Indian Country Noir (Akashic Noir) by Sarah Cortez;Liz Martinez Page B

doesn't ever let its into her house. She gets down on their level
so she can look them in the eye and she says to them, "It's our
language. We say that instead of `Hello, how are you doing?'
A lot of people just say `She:kon,' like your grandma just did,
but that's like saying `Hey' instead of the whole greeting. And I wanted to say the whole thing the first time I met you two
very important people."

    Jake stares at her like he can make some sense of it through
the steadiness in her eyes. Tom hovers closer to her, like he
doesn't get it but he likes her open face and lightly balanced
feet.
    With Shana by my side, I feel my anger start to drain and I
can talk to my boys again. "Skennen means peace. And she:kon
means still. So it means `Do you still have the Great Peace?'
Are you all right? Are we still friends?" It means more than
that. It's asking if they're still part of the tribe, if they're okay
not just in their bodies, but in their minds and spirits, but I'm
trying to keep it simple. Shana's right. It's the perfect way to
greet my boys, instead of calling them Thing One and Thing
Two and beating up their grandmother. Thank God Shana's
here.
    Something flickers in Jake's eyes before he says, "We don't
do any of that Indian stuff." He looks to his grandmother for
approval.
    Somehow, it hurts even more that I thought I was getting
through to him. It's like a meat hook in my chest.
    Tom stares from me to his brother to his grandmother. He
doesn't know what to do.
    Mrs. Saunders does. "That's right, Jake. You know that
if your mother hadn't gotten mixed up with any of that stuff,
she'd be alive and taking care of you today."
    That stuff, That Indian stuff is me. Their father.
    So that's what she's been doing. Poisoning them against
me and making them hate themselves and their weak, dead
mother.
    I know this. I know this like I know which way is east
even when I wake up after a bender. I'm a sorry excuse for an Indian and maybe even for a human being, but I know people.
I know evil.

    "Tohsa sasa'nikon:hren," says Shana. Don't forget, she is saying. And I know what she means. Don't forget yourself. Don't
forget you are on probation. Don't let the woman rile you up
even as she's stealing your children away.
    But I am riled. I've spent most of my twenty-five years
hating myself and I don't want my boys sucked into the same
rigged game. I stand up straight. I keep my gaze on Jake and
Tom. "I'm Indian. You guys are Indian too." Mrs. Saunders
makes a noise, but I talk over her. "You may not think that's a
good thing, and maybe it's not. People either think you want
a handout or they want you to teach them some great big
secret New Age woo-woo bull-" I catch myself just in time
"-pucky, and they think you get everything for free. But we
founded this place and we're not going anywhere. We're Mohawks." This time Shana makes a noise. She calls its Kanien-
kehaka, which means People of the Flint, cause Mohawk
means "man-eater," but I don't have time to explain that to
the boys. "We're tough. Some people say we're the most stubborn tribe around."
    Tom's got his forehead puckered like he can't figure out
what I'm saying, but he wants to. And I feel a flicker of interest, or at least not hostility, from Jake, my big boy. I smile at
him until he says, "Is that why you've got hair like Anne of
Green Gables?"
    Mrs. Saunders smothers a laugh, but this time I'm ready
for it. I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but you can't
hit me the same way twice. Not even if you're my son. "Yeah,
pretty much, only mine's nicer. I use better conditioner."
    The corners of Jake's mouth twitch. "Do you really use
conditioner?"

    "Only the best." I toss my braids and make a serious face,
my Indian chief statue pose. Shana giggles and Jake starts
laughing. Even Mrs. Saunders defrosts a bit. She can let me
have this role, the Indian clown part. That's the part I used to
play with Noelle too.
    Tom titters.