It wasn’t Astri’s fault she’d ordered the same doll she’d bought five years ago. The Navajo doll hid behind the Rapunzel doll up on the entertainment center, along with a dozen or so of them. She loved collecting dolls, especially the Native American ones. She had an “Eskimo” doll on a small sled with a small stuffed dog. She had an Iroquois doll, a Northwest Coast doll, an Apache doll, and a Seminole doll, even. She had so many she often forgot which one she’d ordered.
It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t remember things, and if Evert was getting mad about it, she couldn’t figure that out either. Sometimes, she had trouble knowing if when Evert’s eyebrows arched up it meant good or bad, or when he pursed his lips was he happy or sad or just strange. It seemed everyone else in the world knew those things: when to pause in a conversation, when to joke, when to know if a person was bored or uninterested, and lately, when to run.
Astri put her hands on her belly and wiggled it, trying to jiggle the baby. “You, okay, baby?” She waddled to the sink and had to rinse out a pink plastic cup in order to get a drink of water. Every dirty dish in the house piled in the sink. Astri didn’t seem to notice.
She sat down on the couch and propped her feet up on the frame of the coffee table without the glass. She drank a few sips of her water and felt the wetness between her legs. She stood up and stuck her hand between her legs then held her hand up. It was red. She dropped the plastic cup at her feet.
Suvi sat on the baby’s grave with Astri. It had been four years since she held the silent child in her arms.
“Sometimes,” Astri said, “I come here and lie on the grave and look at the sky. I don’t say anything because I don’t think baby Eric can hear me.”
“I think he can hear you,” Suvi said.
Astri pointed to the hillside behind the cemetery. It looked like it had been logged about ten years ago, but, in actuality, a mudslide had taken the mountainside down, shoving trees and mud into the new cemetery and flooding the old cemetery a block away.
“Did you know landotters can cause landslides and floods?” Astri said.
“I’d heard that, yes.”
“That’s what my dad told me. He said they might have did that.”
“Astri, are you pregnant again?”
“Why? Am I fat?”
Astri was always a little round, rounder than Suvi. Beautiful Astri, with porcelain-like pale skin and black, black hair and dark brown eyes, eyes that never really focused and looked you in the eye. But now, Suvi saw the distant look, more distant than usual. She felt sorry for Astri being odd. The “Agard thing” townsfolk called it. No one had a proper name for it: the obsessive behavior, the inability to socialize properly, the inappropriate things they said in public. The Agard thing had been blamed on Norwegian stubborn square heads even, and over the years had been diagnosed as anxiety or depression. You name it.
Suvi saw it as the “Agard thing.” Whatever it was, a few of Astri’s cousins had it, and she was sure Astri’s mother, Berta, had it and an uncle and maybe Karl and Rodney. But Astri had it worse than any of them.
And Suvi knew for sure Astri didn’t deserve the broken jaw she’d gotten from Evert shortly after they were married, or the twisted ankle when he threw her down the stairs the first time.
“Yes,” Astri said. “I’m pregnant. Two months, I think. I think it’s a girl this time.”
Suvi sighed.
“What? He’s not going to kill this one. No.”
“Are you going to leave him then?”
Astri frowned as if she hadn’t considered that before. She said, “I don’t know. I don’t … sometimes, Suvi, I wish he was dead. Is that bad, wishing he’d die?”
Often, when Evert was out fishing on their boat, the Island Luna, Astri would imagine him with a circle hook in his hand, and the line jerking him overboard, or imagine him going out to piss in the middle of the night, still groggy, still drunk, slipping and falling into the ocean.
Suvi held the twelve-pack of beer in her arms in front of her as she walked down the Standard Oil float to the Island Luna. Rikka and Mina followed her with their own twelve-packs.
Mina said, “You sure Evert’s down here and not up at the bar getting drunk? It is the Fourth of July.”
“I’m missing the street dance, Suv,” Rikka said. “I love the street dance.”
“This is perfect, girls. He’ll be in the mood to drink. There’s a salmon opening in two days and he’s been busy for a solid three days getting ready. And he likes women, Rikka, so use your charms. You, too, Mina.”
“What about you?”
Suvi rolled her eyes. She was short and butch with curly dishwater blonde hair. Sure, Cooper loved her, but most men thought of her as one of the guys. Her favorite clothing were her Carhartts and her XtraTufs and a Henley shirt.
