by Dawn Dumont
“Boo!”
Nellie jumped. “Fuck!” The word reverberated through the church. Nellie could see the “M”s shaking their heads in disgust though they refused to turn around.
Noah laughed. “You really are the worst, aren’t you? Oh wait — you don’t like questions. You are the worst.”
“It’s your fault. You scared me.” Nellie smacked his arm.
“I did.” He was unrepentant. “We’re heading out to the graveyard, because this place isn’t morbid enough. These are all dead people, I assume.” Noah picked up a picture of a smiling toddler.
“Maybe. Maybe just people who are sick.” Nellie took the picture from him and put it back on the ledge.
“We can hope. You coming?”
Nellie could feel fatigue spidering through her body. “I’ll stay here.”
“I’ll come back for you.”
Nellie shrugged. She stared at the big Mary painting. Mary looked beautiful as usual. Two thousand years and the woman hadn’t had a single bad hair day. There were lambs at her feet and she had the baby Jesus on her lap. He was smiling up at her. Mary and Jesus were a little browner than usual and Nellie liked that.
Nellie yawned and sat down in a pew. She slowly slunk lower and lower onto the wooden bench until she was lying down. She put her dirty forearm under her head and prayed for sleep.
When she woke up, the church was cool and the lighting was moody. Mary looked slightly menacing as she gazed down at Nellie who was wiping drool from her arm and her cheek. She sat up in the pew and felt her bones crack from the wood — how could anyone get used to being homeless? She made the sign of the cross to the Mary picture, warding off that kind of unfortunate life.
Nellie walked outside and saw the others sitting on the steps. She felt embarrassed; they had waited for her.
“Would you like some water?” Noah held up a water bottle. Nellie nodded and took a sip.
They walked slowly back to the worksite because they were starting to feel aches and pains from their work.
“Good idea with that nap,” Margot said to Nellie.
“I don’t think I had a choice. I was sleep-napped.”
“Better than being kidnapped.” Noah joked.
“Hey what are those Zapatistas that Marcos was talking about?” Nicole asked.
Good question, Nellie thought.
“They were fighting the government, they opposed expansion, capitalism, NAFTA.”
“Were they violent?” Nellie’s stomach felt this was the most important question.
Noah nodded. “It got really bad a few years ago.”
“A few years ago?” That wasn’t nearly long enough to make Nellie’s bowels stop twisting.
“It’s calmed down a lot.” Also, not helpful.
“So we’re basically in Zapatista territory — which is a group of terrorists?” Nicole’s tone was intimidating. Nellie could imagine she was a real terror herself if you got her angry.
“Terrorism really depends on which side you’re on.” It was obvious which side Noah and his dreadlocks were on.
Nellie looked around them at the townspeople who didn’t stare at them, just threw them the odd curious look. She wondered which of them had fought the government. How many of these people were braver than she’d ever been? Probably all of them. Even that old man standing in that doorway picking his nose.
Nellie wondered if the people saw them as enemies because they were from a capitalist society or if they forgave them because they were students? And also, would the Zapatistas treat her differently because she was Native and not white? Times like these, Nellie wished for the stereotypical long black hair and high cheekbones of her brethren. Julie would be a Zapatista cover girl for sure. And thinking of her Nellie felt that lonesome feeling hit her so hard she sighed. Noah looked at her and she pushed back the feeling — she was here, not there. And besides, here was wine.
There was a social in the town square that night. Musicians broke out guitars and dancing started. Nellie tried to stick with clapping her hands and tapping her feet but nobody would allow that. She was dragged up a few times to dance with different men. Mexican men are bossy, she thought. It was a nice change.
The party broke up way after midnight and everyone headed back to their respective homes.
“I’d offer to walk you home to your palace but you’ve already got a ride,” Noah said.
“Plus you have to walk Nicole home. Don’t want her to get kidnapped by the Zapatistas.”
