0:00:06.360,0:00:13.259
Piss-legged, drag-assed khakis tucked into jump-boots,

0:00:13.259,0:00:19.019
a sleeping-bag coat torn by river-bank blackberries—

0:00:19.019,0:00:24.525
parks himself across on the bench opposite the man

0:00:24.525,0:00:29.136
writing at a riverside picnic table. Clears his throat:

0:00:30.905,0:00:38.605
"Asking you a favor—guess my age. Close enough.

0:00:38.605,0:00:43.310
Thirty-eight this year, okay. Ask me a question,

0:00:43.310,0:00:49.449
any question. Know I’m Indian, yeah? Cheyenne,

0:00:49.449,0:00:54.226
Montana. Damn Indians, all they know is how

0:00:54.442,0:00:59.972
to do one thing: drink. Okay, here’s the joke.

0:01:01.095,0:01:06.147
How do you track an Indian? Go on, guess—

0:01:07.055,0:01:12.551
I’m listening. No? Put your ear to the wind

0:01:12.551,0:01:23.383
for the sound of the guy crying, 'Hey bro, I’m thirsty!'"

0:01:23.383,0:01:26.720
He unstraps a sweaty watchband, pushes the watch

0:01:26.720,0:01:33.182
across the table. Digs one pocket for change—nickels,

0:01:33.182,0:01:39.844
pennies, a dime—pours them around the watch.

0:01:39.844,0:01:44.771
Three knuckles are bloody, the forearm protruding

0:01:44.771,0:01:50.411
from his sweatshirt scored with long cuts, some scabbed,

0:01:50.411,0:01:56.016
some fresh. He parts the midnight hair over his eyes:

0:01:56.419,0:02:02.456
"Hey bro—another favor: drink with me? Take

0:02:02.456,0:02:06.660
that watch for a dollar or two, go up to Hop Sing’s

0:02:06.660,0:02:10.964
and get us a beer. You got to get it, bro,

0:02:10.964,0:02:15.369
Hop Sing won’t dispense to me, damn Indian.

0:02:15.369,0:02:21.346
So ask me a question, I’m listening. Name’s Wolverine.

0:02:22.423,0:02:25.984
Only know how to do one damn thing—"

0:02:28.169,0:02:34.146
He raises two fingers, points at a clutch of children

0:02:34.269,0:02:40.384
in a wading pool. Cocks his thumb, cradles one arm

0:02:40.384,0:02:45.661
like a gunstock, squints through an invisible scope.

0:02:47.515,0:02:53.254
The neck tightens, pulling his lip into wolverine snarl;

0:02:53.900,0:03:01.972
then rifle-recoil. Then the benign gaze of a full-time drunk.

0:03:05.034,0:03:10.885
"My first rifle? Pellet gun. Plinking quail. Plink

0:03:11.131,0:03:16.177
the rancher’s chickens when they strayed. One day

0:03:16.177,0:03:19.775
saw this hippie thumbing on the highway

0:03:19.837,0:03:23.414
while I was beating through sagebrush. Thought,

0:03:23.414,0:03:27.245
Why not? Just a bigger sort of target. Didn’t guess

0:03:27.608,0:03:31.977
I’d score at that distance, but plink—he claps

0:03:32.523,0:03:36.735
his leg like a big horsefly nailed him, Ow!

0:03:36.828,0:03:41.797
Goddam Ow! No idea who ambushed him.

0:03:43.191,0:03:50.187
So I see I got a gift to sell to Uncle Sam."

0:03:50.187,0:03:56.699
Groomed as a marksman, flown to Kuwait. Sniper duty

0:03:56.699,0:04:02.011
plinking Saddam’s waterboys wading the dunes. Their hair

0:04:02.027,0:04:09.395
black as his, heads poking out at sunrise in the crosshairs.

0:04:09.395,0:04:14.643
They don’t fall to be found, pocketed like quail, they fall

0:04:14.951,0:04:21.260
away behind dunes, unconfirmed kills. He can hear

0:04:21.260,0:04:28.784
their water-cans leaking through the sand of his dreams.

0:04:28.784,0:04:33.465
"Push the shirt up my arm. Farther. You got

0:04:33.527,0:04:37.888
to push, bro, this other arm’s broke. Yeah,

0:04:37.888,0:04:42.665
see that? Dog soldier. That’s the mark,

0:04:42.972,0:04:47.103
like a crosshair, north east south west,

0:04:47.472,0:04:53.048
grandfather’s four directions. Cut it myself.