Down on the dock, she spotted Evert on the back deck of his troller, putting groceries into an ice chest. He’ll see our beer, for sure. We’ll be a gift from the gods. Sure enough, he whistled to them before they even got to the boat. “Where you going, ladies?” he hollered, when they got closer.
Rikka smiled big and headed for him. “Oh, we were going to go out in the skiff to drink some beer and watch the fireworks later.”
Suvi was going to let Rikka do the sweet talking. She was good at that. Rikka had a way with men.
Evert said, “That’s a lotta beer for the three of you. Are you sharing?”
Rikka shrugged. “Sure, you want some?”
“Yeah, come on board and have a drink with me.”
“Okay,” Rikka said, her voice singing.
Rikka, Mina, and Suvi climbed onto the Island Luna.
“Pull up a tote, ladies.”
They sat around on totes, the beer on the hatch in a cooler of ice. Firecrackers popped in the distance and bottle rockets zipped across the harbor. Suvi sighed. It was taking too long. Evert chugged two down right away, not noticing the women sipping at their own beers. After an hour of talking story, Evert’s words started to slur and he was red-faced. He put on some music and danced on the deck with Rikka.
He told them things like, “I love redheads and I love brunettes and you sure smell good.”
Mina giggled, Rikka laughed, and Suvi tried hard not to puke.
Two hours into dancing and stories and singing and drinking, Rikka finally undid her long red hair from her ponytail and took off her flannel shirt. She sat in her skintight tank top stretching on the fish hatch. She put ice from the cooler on her face and rolled it around. “My, it’s hot,” she said.
Evert stared at her, his mouth open.
“You know, Evert,” Rikka said, “we were going to pull our crab pot out front first, but it’s probably full of dungies and too heavy. It’s very hard to pull without a puller. We have to do it by hand.” She stretched out her long white fingers and wiggled them at him.
Evert grinned and hopped up on the bull rail. “I can do that for you ladies. I can pull it.”
“Oh,” Mina said, “but it’s getting close to dusk, and we’re not exactly sure where it’s at. Head out in front of the cement dock toward Sandy Beach. You’ll see it in toward the beach in about fifty feet. The buoy’s green.”
“I can find it,” Evert said.
He jumped down on the dock then turned toward them. “You girls will be here when I get back? We can cook up some crab. Have us a party.”
“Oh, sure,” they sang together. “Hurry back.”
“Here,” Rikka said, handing him a couple of beers, “take these with you. For the road.”
Evert grabbed the two beers and staggered down the dock toward the girls’ skiff.
Suvi called after him. “It’s the little Lund on the second finger there.” She hated the thought of loaning him her boat. It was hers. But what the hell. Every time she thought of Astri, she couldn’t help but grit her teeth.
Evert didn’t look back. He waved his hand wildly over his head, then tried to skip, but stumbled and then righted hi
mself.
Suvi looked at Rikka, who looked at Mina. They said nothing.
Evert got the skiff up on step before he even left the harbor. He zipped past the harbor office, past the breakwater, toward the cement dock in front of town. He turned the skiff out toward Sandy Beach and started to head across. It wasn’t dark enough yet for the big fireworks show to start, so Evert figured he had a half hour or so. A bottle rocket zoomed over his head, landing in the boat. He reached over to grab it and let go of the outboard handle. The boat spun, tilted, and dumped Evert out of the skiff.
“Fuck,” Evert yelled as he hit the cold water. His unzipped life vest popped up near his face, covering his line of sight. He tried paddling but his legs were like two driftwood logs, and he felt heavy. He swished his arms around, keeping his head above water when the skiff came around in a circle again and he tried to duck, but it was too late, the prop struck him in the head, slicing his skull. He started to float away.
Evert was face down in the water. Someone on the dock yelled “Help!” and pointed to the skiff going round and round.
Karl Agard, Astri’s brother, and his best friend, Cooper, were drinking on the cement dock where a crowd had nearly filled the dock waiting for the fireworks to begin. Dusk had turned to dark and everyone awaited the signal firework that would start the main fireworks show. Karl heard someone yell for him, something about an empty skiff spinning in circles out front. In these parts, everyone knew what that meant. Crap! Sometimes he hated the Fourth of July. Someone was always doing something stupid.