“They have better things to do than kidnap hosers. Besides, she’s covered.” Noah inclined his head; Nicole was in deep conversation with a young guy with skin like Cadbury milk chocolate. Nice pull. Nellie had to give her points for great taste.
Nellie and Noah’s gaze turned back to each other and they went silent. They each had a hand on their hip in the manner of people who want to look casual.
“Nellie!” Marcos called from across the courtyard.
“That’s my ride.” Nellie walked away without saying goodbye.
That night Nellie didn’t fall asleep right away. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked out the window. This place reminded her of the reserve with the stars so big and bright, you felt like you could reach out and touch them. The air even smelled like the rez, fresh with a hint of cooking smoke. It had been three years since she’d gone home; how had that happened? Because it’s always supposed to be there waiting for my city-spoiled ass to return home, Nellie mused.
Over the week, Nellie grew brown like a real Cree. She had forgotten to pack sunscreen and was too proud to borrow any. She resigned herself to early wrinkles and embraced the sun. The brown made her eyes look different.
“Beautiful,” Nina said to her over morning coffee. “Such beautiful brown eyes.” And Nellie ducked her head and tried to think of a joke to fill the space.
The garden was growing fast and the girls were bored of gardening. Nellie and the others wandered over and watched the men work on the school. The framing was done and the guys mostly worked on the roof. “Look at them sweat their asses off.” Nellie laughed, grateful that she got to keep her feet on the ground.
The other women couldn’t leave it at that. They complained to Noah and the other guys over coffee. “These guys are sexists,” Margot said.
“Not true,” Noah replied. “Latin American feminism just isn’t the kind you’re used to.”
“Easy for you to say,” Nellie said.
Noah poured more coffee. Nellie couldn’t figure out how he drank that stuff in the heat. “It was only a few years ago that women and men fought along side each other for the Zapatistas.”
Nellie thought about how women and men had stood along side each other at Oka against the Canadian soldiers. She’d wanted to go there and join them. She’d even saved up a few hundred dollars for the trip. It had been the first time in her life that she had put something else ahead of school. But she ended up lending (well, giving) the money to Everett to fix his truck after his motor blew.
One day Marcos said that he was taking them on a trip that afternoon.
“Where?” Nellie asked. “I don’t like surprises.” They made her nervous.
“Then it’s definitely a surprise.” Marcos liked bugging her.
“There’s a waterfall nearby,” Noah’s voice tickled her ear. She pushed him away.
“So this waterfall — can we swim in it?”
Noah grinned, “I will.”
He did look like the kind of person who swam wherever he liked, with dolphins, stingrays, sharks, all those things that could kill you but looked fun. He probably surfed too. Did they surf in Vancouver? Lately, she had all kinds of questions about that place that she’d never given two shits about before.
They piled into their trusty van, though this time Nina joined them. She saw Nellie sitting at the back and gave her a questioning look and then took her place at the front closest to Marcos. After a few minutes riding alone at the back, Nellie moved closer to
everyone else. She had been planning to take a nap.
The road was dusty and windy. Nellie was glad she brought her water bottle along.
Noah dropped next to her. “Isn’t this exciting?”
“I’ve taken a bus before.”
“This is the area that the Zapatistas held. It’s where shit happened.” Noah had never swore before. His hands drummed on the back of the seat.
Nellie glanced at Marcos’ dark head. “You’re wrong. He wouldn’t put us in danger.”
“They’re not the enemy. They’re like the Mohawks at Oka.”
Nina had told Nellie that her and Marcos had been teachers a few years before. When the school had been burned down in the fighting, they had promised to rebuild. And applied to the charity that had sent money for materials. Nellie surmised that in exchange, the village had to take in a bunch of dumbass university students.
The van was slowing down. Nellie could feel the mood in the bus change as the brakes squeaked to a stop. She looked out the window and saw the green of a jeep and then she saw the black of guns. The last time she’d seen a gun, it was a .22 that her uncle had tried to hock to her dad for bingo money. This was no .22.
