saved you,” Big Mom said.
“Yes, you did.”
Big Mom stood, breathed deep, and began the walk down her mountain. She turned back, dug through her purse, and threw a small object back at Robert Johnson. He caught it gently in his hands.