Karl and Cooper headed down the summer float beside the big dock, where several skiffs and runabouts were crammed in any available space. Karl found a small runabout with the key in it and started it up. They raced over to where the skiff went round and round and stopped it, pulling it against their boat.
Karl recognized the skiff as Suvi’s Lund. “Shit.”
“Someone must have stolen Suvi’s boat,” Cooper said to him.
Karl agreed. Suvi wouldn’t be out here alone this time of night. Although there were dozens of Lunds, Suvi’s had a big sunglassed Elton John sticker on the cowling.
Karl tied up the skiff to the boat and told Cooper to keep an eye out for anyone or anything. He was going in. He took off his jeans and, in his underwear, jumped in. He plunged through the green water and then came up for air. He swam around in the dark water until he spotted something floating on the surface. He swam toward it. When he got closer he saw it was a life jacket. He reached for it and tugged. Attached to one arm of the life jacket was a body floating below the surface. He turned the body over. It was Evert. He pulled Evert by the shirt, dragging the body over to the boat, where another rescue boat was already tied up to theirs. Cooper and an EMT rolled the body over the gunwale, flopping Evert into the boat. Above them, a blast exploded and a huge red chrysanthemum firework showered down upon them. The celebration had started.
At Wrangell City Hospital, in the long-term care wing, Astri bent Evert’s fingers back and forth, stretching them like the nurse showed her how. “Look what I brought,” she said, his hand still in hers. She nodded to his bedside stand. “It’s my new Indian doll.” Really, it looked like a mixture of Athabaskan and Alutiiq. She didn’t know and she figured the manufacturer didn’t either, since it didn’t come with a booklet.
Astri smiled at the doll on its stand. The doll’s unyielding face, with full lips and painted-on eyebrows and eyelashes, stared back. It had a turquoise pendant and fake fur surrounded her cape.
“I like this one. It has a dream-catcher. See?” A small dream catcher hung from the doll’s hand, feathers hung off the dream catcher.
She let Evert’s curled hand drop on the bed. She lifted the doll over to him and then touched the doll’s face. “It’s porcelain. Like me,” she said, touching her face lightly. “And her.” She nodded at the floor. On the floor in a small car seat sat a chubby dark-haired, green-eyed baby girl with porcelain-like skin.
Astri put the doll back on the table. “I’ll bring more. They make me feel good. I think you’ll like them.”
She stood up and bent down, picking up the car seat by the handle. The baby grinned at her. Astri leaned across the bed and kissed Evert’s forehead. “Sweet dreams,” she said as she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Date: early 2010s
Recorded in Sitka, Alaska
Recorded by Tooch Waterson
Two-Spirited
Two hundred and fifty years after they invaded her land, she held them hostage. They paid for a fifty-dollar tour and she was the Indian taking revenge on the tourists who come by the thousands on cruise ships. Tova walked to the other side of the van and heaved her small body up on the seat. For the past three summers, Tova had been getting paid to talk, which is what she liked to do anyway. Alaska Adventures had set rules about what guides could talk about. “Keep it simple,” Marvin said. “None of your political crap, okay?” She’d agreed, but after work Tova and Marvin would argue politics over spicy crab rolls at the Island Pagoda, which could get hot since Tova hated labels and Marvin was ultraconservative.
Tova had friends from all walks of life, and Marvin was one of her “most difficult” ones. Marvin was older, had a son in high school and was married and divorced and remarried again. He struggled with the tour company he’d started after the pulp mill closed down and he’d lost his job. For many families in Sitka, Alaska, tourism was the angel that saved them from bankruptcy. For Tova, sometimes it was a pain in the ass.
Six days a week Tova heard her own canned voice say, “Old Sitka was established in 1799 by the Russians. The Russians established a trading post here until 1867 when Alaska was purchased by the Americans for $7.2 million.” Over and over again, she’d hear her voice drone on. Yet, for Tova, greeting tourists was deeply ingrained in her heritage. Her great-great-great-grandparents were present at First Contact in the 1700s, the first to see the People-from-under-the-Clouds, the white men, as they sailed into Lituya Bay. Her clan members bravely ventured out to La Pérouse’s ship. Onboard, they were given their first taste of alcohol, sugar, and rice, and they saw their reflections in a mirror for the first time.
