Dr. Bergstrom connects wires to all my fi ngertips, the sides of my forehead, the back of my neck, my heart, even my ankles.
“Learn what kinds of things?”
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Th
e two doctors are putting on heavy aprons and gloves, and one is opening up a big silver-colored box. He takes out a container and pours something into a paper cup.
“Th
e military wants to know what it is about your body that allows you to adapt so well to extreme cold. You kids are going to show us how to condition our soldiers to fi ght better in the extreme cold of the Arctic.”
He hands me the cup. Th
e liquid inside is greenish yellow
and fl uorescent-looking. I’m wondering how this stuff could teach anybody to fi ght. And why do they have to fi ght in the Arctic, anyhow? Did the Russians land already? I think about Mom and get scared.
“Here. Drink this juice.”
I look at it doubtfully. “What is it?”
“It’s iodine-131, Luke. Do you know what that is?”
I shake my head. Iodine-131 doesn’t look like anything I would ever want to drink.
“Iodine-131 is what we call a radioactive tracer, Luke.
When it runs through your body, we’ll be following the radiation levels with our machines here, and it will tell us a lot about your body and how it works.”
I look at the “juice.” Iodine-131 is no juice name I ever heard of.
“Go ahead, Luke, drink it. It won’t hurt. Th
ey tell me it
tastes pretty good, in fact.”
Th
ey’re both looking at me like they plan to stand there, looking forever if they have to, which makes me real uncomfortable, so I take the cup and swallow it down.
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T H E D A Y T H E S O L D I E R S C A M E / L u k e He’s right. It don’t taste too bad.
“Taste okay?”
I nod my head.
“Want another?”
I say no so fast it makes them chuckle, the one guy taking the cup and putting it back inside the metal container, the other removing his gloves and watching the machine. Th ey
don’t take those aprons off .
“What kind of aprons are those?” I ask, because they look heavy, diff erent from any apron I ever saw.
“Lead,” one of them says. “Keeps the radiation out.”
I swallow, wondering how come they want to keep the radiation out of them but not me. Th
e other doctor just looks
back at me, staring me right in the eye and smiling slow and easy.
“See, everyone has a touch of radiation in their bodies, Luke. Th
at’s why we have to wear these aprons—to
keep our natural radiation from interfering with the results of this test. We want to measure your radiation level, not ours.”
I look at them with those heavy aprons, wondering what a radiation level is.
“You’re like a soldier, now, son,” he says, slugging me soft on the shoulder. “You’re a soldier in the army’s Cold War.”
I’m still wondering about being a soldier when they open the door and let me out. Bunna is standing there next in line, his eyes big as baseballs, his body tense. I grin.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Th
ey’re on our side. And it don’t hurt.”
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I turn around so all the others can see, too. “See? No bandages!”
Bunna looks me up and down and grins.
I go on down the line, nodding at the other guys until I get to Amiq at the end of the line. Amiq grabs me by the shoulders. Hard.
“What’s in there?” he whispers real sharp.
“It’s nothing,” I tell him. “Just two doctors and some machines. Th
ey put a bunch of wires on you and make
you drink this juice and then they sit there watching their machines. It don’t hurt.”
“What kind of juice, ” Amiq says, spitting out the word juice like it’s burned his tongue. “What kind?”
“I don’t know. Iodine something. Iodine-131. It’s a weird green color.”
“Jesus, ” Amiq says, and the way he says it makes my skin crawl, makes me turn and look at Bunna, suddenly scared.
But Bunna’s already on his way into the room, and I can feel that green juice starting to boil inside me like battery acid.
I turn back to ask Amiq about it, but Amiq’s gone now, too.
Just like that.
Back in class, Father Flanagan looks us over carefully in a way that makes me feel weird. Father frowns when he sees Amiq’s empty seat.
“His stomach was bothering him, Father. I think maybe he’s gone to the infi rmary,” I say. I don’t even know what made me say it; it just came out, like a hiccup. Lying.
Junior looks at me, nervous.
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“Th
ey made us drink a green substance, Father,” Junior says. “Maybe it didn’t agree with him.”
“Th
ey did?” Chickie asks, looking at Bunna.
“Tasted sweet, and kinda oily,” Bunna says, wrinkling his nose.
Father Flanagan gets a funny look on his face like he doesn’t want to hear any more. Th
en he opens his Latin book
and strides over to the blackboard.
“All right then,” he says.
“Father?” Junior says.
Th
ere’s a new sound in Junior’s voice, a concern that even Father hears. He turns around, head cocked, looking at Junior.
