---

When classes were over Friday, Randy drove to the video shop in a small strip mall.

"Have any luck?" Randy asked the manager.

"Sorry, not yet. I'm trying a new distributor. If we're lucky he'll be able to locate it. I'll call you the minute I find it. I'm hoping it won't be much longer."

"Okay. Thanks a lot."

"What are you looking for?" Brant asked as they got back into the car.

"Song of the Loon. It's one of the first gay flicks; a real classic."

"If it's an old one, looks like it be easy to get."

Randy shook his head. "Until recently it's been a sort of underground thing. I know one place I think I can get it, if he can't."

"Then why 're you waiting for this guy?"

"I don't buy a lot of videos, but he's always been super nice and tries to get what I want, so I'd rather deal with him. This video is a little expensive, but with you around, I gotta have it."

"Why?"

"Because it's like us. It's about a white guy and an Indian who fall in love." The radiance of his smile overwhelmed Brant.

"You have any other videos about Indians?"

"Six movies and some things I taped from PBS. I guess my favorite is Thunderheart. I like Red Earth, White Earth, and Dances With Wolves, too. The last one I got was Last of the Mohicans."

"I saw that. They sure made a great flick from a dull book."

"Yeah. At least they used real Indians. There aren't that many movies with Indians in 'em, I mean other than those stupid westerns where most of the Indians were white actors with a lot of makeup on. But since it was shot up in the mountains not too far from the reservation instead of New York, most of the Indians are Cherokee, even if they are supposed to be Mohawks. Those turkeys from Hollywood don't know one Indian from another anyway."

"Do you know any of the ones in the movie?"

"Some of 'em are from my clan. I recognized one or two of my cousins."

"I wish you'd been in it."

"Why would you want to see me in a stupid movie? They'd never pick anybody tall as I am anyway."

"Then I could brag about having a real movie star for a friend."

"Scheisse. One of my cousins said all it was was dressing up funny for some quick money." Randy snickered. "He said he'd of even played a unaka if they'd paid him enough." He turned the car into the drive. "Stay the weekend?"

"Sure."

"Great. I can't watch Thunderheart too much; it tears me up. But I'll run it for you tonight."

"Why does it bother you?"

"Because it's about something that really happened just a few years ago. When I look at it and see what the government's still doing to a lot of us, I get so pissed I'm ready to throw a bomb on the capital or move to another country, but I guess it's about the same everywhere. You'll see what I mean."

"What's it about?"

"It's about an FBI man who gets sent out west to a reservation because the government wants to screw us again. This guy's part Indian, but it doesn't mean anything to him until he begins to see what those crooked bastards in Washington are up to and decides to help his people instead. Once he gets into his heritage and tries to help his people, they stomp on him, too.

"Red Earth, White Earth is kind of like the folks, except in reverse. It's a white woman living with an Indian man, but it isn't too far from wrong in the way they show it. We can watch that sometime, if you want."

"We have time to see them both tonight."

"Unh,unh. I'd rather you see Thunderheart by itself so you'll have time to think about it if you're really interested."

"You know I am."

After they put in a couple of hours of concentrated practice, Randy leaned back and cracked his knuckles. "I don't feel like messing in the kitchen; let's go over to the club and eat. If we go now, we'll miss most of the crowd."

Though they were a little earlier than the usual dinner crowd, a line had already formed. Randy scowled as they joined it. "I forgot this was the night for the buffet, but maybe we won't have to wait long."

When they reached the serving table, only two or three shrimp remained in the serving pan. "I want some shrimp," he told the student attendant standing behind the table.

"I'll bring some the next time I go to the kitchen."

"Lazy son of a bitch," Randy snarled to Brant. "He wouldn't dare say that to the old man."

At their table, Randy took a chair facing the serving line and fixed the look on the boy. Within a few moments the boy began to shift from one foot to the other, his eyes moving constantly, but always returning to Randy's cold unblinking stare. He turned and fled into the kitchen, returning with a filled pan. As he placed it on the warming rack, his eyes locked again on Randy's. The pan tilted. A woman waiting to be served commented angrily as some of the shrimp spilled across the table.

Randy sat back with a smirk.

"What did you do?" Brant asked.

"Gave him the Indian look."

"If it upsets people like that, I'm glad you never tried it on me."

"I did, but it didn't work."

"When?"

"That day you came in the auditorium looking for Mr. Nowell. Hell, you just tried to stare me down. I guess that's when I started to like you. I know it's time I showed you that video, now."

When they returned to the house, Randy popped a large bowl of popcorn, pulled a two liter bottle of Pepsi from the fridge, and took them to his room where Brant was already propped up on pillows, flipping through the channels with the remote. He stopped to watch a few moments of a hockey game.

Looking at the players, Randy said, "I've always wanted to try ice skating. Have you?"

