The Only Good Indians(57)

Cassidy nods that him, too, yeah.

“ESPN’s on at eleven, yeah?” the boy says to his dad.

“It’s on again at two,” his dad says back.

“Speaking of numbers …” Gabriel says, squinting like it’s painful to have to be bringing this up.

The dad passes him five bills. Cassidy tracks this money into the pocket of Gabriel’s jeans, off and folded on the arm of the chair.

“You ever wonder where the term buck-naked comes from?” Gabriel says, down to his saggy boxers.

“Listen close,” Cassidy warns, stepping out of his boots, “you’re about to hear some good lies.”

“Settlers moving into Indian territory used to call us bucks, back when,” Gabriel says with authority, looking around for what to lean on while he one-legs it out of his boxers. “Because we were always horny, I guess, right? They could tell we were because we were naked, since Levi’s hadn’t been invented yet. So, you know, them Indians coming in to the trading post, They’re all naked again, Jim, what are we going to do? Look, look, hide the women, those bucks are naked, man, they’re buck-naked …”

“Told you,” Cassidy says, folding his pants over the back of his chair.

“Isn’t there usually singing or a drum or something?” the dad says, studying the mound the lodge is.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Gabriel says, balling his boxers up in his hands, being sure they’re touching every last one of his fingers, the boy notes with distaste.

“I’ve got some tapes,” Cassidy says, making like to go over to his camper.

“Don’t worry about it,” the dad says.

“It’s just—” Cassidy says, but this dad does his right hand flat, palm down, and moves it from left to right, cutting this idea off. It’s a hand signal the boy—you can smell it on him, can see it on his face—remembers from a picture book in elementary: how the old-time Blackfeet used to talk with sign language when they needed to.

He hates being from here. He loves it, but he also hates it so much.

“Just send him in when he’s ready,” Gabriel, naked, standing there like a dare, says to the dad, and holds the flap of the sweat lodge open for Cassidy to duck in. “Cool?”

The dad nods a curt nod and an ass flash later Gabriel is in the lodge as well, the Army coat flapping shut behind him.

“You’re serious about this, really?” the boy says to his dad.

“He always has a bunch of dogs out here …” the dad says back like a question, shining his flashlight all around, holding it at his shoulder exactly like the cop he can’t stop being even for one night.

The boy leans back against the car and peels out of the scrimmage jersey all at once, turning it inside out in the process, so it’s shiny white now. He folds it neatly over his arm, all the same, like turning it inside out had been just what he wantd to do. The air prickles his skin. He rubs his arms with his hands, hisses air out through his clenched teeth.

“That horse is watching me,” he says.

“Sounds like it’s you watching the horse,” his dad says back, still studying the night for the chance of dogs.

“So what am I supposed to do in there?”

“Figure it out.”

“It’s bullshit, you know.”

“When I was fourteen I knew everything, too.”

The boy shakes his head, kicks his shoes off, is already counting the seconds of this night.





THREE LITTLE INDIANS


“This lodge is dank, Nate,” Gabe says when the shape of Nate finally darkens the flap. He’s been saving that line special for the kid, just so he can hate on it. It’s good to give them focus.

“It’s Nathan,” the kid says, settling in on the missing point of the triangle, the chipped-out little pit between them already disappearing in the darkness again now that the flap’s shutting. Evidently Victor was holding it up for his son to enter. Probably making sure Gabe wasn’t making it actually dank in here. It’s a sweat lodge, not a human-sized bong.

“Welcome,” Cass says, still playing the ancient Indian.

Gabe hits him in the chest with the back of his hand.

“First time I did this, I wore a swimsuit,” Gabe says, trying to dial them all up to today instead of a hundred years ago.

“Thought it was supposed to be all hot in here or something,” Nate says.

“You ready?” Cass asks.

“We can’t see you nodding, man,” Gabe says. “I mean, if you’re nodding.”

“Ready, yeah,” Nate says.

“And this isn’t some toughest-Indian-in-the-world thing,” Cass says. “You’re supposed to get hot, but not hot enough to pass out.”

“Well, that’s where the visions are,” Gabe says. “But whatever.”

“Think I’ll be all right.”

“You’ll think this is stupid, me saying it now,” Gabe says. “But the cool air, it’ll be down near the ground. If you need a good breath.”

“And it’s about praying, too,” Cass says. “Talking to whoever you need to talk to, all that.”

“With my dad listening right outside,” Nate says.