Waiting.
“Did they ask our parents about those tests, Father? Did our parents give permission?”
Father looks startled. “Why yes, Junior, I’m sure they did.”
But his voice don’t sound sure. Not at all.
Bunna and I look at each other. We know our mom, and we don’t fi gure she’d say it’s okay to make us drink some kind of oily green stuff that looks like it could just about glow in the dark. But Mom would trust soldiers, just like she trusted the Church with Isaac. She always would.
“But, of course, you know, the school acts in loco parentis while you kids are here,” Father says.
In loco parentis. I know those words somehow. I feel them.
It is not a good feeling.
“What’s that mean?” Bunna asks.
“It’s Latin,” Father says. “Let’s fi gure it out.”
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“In place of parents,” Junior says quietly.
“Th
e school is here for us in place of our parents,” O’Shay adds.
“Right,” says Father. “Quite right.”
For some reason, thinking about Mom makes me think
about Uncle Joe and hunting, which makes me remember about the killer whales. Uncle Joe says killer whales understand Iñupiaq, and if you’re a good person and you ask, they’ll help.
Even though we’re about a thousand miles away from the sea, I can feel them out there, just under the surface of things.
Waiting.
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The Meanest Heathens
APRIL 5, 1962, 8:00 A.M.
SONNY AND AMIQ
—
—
Th
e soldiers had showed up at the cafeteria that day, right in the middle of breakfast, right before they started testing kids.
Th
ey had stood with their backs against the wall, standing right next to Father Mullen, their faces blank as bullets. Th ey
reminded Sonny of hunters, the way they followed kids with their eyes, hardly moving a muscle.
Creepy.
Sonny cleared his tray, following right behind O’Shay, one eye on those soldiers. He wished that he and O’Shay could just disappear, but they were the wrong kind of kids for that.
O’Shay was just too danged tall and too white. And Sonny—
well, Sonny had that thing the oldest boy in a family without a dad always has, the thing that makes you act a certain way even when you don’t really want to. Th
e thing that makes older
people treat you like an adult no matter how old you are.
“O’Shay!” Father Mullen said suddenly, and O’Shay
stopped short, right in front of Mullen.
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Sonny stopped, too. He had no choice. O’Shay and Father were blocking the way.
Father had a big, friendly smile on his face that looked about as natural as frosting on a fi sh. And the way he was rubbing his hands together made even O’Shay fi dget. Th e soldier
standing next to Father wore a fancy hat, and he had a row of stars on his arm that you couldn’t help but notice because of the way he held his shoulder: right in your face.
“Mr. O’Shay, I’d like you to help me give the general here a tour of the school,” Mullen said.
O’Shay gave Sonny a sideways look and swallowed. “Ah, maybe Sonny . . .”
Father nodded and looked at Sonny. “You come, too, Mr.
George,” Father said.
And that’s how they ended up on a tour, Sonny and O’Shay and Father Mullen, marching that starred general through the halls of Sacred Heart School like a mismatched battalion from an unnamed war. Father was talking about the design of the school, striding past the row of photographs that showed the ranks of Sacred Heart graduates. Th
e general gazed at the pho-
tos, then turned to scrutinize O’Shay.
“Your father is an attorney in Fairbanks, I hear,” the general said.
O’Shay nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“A prominent Catholic family,” Father added.
“And you”—the general turned and looked down his
shoulder, aiming his gaze at Sonny—“where are you from, young man?”
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“Tannana, Sir.”
“Indian,” Father Mullen off ered.
Th
e general’s face brightened a bit. “Bought my wife a pair of those Indian slippers,” the general said, looking at Sonny like he expected gratitude. “Been complaining about cold feet ever since we got here. Warm as all get out, those slippers of yours.”
Sonny shifted from one foot to the other.
Th
ey were outside now, standing next to the north wall of the school, and Father had stopped by the place where the new addition was going to be.
“Th
is is the site of the new dorm wing. In fact, some of these boys here will help us build it,” Father said, looking directly at Sonny.
Sonny’d be helping, all right. He never left summers—
what else was there to do? Th
e general was staring at him in a
way that made him feel itchy.
“Good to see these Native boys learn useful trades,” the general said.
Sonny forced a smile. A useful kind of smile. And he made himself look directly at the general, too, the way white people always did.
“Personable young fellow,” the general said.
O’Shay, standing behind Mullen and the general, nodded knowingly at Sonny and grinned. Personable. He mouthed the word at Sonny.
What the heck does personable mean? Sonny wondered.
Th
at the general thinks I could maybe be a person?
