Indian Country Noir

by Sarah Cortez

  If Grandpa was there, he wasn't talking first.

  You warned me, I said.

  Nothing.

  You helped me.

  He was playing hard to get.

  Why this time? I asked, spinning in my little lonely world. Not that I don't appreciate the effort, but there're about a hundred times I could name where I could've used the help. Like that RPG in the market.

  This time, you were working with something from my world. You needed more than dreams.

  You sorry I didn't listen?

  You do what you're going to do.

  Well, I got myself a monster. Does that make me a monster too?

  Grandpa didn't answer right away, so I did it for him: I guess that's why they call it a curse. Or responsibility.

  Maybe you got some First in you after all.

  I gave her up. Killed her inside me.

  She's still with you. With everybody. She's carrying the medicine of our return from where the First came from. All the First, and not just for one man, but for everybody. For everyone you're keeping inside you, and the ones you let go.

  That's some powerful shit.

  Best there is.

  Something caressed my face, and I thought it was Medicine Snake Woman saying her farewell. But her touch was cold and then I thought she was dead. I opened my eyes, resolving not to let my heart break again when I looked up at her face. Instead of her, I saw the head of a giant white snake over me, tongue tasting the air, one cold eye fixed on me.

  Your great-grandfather died because he killed his monster.

  Snake. Talking. I wasn't having it.

  That bridge collapse wasn't his fault.

  No, but battle has its cost.

  The design was flawed. The builders didn't correct it. I looked it up.

  If your grandfather hadn't fought as long and hard as he did to win, the weight would have held long enough for the men to leave at day's end. But if he'd lost, far more terrible things would have come to the Kahnawake. And to more. Your grandfather, he was killed by the one that came for him.

  My heart jumped. Grandpa? You never told me.

  And terrible things followed. Fire. And blood. For the world.

  And Dad-my dad ...

  Your father was killed before his time came. You carried his burden, as well as your own.

  So, what's the cost of my winning? Am I going to die? Is my apartment building going to collapse-

  You paid your price, in your heart.

  I didn't like the way that sounded. Already, I was feeling like I needed a way to let everything slide off of me. Maybe even lose Grandpa in my head. So I said, Am I done? Is the blood and the duty part of my life over?

  You're not that special.

  Ideas burst out of the little boxes I'd tried keeping them locked up in. They chased each other around in my head like mice running from a cat, and the circle of my little life suddenly grew bigger. Medicine Snake Woman. Monsters. Dead people in my head. A burden of duty. I got a little cold thinking about how lucky I'd been, with Grandpa in my head and Medicine Snake Woman being there to give me a way to come out on top. And then I was cold as the far side of the moon, thinking of Great-Grandpa all alone on high steel against something like that. And Grandpa, going down, then Dad, never getting the chance to even fight, having to watch me come to his grave searching for answers and not being able to give me any.

  Then I remembered it wasn't Grandpa talking. It was the damned snake.

  "What the hell are you?" My question echoed in the big empty train station, and I looked to the tunnel entrances for someone new to come into my life.

  That's your animal spirit, boy. Snake. Must be the white man part of you.

  Grandpa.

  I gave a look back into that snake's eye. Why?

  Gift from Medicine Snake Woman. Consider it your love child.

  I pushed myself up and saw her standing on the platform edge smiling at me, though her face was bruised. She favored one leg and kept her hands behind her back.

  "Thanks-" I started to say, but she was already gone.

  And then I remembered, she'd already said, "You're welcome."

  The snake curled around me, gave me a squeeze. I saw stars. Python, boa constrictor, I couldn't decide. But after the thing finished hugging and sliding over me, I felt a lot better, though by the end the snake was down to the size of a string I could tie around my finger.

  I picked up the little snake, which wriggled in my palm, and asked it, "How did you know that stuff about my father and grandpa?"

  Of course, there was no answer. Still, I was grateful. For a little while.

  Medicine Snake Woman was already fading from my heart. She was dead, at least to my flesh-and-blood heart. I'd done a good job killing and burying her. Pretty soon, the surprise and sorrow and pride I'd felt knowing what happened to my ancestors would slide off of me too. Because nothing sticks with me, not for long.

