Episode Ten: The Aftermath; The Expulsion; After the Championship, After the Sellout, After the War
The Sacred Clown's Modern West Trilogy
The Aftermath
“In the circus of treaties and traitors, the first blow always lands on those who trust the ringmaster.” ~ the Clown
Tension crackled in the council chamber as the news spread. “He told them what?” Chairman Storm Walker asked no one in particular. Waving the Bismarck newspaper he sputtered, “He didn’t even tell us that the Tribal council was invited to this meeting!” he moaned.
“He’s called ‘He She’ for a reason” Lou Wolf Spirit muttered, shaking his head. “He’s confused about who he is in more than one way. I warned all of you that he was different. It was my mistake to think he might be useful.”
“We were right when we called them, ‘Thieves Congregated to Rob Indians of Their Only Remaining Assets’” Storm Walker said.
“We just didn’t suspect that our own lawyer would throw us under the bus,” Wolf Spirit said. “Looks like us Indians couldn’t even get a seat on the back of that bus now. They just told us where to get off. Turns out that He She is more than just a sneaky little bastard. I make a motion that we kill him now.”
He made us out to be a people with no ambition or capability—said we weren’t fit to tend our own land or manage our own affairs,” Storm Walker complained. “This after living among us for three months. We should have known he was a problem after he waived around that Fort Laramie Treaty in front of us and threated to arrest any whose lips touched alcohol. You got him going with that crazy Italian joke, Lou.”
“I don’t think there’s much that can be done,” Antelope Ears pontificated. “What’s done is done. I’m happy to write our Congressional delegation to protest this decision but it sounds like they’re all in on the dam. My folks tell me that there’s already survey stakes in the ground up near Garrison and many bulldozers being delivered downstream off the reservation border. We’re vanished buffalo. We’re tits up in a ditch.”
“Those Top Lands are inhospitable, even to us, the strongest of all Indians,” Storm Walker said quietly. “I guess we’d better start packing.”
“Well, what about firing that little bastard and escorting him and his little teensy weensy pink suitcase off the Rez?” Storm Walker asked, “Can I have a second?” The motion passed unanimously.
“And don’t let that last cattle guard on the border rise up and hit him on the butt on his way out,” Wolf Spirit said.
The Expulsion
In the circus of human folly, the tears and the laughter always tumble out of the same tent. ~ the Clown
“Time for you go, Mamzer,” Judge Antelope Ears called out from the open window of the tribal police car. The earth lodge was dark. Mamzer emerged, smelling of snakes and festered shoes.
“You tried to wear out your welcome when you arrived. You tested our patience. We accepted you. But you sold out our Bottom Lands.” Albert continued, “We are tribal people. We look out for everyone’s well-being. We even looked out for you because we thought you were on our side, even when you tried to bully us, we thought you had a higher calling for all of us. Now we hang by a thread once again. We depend on each other to tell the truth so that we all might survive. You are now officially an outcast. And a damn liar.”
He She felt empty. “I don’t lie. I just forgot to tell you about the Commission meeting! I’m human! In any case, I certainly didn’t sell you Indians out,” He She countered. “I got you shiftless Sioux more than $5 million for your precious Bottom Lands that you were too lazy to use anyway. That’s more than enough free government money to plant all the precious trees and move your shacks up on top. Maybe even send your basketball players to college where they can learn something besides dribbling a ball.”
“We’re not Sioux. We’re Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara! You don’t get anything right when it comes to Indians do you, He She?”
“My name’s not He She! How could you, as an officer of the court, sink so low as to use that name? I’m also not queer or low!”
“Low? Queer? You want to talk about low? Queer? Where does betrayal fit in your world?”
“I never lie. You know that!”
“I don’t know that, especially now. We tolerate a lot of bad behavior on the Rez. Behavior that might get you run out of a White town. But this takes the cake. Now you’re getting run out of an Indian town.”
He She sighed.
“Get your little pink suitcase, we can make the 7:00 pm train if we hurry.”
“Do I get to call a lawyer?”
“You’re the only lawyer around these parts. Let’s go.”
They drove in silence out of the Bottom Lands to the Top Lands and down to into Bismarck. When they arrived, Antelope Ears pointed to the train depot, “Take it from here,” he said.
“Fuck you, Navajo bastard,” Grabbing his pink satchel, He She slammed the door hard. “I know exactly what to do.”
Antelope Ears shrugged and drove off. A ghastly figure slithered from the shadows almost immediately. It was Colonel Pick. “Howdy, Mr. Mamzer. Need a lift?”