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Th
e exterior of the school rose up alongside them, gray as ash, and Sonny thought about his mother’s beadwork, the bright blue and red fl owers she always put on the toes of her slippers. What would his mom think if she could see him standing here next to Father Mullen with a big, important general and the son of a prominent Fairbanks lawyer? She’d be pretty darn proud, Sonny decided.
“Would you like to see the chapel, sir?” he asked.
Outside the room where the soldiers were still testing kids, Amiq stood at the end of the line, waiting. He had just watched the way Luke marched into that room, like he was facing a fi ring squad, and now Amiq stood there feeling very . . . uneasy.
Th
ey were making them take some kind of military test, but it was only the kids who lived north of the Arctic Circle who had to take it. Amiq had fi gured this out by looking at the other kids standing there in line with them. Th ey were
Iñupiaq, mostly, with a few Indians—but only the ones who lived in the northernmost villages. Th
ere were no white kids.
Amiq had grown up around military scientists, and he knew all about military testing. Now they wanted to test him like he was some kind of lab animal. Amiq knew all about lab animals, too. Th
is was not good. Not at all good.
Luke emerged from the testing room looking a little shaken and trying to cover it up by showing his brother Bunna how it hadn’t even hurt.
“See? No bandage!” he told Bunna.
Th
ere are worse things than bandages, Amiq thought. Th e
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T H E M E A N E S T H E A T H E N S / S o n n y a n d A m i q whole thing made him feel angry and voiceless. He wanted to shout some sense into them all. Instead he just grabbed Luke by the shoulders as he walked by and made him tell exactly what they’d done to him. Th
at’s how he found out
about the iodine-131. Th
ey were making kids drink it. Amiq
didn’t know exactly what iodine-131 was, but there was no way in Hell he was going to drink it.
Sonny wasn’t quite sure what to think about this whole testing thing. Th
e way Father Flanagan had explained it in class
seemed odd. And the way he’d said the word test gave Sonny the willies. But it was only the kids from way up north who had to get tested. Not him, and not the Pete boys. Not Rose and Evelyn, either. Part of him was real glad that it wasn’t his people. Th
e other part was . . . well, it was complicated.
He tried to sort it out as he headed back to his room.
Father Mullen had told Sonny and O’Shay that they could skip class while the other kids got tested because they’d been such good guides. Th
e way he said it made Sonny squirm.
But it was okay to have a few moments of freedom, even if it was almost lunchtime. Maybe they could eat lunch with the general, Father had said, smiling that cold smile of his.
O’Shay had warmed to this idea because O’Shay liked being a big shot. O’Shay, in fact, was already on his way down to the cafeteria. But Sonny had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and when he thought of eating lunch with the general, that feeling got heavy as a rock. Maybe he’d skip lunch today.
Th
en he thought of his mom
and how proud she’d be to see 123
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him eating lunch with a real live general, and he decided that he’d just go back to his room for a few minutes fi rst.
He saw Amiq as soon he turned the corner. Amiq was
standing by the entrance to the dorm wing. He was acting funny, tucked up inside the dorm hallway, his back pressed up against the wall, not moving. Not hardly breathing, even.
Not acting at all the way that little loudmouth usually acted.
Down the hall, the general was advancing like a tank. He had a stack of papers in his hands, and his head was bent so far into those papers, he didn’t even see Amiq. Amiq looked like he wanted to disappear, but there was no place to hide, and the general was closing in fast—but he was studying those papers so hard, it looked like he might walk right on by Amiq without even seeing him. And you could tell for sure that’s exactly what Amiq was counting on.
All of a sudden, Sonny realized that he was counting on the same thing, holding his breath right along with Amiq. As if he, too, were standing there right next to Amiq, hiding from the general. Th
e general walked by Amiq and kept right on
walking, walking without even looking up. Like he couldn’t even see Amiq standing there, trying to act like a wall. Th en,
without any warning, the general stopped short and looked up. Like a hunter who’s heard the sudden crack of a branch.
Something about the idea of the general as a hunter was really creepy and without thinking about it, Sonny started to walk fast. Toward Amiq. He could hear the general’s voice now.
“Aren’t you one of the Eskimos?” the general was saying.
“Aren’t you supposed to be there with the rest of them?”
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T H E M E A N E S T H E A T H E N S / S o n n y a n d A m i q Sonny couldn’t ever remember seeing Amiq get speechless, and if it weren’t for the wolfi sh look on the general’s face, he would have enjoyed it. As it was, Amiq’s silence felt suff ocat-ing.
My Name Is Not Easy Page 11