“Fuck.” The youth pastor was really on a roll today.
Nellie could see two hands reach across the aisle and clasp together. Nellie thought that was a bit much. She called out in a loud whisper to Nina but she didn’t turn around — her posture was straight as an arrow.
Nellie looked at Noah who was biting his lip and drumming his hands again. She stilled his hands with her own. “Why do they have guns?”
“We’re Canadians,” Noah said after a long pause. “We’ll be okay.”
“Ha.” Nellie wasn’t sure that was the cross to ward off all attacks that he thought. “What do they want?”
“They’re looking for Zapatistas.” He whispered the last word.
“But they’re all — ” Noah put his hand on hers and squeezed it. She dutifully swallowed the rest of her sentence. Then he nodded at Nina.
Where did the Mohawks go when the fighting was done? Home. To fight a different way.
One of the frat boys moved closer to the front of the bus to get a better look. “Sit down,” Nina hissed at him.
Marcos had gotten off the bus. He faced the soldiers, his hands at waist height, open and facing front. A soldier was talking to him. Marcos answered. Then he turned back to the bus and gave them a half-smile.
He can take care of this. He knows what he’s doing. Sit still and we’ll be on our way. Things will take care of themselves.
Yeah, right.
She remembered once driving with her mom past a couple walking down the road, the woman slightly ahead, the man a few steps behind. Nellie was only ten and telling her mom a story when her mom slammed on the brakes, threw off her seatbelt and ran out, the car still running. Nellie watched in the rear-view mirror as her mom launched herself at the man and pried his hands off the woman. Then she held herself between them, like a denim-clad X.
The soldier went back to the jeep to talk to the other soldiers. Nellie thought this is taking too long.
She was moving now, between the rows, she knocked the hands apart.
She heard Nina’s urgent, “Nellie,” but she kept going. The gravel was under her feet and she moved quickly but not fast enough to startle anyone.
She stopped with a metre of Marcos with her hands on her hips: “Mark? What the fuck?” Marcos looked at her, his look unreadable. But probably mad.
But Nellie could be bossy too. “I paid to see the waterfall, not to sit in a shitty bus roasting my ass off.” Nellie had only used her valley girl voice to make fun of white girls and she knew she sounded phoney as hell. But what the hell, right? Valley girls seemed to lead perfect, safe lives . . . Nellie needed some of that glossy luck right now.
The soldiers were looking her up and down. If only she wasn’t so brown — why didn’t I wear some fucking sunscreen? — but she didn’t know what else to do, so she continued, “Who’s in charge here?” Although she had no idea what she would say to anyone who declared themselves in charge, probably just crap herself. One of the soldiers bit out, “Sube al autobus.”
Nellie rolled her eyes. “What? I don’t speak Spanish.”
Marcos looked like he wanted to push her into the ditch. There was a shadow beside her — it was Noah. “Dude, we paid good money to come down here — your boss is going to hear about this.”
“Like seriously,” Nellie added. Her eyes met Marcos. He seemed resigned: Okay you stupid kids, you win.
Marcos put a look on his face like he’d been harassed by tourists for too long. He held up his hand to Nellie. “It’s okay, Miss. It’s okay.”
Nellie turned back to Noah and tugged on his arm. “I want to go back to the resort,” she whined. But she really wanted to go home to put her head on her mom’s chest and hide there for a hundred years. She looked at the bus and saw the others standing then, their white faces so blinding that you didn’t notice Nina.
The soldiers went back to the jeep, the guns slung over their shoulders at least. Marcos looked at Nellie and Noah and his look said it wasn’t over yet. And it wasn’t. The van was searched — for drugs, they were told — and money was paid, not a lot, a few twenties among them all. And then the bus was turning around. Even as they drove away, Nellie felt like they could not go fast enough.
