All right, my father said. Where?
Where I left it, underneath the front seat of the car.
My father went outside and came back with the manila folder in his hands.
They went to Bismarck again, and I stayed with Clemence and Edward. The birthday banners were all down. The beer cans crushed. The leaves were dried out in the arbor. Things again were quiet at Clemence and Edward’s house, but a sort of cheerful quiet as there were always people coming around to visit. Not only relations and friends, but people who came just for Mooshum, students or professors. They would set up a tape recorder and tape him talking about the old days or speaking Michif, or Ojibwe or Cree, or all three languages together. But he really didn’t tell them much. All his real stories came at night. I slept in Evey’s room with him. About an hour or two into the night I woke to hear him talking.
The Round House
When he was told to kill his mother, said Nanapush, a great rift opened in his heart. There was a crack so deep it went down forever. On the before side his love for his father, and belief in all that his father did, lay crumpled and discarded. And not only that one belief, but others as well. It was true that there could be wiindigoog—people who lost all human compunctions in hungry times and craved the flesh of others. But people could also be falsely accused. The cure for a wiindigoo was often simple: large quantities of hot soup. No one had tried the soup on Akii. No one had consulted the old and wise. The people he’d loved, including his uncles, had simply turned against his mother, so Nanapush could not believe in them or in what they said or did anymore. On the side of the crack where Nanapush was, however, his younger brothers and sisters, who had cried for their mother, existed. And his mother, too. Also the spirit of the old female buffalo who had been his shelter.
That old buffalo woman gave Nanapush her views. She told him that he had survived by doing the opposite of all the others. Where they abandoned, he saved. Where they were cruel, he was kind. Where they betrayed, he was faithful. Nanapush then decided that in all things he would be unpredictable. As he had completely lost trust in authority, he decided to stay away from others and to think for himself, even to do the most ridiculous things that occurred to him.
You can go that way, said the old buffalo woman, but even though you become a fool, people will in time consider you a wise man. They will come to you.
Nanapush did not want anyone to come to him.
That will not be possible, said the buffalo woman. But I can give you something that will help you—look into your mind and see what I am thinking about.
Nanapush looked into his mind and saw a building. He even saw how to make the building. It was the round house. The old female buffalo kept talking.
Your people were brought together by us buffalo once. You knew how to hunt and use us. Your clans gave you laws. You had many rules by which you operated. Rules that respected us and forced you to work together. Now we are gone, but as you have once sheltered in my body, so now you understand. The round house will be my body, the poles my ribs, the fire my heart. It will be the body of your mother and it must be respected the same way. As the mother is intent on her baby’s life, so your people should think of their children.
That is how it came about, said Mooshum. I was a young man when the people built it—they followed Nanapush’s instructions.
I sat up to look at Mooshum, but he had turned over and begun his snore. I lay awake thinking of the place on the hill, the holy wind in the grass, and how the structure had cried out to me. I could see a part of something larger, an idea, a truth, but just a fragment. I could not see the whole, but just a shadow of that way of life.
I had been there three or four days when Clemence and Uncle Edward went over to Minot to purchase a new freezer. They started out early in the morning, before I was up. Mooshum had risen at six as usual. He’d drunk the coffee, eaten all the eggs, toast, and buttered hash brown potatoes that Clemence made, even my share. When I went down to the kitchen, I took a slice of cold meat loaf she’d left for lunch, slapped it between two pieces of soft white bread, with ketchup. I asked my Mooshum what he wanted to do that day and he looked vague.
You go off with your own. He waved his hand. I’m all set here.
Clemence said I have to stay with you.
Saaah, she treats me like a puking baby. You go! You go off and have a good time!
Then Mooshum tottered over to Evey’s old dresser and rummaged among the things in his top drawer until he came up with an old gray sock. Dangling the sock at me with a significant look, he plunged his hand in. He was wearing his dentures, which usually meant company. With a sly air of triumph he drew a soft ten-dollar bill from the toe of the sock and waved it at me.