  But the circle I was running in was still bigger. My life was taking a turn. I figured maybe I'd finally found that path Grandpa liked to talk about, yet the crossroads I was bound to run into looked like it was going to be serious trouble, if this monster was just the start. But I was sure the snake was going to come in handy.

  Just shows you can't always be right.

  I talked to the pale string of wriggling meat in my palm. "So you're supposed to be my guide, my medicine, my healer? White snake for the white man in me. Very funny. So what do you have to say, Snake? You and Grandpa. Who am I? What am I here for? What's next?"

  It wasn't one voice that answered, but two, both in my head. Yeah, I was on the path, all right, walking through high places and sure to see more and bigger monsters in days to come. And for a long time to come, I knew I'd be hearing Snake and Grandpa saying just what they said when I asked them all those stupid questions: You ain't that special.

  Ontario, Canada

  'm impressed you showed up," says Mrs. Saunders. "Thanks." I look behind her for my boys. I'm not here to fight. I'm here to take my boys out.

  "I kept them in their rooms. I didn't want them to be disappointed." She lets her voice drift off, and I'm sixteen again, and Noelle and me are shooting up till nothing else matters. I shake that off. Noelle's dead, her mother's standing in the doorway, blocking me from seeing my sons, and as their dad, I'm not going to let her.

  Mrs. Saunders shades her eyes. It's October in Cornwall, Ontario, so the sun's not blinding her. She's making a point. Noelle used to say you could tell a lot about someone from the hands. Mrs. Saunders's hands look pretty young for a woman who's almost seventy. Plus, she still wears her wedding ring even though Mr. Saunders has been dead for at least twenty years. She asks, "Who's that in the car?"

  "My girlfriend Shana." I told her to stay outside. I knew it would get too messy. I raise my voice. "We're here to see Jake and Tommy."

  The Buick door slams. I whip around, but Shana's already striding up to the porch with her best waitress grin. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Saunders. My name is Shana-"

  "I'm sure," says Mrs. Saunders, letting Shana's hand hang in the breeze. "So nice of Fred to bring his latest girlfriend to meet the boys." I see her taking in Shana's brown skin, big nose, and bigger tits.

  Shana doesn't get rattled. Like I said, she's a waitress. "I feel honored." She doesn't sound funny when she uses big words. She's saving up to go to college.

  "Well, these courts think it's quite fashionable to give visitation rights, no matter what kind of parent it is. Jake! Thomas!" Her voice is like a rawhide whip and I'm not surprised when my boys' feet thunder up behind her. "My goodness. You sound like a herd of elephants! Let's try that again."

  While she pushes them back, I squat down on the step with my arms out. I don't care what I look like. I haven't seen my guys in two years and I'm not about to let a stupid thing like pride trip me up. I've always been a big target for the world, but I'm not going to hide from my only two fans.

  I call out, "They're just
happy to see me, aren't you? Thing One and Thing Two?" That's what Noelle and I used to call them. It was a joke. But a bad one. I can see Mrs. Saunders filing it away to tell the lawyer. "It's from The Cat in the Hat," I tell her. Just then, I finally catch a glimpse of my boys' faces. They're both staring at me like they have no idea who I am.

  Jake, my older guy, is five now. Way taller than I remember, and so serious, so skinny. Where'd his baby fat go? No smile either. Just arms dangling in a white dress shirt. Khaki dress pants and shiny shoes. They're wearing shoes inside? No wonder they sound like elephants. Kids should be playing, skidding around in bare feet or socks. They should be hugging their dads. They should be something.

  Tommy. Tom Thumb. Two and a half, always our little smiley baby-at least that's how I remember him. But same as his brother, hair combed back like a '50s throwback, same white shirt and khaki pants and black leather lace-up shoes. He starts to put his thumb in his mouth and I smile cause at least that's the same, it's even his left thumb, I remember-

  "Thomas!" Whip voice again. "What did I tell you?"

  Tom's face crumples up. Jake stands a bit in front of him. Tom drops his eyes and says, "Sowwy."

  Still can't say his Rs. At least I haven't missed that.