"Yeah. I used to be pretty good. With all the ice and snow where we lived, everybody knew how."

"Did you play hockey?"

"A lot of the guys up there did, but I liked figure skating better. I wish I could still do it, but there's no ice around here unless there's a rink. I don't guess it makes any difference now. If I'd learned to ski, I could still do that. There was a guy in town, I guess he was about thirty, had lost a leg. Anyway, he had special poles. He could keep up with anybody on two skis. If we'd stayed there, I was going to find out who he was and ask him to teach me."

Setting the popcorn between them, Randy took the remote and switched on the VCR. He leaned back, one arm draped around Brant's shoulders..

"People really live on land like that?" Brant asked when the scene shifted to the west.

"That's why it's called the badlands. I couldn't believe it, either, until I went out there with the old man one time. That's where the bastards made 'em go. Every time they've made Indians move it was because they thought the land they were giving us was worthless, and then, when they found something on it they wanted, they took it and made us move on to worse. Doesn't look like there could be much worse than that, but it's got uranium, so they'd move us again if they could find somewhere else they didn't want. It was when they found gold on our land they made most of the Cherokee move to Oklahoma. That damned Andrew Jackson betrayed our people even after they saved his ass during the war before he became president. Hell, they've busted every treaty they ever made with Indians. I don't know why they don't just shoot all of us and be done with it, then they could have everything."

"Don't take it so personal, it's not like you live out there."

"Maybe not, but they're Indians, too. We're a real minority, now. It would be worse if a lot of the breeds hadn't stopped passing for white and claimed their heritage to get some of the welfare benefits and stuff. The really serious ones are trying to learn something about who they are. A lot of times when the old man's out of town doing a seminar, like now, it's for them."

Brant snickered.

"What's so damn funny about that?"

"Have you thought about it? A white man teaching Indians about themselves."

Randy stared at him for a moment, then grinned. "You're right. I never even think about the old man being white because he speaks our language and he's so deep into our culture. They welcome him on the reservations because they know he's been adopted by our clan, and he doesn't charge Indians when he's doing a seminar for them. He's happy to help them recover their heritage."

Brant's attention turned back to the movie. "What's the FBI got to do with Indians?"

"Reservations are under federal protection. Some protection! Just gives them a chance to steal our land and everything else, and we can't say anything about it. They have jurisdiction over everybody, including Indian cops."

"Do they always act like that?" Brant asked as the FBI agent knocked the tribal policeman down.

"Why not? They all think we're shit. I mean, hell, they don't respect any of our traditions, and then they claim it's good for us. Good for the unakas is what they mean. The bastards!

"That's how they make a lot of us live," Randy said looking at the rundown trailers and shanties, "then they try to tell us we ought to be thankful the government looks out for us so good. I mean how the hell can anybody make a living on land like that. They stick reservations so far out in the sticks an Indian hasn't a chance at a good job in town, because he can't get there. The same with school."

"Couldn't they live in town?"

"Yeah, if we wanted to give up being Indian and live like the unakas."

"You do."

"Yeah, but I still spend time on the reservation and I have my grandparents, so I've still got my sense of belonging. Clan and family mean everything to us."

"Your grandparents don't live like this, do they"

"Naw, they're lucky. The Eastern Cherokee have had it better than a lot of the tribes out west. Dad said it was because we accultured better when the unakas came in the area. Anyway, after mom and dad were married, she built them a nice brick house. They would take things from her, because Indians are supposed to look out for their own, but even though they accept him as part of the family because of mom and me, they still won't take much of anything from dad because he's not Indian."

"Do Indians really act like that toward other Indians?" Brant asked as the sheriff's goons pushed others roughly around.

Randy shrugged. "No different from unakas. See how they treat those who practice the old religion? They don't even believe it's a real religion to us."

Randy cracked up when the badger bit the agent. "Score one for the Indians!" He exulted.

"What was that thing?" Brant asked.

"Badger. Talk about mean! That's one thing you don't want to tangle with. It's a member of the weasel family and they'll eat you up."

Despite his mounting anger during the movie, tears trickled down Randy's face when it was over. He turned off the TV and grabbed Brant in a fierce hug.

Randy's emotion added to the conflict that raged in Brant from what little he'd been taught about Indians in history class, and what he'd learned from Randy and his father. His feeling of love turned sympathetic when Randy said, "See how it is for me, trying to live in both cultures? It's not knowing where we fit that makes a lot of our people give up and become drunks. Like the guy was saying, out west the government sent the kids away to government schools and wouldn't let them speak their own language. If they spoke anything but English, they got punished for it. I mean it wasn't just washing out the kid's mouth with soap like he said, it was a real beating most of the time. And that turkey calling Indians Prairie Nigger tells you what they really think of us. They treat us like retarded kids and expect us to live like whites. Hell, one guy even said the only way we could continue being Indian was to be like the whites. How stupid do you have to be to say something like that? It goes against everything we know, 'specially if we're trying to follow the old ways. I mean we've got our own traditions and way of living, but the government doesn't give a damn about what happens to us unless we quit acting like whites. Then they try to force us to be 'white' again.