0:04:53.432,0:05:00.215
I’m a killer and I’m hurting. I can see you’re scared,

0:05:00.215,0:05:03.223
a quail in the sage—don’t know which way

0:05:03.269,0:05:08.464
to run. No fear, bro, my woman outranks me.

0:05:08.787,0:05:13.759
Traded my rifle for Uncle Sam beans and cheese.

0:05:13.759,0:05:17.320
He’s got a warehouse in Montana where

0:05:17.320,0:05:22.043
our women line up to change bullets into beans."

0:05:24.160,0:05:28.864
He wants the white man to rouse himself, take coins

0:05:28.879,0:05:34.706
and wristwatch, raise him by his good arm to see Hop Sing

0:05:34.768,0:05:39.671
about a canister of eight percent oblivion. He wants

0:05:39.671,0:05:45.287
the invisible woman to trade him back one bullet full

0:05:45.287,0:05:50.104
of all the water telescoped in the desert to plant

0:05:50.104,0:05:56.384
beneath his wolverine chin. He wants a quail to claw

0:05:56.430,0:06:02.975
his eyes, a mother to say No, a grandfather to sing

0:06:02.975,0:06:12.407
West South East North, raising burnt sage in his palm.

0:06:12.407,0:06:16.650
"Hop Sing’s is two blocks south. Drink a beer

0:06:16.650,0:06:20.960
with me or walk me home, I’m hurting.

0:06:21.021,0:06:24.936
This park’s a graveyard where clouds bury

0:06:24.936,0:06:27.431
old water. Don’t turn round, bro,

0:06:27.431,0:06:31.789
the black and whites are talking about us—

0:06:31.820,0:06:37.228
—guess Hop Sing told them I was on the way, damn Indian."

0:06:37.228,0:06:42.187
A police cruiser idles across the street. It’s a good day

0:06:42.187,0:06:46.234
to walk away, the white man thinks. Then hands back

0:06:46.234,0:06:54.589
the watch he has bought, and helps Wolverine to his feet.

0:06:54.589,0:06:57.957
"My woman outranks me. Should I snipe her?

0:06:57.957,0:07:03.024
Yes or no. Tell me my mother says No, tell me.

0:07:03.024,0:07:07.520
Can you feel the shotgun pellets in my shoulder?

0:07:07.520,0:07:11.850
Like stars in the river of grandfathers. Go on

0:07:11.850,0:07:17.130
and touch them, bro, keep your hand there—"

0:07:17.176,0:07:22.294
When their feet reach the edge of the park, jump-boot

0:07:22.294,0:07:26.919
and sandal, black and whites bracket them. “Hold up,

0:07:26.919,0:07:33.964
chief,” one blueshirt says. Another bends to his shoulder-radio,

0:07:33.964,0:07:38.783
hand on holster. “Hands out of pockets. Sit on the curb.

0:07:38.844,0:07:46.502
Name?” The white man expects to hear "Wolverine;"

0:07:46.563,0:07:57.971
the answer is "White Crow, Leroy." Date of birth? "1967."

0:07:58.033,0:08:04.994
Home? "The riverbank." The blueshirts ask the white man

0:08:04.994,0:08:11.270
the same questions; the radio pronounces him free to go.

0:08:11.270,0:08:19.139
“Walk away, professor,” the blueshirt advises. It’s sunny,

0:08:19.139,0:08:25.208
mayflies unregulated as a drunk sniper’s thoughts blow east.

0:08:25.208,0:08:30.787
The writer walks north to his car, the black and whites

0:08:30.787,0:08:36.960
separate, east and west, and Leroy White Crow,

0:08:36.960,0:08:41.517
a fresh ten in his pocket, alone again on legs

0:08:41.517,0:08:47.549
too thin for his jump boots, wobbles south.

0:08:47.549,0:08:52.221
His father is jailed two counties south for stabbing

0:08:52.221,0:08:57.276
a logger in the cheek; he could use a visit.

0:08:57.276,0:09:01.475
Somehow Leroy must get there—burrowing

0:09:01.475,0:09:07.220
through roadside nights like Wolverine, or floating

0:09:07.220,0:09:11.745
above Interstate 5 fog like White Crow--

0:09:11.761,0:09:17.109
and he will. Even if his good arm breaks

0:09:17.109,0:09:21.123
against some windshield, even if he’s knocked

0:09:21.123,0:09:25.366
out of piss-legged khakis by a logging truck

0:09:25.366,0:09:31.568
and reduced to a cloud of mayflies over a ditch,

0:09:31.598,9:59:59.000
he will go south to bring drink to his father’s lips.