Raven Stole the Moon (26 page)

They walked up to the bar and Eddie knocked on it loudly.

“Hey, barkeep!”

The kid looked up at Eddie with obvious annoyance. He was very good-looking, with the wide, round face that Jenna had seen in other Alaskan Indians, but with cheekbones that peeked through, giving him a unique, sculpted look.

“The guy across the street said you had rooms.” Eddie continued his invasion.

“Yeah,” the kid answered, bristling at Eddie. Jenna sensed that there was some dynamic going on that she clearly didn’t know about, and she certainly didn’t like.

“Well,” Eddie said, testily, “we’d like a couple, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” the kid said. “You folks here for the festival?”

“The festival?” Eddie asked. “What kind of festival?”

“We don’t have a festival,” the kid answered flatly.

Eddie’s cheeks flushed and Jenna could tell he was ready to make a fuss, so she tried to break in. She saw that the book the kid was reading was
The Sun Also Rises
, and she figured pretty much the only time a person reads that is in college. So she jumped into the ring.

“Hemingway? Are you in school?”

It was a feeble attempt, Jenna admitted to herself, but what else could she do? The guys were antlering, as usual. And, to Jenna’s surprise, the kid warmed to her. He softened and turned to her, maybe seeing this as a way to shoulder Eddie, or maybe he was completely sincere.

“Yeah. UA, in Anchorage. I go back in the fall.”

“English major?” Jenna asked.

He nodded. “Twentieth century.”

“Read any Djuna Barnes?” she asked. Jenna had been an English major in college, but that was a long time ago. Most of what she remembered was a vague wash of pages read late at night with eyes half open. But she remembered one class really well. It was on the expatriates. They had a cool professor, Nick something, who announced on the first day that nobody taught women writers enough, so he promised that for every book the class read that was written by a man, they would read one written by a woman. He was cute. Older, losing his hair, and he wore his glasses around his neck on one of those chains reserved for old lady librarians. There was something real sexy about him. He’d sit outside the building after class and smoke cigarettes with the students. Of course, the students he would sit with were all girls. All the girls liked him because he was so needy. A typical absentminded professor. His wife had died a few years earlier from some kind of cancer. A friend of Jenna’s slept with him. They went to his place and got real drunk and then they did it. She said he sucked in bed. He was constantly giving orders. He wanted this, he wanted that. She said it was boring. She got an A, Jenna got a B minus.

No matter. The important thing was that the kid hadn’t heard of Djuna Barnes. So Jenna went on.

“You know, Hemingway hated her. He named Jake Barnes after Djuna because Jake was such a dweeb, and he wanted everyone to know that he hated Djuna.”

“Why did he hate Djuna?”

“He wanted to sleep with her, but she blew him off. She was a lesbian, you know.”

The kid laughed. “That’s funny. I’ll check her out.” He got up from his stool and came around the counter.

“Is your dog staying?”

“He’s real quiet,” Jenna said, hopefully.

“As long as he doesn’t bark at night. Come on upstairs.”

He headed up a staircase and Jenna turned to Eddie, who was scowling at her.

“What can I say?” She shrugged. “Something about catching bees with honey?”

They went up into the dark hallway of the second floor. The kid opened four doors and gave a halfhearted attempt at presenting the rooms to Jenna and Eddie.

“Take your pick,” he said, and added, pointing to one of them, “we like to think of this one as the honeymoon suite.”

All the rooms were exactly alike except for the placement of the doors and the windows. Each had deep red shag carpeting that felt damp and had random spots of darkness, two lumpy single beds with brown bedspreads, and some generic bedroom furniture. Eddie and Jenna circled around, glancing into each room. The two front rooms seemed nicest, if any of them could seem nice, because they looked out over the street.

The kid had crouched down and was petting Oscar.

“You can push the beds together if you want,” he offered. “I told Dad that it looked like an
I Love Lucy
episode with these beds, but he won’t change them.”

Jenna and Eddie glanced at each other nervously. They hadn’t discussed the concept of sharing rooms or beds. Jenna kind of hoped all along that they’d get to a place that would have only one room left with a king-sized bed, and they would make some faces but agree to sleep on opposite sides of the bed and that maybe some sparks would happen and, well, who knows? But that wasn’t going to happen.

