Part 2 (2/2)

”She's fine,” I surprised myself by saying. ”Just give her a chance.

”Chance. ” King tipped his beer up. ”Chance. She took her chance when she married me. She knew which one I took after.”

Then as if on cue, the one whom King did not take after drove into the yard with a squealing flourish, laying hard on his horn.

Uncle Gordie Kashpaw was considered good-looking, although not in the same way as his son King. Gordle had a dark, round, eager face, creased and puckered from being st.i.tched up after an accident. There was always a compelling pleasantness about him. In some curious way all the st.i.tches and folds had contributed to, rather than detracted from, his looks. His face was like something valuable that was broken and put carefully back together. And all the more lovable for the care taken.

In the throes of drunken inspiration now, he drove twice around the yard before his old Chevy chugged to a halt. Uncle Eli got out.

”Well it's still standing up,” Eli said to the house. ”And so am I.

But you,” he addressed Gordie, ”ain't.”

It was true, Gordie's feet were giving him trouble. They caught on things as he groped on the hood and pulled himself out. The rubber foot mat, the fenders, then the little ruts and stones as he clambered toward the front steps.

”Zelda's in there,” King shouted a warning, ”and Grandma too! ” Gordie sat down on the steps to collect his wits before tangling with them.

Inside, Uncle Eli sat down next to his twin. They didn't look much alike anymore, for Eli had Wizened and toughened while Grandpa was larger, softer, even paler than his brother. They happened to be dressed the same though, in work pants and jackets, except that Grandpa's outfit was navy blue and Eli's was olive green. Eli wore a stained, crumpled cap that seemed so much a part of his head not even Zelda thought of asking him to remove it. He nodded at Grandpa and grinned at the food; he had a huge toothless smile that took up his entire face.

”Here's my Uncle Eli,” Aurelia said, putting down the plate of JW food for him. ”Here's my favorite uncle. See, Daddy?

Uncle Eli's here. Your brother.”

”Oh Eli,” said Grandpa, extending his hand. Grandpa grinned and nodded at his brother, but said nothing more until Eli started to eat.

”I don't eat very much anymore. I'm getting so old,” Eli was telling us.

”You're eating a lot,” Grandpa pointed out. ”Is there going to be anything left?”

”You ate already,” said Grandma. ”Now sit still and visit with your brother.” She fussed a little over Eli. ”Don't mind him. Eat enough.

You're getting thin.”

”It's too late,” said Grandpa. ”He's eating everything.”

He closely watched each bite his brother took. Eli wasn't bothered in the least. Indeed, he openly enjoyed his food for Grandpa.

”Oh, for heaven sake Zelda sighed. ”Are we ever getting out of here?

Aurelia. Why don't you take separate cars and drive us in?

It's too late to see that gravestone now anyway, but I'm darned if I'm going to be here once they start on those cases in the back of June's car.”

”Put the laundry out,” said Grandma; ”I'm ready enough. And you, Albertine”-she nodded at me as they walked out the door-”they can eat all they want. just as long as they save the pies. Them pies are made special for tomorrow.”

”Sure you don't want to come along with us now?” asked Mama.

”She's young,” said Aurelia. ”Besides, she's got to keep those drunken men from eating on those pies.”

She bent close to me. Her breath was sweet with cake frosting, stale with cigarettes. JAIN ”I'll be back later on,” she whispered. ”I got to go see a friend.”

Then she winked at me exactly the way June had winked about-OEM her secret friends. One eye shut, the lips pushed into a small selfdeprecating question mark.

Grandpa eased himself into the backseat and sat as instructed, arms spread to either side, holding down the plies of folded laundry ”They can eat!” Grandma yelled once more. ”But save them pies! ” She bucked forward when Aurelia's car lurched over the hole in the drive, and then they shot over the hill.

”Say Albertine, did you know your Uncle Eli is the last man on the reservation that could snare himself a deer?”

Gordie unlatched a beer, pushed it across the kitchen table to me.

We were still at that table, only now the plates, dish pans of salad, and pies were cleared away for ashtrays, beer, packs of cigarettes.

Although Aurelia kept the house now, it was like communal property for the Kashpaws. There was always someone camped out or sleeping on her fold-up cots.

One more of us had arrived by this time. That was Lipsha Morrissey, who had been taken in by Grandma and always lived with us. Lipsha sat down, with a beer in his hand like everyone, and looked at the floor.

He was in ore a listener than a talker, a shy one with a wide, sweet, intelligent face. He had long eyelashes.

”Girl-eyes,” King used to tease him. King had beat up Lipsha so many times when we were young that Grandma wouldn't let them play on the same side of the yard. They still avoided each other. Even now, in the small kitchen, they never met each other's eyes or said h.e.l.lo.

I had to wonder, as I always did, how much they knew.

One secret I had learned from sitting quietly around the aunts, from gathering shreds of talk before they remembered me, was Lipsha's secret, or half of It at least. I knew who his mother was.

And because I knew his mother I knew the reason he and King never got along. They were half brothers. Lipsha was June's boy, born in one of those years she left Gordic. Once you knew about her, and looked at him, it was easy to tell. He had her flat pretty features and slim grace, only on him these things had never even begun to harden.

Right now he looked anxious and bit his lips. The men were still talking about the animals they had killed.

”I had to save on my sh.e.l.ls,” said Eli thoughtfully; ”they was dear.

”Only real old-time Indians know deer good enough to snare,” Gordie said to us. ”Your Uncle Eli's a real old-timer.”

”You remember the first thing you ever got?” Eli asked King.

King looked down at his beer, then gave me a proud, sly, sideways glance. ”A gook, ” he said. ”I was in the Marines.”

Lipsha kicked the leg of my chair. King made much of having been in combat but was always vague on exactly where and when he had seen action, ”Skunk,” Gordie raised his voice. ”King got himself a skunk when he was ten.”

”Did you ever eat a skunk?” Eli asked me.

”It's like a piece of cold chicken,” I ventured. Eli and Gordic agreed with solemn grins.

”How do you skin your skunk?” Eli asked King.

King tipped his hat down, shading his eyes from the fluorescent kitchen ring. A blue-and-white patch had been st.i.tched on the front of his hat.

”World's Greatest Fisherman,” it said. King put his hands up in winning ignorance.

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