A Life by Wright Morris

Author:Wright Morris [Morris, Wright]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4962-0261-1
Publisher: Nebraska
Published: 2017-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

FIVE

Sometime later he woke up with Blackbird wrestling him for the steering wheel. The left front wheel of the car was sweeping the ditch grass on the wrong side of the road. Fortunately Blackbird, who proved to be stronger, forced the wheel in the other direction. “What in the goddam hell!” the old man shouted, too worked up and startled to keep his mouth shut.

“You fall asleep,” said Blackbird, “drive off the road.”

Warner could not deny it. The truth was he was accustomed to being spelled off, especially late in the day.

“Old man, I drive,” Blackbird stated, and Warner could think of nothing to say. Blackbird seemed in no hurry, taking time to pee in the car’s cool shade when Warner stopped it. He also seemed familiar with the principle of the gear shift, but he was not so adept at it as the boy. The car bucked and died. On starting up again, he almost shifted into reverse. The changeover had loosened them both up a little, and Blackbird helped himself to one of his cupcakes; the old man declined. By way of explanation, not to hurt his feelings, he explained that he didn’t like to eat without his coffee, especially anything sweet. He would often as not go without eating rather than eat then find he had no coffee.

Blackbird said, “You like me, you got no people.”

Actually, Warner had said nothing much about people. The Indian always seemed to infer more than Warner had said. “I’ve got people,” he said, “here and there, but no more in this part of the country. That’s what brought me back.”

“No people is bad,” said Blackbird.

In most respects the old man would deny that, having lived most of his life without them, but he understood that Indians were of a more sociable nature. It was enough for them to be around each other. They didn’t have to talk. “What became of yours?” Warner asked him. Blackbird shrugged. The old man was sure he meant to go on, if for no other reason than he had been asked. “Not only Indian people have a bad time,” he continued, “it’s a bad time for people in general. Families break up. They move around too much. They don’t have their own place.”

“Indians move around, too,” said Blackbird, “move around to hunt, to fish, to kill.”

The old man was made ill at ease by the word “kill.” It was the Indian’s nature to speak like that, but in the context of their talk the word was disturbing. Why couldn’t he have said to hunt and to fish, and let the matter drop?

“I suppose that’s true,” Warner replied, “but you still don’t move around as much as we do. Pueblo people stay put, most Hopis and Navajos stay put.”

“No stay put,” said Blackbird. “Keep put.”

The old man had to respect a smart Indian. He tried to catch his eye in the rear-view mirror, but Blackbird kept his narrow gaze on the road. “I suppose that’s true,” Warner added.

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