“I think we’re going to take separate rooms,” Eddie said.

“Fine with me,” the kid said with a shrug.

“You’re not expecting other people? We could share . . .” Jenna offered.

“Yeah, you know that summer rush.” The kid stood up and laughed sarcastically. “Sometimes we book months in advance. But because you guys are so nice, I’m going to give you the whole floor. No other guests are allowed. The place is yours.”

He moved over to the staircase.

“Let me tell you about our facilities. There’s no room service, no ice machine, no Coke machine, no television, no phone in your room, no concierge, no bellboy, no pool, no workout room. Basically, anything you might want, we don’t have. Think of it like you’re in a little Indian village that has no amenities of any kind. But, we do serve food downstairs. Mom makes it up. She’s the Motherfish, get it? You don’t get a choice. She just makes you something.
But
, on the good side, I know you guys are waiting for this—drumroll, please—Mom makes the best blueberry pie in the world. Trust me. When she asks if you want dessert, get it. It’s always blueberry pie.”

He smiled quickly and started down the stairs.

“Do we need to pay?” Jenna asked.

“Pay? When you leave. Twenty bucks a night. No credit cards, no checks.”

He was almost out of sight now, just his head.

“Is there a cash machine around here?”

The kid stopped and turned. He looked at Jenna seriously and held his finger up to his ear.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“A cash machine?”

“Hmm. I don’t know what that is. A cash . . .”

“Cash machine. You give it a card, it gives you cash?”

The kid shrugged and laughed to himself, mocking Jenna.

“You white people, I tell you, where do you come up with this stuff? You give it a card and it gives you cash? Man! I’d give all of my tribal land for something like that! A cash machine? I tell you what, I’ll give you this island if you give my people a cash machine. You give it a card and it gives you money? How does that work? Wow. First guns, then liquor, now this? This will really change things around here.”

He shook his head and disappeared down the stairs muttering “cash machine” to himself, and now Jenna was as mad at him as Eddie was.

Eddie looked at his watch.

“How about a walk on the beach before the festival?”

Jenna nodded, and they dropped their backpacks into the two front rooms and headed out.

T
HE BEACH WAS WILD
and untamed. Huge, sharp rocks jutted out of the sand and ran down toward the water. Large pieces of driftwood littered the beach along with clumps of sea grass that had been lined up in rows by the retreating tide. Around the rocks were tidal pools that were deep and clear, home to little see-through fish and tiny baby crabs. The smell of the ocean at low tide was pungent and almost disturbing—as if something left exposed to the sun was dying without the water to protect it.

Jenna took off her boots, rolled up her jeans, and walked out to where the water was quietly lapping against the beach. The muddy sand made a sucking sound when she lifted her feet. She looked up the beach and saw that Eddie had unclipped Oscar’s leash and was throwing a stick for him. Oscar didn’t quite have the game down, though. He was good at chasing the stick, but when he got to it, he just stood over it barking until Eddie arrived and threw it again. Jenna watched the two of them playing and it made her kind of sad. Their makeshift family. They were brought together by chance, and yet for some reason they fit. There seemed to be something holding them together. Jenna had even tried to leave Eddie, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t time for her to be alone yet. She didn’t know why, but something was keeping her there.

Off in the distance Jenna heard the voices of some children playing. Up ahead, on a point that jutted out into the water, she could see three little kids playing in the sand. Oscar heard them, too; he stopped guarding his stick and turned to look for the kids, with one ear flapped over his head like a beret. His nose twitched when he sighted the children, then he looked back at Eddie, who was heading toward him. At last, Oscar could hold himself no longer, and he took off down the beach toward the kids, barking a couple of times on the way to let them know he was coming. The kids looked up and stopped playing, waiting for the bounding dog to arrive.

Eddie fell into step with Jenna and they bumped shoulders.

“I guess little kids smell better than adults,” he said.

Jenna smiled at him and they continued up the beach toward the kids.

