V)And: “A father always knows what his sons are doing. For instance, boys, I knew you were sneaking that Hustler magazine out of my bedroom. You remember that one? Where actors who looked like Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura were screwing on the bridge of the Enterprise. Yeah, that one. I know you kept borrowing it. I let you borrow it. Remember this: men and pornography are like plants and sunshine. To me, porn is photosynthesis.”
W)And: “Your mother is a better man than me. Mothers are almost always better men than men are.”
16. Reunion
After she returned from Italy, my wife climbed into bed with me. I felt like I had not slept comfortably in years.
I said, “There was a rumor that I’d grown a tumor but I killed it with humor.”
“How long have you been waiting to tell me that one?” she asked.
“Oh, probably since the first time some doctor put his fingers in my brain.”
We made love. We fell asleep. But I, agitated by the steroids, woke at two, three, four, and five a.m. The bed was killing my back so I lay flat on the floor. I wasn’t going to die anytime soon, at least not because of my little friend, Mr. Tumor, but that didn’t make me feel any more comfortable or comforted. I felt distant from the world—from my wife and sons, from my mother and siblings—from all of my friends. I felt closer to those who’ve always had fingers in their brains.
And I didn’t feel any closer to the world six months later when another MRI revealed that my meningioma had not grown in size or changed its shape.
“You’re looking good,” my doctor said. “How’s your hearing?”
“I think I’ve got about 90 percent of it back.”
“Well, then, the steroids worked. Good.”
And I didn’t feel any more intimate with God nine months later when one more MRI made my doctor hypothesize that my meningioma might only be more scar tissue from the hydrocephalus.
“Frankly,” my doctor said, “your brain is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said, though it was the oddest compliment I’d ever received.
I wanted to call up my father and tell him that a white man thought my brain was beautiful. But I couldn’t tell him anything. He was dead. I told my wife and sons that I was okay. I told my mother and siblings. I told my friends. But none of them laughed as hard about my beautiful brain as I knew my father would have. I miss him, the drunk bastard. I would always feel closest to the man who had most disappointed me.
Acknowledgments
Alexie, Sherman. “War Dances,” from War Dances. Copyright © 2009 by Sherman Alexie. Used by permission of Grove/Atlantic, Inc. Any third party use of this material, outside of this publication, is prohibited.
Bruchac III, Joseph. “Turtle Meat,” from Earth Power Coming: Short Fiction in Native American Literature, Navajo Community College Press, Tsaile, Arizona. 1983. Copyright © 1983 by Joseph Bruchac III. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Forbes, Jack D. “Only Approved Indians Can Play Made in USA,” from Only Approved Indians: Stories. University of Oklahoma Press, 1995. Reprinted by permission of University of Oklahoma Press.
Funaro, Eli. “The Dog Pit,” from Both Sides: New Work from the Institute of American Indian Arts, 1993–1994. Santa Fe: The Institute of American Indian Arts. 1994. Copyright © by Eli Funaro. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Green, Rayna. “High Cotton,” from That’s What She Said: Contemporary Poetry and Fiction by Native American Women. Edited by Rayna Green. Indiana University Press. 1984. Reprinted by permission of Indiana University Press.
Johnson, Pauline. “A Red Girl’s Reasoning,” from the Dominion Illustrated (Canada). February 1893.
King, Thomas. “Borders,” from One Good Story, That One. (HarperCollins, 1993; New Edition, 1999). Copyright © 1993 Dead Dog Café Productions, Inc. Used by permission of the author.
McNickle, Darcy. “Train Time,” from Indians at Work 3. Washington, D.C.: Bureau of Indian Affairs. March 15, 1936.
Niatum, Duane. “Crow’s Sun,” from Talking Leaves: Contemporary Native American Short Stories. Edited by Craig Lesley. New York: Dell Publishing. 1991. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Oskison, John M. “The Singing Bird,” from Sunset Magazine. March 1925.
Piatote, Beth: “Beading Lesson,” from Reckonings: Contemporary Short Fiction by Native American Women. Hertha D. Sweet Wong, Lauren Stuart Muller, Jana Sequoya Magdaleno, editors. New York: Oxford University Press. 2008. Copyright © by Beth Piatote. Reprinted by permission of the author.
Silko, Leslie Marmon. “The Man to Send Rainclouds,” from Storyteller by Leslie Marmon Silko. Copyright © 1981, 2012 by Leslie Marmon Silko. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, and The Wylie Agency (UK) Limited.
TallMountain, Mary. “Snatched Away,” from Talking Leaves: Contemporary Native American Short Stories. Edited by Craig Lesley. New York: Dell Publishing. 1991. Copyright © 1994 by the TallMountain Estate. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the TallMountain Estate.
Zitkala-Sa: “The Soft-Hearted Sioux,” from Harper’s Monthly 102. (March 1901).
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