Take this! Go on, live it up. Majaan!
I didn’t take the bill.
You’re up to something, Mooshum.
Up to something, he said as he sat down, up to something. Then he said in low outrage, How can a man be a man!
Maybe I can help you, I said.
Eh, so be it. Clemence keeps my bottle high in the kitchen cabinet. You could fetch me that!
It wasn’t even noon, but then I figured what could it hurt? He’d lived long enough to deserve a drink of whiskey when he wanted it. Clemence had given him but one pour on his birthday, then lots of swamp tea to counteract the effect. I was standing on the countertop, trying to find the place where Clemence hid the bottle, when Sonja came in the back door. She was carrying a plastic shopping bag with sturdy handles, and at first I thought she’d shopped again with my money and was coming to show Clemence her purchases. I clambered down with the bottle in my hand and said, in a belligerent tone, So, you went on another spending spree! I stood before her. We’re going to dig up those passbooks, I said. We’re gonna go around and get all that money back, Sonja.
All right, she said, her blue eyes soft with hurt. That’s fine.
Stop this talk of money. Mooshum stumbled close to Sonja. Took her arm. He spoke silkily.
This old man has money and a bottle too, ma chère niinimoshenh.
Mooshum steered Sonja and her heavy shopping bag toward the bedroom.
Get out of here now, he said to me. Get! He held his hand out for the bottle.
But I stood my ground.
I’m not going anywhere, I said. Clemence told me to stay.
I followed them into the bedroom. They stared at me in a helpless way. I sat down on the bed.
I’m not leaving, at least, until I see what’s in that bag.
Mooshum gave me an outraged snort. He snatched the bottle from my hand and took a quick pull. Sonja sat down sullenly and puffed out her lips. She was wearing one of her tracksuits, plush and pink, and a T-shirt with a plunging neckline; a silver heart at the end of a silver chain pointed to the shadowy swelling line where her breasts were pushed together. Her hair glowed in light from the window behind her.
Joe, she said, this is Mooshum’s birthday present.
What is?
What’s in the bag.
Well, give it to him, then.
It’s . . . ah . . . a grown-up gift.
A grown-up gift?
Sonja made a face that meant duh.
My throat shut. I looked from Mooshum to Sonja, back and forth. They wouldn’t look at each other.
I’m gonna ask you to leave in a nice way, Joe.
But as she spoke she started taking things from the bag—not exactly clothes—tatters of cloth and sequiny things and glittering tassels and some long strands of hair and fur. Heeled sandals with long leather laces. I’d seen this stuff before, on her, in my folder labeled HOMEWORK.
I’m not leaving. I sat down next to Mooshum, on his low cot.
You are too! Sonja stared at me. Joe! Her face hardened in a way I had not seen before. Get outta here, she ordered.
I won’t, I said.
No? She stood, hands on her hips, and puffed air into her cheeks, mad.
I was mad, too, but what I said s
urprised me.
You’re gonna let me stay. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Whitey about the money.
Sonja froze and sat back down. She was holding some shiny cloth. She stared at me. A remote, mystified look crept onto her face. A shiny film flooded her eyes, making her look so young.
Really, she said. Her voice was sad, a whisper. Really?
I should have left, right then. In one half hour I’d wish I had, but also be glad I stayed. I’ve never felt all one way about what happened next.
Money again, saaah, cried Mooshum in disgust. Which made me think about the money and about Sonja’s diamond earrings.
I grabbed Mooshum’s bottle and drank. The whiskey hit me and my eyes watered too.
He’s a good boy, said Mooshum.
Sonja wouldn’t take her eyes off me. You think so? You really think he’s a good boy? She sat down and slapped the shiny bra she held against her knee.
He takes good care of me. Mooshum drank and offered me the bottle again. I passed it to Sonja.
You’ll tell Whitey, huh?