  "Pardon me?" from the Ice Queen.

  "Pa-don me," Tom parrots, and it just breaks my heart.

  I'm not a big fighter. Hell, most addicts would rather hurt themselves than anyone else. But I'm willing to beat up this old lady who's been sucking the life out of my boys. I take a step forward and something must show in my face, because Mrs. Saunders squares her shoulders, plants both feet, and smiles a little. A knowing smile. An I-knew-this-was-coming smile.

  "She:kon skennen kowa ken?" Shana's cool voice drifts in between its.

  I stop right there.

  "Shay-cone?" repeats Mrs. Saunders, as if Shana has just sworn in Martian. Of course she doesn't know this most basic Mohawk greeting, but I'm too busy checking Jake's face to see if he remembers. I was no hell at Mohawk, but I did say a few nursery rhymes to him and stuff. Even for Tom, I sang lullabies before I got locked up.

  Jake looks blank. Tom's staring at the ground. My throat chokes up, but Shana's already explaining. She squats right down on the porch too. She doesn't care if the white woman doesn't ever let its into her house. She gets down on their level so she can look them in the eye and she says to them, "It's our language. We say that instead of `Hello, how are you doing?' A lot of people just say `She:kon,' like your grandma just did, but that's like saying `Hey' instead of the whole greeting. And I wanted to say the whole thing the first time I met you two very important people."

  Jake stares at her like he can make some sense of it through the steadiness in her eyes. Tom hovers closer to her, like he doesn't get it but he likes her open face and lightly balanced feet.

  With Shana by my side, I feel my anger start to drain and I can talk to my boys again. "Skennen means peace. And she:kon means still. So it means `Do you still have the Great Peace?' Are you all right? Are we still friends?" It means more than that. It's asking if they're still part of the tribe, if they're okay not just in their bodies, but in their minds and spirits, but I'm trying to keep it simple. Shana's right. It's the perfect way to greet my boys, instead of calling them Thing One and Thing Two and beating up their grandmother. Thank God Shana's here.

  Something flickers in Jake's eyes before he says, "We don't do any of that Indian stuff." He looks to his grandmother for approval.

  Somehow, it hurts even more that I thought I was getting through to him. It's like a meat hook in my chest.

  Tom stares from me to his brother to his grandmother. He doesn't know what to do.

  Mrs. Saunders does. "That's right, Jake. You know that if your mother hadn't gotten mixed up with any of that stuff, she'd be alive and taking care of you today."

  That stuff, That Indian stuff is me. Their father.

  So that's what she's been doing. Poisoning them against me and making them hate themselves and their weak, dead mother.

  I know this. I know this like I know which way is east even when I wake up after a bender. I'm a sorry excuse for an Indian and maybe even for a human being, but I know people. I know evil.

  "Tohsa sasa'nikon:hren," says Shana. Don't forget, she is saying. And I know what she means. Don't forget yourself. Don't forget you are on probation. Don't let the woman rile you up even as she's stealing your children away.

  But I am riled. I've spent most of my twenty-five years hating myself and I don't want my boys sucked into the same rigged game. I stand up straight. I keep my gaze on Jake and Tom. "I'm Indian. You guys are Indian too." Mrs. Saunders makes a noise, but I talk over her. "You may not think that's a good thing, and maybe it's not. People either think you want a handout or they want you to teach them some great big secret New Age woo-woo bull-" I catch myself just in time "-pucky, and they think you get everything for free. But we founded this place and we're not going anywhere. We're Mohawks." This time Shana makes a noise. She calls its Kanien- kehaka, which means People of the Flint, cause Mohawk means "man-eater," but I don't have time to explain that to the boys. "We're tough. Some people say we're the most stubborn tribe around."

  Tom's got his forehead puckered like he can't figure out what I'm saying, but he wants to. And I feel a flicker of interest, or at least not hostility, from Jake, my big boy. I smile at him until he says, "Is that why you've got hair like Anne of Green Gables?"

  Mrs. Saunders smothers a laugh, but this time I'm ready for it. I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but you can't hit me the same way twice. Not even if you're my son. "Yeah, pretty much, only mine's nicer. I use better conditioner."

