Winter Counts(11)

As my nephew lay dying in the little house, I sent my words up to the Creator.

Please don’t let this child die. I will do anything, just spare him.

Spare him.





5


The noise of the breathing machines and the sharp smell of the cleaning fluids used by the hospital were giving me a headache. I stared over at Nathan, still unconscious and hooked to a respirator. His chest moved up and down slowly; the breathing apparatus on his face was like a cruel imitation of the masks worn by heyoka clowns at ceremony. I barely recognized him, with his pale skin and swollen eyes. What had happened to the boy I’d been eating pizza with just days before?

The night before, Nathan had flatlined but had somehow come back. One of his lungs had collapsed, and I’d been told he’d need help breathing for a while. The doctor wasn’t sure yet if he’d sustained any brain damage because of the lack of oxygen. He’s going to make it, he’s going to live, I kept telling myself to tamp down my dread. The Creator, or someone, had answered my prayers.

The doc told me that Nathan had possibly taken heroin mixed with fentanyl, a deadly combination. She’d told me she’d seen a lot of these overdoses lately, and that the kids probably hadn’t even known they were taking a mix of the two drugs. The doc said fentanyl was fifty times more powerful than heroin and much more likely to cause a person to OD. I didn’t understand why these ratfuck dealers would sell a drug that could kill their customers, but she said that these lethal drugs were actually a selling point. The doc even said the nickname on the street for heroin cut with fentanyl was Pawnee.

Jesus Christ. The Pawnee tribe were the bitter enemies of the Lakota people. We battled them for a hundred years, especially after many of the Pawnee aligned themselves with the white men in the 1800s. It was too much to take that the poison killing our kids bore their name.

At that moment, I flashed to a vision of Rick Crow in my mind. My hatred was so strong that I felt stomach acid begin to churn upward, burning my gut and throat. Then my phone buzzed, startling me. Not many people had my number, and that’s how I liked it.

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Marie.”

I paused for a second. I hadn’t spoken to Marie Short Bear for a long time. Not since she’d packed up her stuff and moved out of my place.

“Virgil, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“I heard Nathan was sick.”

Sick. That was one way to put it. “He overdosed last night.”

“I know. I ran into Ty Bad Hand at Turtle Creek this morning, and he told me.”

“Who’s that?”

“He works for tribal police. How’s Nathan doing?”

I thought about how to answer this. “They say he’s going to live, but they’re not sure if he has, uh, brain damage. He’s unconscious—hooked up to a machine to help him breathe. They say he’ll be out for a few days.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

I realized I was starving, but I didn’t want to ask Marie for anything. I’d caused her enough trouble.

“No, I’m good. Right now, I just need to wait and let him heal.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll burn some sage tonight.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“This is so sad; you know I always loved Nathan. He’s a good kid.”

I felt my heart tearing, and my voice broke. “Yeah, he is. He’s had some problems, but—”

“You hang in there, all right? The Creator is going to look after him. He’s going to make it, I can feel it. Stay strong and have a brave heart, kiksuyapi.”

My throat was locking up, so I stayed silent.

“You still there?” she said.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking.”

“Nathan’s in high school now, right?”

“Yeah. Todd County.”

“Does he like it there?”

“I think so,” I said. “He’s doing okay with his grades, not great.”

“Is he playing any sports? Or clubs?”

“No. Not really his thing. He fools around with video games, listens to a lot of music.”

“Hey,” she said, “I don’t want to pry, it’s not my business, but is he hanging out with any, you know, bad influences?”

I stopped for a second while I considered this. “Not really. He did some stupid stuff a while back. His best friend is this kid, Jimmy Two Elk. They play their games, run around.”

“You know what he needs?”

“What?”

“A yuwipi. Heal him, get his spirit right. I could get Jerome Iron Shell or Pete Ictinike to run the ceremony after he gets out of the hospital.”

Oh no, not this again. The last thing Nathan needed was some goddam ritual like a yuwipi. I’d never been to one, but I’d heard about it. The medicine man comes to the sick person’s house, and his family tape up all of the windows and doors so it’s pitch-black inside. The medicine man gets tied up tightly with a quilt, and then the spirits supposedly come to the room and heal the sick person. No thanks. Right now what Nathan needed was bed rest and oxygen so his lung could heal. And his brain.

“You working with Jerome now? Training to be a medicine woman?” I asked her, trying to change the subject. Back when we were together, Marie had been convinced that she’d had a vision, that the spirits had come to her and asked her to become a medicine woman. Marie had told her vision to Jerome, but he told her she wasn’t ready.