"I guess I'm lucky because I know how to live like a white and I can pass for one and get along with them if I want to. But when I'm on the reservation with the others, I'm Indian. I still get a little confused sometimes, but I couldn't live like a lot of Indians have to; I'd miss all the things I've got. Indians who are real strict about the old ways believe in owning only what's useful day after day. It was the whites taught us to want things. Some tribes call whites 'people who have reasons,' because they say whites always have reasons for whatever they want." He gave Brant a seeking look. "Who am I?"

"You're you. I know you're half Indian, but it's mostly not the Indian world out there, so you're both. Besides, doesn't knowing both cultures make it easier when you help your dad with his research?"

"I guess. I know things which he never will because he's not Indian."

"Then you can be better than he is."

"Not much. They're mostly things Indians grow up with. It's the only way, and it's impossible to explain them without sounding stupid. Like in the movie with the visions. Whites could never understand that. It was easier for me because, even if I haven't quite figured out where I belong, my Indian half predominates. The guy in the flick was still mostly a white trying to find out what being Indian is all about.

"Dad thinks some of the visions are hallucinations from thirst and hunger, but most Indians disagree with him. I was lucky to even have a vision, young as I was, and I had it quick. Sometimes it takes a week or more, and sometimes it doesn't ever happen. Some Indians never have a vision, but the first one is really important if we do, because that's when we find our spirit guide which gives us special gifts and leads us for life." He stared fixedly at Brant, squeezing his hand. "You're my brother now, so I'll tell you about the vision I had, if you'll keep it secret. The visions from our manhood ceremony are sacred and very personal.

"I guess it's because I'm half white, but after I saw a hill with just one tree standing on it, I saw a mocking bird sitting on one of the branches singing. I think right at first grandfather was disappointed it wasn't something really macho like an eagle or a bear. But after he thought about it, he told me the mocking bird has a lot of courage. It's so aggressive it will attack much larger birds and animals, sometimes even humans." Randy grinned. "It's one pretty tough bird, like me. But I'm glad, because my gift is like the mockingbird's ability to imitate songs of other birds. The medicine man said I should find a way to perform the music of others. That's why I work so hard on my playing, so I can honor the gift. Indians believe that animal spirits are greater than human spirits because animals were here first and led the people up to this world from the one below."

Randy went to his desk and pulled out the side drawer holding his mother's journal. He took out his medicine pouch and returned. He cradled the pouch carefully in his open hand so Brant could see it.

"After we found out what my vision meant, grandfather decorated this piece of doeskin, like you can see, with a tree and a bird from my vision, and a sacred symbol to make my medicine pouch. He put things that symbolize my vision inside, sewed it shut, and gave it to me. I'm proud he did it for me because it's more personal. It's my medicine, part of my gift from my spirit guide. I wear it only when I'm on the reservation and use it in my meditation or go to a ceremony. I'm sorry I yelled at you back at the cabin, but I was afraid you might try to look inside. Like I said, if anyone ever opened it, it would be profaned and lose all its power. I should keep it with me all the time, but you know what would happen if those assholes at school ever saw it. I guess it's a sort of psychic thing. Maybe that's why so many fortune tellers claim to be Indian and have second sight, even when they aren't. But visions can be bad just as easy as they can be good."

"Man, that's scary."

"It didn't leave me feeling the best. I mean you're suddenly seeing something and when you look again, it's gone, and you're wondering if it was real or not, like in the flick. If you ask the medicine man to explain it, he'll give you a bunch of talk that's all symbolic, just like our syllabary."

"How did the guy in the movie have some visions without a ceremony?"

"We can visions any time after we're men. I mean when you have a vision it means you're in touch with yourself. If there's nothing from the outside between you and who you really are, then you can really see. That's why we're alone when we go on our vision quest. The rest of the visions aren't really secret ones; we just don't talk about them, because nobody but a real Indian would understand. When you have one, you keep waiting. If the things you saw don't come true, then it was just a dream. It's weird."

"Did you ever have another one?"

"Yeah. When I was studying with the Shaman, I had two or three. "

"Were they real, or a dream?"

"Real. I only had one that wasn't good."

Brant shook his head. "I wouldn't want one. It's got to be better not to know what's going to happen than to know and have to wait for it." He suddenly shuddered.

"What is it?"

"I just thought what it would have been like if I'd known way ahead of time they were going to cut off my leg."