After the Championship, After the Sellout, After the War
“Time wounds all heels.” ~ Marshall Reid
After being stripped of the title and now known as a liar, Eric Bimdahl had left school early to enlist in the Army. He’d been badly wounded in rural Germany in the last months of the war. Shipped stateside, he’d spent seven months recuperating at Fitzsimmons Hospital in Denver. While there, he’d read North Dakota newspapers sent by his mother. Sue hadn’t recovered from having the basketball title unceremoniously stripped from Lakota High School and felt intense guilt about not saying a peep about Eric’s age before the title game. But other people in Lakota had known and if it didn’t bother them, why should it bother the mother? If only that damn superintendent of schools hadn’t ratted them out. If only he’d kept his righteous mouth shut. The result had been devastating, one more shameful thing in a long string.
Johnny Antelope Ears’ fate was more on the upside. His time in the Marines had passed without major incident. He’d fought his way through the Pacific Theater, killing as many Japanese as circumstances allowed. Brave beyond words, he’d received a battlefield promotion in Guam to the rank of Lance Corporal. He’d fathered a son on Fort Berthold before leaving. That boy was now being raised by his grandfather, Judge Albert. The boy’s name was Johnny, Jr.
Bimdahl’s bones had mended enough to return to his mother’s funeral in Lakota in 1946. Fifty-two years was a young age for Sue Bimdahl to depart this world, but it had been a hard, unforgiving life. The town loved her cooking but hated her looseness. The lout boyfriend, Sven, was the one of only four people at the funeral. Everyone else stayed home.
Drunk, hunched over, and in the final stages of toothlessness, Sven sobbed, “She was good, that Sue, she was real good. Made me happy many times!”
Eric stared at the cheap naugahyde coffin, the latest in mass produced burial products made available after the war. He tried to Ignore Sven and focus on the Lutheran minister who was conducting the ceremony quickly and under protest.
“I seen you walk in, son. You don’t look good, the way you walk. Not like your old basketball days when you almost got us a state title before everyone found out your real age.”
Eric bit his lip. From the corner of his eye, he caught the profile of a heavyset man silently weeping, dabbing his eyes. Who was that? The ceremony concluded as rapidly as the pastor could gracefully conclude it, and he scurried away. Standing for a minute on the church steps, Eric felt a hand on his shoulder.
“I think I’m your father, son.” The heavyset man said. Donning his campaign hat, he continued, “I’m sorry for your mother. She was a loving woman, but she never told me about you. I only found out when I saw her obituary.”
“All these years, and you never knew?” Bimdahl blurted. “Everyone around here knows everyone’s business! It’s always been that way!’
“Ain’t that’s the God’s truth?” Sven slurred. He’d been eavesdropping but had only heard Eric’s assault on the character of Lakota’s citizens. “Say! I know you!” pointing at the heavyset man. “You used to be our highway patrolman up and down Highway 2! Isn’t your name Ole Olson?”
The heavyset man’s face reddened, and his jaw hardened. “Yes, that’s right. And a few other places in North Dakota, too, like Elbowoods the town that you rotten bastards tried to cheat out of a basketball title. My newfound son, Eric, and his mom were part of that conspiracy, but they weren’t the only backsliders in this godforsaken town. I’ve got a son on Fort Berthold, too, so I get it both ways.”
Wow, the Clown thought. Titles get stripped, secrets get buried, and fathers pop up at funerals like rabbits from a hat. Looks like they’ve all got a hand in the krumkake jar and several skeletons in the backseat.
“Well, the Curse of Odin comes home to roost!” Sven bawled. “You and me shared the same girlfriend! Was she a goer for you, too? We got a lot of things we could talk about! You know. Compare cards! Nudge, nudge.”
Blood drained Eric’s skull and he felt wobbly. His wounded leg buckled, and he found himself prone on the sidewalk staring up at the highway patrolman’s boots. “You have a son on Fort Berthold? What’s his name?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out. You’ve seen him before. Think about it.” Patrolman Olson retreated to his car, hopped in, and slammed the door. “Ice Holes can’t top Warriors!” he yelled as he started the cruiser. Sven helped Eric to his feet. They watched as the flathead V-8 sped out of town and back on to Highway 2.
Back on the Rez things were looking a little better. Johnny was a decorated war hero. Johnny Junior was now five. Albert Antelope Ears beamed at the dancers and drummers who welcomed his son home. Only Man was the highest voice in the chorus, “Warrior, you have won the war. you have gone through the smoke. You are a brave man,” he sung.
“You’ve done very well, Johnny. You’ve made your people proud. You were cheated out of a state championship, but you were honorable. Your family and young son rejoice with you,” Albert Antelope said with his chest puffed out. “You don’t look totally like an Arikara, but that doesn’t matter. We welcome all sorts among us. We even welcomed those Buffalo looking guys with the dark skin and nappy hair that paddled in with Lewis and Clark.”
“You’re right, Dad. I got the same grief about my greenish eyes and light hair when I was in the service. Some couldn’t believe I was Indian. They thought I looked Italian. You know, like Berthold. God rest his soul and his cheap red wine.” Both men chuckled.
“There’s a job for you over at the high school. They’re looking for a basketball coach. I told them you’d be the best.”