She gave me an ugly smile, a smile that jolted me. Then she knocked back a long swallow. Mooshum took a sip and handed the bottle back to me. Sonja narrowed her eyes until the blueness turned black. So it’s you and Whitey. Okay then. I’m onna dress in the bathroom. You boys stay right here. And if you ever say a word about anything to anybody, Joe, I will cut off your puny dick.
My jaw dropped, and she laughed mean. Can’t have it both ways, you lying little phony. I’m not momming you anymore.
She took a tape player out of the bottom of her bag, plugged it into the wall, and popped in a cassette.
When I come back in, turn the music on, she ordered. Then she went across the hall to the bathroom with her bag.
Mooshum and I sat silently on the cot. I now remembered the two of them talking low at the party, and how they had annoyed me. My head started buzzing. I took another swig from Mooshum’s bottle. After a while, Sonja came back in, shut the door behind her and locked it, then turned around.
I suppose the two of us gaped at her.
Hit Play, Joe, she growled.
The music began, a low faraway series of wails and chants. Sonja’s hair was held straight up in a metallic cone that acted as a fountain, spilling tons of hair, more than she really had, down her shoulders and back. She wore heavy makeup—her eyebrows were black wings, her lips a cruel red. A formal gray sheath of silk hung from her neck to her legs and covered her arms. She drew a long wavy dagger from her sleeve. Then she lifted her arms like an ancient goddess about to sacrifice a goat, or a live man tied on a slab of rock. She held the dagger in both hands, then switched to one hand, staring at the dagger. She pushed an invisible switch. The dagger lit up and glowed. The music changed to guttural, grinding moans, then a sudden series of yips. Along with each yip she cut apart a piece of Velcro that held her robe together. She teased us for a while. The robe had slits in the sides. One armor-plated breast would appear. A leg in the sandal laced to her thigh. Finally, after a chorus of chants and howls, there was a sudden shriek. Then silence. She dropped her robes. I grabbed Mooshum’s arm. I didn’t want to waste a second looking at him but didn’t want him to fall over backward, either, and hit his head. I have never, ever, forgotten her in the dim glory of Evey’s bedroom. She was tall in those heeled sandals. With her hair in that cone she nearly touched the ceiling. Her legs went up forever and she wore a bikini bottom that looked like it was forged of iron, padlocked shut. Her stomach was pure and lithe, toned I don’t know how. I’d never seen her exercise. And my loves, her breasts, also cased in bits of plastic armor, pushed at the seams of the breastplate, which had been made with fake erect nipples. Skins and scarves flowed off her. She held the dagger in her teeth and then she began to rub and work the fur and fabric all over her body. She wore thin vinyl gauntlets. She took one off, lightly whipped herself and scoured her chastity belt with it, and then cracked me across the face. I almost fainted. I grabbed Mooshum again. He was panting with happiness. Sonja smacked me right in the eye with the other gauntlet. The drums began. Sonja’s belly and hips began to gyrate in a different tempo—so fast her movements blurred. Mooshum gave me the bottle. I choked. Sonja whirled. Kicked me in the knee. I bent over in pain but my eyes never left her. The drum fell silent. She played with the leather strips that held her armor bra together and then suddenly she let it drop. And there they were. Wearing only gold tassels that she twirled first one way, then the other, mesmerizing us. I was dizzy by the time the drum quit. Mooshum’s breath came ragged. I could hear the tape scratch. She pulled the ties on her sandals and stepped out of them, threw them at my head. She unsnapped the cone from her hair and it fell around her face in a wild waterfall. She threw the cone at me too. Barefoot, she stepped close and began to grind her hips to the howls of wolves, but when she reached down into her iron bikini and slowly pulled out a key on a silken string, Mooshum was ready. He snatched the key from her fingers and without a tremble in his ancient fist he opened the padlock, unhooked and threw it to the side, and there was a G-string made of soft, black, dense fur. Well, it was a rabbit pelt. But so what. She straddled Mooshum’s lap but carefully did not let down her weight. Cupped her tasseled breasts in her hands.
Happy birthday, old man, she said.
