Winter Counts(5)

In his last few months, he was too tired to get out of bed and in terrible pain. Pain so bad, it was hard to be around him. I felt weak and worthless because there wasn’t anything I could do to help. I was scared too, scared to think about the possibility of him dying, and scared to talk about it with anyone.

Finally I gathered up my courage and asked the medicine man what I could do to help my father. The holy man was respected by our people, and I knew he’d have the answer. He told me I should go into the woods and pray. He said I should spend a full day and night up there, but I could stay longer if I needed to. He told me I shouldn’t eat or drink anything while I was praying. He said an animal might come and send me a message, maybe one of healing, and if I got a message, then I could end my prayers early and come home. He told me I should try not to sleep, but to listen to the birds and the animals and to keep praying.

I felt like a hero even though I hadn’t started the prayers yet. I imagined what my mom and sister would say when I got home from the prayers and they realized I’d saved him. I ran back home to start preparing for my vigil. I was pretty scared about going out there alone, but it would be worth it when I got back. I told my mom I’d be camping with my best friend. She was so distraught and worried about my dad’s condition that she didn’t ask about my plans.

I can’t remember much about the first day. What I remember is being massively bored, even though I tried to focus on my prayers. It was hard to be alone with no one to talk to, no TV to watch, no music to listen to. The hunger and thirst were overwhelming, and it was tough to concentrate on anything but my stomach. I daydreamed about hamburgers, french fries, frybread, ice cream. I tried to stay awake but fell asleep at some point and woke up at dawn the next day. I spent most of the second day curled up into a ball, holding my stomach and trying not to cry.

By the third day, I no longer thought about food. I prayed and wondered about my father, what I could do to heal him. In the evening, I slipped into some sort of dreamlike state, even though I was awake. I fell asleep at some point, and my dreams were really strange. I dreamed that a deer came by my camp, but the animal had two faces. I was so scared, I turned away from the creature. Later I dreamed that a white hawk flew in from the north and started speaking to me about my father and his life. It seemed like the bird was telling me I shouldn’t worry, that I should go home.

When I woke up from the dream, I decided I’d been gone long enough, and I went back. I knew I should visit the medicine man as soon as I could—after eating some food—and ask him about my dreams. He’d be able to tell me what they meant and how I could save my dad. But when I got back to my house, I could tell something was wrong. There were strange cars parked in our yard, and our dogs were missing. When I walked inside, my mom told me that my dad had passed away while I was gone. She hugged me and told me it was okay. But it wasn’t. I’d been away when he died and hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.

I stared at my hands while I fought back tears. I tried to say something to my mother, but no words would come. I’d thought that I’d be able to invoke the spirits to save my father, but all I’d done was miss a chance to comfort him when he made his journey.

I knew then that the Native traditions—the ceremonies, prayers, teachings—were horseshit. I believed I’d be the savior of the family, but all I’d done was make a fool of myself. I vowed that I’d never be tricked again by these empty rituals. From that moment forward, I’d rely upon myself only.

My sister handed me some burning sage, a sad look on her face. I took it and stomped on it. Long after the flame had gone out, I pounded that sage with my feet. My mother watched as I pulverized it. I kept at it until the plant vanished, only a green stain on the floor and a bittersweet aroma hanging in the air.





3


The next day, I watched a college basketball game on the TV above the bar while I waited for Ben Short Bear. I’d heard he was planning to run for tribal president, which didn’t surprise me. Ben was ambitious, which explained why he’d never liked me when I was dating his daughter. Although he’d never said anything, I knew he wanted Marie to end up with some doctor or lawyer, or at least somebody with a real job.

“Hello, Virgil.”

I drained the last of my Coke and turned around. He looked like he’d just come from a council meeting, wearing a dark-brown blazer and a silver bolo tie in the shape of an eagle. I saw he’d grown a little mustache the color of a dog’s asshole.

“Councilman.”

He frowned and sat down next to me. “Ben. No need to be formal here.” He signaled for a beer and placed a twenty down on the bar. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Tommy said you had a job.”

He scowled and took a drink of his beer. “You hear about that high school kid who died a few weeks ago, Paul Ghost Horse?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, the story going around is that he was another suicide. Sad, right? But that’s not it. I happen to know he overdosed. On heroin.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to say something.

“Okay. So what does this have to do with a job for me?” I slid an ice cube from the soda glass into my mouth.

“You know Rick Crow?”

I knew him. He was a real piece of shit—a mean drunk, a thief, and a liar. He always had some hustle working. Not to mention he’d been the leader of the kids who had tormented me when I was in school. He’d been the king of the bullies, the one who always went after the weaker kids. I’d been the weakest one back then. But not anymore.