The Night Watchman(66)

“Pixie? I mean, Patrice?”

Well, well. He was finally calling her Patrice.

“How about tea? Juggie sent some fresh-baked white rolls.”

“Sure. Patrice?”

“All right, what?”

“Don’t you think this baby might need a warm bag? And a cradle board?”

Patrice had discussed this with her mother. “He does need a warm bag. We were thinking of how to make it just yesterday.”

“It needs to be two layers of blanket, with cattail down between the layers. That’s how Juggie does it. And the cradle board, me, I can make that.”

He said the last part offhand, but it was a big thing to make the cradle board. With their people, anyway, it was the father who made it.

“Okay, you do the board,” said Patrice, as if it were just any old thing. “We’re getting the blanket for the cradle board. Otherwise we have to cut one of ours in half.”

“You each have one blanket?”

“Yes,” said Patrice, “of course.”

“Only one?”

She saw what he was getting at. How poor they must seem. But she was ready for that. As he must have noticed, she had taken some packages from her carrying sack. Some flour and bacon, some carrots and onions. Sugar in a twist of paper. Tea.

“As soon as I get my paycheck next week, we’re going to have two blankets each and one for the baby. I have been saving.”

“You can always get army blankets free at the mission.”

“I know,” said Patrice. “But Zhaanat doesn’t like those. She says they have diseases in them.”

“A lot of old people think that.”

“She’s not old.”

“But she’s from an older time.”

“She is,” said Patrice, pouring out the tea. That was as good a way as any to describe her mother. From an older time. The baby was asleep, but Wood Mountain kept holding him close to his body, inside his jacket, along his arm.

“Also,” said Patrice, touching the baby’s face, “Mama will bead the top blanket when she has the chance.”

“Patrice. I gotta ask. Do you think Vera’s coming back?”

Patrice turned and picked up the cup of tea. She gave it to Wood Mountain. Her hand began to shake. She’d had another dream, the same old dream. A small room. A dungeon.

“Yes, I know she will.”

“How do you know?”

“I keep seeing her. I want to go back for her. But I don’t know where to look for her. Do you know anything? Have you heard anything from Bernadette?”

“No, but something she said keeps bugging at me.”

“What?”

“I heard her talk to somebody in the kitchen that time, and she said something that sounded like ‘she’s in the wood’ or ‘she’s in the wall.’ I couldn’t remember after. I even thought for a while she was really in the wall. But that would be impossible.”

Patrice remembered the voices. The stillness in the house. Her sense that Vera was very close. Her mouth went dry, she didn’t think she could listen to another word. She put her hands to her ears.

“No, wait.” Wood Mountain gently pushed her hands away from her ears. “Listen. Then I remembered ‘hold.’ ‘She’s in the hold.’”

“Hold?”

“Right. So that didn’t make sense until Louie was talking with a buddy of his who was in the navy and he said something about the hold of the ship. So then I thought about what Bernadette said. ‘She’s in the hold.’”

“There’s no ships around here, or ships down there.”

“There’s the Mississippi River, Patrice. And way up there, in our old tribal stomping grounds, the Gitchi Gumi, the Great Lakes. They have all kinds of ships.”

Patrice sat down with her tea and stared evenly at Wood Mountain. It made no sense to her.

“Ships. They’re filled with men.”

Wood Mountain looked away, took sips of his tea. Kept patting the sleeping baby. Finally he put the cup down and said to her, quietly, as if he didn’t want to wake the baby,

“Patrice. That’s why.”

But she shut her mind to what he said and walked back outside.





A Letter to the University of Minnesota




Dear Millie Cloud, You are perhaps surprised to hear from an old friend of your father, but Louis suggested that I write. Knowing that you recently conducted a study of economic conditions here on the reservation, I am writing to enlist your assistance. As you may know, a piece of serious news has reached us from Congress. According to House Concurrent Resolution 108, our tribe has been scheduled for termination. This is about the worst thing for Indians that has come down the pike. I firmly believe that this bill means disaster for our people.

I am writing to request your assistance in testifying before the United States Senate Committee on Indian Affairs. We are told that this testimony must be presented in March, but haven’t the exact dates as of yet. Your information at the earliest moment, and assistance in presenting it, would be of the utmost value.

Yours very truly, Thomas Wazhashk Tribal Committee Member and Committee Chair





The Chippewa Scholar