Mooshum’s smile glowed. Tears flowed down the grooves in his cheeks. He put his arms around her waist, rested his forehead between her breasts, and took one deep groaning breath. He did not take another.
Oh no. Sonja lifted her arms away and lowered him cautiously onto his cot. She put her ear to his chest and listened.
I can’t hear his heart, she said.
I held on to Mooshum too. Should we do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? CPR? What? Sonja?
I don’t know.
We looked down at him. His eyes were closed. He was smiling. He looked the happiest I’d seen him.
He’s in a dream now, Sonja said tenderly. Her words burst through a sob. He’s going away. Let’s not disturb him. She leaned over Mooshum, smoothing his hair back and murmuring.
He opened his eyes once, smiled at her, closed his eyes again.
Maybe his heart is beating after all! Sonja knelt down and put her ear to his chest again, biting on her lip.
I hear a thump or two, she said, relieved.
Dazed, I watched Mooshum for signs of life. But he did not stir.
Pick my stuff up, said Sonja, her head still on Mooshum’s chest. Yes, she said. There’s a beat. They’re just coming really slow. And I think he took a breath.
I went around the room picking up her things, took them into the bathroom, and put them in the shopping bag. I brought the tracksuit and tennis shoes into the bedroom and turned my back as she put them on. I wouldn’t look at her.
When she was all dressed, she picked up the shopping bag holding her stripper outfit and dropped it at my feet.
Keep it, jerk off in it, I don’t care, she said. She plucked a fallen tassel I’d missed off the floor and threw it in my face.
I’m really sorry, I said.
Sorry doesn’t cut it. But I couldn’t care less. You know where I’m from?
No.
Outside Duluth. That’s a nice town, right?
Yeah, I guess.
I went to a Catholic school. I finished eighth grade. Know how I made it through?
No.
My mom. My mom was a Catholic. Yeah. She went to church. She went—she worked the boats. Know what she did?
No.
She went with men, Joe. Know what that means?
I mumbled something.
That’s how I came along in the first place. She tried to keep her own money too. Know what that means, Joe?
No.
She got beat up a lot. She took drugs, too. And guess what? I never met my dad. I never saw him, but my mom was good to me sometimes, sometimes not, whatever. I quit school, had my baby. I did not learn nothing. Anything. My mom said if you got nothing, y
ou can strip. Just dance around, right? Don’t do nothing more, just dance around. I had a friend, she was doing it, making money. I said yes, I wouldn’t do any other stuff. Think I did something else?
No.
I got stuck in that life. Then I met Whitey, see. They open up more bars for dancing during the hunting season. Whitey courted me. Followed me around the circuit. Whitey started protecting me. He asked me to quit. Come live with me, he says. I didn’t ask if he would marry me. You know why, Joe?
No.
I’ll tell you. I didn’t think I was worth marrying, that’s why. Not worth marrying. Why should even an over-the-hill Elvis with a bridge for teeth, an old guy no more educated than me, a drunk who hits me, why should even a guy like that marry me, huh?
I don’t know. I thought . . .
You thought we were married. Well, no. Whitey did not do me that honor, though I got a cheap ring. I don’t give a rat’s ass now. And you. I treated you good, didn’t I?
Yes.
But all along you just were itching. Sneaking a good look at my tits when you thought I didn’t know. You think I didn’t notice?
My face was so red and hot that my skin burned.
Yeah, I noticed, said Sonja. Take a good look now. Close up. See this?
I couldn’t look.
Open your frickin’ eyes.
I looked. A thin white scar ran up the side and around the nipple of her left breast.
My manager did that with a razor, Joe. I wouldn’t take a hunting party. Think your threats scare me?
No.
Yeah, no. You’re crying, aren’t you? Cry all you want, Joe. Lots of men cry after they do something nasty to a woman. I don’t have a daughter anymore. I thought of you like my son. But you just turned into another piece a shit guy. Another gimme-gimme asshole, Joe. That’s all you are.
The Round House Page 22
