An Online Short Story by Sherman Alexie
A Reservation Table of the Elements
By Sherman Alexie
Aluminum
1.
My father quit drinking by use of a simple formula. He bought beer only with the
money he saved from recycling the aluminum Coors Light cans he emptied by drinking. At 19 cents a pound for recycled cans, it was the Reservation Law of
Diminishing Returns. Nobody can be alcoholic and ecological at the same time.
2.
Little Johnny Wonder Horse lost his fingers on Independence Day when he dropped a lit M-80 firecracker into an empty Diet Pepsi and held the can until it exploded. He ran to his HUD house and tried to open the door for a full minute before he realized he couldn't turn the knob because his fingers were gone. When they asked him later why he'd kept hold of the can, Johnny said, "Because I wanted to know how it would feel."
3.
Standing outside the Tribal Trading Post during a blizzard, there is nothing more beautiful than snow fallen onto the dark hair and braids of these Spokane Indians, nothing more beautiful than snow fallen onto the stray dogs and beer cans still on the sidewalk. If I light a fire in the dumpster, everything will change, transform, reinvent itself. If I light a fire in the dumpster, the Indians will dance, will forget the cold, will dance and forget the cold. If I light a fire in the dumpster and throw beer cans in, they will burn until their brand names are gone and the Spokane Indians will sing all night long, will sing all night long.
4.
Just after Victor told Suzy that he would love her forever he grabbed a random can, took a drink, expected beer, but got a mouthful of ashes instead.
5.
Pick up a chair and smash it against the walls, swing it so hard that your arms ache for days afterwards, and when all you have left in your hand are splinters, that's what we call history. Pick up an aluminum can and crush it in your fingers, squeeze it until blood is drawn, and when you cannot crush the can into any other shape, that's what we call myth.
Hydrogen
Crazy Horse
never died.
Don't you know
he was the one
who climbed on top
of the Hindenburg
and lit
a match?
Neon
1.
Victor got a job working the graveyard shift at a neon sign factory, worked so many hours that one morning he looked at the sun, looked directly at the sun, and said, "I'm not sure anymore what's real and what ain't."
2.
Homeless and hopeful, I walked down Monroe Street until I saw a neon sign in the window: ALL TYPES OF LOANS CONSIDERED. I stared through the glass until I got the attention of the white man inside. He raised his hands in that gesture which means What the hell do you want? I pointed at the sign and pointed at my chest, made an empty circle with both hands, and pointed at my heart. He looked at me for a while, smiled, touched his chest, and raised his index finger, meaning he only had one heart. I nodded my head and walked down Monroe Street until I saw another neon sign in a window: BUY SELL TRADE.
3.
Sometimes, it's almost nearly beautiful and almost always close to tragic when the lights of a city are reflected in the eyes of an Indian miles away from his/her reservation.
4.
If you put your ear really close to a buzzing beer sign hanging in the window of the Powwow Tavern, you can hear horses thundering, you can hear rifles, you can hear a cavalry sword leaving its scabbard.
5.
"Your mother and I fell in love in a cowboy bar in Spokane, two-stepping to a song I can't even remember. All I can remember is your mother's hair, so long and black I wanted to tell her it looked like the Spokane River must have before the whites ever showed up. Even now, when anybody asks me what is my favorite color, I just smile and say "Adell's Black Hair Reflecting Red Neon," and you know that ain't in nobody's Crayola box.
Copper
When the pipes froze
last winter on the reservation
I crawled beneath the HUD house
with a blowtorch and discovered
America.
Oxygen
1.
On the night Lester FallsApart drank two bottles of vodka, I watched over him as he lay on his stomach on the powwow grounds. I listened to him breathe. Then, he did not breathe, he did not breathe, he did not breathe. I touched his arm and he started again, oxygen rushing into his body like salmon swimming upstream.
2.
During our first aid class, all the Indians told our white instructor that the CPR dummy named Annie wasn't real enough for a reservation. So we got out the crayons and gave her warpaint. "Well, if she's a warrior, what happened to her?" asked the instructor. "She had a heart attack," I said, "trying to save the rest of us."
3.
An Indian man drowned here on my reservation when he passed out and fell faced down into a mud puddle. There is no other way to say this.
4.
When I was very young, I liked to stand just outside the dance hall where traditional
and fancydancers would take breaks, their breath coming quick and heavy, their bodies slick with sweat and dreams. I loved their smell, the way they moved as
different animals. I remember one young dancer, a Flathead boy, who was the most
beautiful dancer I had ever seen. He never got tired. But I also remember that same
Flathead boy running from the powwow police after the dancing was over. We ran together and hid in the rodeo grounds. He pulled out his cigarettes, offered one to the
gods like a good Indian, and shared another with me. It was the first and last cigarette I ever smoked. I remember I couldn't breathe. Soon, the powwow police
followed the smell of smoke, the flash of a struck match, and shined their flashlights
on us. The Flathead boy punched me hard in the stomach and ran away into the dark. He left me so surprised and hurt that I never thought to run away myself. As I
sat in the back of the Tribal Police Car, the deputies all made funny hand gestures,
pointed at me, and laughed. I remember I still couldn't breathe.
5.
When the Indian woman kissed me, I breathed deep, tasted her stories, pulled her stories into my lungs, and they were good. It was all good.
© Sherman Alexie. This story first appeared in First Indian on The Moon (Hanging Loose Press). Online Source
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