LaRose(114)

There’s three thousand in there, he said to Hollis. I live a slight kind of life. So here you can start off to college. Quit the National Guards, my boy.

Hollis stepped forward and put his arms around Romeo, and as the two hugged, Romeo heard people clapping.

Well, f*ck me, thought Romeo, after the hug stopped and he stepped back. His faucets were going to burst.

His mom would be so proud, said Romeo all of a sudden, loudly, throwing his arms wide.

Hollis was looking at his father in concentration.

Who was she?

Charisma with a K, Lee with an i. Karisma Li.

Karisma Li? That sounds like a . . . Hollis was about to say name of an exotic dancer, stripper, but he stopped, perturbed.

Yes, said Romeo, I lost her to a Ph.D. program at the University of Michigan.

Let’s eat the cake now, said Josette, touching her mother’s arm. No more speeches.

Wait!

Sam walked smoothly forward holding out an eagle feather. It was a mature golden eagle tail feather, beaded at the base with leather fringe swooping down.

The most handsome feather I ever seen, hissed Malvern. He sundanced with that there feather, Sam. He dressed that feather up for Hollis.

Sam faced Hollis and said a prayer in Ojibwe. Everybody shushed everybody. The people who understood Ojibwe couldn’t hear, but now Sam was talking straight to Hollis. LaRose was listening as hard as he could.

As he listened, the floaty feeling of being with those other people came over LaRose, and he felt them come out of the woods. They wandered up and stood behind him. He felt their sympathy and curiosity. As he felt them move closer, LaRose noticed that the colors of the clothing that the living people wore sharpened and brightened. Yet he heard each word that the other people said distinctly, though all together it was a babble. He watched as they moved together and apart, frowned or laughed, in a dance of ordinary joy that kept moving and vanishing as soon as it happened, and moving again. More of the transparent people came walking out of the trees and stood with the others. Dusty wanted some cake. LaRose told him go ahead, and he walked over and got some cake. Nobody noticed Dusty was there except the dog, and perhaps Dusty’s mother, who turned in his direction and smiled in a perplexed way. The old-time woman with the feather in her hat said, You wait, they are going to get a package and it will be my time-polished bones. Ignatia walked slowly, but without the oxygen now. Two women he did not remember said, with amused affection, That Maggie. Watch out for her. Others spoke about how Hollis and Josette made such a good couple and how Ottie had one night told them to stand by the gate. He would be over there soon. Just look at him. He’s on his way. They sat on chairs made of air and fanned their faces with transparent leaves. They spoke in both languages.

We love you, don’t cry.

Sorrow eats time.

Be patient.

Time eats sorrow.

Josette served up the first piece of cake.

This is the most beautiful cake ever, said Hollis, his voice scratchy with emotion.

Wait! Wait for the cake song!

Oh no, said Josette. Cake song?

It was Randall, who had come late, but made his way straight to the front to stand with Landreaux. He had a hand drum and a big grin. Randall and Landreaux began to sing a song about how sweet the cake was, all full of sweetness like the life before Hollis, like the love everyone had for Hollis, and the love that Hollis felt for his people. It was a long-winded song and Hollis stood there in front of everyone, feeling a little foolish, holding his piece of cake, nodding, serious but filled with the happiness of the moment, though awkward, the sweetness, smiling along with the song.

Anyway, said Josette, edging around the table, still holding her cake spatula. You can quit the National Guard now, right?

No way, he said, surprised. I signed the papers.

Oh, Hollis.

Josette was staring straight ahead, standing next to him, and her voice was the voice of a woman.





Acknowledgments




RITA GOURNEAU ERDRICH, my mother, mentioned an Ojibwe family who allowed parents enduring the loss of a child to adopt their child—a contemporary act that echoes an old form of justice. Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad, Ralph Erdrich, for thirty-five years of National Guard drills. Thank you, Persia, for teaching Ojibwe immersion to a new generation of LaRoses; Pallas, for your close readings and constant cheer; Aza (see below); and Kiizh, Nenaa’ikiizhikok, Sky Woman, for calmly fixing our world. Thank you, Richard Stammelman; Dr. Sandeep Patel; James and Krista Botsford; Brenda Child; David Gizinski; Preston McBride; Jin Auh; Terry Karten, my editor; and Trent Duffy, my copy editor.

My grandfather Patrick Gourneau, Aunishinaubay, attended Fort Totten Indian Boarding School and Wahpeton Indian School. All his life, he wrote in his trained and beautiful script. Aza Erdrich used his boarding-school handwriting when she designed the cover of this book. In doing this, she connected us all with her great-grandfather and his great-aunt, our ancestor, the original LaRose.





About the Author


LOUISE ERDRICH is the author of fifteen novels as well as volumes of poetry, children’s books, short stories, and a memoir of early motherhood. Her novel The Round House won the National Book Award for Fiction. The Plague of Doves won the Anisfield-Wolf Book Award and was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize, and her debut novel, Love Medicine, was the winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award. Erdrich has received the Library of Congress Prize in American Fiction, the prestigious PEN/Saul Bellow Award for Achievement in American Fiction, and the Dayton Literary Peace Prize. She lives in Minnesota, with her daughters, and is the owner of Birchbark Books, a small independent bookstore.