  The corners of Jake's mouth twitch. "Do you really use conditioner?"

  "Only the best." I toss my braids and make a serious face, my Indian chief statue pose. Shana giggles and Jake starts laughing. Even Mrs. Saunders defrosts a bit. She can let me have this role, the Indian clown part. That's the part I used to play with Noelle too.

  Tom titters. He's checking his brother and grandmother, but he wants to join in the fun. I ache to scoop him up and kiss his chubby little cheeks. But I keep smiling through my pain. "Now. Why don't you all come out with me and Shana? Tell me what you want to do. You want burgers?"

  "Yeah!" Jake slaps his hands together before he remembers to look at the killjoy.

  "I don't allow the boys processed meat. We have organic beef or chicken once in a while, but we try to eat legumes and tofu instead."

  Is she for real? My eyes bug out a bit, and I see the spark in Jake's eyes before he hides it again.

  Shana says, "Well, they have salads now at McDonald's. Would you like to come along?"

  I steel myself, but after a long moment Mrs. Saunders gives its the fish-eye and says, "Oh no. This is supposed to be your time." She smiles a little. "Indian time."

  Jake grinds his toes in the floor. He knows it's an insult, but he doesn't know why. Just that he's ashamed.

  "Right on," I say, too loud. "Indian time." And I usher the boys into my black Buick, trying not to think about the rust around the wheels or the cracked taillight and the bumper held on with a rigged-up coat hook. I was proud of that coat hook when I thought it up. Auto mechanics will hose you when all you need are elbow grease and quick thinking. But seeing my car through Mrs. Saunders's eyes, I feel the same thing as Jake. Shame.

  "Can we do the drive-through?" Jake asks after I pull up to the McDonald's parking lot.

  Shana and I exchange a look. I thought for sure they'd want to play inside. "Don't you want to jump on the balls and stuff?"

  "Well, yeah, but-" He glances at my braids, and my heart just about stops. He doesn't want to be seen with the Indian.

  Shana puts her hand on mine. "We can do whatever you want," she says. Jake relaxes in his booster seat and my throat closes against the pain.

  "Your hair is almost as long as hers."

  I turn to see Jake trudging behind me.
His foot slips, but he catches himself on one knee and glares at me like it's my fault he's wearing sneakers on a hike in October. Shana thought fresh air would be better than McD's this time around.

  Jake and I've got such a love-hate thing going on. I just stop and say, "Yeah, it's probably longer than Shana's."

  Tommy's easier. I can chase him around and he shows me his big baby belly and I make giant raspberry kisses on it. Shana's carrying him on her hip right now and he's looking at the leaves, trying to touch one.

  I drag my eyes away from Tommy. "Why not? What's the big deal about my hair?"

  "It looks dumb! You look like a cartoon! You should at least, like, have a Mohawk!"

  I sigh. I don't want to fight with him right now.

  Shana catches up to its and sets Tommy on the ground. He toddles over to a puddle and tries to stamp in it.

  "Hey, Jake. Did you know your dad does have a Mohawk?"

  He scrunches up his face. "He does not!"

  "What do you think a Mohawk haircut looks like?"

  He rolls his eyes. "Are you gonna tell me it's a Mohawk because he's a Mohawk? That's lame."

  She shakes her head. "For Indians, long hair is sacred. Men and women have long hair because that's what our Creator gave to us."

  "It looks okay on you." Always the poison saved for me. "But everyone knows a Mohawk is that punk thing, you know, where you shave the sides and the middle sticks up in spikes."

  Tommy slips and lands in the puddle on his butt. Man. We're going to have to change him on the trail. I pick him up and spin him around to get him to stop crying before I tackle his change. I can still hear Shana explaining.

  "That haircut was like the army haircut. Going to war and taking someone's life was against everything the Creator, Shonkwaiatison, taught its. So if the people had to take a life, they'd cut off their hair. When they returned from war, they'd let their hair grow back."

  I don't look at them. I pull a clean diaper and a pair of pants out of the diaper bag, even though Shana is way better at changing Tommy. I don't want to break the spell.