“So what was the deal back in the bar?” Jenna asked.

“What deal?”

“With you and the kid. Things were a little tense.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie pulled back, acting surprised. ”I didn’t notice.”

“Okay, buddy,” Jenna joked, “spill the beans.”

“I don’t know, it’s stupid, really. Sometimes it bugs me. That smart-ass kid, going to college. He probably doesn’t pay a penny of his tuition.”

“So?”

“So. I don’t know. It’s like, a long time ago, the Indians signed treaties. And the treaties say that they get half of all the fish in Alaska. How many Indians are there? They get half, and the rest of us have to split the other half. And the government comes in and tells us we don’t even get our half, because if we took half and the Indians took half, all the fish would be gone. So we only get a small part of our half so all the fish aren’t depleted, and they get whatever they want.”

“And that’s unfair.”

“Yeah. I think so. Don’t you?”

“Well, let’s see. Let’s pretend that a long time ago my grandmother took over your house, back before you were born, when your father lived there.”

“Why would she want my house?”

“She has a big family. She needs more space. So she comes with a baseball bat and takes over. And your family is told they can live out in your backyard. But, to make things fair, your family can have half the water that comes into the house.”

“I don’t think I like this conversation anymore.” Eddie smirked.

“Time passes,” Jenna went on, “and now the inside of the house belongs to me, because I’m in line, and you’re still living in the backyard. I invite a bunch of my friends to move on in with me and we all love it there. But—”

“There’s always a but.”

“But . . . we don’t think it’s fair that you get half of the water. You can’t use it all. We need more because we’re more people. So we tell you that you can’t have your water anymore. You’re only going to get one tenth of the water from now on. How do you feel?”

“Victimized.”

“Screwed?”

“Violated. We had a deal.”

“Okay.” Jenna smiled. “Now, contextualize.”

“Sure. What you’re talking about is a completely implausible, unbelievable situation with no basis in reality. The fact is, the fishing treaties were signed a hundred years ago and they’re out of date. Things change.”

Jenna nodded thoughtfully. Oscar had reached the kids on the beach and was giving them a good sniffing over.

“You’re right,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, by the way,” Jenna continued. “What was that other thing they signed? It was a kind of treaty. You know . . . the Constitution! That’s it. They signed the Constitution a
long
time ago. I guess that’s out of date, too. We should throw it away, too, don’t you think?”

Eddie looked sideways at Jenna and gave her a sly smile.

“Very clever,” he said. “I don’t think I like you anymore.”

Jenna reached out and slipped her thumb through the belt loop on the back of Eddie’s jeans.

“Let me go,” Eddie protested.

“Nope. I’m reeling you in,” Jenna said, playfully tugging at Eddie’s jeans.

“Oh, now you’re reeling me in? This morning you cut me loose and told me you’d call me in a couple of weeks. Then you used me to get to where you wanted to go. Now you’re lecturing me on treaty rights. What’s next?”

Jenna shrugged and took her hand away.

“What do you want next?”

“I want you to respect me as a man,” Eddie joked, and then he turned and ran up the beach to where Oscar and the kids were, leaving Jenna to watch from a distance as they all got to know each other. There was talking and pointing, questions and answers, then the whole group of them headed off down the beach and out of Jenna’s sight.

Jenna was still so tired from the night before that she lay down on the sand to rest a bit. The sun was still above the treetops, but it was about six and the shadows were getting longer and darker. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds. Birds, water, wind. And she quickly fell backward into a light sleep.

“L
ADY, LADY,”
a small voice chimed. Jenna opened her eyes and saw a young Indian boy, maybe six or seven, wearing nothing but cutoff jeans, standing over her with Oscar.

“Lady, lady,” he kept repeating.

“Yes?” Jenna smiled up at him, really wanting to return to her sleep.

“Eddie said to get you. It’s time to eat.”

“Where is Eddie?”

The kid looked over his shoulder down the beach and pointed. Then he turned back to Jenna and waited patiently for her to respond to his request.

“What’s your name?” Jenna asked.

“Michael.”

“Michael, nice to meet you. I’m Jenna.”