Читать книгу Komatke Gold - Benjamin Vance - Страница 14

Lew Lew got a warrant to search my apartment, ostensibly looking for contraband. I’d been cleaning up my father’s grave site and was not at my best when I arrived at the apartment and found the La Paz County Sheriff’s Deputy knocking on my door. He showed his warrant, with Lew Lew’s signature, and a judge’s signature, and I let him in. He brought no one else and somehow I found that disturbing. I called Cristal, since Myra was on duty. She was there in about ten minutes. Although the deputy didn’t comment, he didn’t seem to appreciate her presence. It was puzzling! I was worried he would plant something incriminating so I followed him closely. After about 25 minutes of searching he thanked us and left.

Cristal and I looked at each other and without a word or moments’ hesitation, began to search the apartment. We found nothing! I called Lew Lew and could not get past her flunky. So, I did the next most natural man thing; I went to her office and barged in. In the presence of her Para-legal she explained that she’d received some confidential information that I was in illegal possession of Native American artifacts, but also that she could have been misinformed. Although I thought I noticed some change in her demeanor from previous encounters, she did not apologize. I thought it may have been due to the presence of her secretary. I also thought it prudent to talk to Uncle Preston immediately.

At the time, Preston didn’t believe in telephones-they kept people from seeing each other’s eyes when they talked … so I had to drive to his little house to see him. He was thankful for the company and he gave me the chance to take him to Dale’s for a bear claw and coffee. I paid. I asked him why Lew Lew would pull a stunt like that. He asked who the deputy was. I told him who, and he asked me if I thought the man was handsome. I said, “I really don’t look at men that way,” and then I got it.

My expression must have been telling because Preston said, “Lew Lew has been seein’ that white guy for about four months and she thinks no one knows about it.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit two faced?”

“Not if you’re Lew Lew,” he stated. He briefly flashed a Mona Lisa smile and went on, “She’s been living under a different standard ever since she was a young girl. She’s the daughter of a former elected tribal official who I helped with his election ‘cause we’re kin. You know we kind of have a double standard here on this reservation too. When he was elected he seemed to be a great guy and was all interested in the welfare of the people he was supposed to represent.

“After a while though, he started listening to his wife and used his office to get some concessions for farm land he didn’t deserve and didn’t know how to work. He got elected a couple of times, but finally got found out and found himself without that easy job anymore. He had land, but didn’t know how to honor it. He hired some Mexicans and tried to grow some stuff, but he wouldn’t take anyone’s advice.”

Preston paused to sip coffee and seemed to reflect a bit. Finally he continued “’Bunch of guys, relatives really, tried to help him because they knew what a problem his wife was, but he just wouldn’t listen. Meanwhile, Lew Lew was maturing in that mess listening to all the trash her mother’s side threw his way, and I guess she just decided to do things her own way when she got older. She did great in school, but she wasn’t really an Indian. She got ahead any way she could. She didn’t have much honor though. Still, she ended up comin’ back here after she got her law degree and passed her bar exams. She works for the State and keeps track of Native American development projects on the reservations on this side of the state I think. I hear she does a good job, but she doesn’t go to church and she doesn’t believe in Indian ways at all.”

I had to ask, “Preston, what did you mean when you said there’s a double standard on the reservation?”

“Well, you’d pick up on it after a while, livin’ around Myra, but there are two kinds of government on the Res, on most of them I think, except back East where they’re mostly white now. One bunch is the elected officials (holding up one set of fingers on his left hand to emphasize quotation marks), and the other bunch is the folks who’re granted the honor by way of birth or inheritance. If they’re smart enough I mean.”

“You mean like the old chiefs and medicine men and all that?” I inquired.

“You bet,” he said. “Except each bunch of people who consider themselves part of a tribal lineage has to accept the true inheritance or lineage of the man or woman in charge. That’s usually somebody who’s a leader and has the blood of chiefs in his veins. Now, if this man or woman over here are the grandchildren of Cochise or somebody, but they pick their nose in public and eat Javelina poop, they’ll be tolerated, but not have a whisper in tribal policy. Get it”?

“So ... who has the greater voice in tribal politics?” I asked.

“Well, we don’t like to call it politics, I guess it is in a way, but we think all the people have more of a voice in things than in white politics. To answer your question though, everybody works together and talks about everything important before it’s voted on. There’s hell to pay if something important is done by the elected council without talkin’ to the people. That’s what got Lew Lew’s dad in trouble. He did whatever his wife told him. She had practically no tribal connections except a bit down in Tohono O’odham, so she thought her husband could do anything. She found out different.

“After he lost the elected job and couldn’t ranch, he found something he could do. He started to drink, got diabetes and didn’t take care of it. He died when Lew Lew was in undergrad. Her mother went back down south and took up with some other guy and is livin’ around Sells. So … Lew Lew really doesn’t have anybody, anywhere except Sells. She was the only child they had and she never seemed to be able to make friends too well. I guess that’s why she likes the cop.” We both smiled reverently.

“Well I really wish I knew what that deputy was looking for,” I pondered aloud. “I don’t have any Indian artifacts, and I sure wouldn’t keep anything of value in that little thin walled apartment.”

“Where would you keep it?”

“I’d keep it in my safety deposit box at the bank.”

“Which bank?”

“BOA on the highway.”

“Okay, I guess, but I wouldn’t trust any of the local banks not to let Lew Lew look in your box.”

I said, “There is no way someone can look in my box unless they have my key … I hope.”

Preston said, “Well I don’t know much about that, but I bet Uncle Sam could get in those boxes if he wanted.”

“Yeah, I hear you, but they would have to have a federal subpoena to get in there. Wouldn’t they?”

“Ain’t illegal possession of Native American artifacts a federal crime?” he asked.

I breathed, “Oh shit!”