“With Samuel?” Chess asked. “No way.”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe I ain’t. I mean, he’s got a lot going for him. He’s got a job, he’s sober, he’s got his own teeth.”
“Yeah,” Checkers said. “Remember the one I dated? Barney?”
Chess remembered that Checkers always chased the older Indian men and never even looked at the young bucks. Checkers dated Indian men old enough to be her father. Once she went after Barney Pipe, a Blood Indian old enough to be her grandfather. “Jeez,” Chess had said after she first met the old man, “I know we’re supposed to respect our elders, but this is getting carried away.” Barney liked to take out his false teeth while dancing and usually dropped them in the front pocket of his shirt. One night, old Barney pulled Checkers really close during a slow dance, and his false teeth bit her.
“Do you remember Barney’s false teeth?” Chess asked.
“Damn right, I remember. I still have a scar. Biggest hickey I ever got,” Checkers said. “Samuel’s about the same age as Barney, enit?”
“Enit.”
“Man, Barney had a house, a car, and three pairs of cowboy boots.”
Samuel Builds-the-Fire wore a ragged pair of Kmart tennis shoes. The laces had been broken and retied a few times over.
“Indians would be a lot better off,” Chess said, “if we took care of our feet.”
“Yeah,” Checkers said. “And those cavalry soldiers would’ve been much nicer if the government had given them boots that fit. Ain’t nothing worse than a soldier with an ingrown toenail.”
“Samuel would be all right if he’d gotten a good pair of hiking boots when he was little.”
Chess tried to fix Samuel’s hair with her fingers. Then she took out her brush and went to work. Samuel breathed deeply in his sleep. Chess hummed a song as she brushed; Checkers pulled out her brush and sang along. The song, an old gospel hymn, reminded the sisters of the Catholic Church on the Flathead Reservation. Their hands stayed in Samuel’s hair, but their minds traveled back over twenty years.
“Hurry up!” Chess, age twelve, shouted at Checkers, who had just turned eleven. “We’re going to be late for church.”
The Warm Water sisters struggled into their best dresses, dingy from too many washes but still the best they owned, and hurried to Flathead Reservation Catholic Church.
“Father James says I get to sing the lead today,” Checkers said.
“Not if I get there first.”
Chess and Checkers pulled on their shoes and tiptoed into their dad’s room, which stank of whiskey and body odor. Luke Warm Water slept alone and dreamed of his missing wife.
“Hey, Dad,” Chess whispered. “We’re going to church. Is that okay?”
Luke snored.
“Good. I’m glad you agree. Do you want to come this time?”
Luke snored.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, either. Maybe next time?”
Luke snored.
“Don’t get mad at me. Jeez. If you walked into church, everybody might die of shock.”
“Yeah,” Checkers said. “The whole roof might fall down.”
The sisters walked to the church, which was one of those simple buildings, four walls, a door, a crucifix, and twenty folding chairs. Those folding chairs were multidimensional. Set them up facing the front, and they served as pews. Circle them around a teacher in the middle, and you had Sunday School. Push them up to card tables, and you feasted on donated food. Fold those chairs, stack them in a corner, and you cleared a dance space. Folding chairs proved the existence of God.
Chess and Checkers helped with communion and sang in the church choir. The sisters were the choir, but they sang loud enough to shake the walls.
“The louder we get,” Father James preached, “the better God can hear us.”
Chess and Checkers believed Father James. They sang until their lungs ached. Chess opened her arms wide and looked toward heaven; Checkers opened her arms wide and looked at Father James. Both sisters were in love.
“Do you remember all those gospel songs we used to sing?” Chess asked her sister as they continued to brush Samuel Builds-the-Fire’s hair.
“I remember.”
Chess and Checkers kept singing as they brushed, while Samuel dreamed of beautiful Indian nuns.
“Lucky fuckers,” Chief Walks Along said and threw the ball back to Lester. Samuel cut behind Lester, took a handoff, shrugged off Wilson and William, and launched a thirty-foot jumper.
“For Crazy Horse,” Samuel said as he released the ball.
SAMUEL & LESTER—2
TRIBAL COPS—0
“That’s traveling,” WalksAlong said.
“No way,” Samuel said. “You can’t make that call.”
“I can make any call I want. I’m Chief.”
“Yeah, that’s the only way you’re going to stop me. With a pistol.”
Lester squared off with the other five cops, danced like a boxer, flicked a few harmless jabs at the Heavy Burden brothers, and sprained his wrist.
“Our ball,” Samuel said.
As Thomas stood outside and the Warm Waters brushed Samuel’s hair, Victor dreamed. In his dream, his stepfather was packing the car. Victor had sworn never to say his parents’ names again. But his stepfather, Harold, roared to life and threw Victor’s mother, Matilda, into the trunk beside the dead body of Victor’s real father, Emery. Victor struggled to leave the nightmare, the naming, but his mother’s cries pulled him back. Matilda held tightly to Emery’s body in the trunk.
Where you going? Victor asked Harold.
Away.
Let me get my stuff.
I’ve already packed your stuff. Your suitcase is in the house.
Where we going?
You ain’t going anywhere with us. You can go any damn place you please, but I don’t want no Indian kid hanging around us no more.
Harold slammed the trunk shut, and the force knocked Victor to the ground. By the time he had gotten to his feet, Harold was sitting in the driver’s seat, turning the ignition. The car whined and whined but would not start.
Wait for me, Victor called and ran to the driver’s window. He pounded on the glass while Harold turned the key again. Victor ran into the house to find his suitcase. He ran from room to room. When he finally found it stuffed under a bed, he heard the car start outside.
Wait for me, Victor shouted and ran outside, dropping his suitcase. He ran after his stepfather’s car, followed him down the road as far as he could. He galloped down the pavement, his suddenly long hair trailing in the wind. He ran until his body lathered with sweat. He ran until he fell on all fours.
When he stood again, his head was shaved bald. Huge white men in black robes milled around.
What happened to your hair? a black robe asked.
It’s gone.
No, it’s not, the black robe said. He took Victor’s hand and led him through all the other black robes. The black robe and Victor walked down flights of stairs.
Are you tired? the black robe asked.
Yes.
Do you want me to carry you?
No.
The black robe lifted him anyway and carried him on his shoulders. Victor felt the hard muscles through the black robe. He knew that man could crush him. But the black robe carried him to the bottom of the stairs and into a large room. Paintings adorned every wall.