Now, Tova shut the van door and turned around in her seat to address her passengers. She took a deep breath: this was the part she liked most. Marvin had approved her request to introduce herself in the Lingít language prior to beginning her tour. If the tourists focused on her introduction, it would keep them preoccupied and, quite literally, out of her hair. People always wanted to touch her hair. Maybe they wanted to “get in touch with an Indian.” She could probably make money selling off locks of her hair. For this job, she had to keep her hair up in ponytail and dress in the required black slacks and a shirt with the company’s logo on it. Her hair was long and thick, hanging down to her butt, so long she had to fling it aside in order to take a pee. Sometimes, her hair would wake her up at night yanking at her scalp, and then she’d have to pull it out from under her and put her hair in a knit hat in order to go back to sleep. She often slept in her Pippy-style hat, flaps around her ears.
As far as introducing herself in a language no one heard anymore, Marvin knew how she felt about the Tlingit language revitalization, which is why he didn’t grumble when she asked to include a bit of the language in her tour. Though introducing herself in this manner was proper Tlingit protocol, the real reason she liked to introduce herself in Lingít was once the tourists were in her van, they had to listen to her speak. Nowadays, it was hard to find a place to be able to speak the language. And besides, on her tours, there were no elders around to tell her she wasn’t pinching the letters correctly. “Ch’a aadéi yei xat naay.oo. Lingít x’éináx Lugán Shaawát—” Tova started to say.
A loud man from the back of her van said, “Shut up and speak English.” Someone else laughed out loud. Tova sighed. Typical. People often responded rudely when they first heard one of the twenty sounds she could make that weren’t found in any other lang
uage in the world. Tova said, “Dleit kaa x’éináx, Tova Agard. Yéil naax xat sitee. T’ax hit áyá xat. T’akdéintaan áyá xat. Sámi ka Hawaiian ka German ka Norwegian ka Irish. Suomalaiset yádi áyá xat.”
Tova looked in the mirror toward the back of the van. Loud-Man’s wife nudged him. Loud-Man turned toward the window. Tova remembered people when she gave them “Indian names.” She’d done this since she was a kid as a way to remember their faces. She loved the human face, the way each one was different. She loved the thin craggy ones, the fat plump cheeks, the sallow eyes, the zillions of noses, the colors of skin.
Today, she had a full vanload of tourists. They entrusted their hard-earned vacation to her expertise. In her traditional language, she said she was a Raven and a Snail whose people came down river up above Yakutat, and her grandparents were Teikweidí, Bear people. She also said her people were Suomalainen, Sámi, Hawaiian, German, Norwegian, and Irish. Her passengers heard her say, amidst the Lingít, “Heinz 57,” and everyone laughed. Afterward, Tova gave an English translation and Loud-Man said, “Finally.” His wife, Quiet-Woman, told Tova to ignore him. Yeah, right, Tova thought.
After everyone in the van introduced themselves and said where they were from, Tova got excited because Loud-Man and the family in the back said they were from Israel. In college, she’d learned about the Hebrew language revitalization techniques. Tova said, “Cool. We learned about the Ben Yehuda’s club in college.” No one else, apparently, was excited to talk about it, so she decided to drop the subject.
Seated directly behind Tova was a couple from India with two children: Saffron-Man, Bindi-Woman, and Masala kids. In the middle seat sat an L. L. Bean Couple from California and a young Japanese woman wearing a Tilley hat: Tilley-Hat-Chick. Behind them sat a woman and man: the Furry Folks. Furry-Folk-Man and Furry-Folk-Woman bundled themselves in fur coats, clunky boots, gloves, and scarves despite the fact it was an Alaskan midsummer day and sixty-five degrees outside. And in the back, the twelve tribes of Israel squished onto one bench seat: Loud-Man, Quiet-Woman, Uncle-Aaron, Cousin-Ray-Ban, and Little-Greps. Tova made Cousin-Ray-Ban move up to share the seat with the Furry Folks and asked if Uncle-Aaron wanted to come and sit up front with her. He did. Uncle-Aaron crawled through the narrow passage, opened the van door, and hopped right up on the seat as if he was nineteen not ninety.
The Dead Go to Seattle Page 18