That night they had dinner at Marcos’ house. Her hand traced the mouth of her wine glass as everyone crowded together around their small table. Nellie felt her denim shorts pressing against Nicole’s linen pants and Noah’s hairy calf brushing against her hairless one.
“You’re a hero,” Noah nudged her.
“I should have my status card taken way for that little performance.”
Noah laughed. “Oh the irony.”
The frat boys were re-telling the story with embellishments about pissed pants and dirty shorts.
She thought about the dinners she’d had with the couple. Have fun, Nellie. Smile Nellie. Enjoy yourself. The kind of advice her mom gave her whenever they were close; her mom who only ever wanted her to be happy.
But others wanted more. Her dad told her she had to go to law school because “our people need fighters.” The chief of her reserve had given her an eagle feather after she graduated, “You make us proud,” which could have been a congratulations but felt like an order. (Taz had told her law school would take away what little Indian she had in her to begin with.)
Instead of being a warrior, I’m pretending to be a white girl in a country of brown people.
Her world was safe and easy because other people had fought the battles and wore the scars. Nellie closed her eyes and saw the faces of those people she grew up with who never made it anywhere, whose faces she had only in her photo album and that one face that still woke her at night.
Nellie felt herself falling then.
She reached for her wine glass with a shaking hand, felt her mouth begin to tremble and wondered how she could get away from all of them without embarrassing herself. This is too much. And then his face flashed in front of her. His easy smile, that made you smile too, no matter what stupid things tumbled out of that mouth. Hundreds of miles away and she could still hear his voice: “Nellie, chill the fuck out.” Calm settled into her bones. I hate him, she reminded herself but there was no conviction.
Around the table, glasses were raised and Nellie offered hers.
Princess
August 1997
WITHOUT ASKING ANYONE, NELLIE signed them all up on a slo-pitch team. She said she told them but Everett couldn’t remember her mentioning it. Still he called up Taz and Julie and convinced them to go because it was something different. Julie booked off that weekend and Taz cleared his schedule of eating shit and playing video games — dude was getting fat and he wasn’t even twenty-five. He didn’t want to do it, he was bitching up a storm to Everett the day before saying Everett should control his old lady.
Everett shut him up by telling him he needed the exercise. He could tell that Taz wanted to say something to him but there was nothing he could say. Everett had spent the whole summer working a road construction job and his gut was as tight as a drum.
Normally Everett didn’t like to spend the whole summer working but this job was different. The contractor running it was this character who strolled through life high. They took ninety-minute lunch breaks to smoke weed and play poker. Even the flag girls were fun, hot and flirty as hell. At the pace the job was going, it was going to take another year to finish the tiny bit of highway they were working on and that was fine with Everett.
Everett thought it was kind of hilarious how Nellie kept bragging to all her friends about his new job. If only she knew how little he was working. But that’s how she was, as long as he left in the morning and brought a paycheck home, she was happy. She was predictable and he wondered how she got like that. It didn’t seem very Native to him to do stuff in the same way all the time.
He had tried to explain this to her a few times but she told him that was lazy-person thinking and to stop being such an idiot. And to grow up. People were always telling him that too, like as if they all knew what being grown up meant. He sure as hell didn’t. Sometimes during a break at the job, he’d hear some guy talk about how much trouble he was having maintaining his lawn or not having enough time to work on his golf game or how he didn’t know how to handle his kids and Everett’s eyes would glaze over. People really wanted those problems? Seemed like a whole different world.
The ball field was a long ways out of town, out on Beardy’s Reserve. Everett wasn’t a fan of playing on teams he didn’t know; he had to trust that Nellie had signed up enough people. Turned out that all people she’d signed up — mostly, law students — never showed up so it was left to him and Taz to find the rest of the players.
Everett played first base, Taz was the catcher and Julie stood way off in the field. Everett told Nellie to play the field too but she was determined, “if I’m gonna play, then I’m gonna play,” and was clinging to third base with a determination that was kind of admirable even if she was useless and missed the ball as often as she caught it.
