Amadeus's tears tremble down his cheeks. He is going to die. Only on the verge of death do we realize the riches of experience. The trite treasure of knowledge. No one wins. Everyone suffers.
* * *
He'd come for a score. Looking for pussy. Tall and beautiful, with his tight white skin and dark eyes. I'd watched him come in, confident, witty, and crass. The only awkward note was his Austrian accent. Amadeus was a friend of a friend. An exchange student, bleeding for excitement.
Joseph sat across from me. Steady cracks of beer and the tinkering of ice, heated up conversation about home and politics. He was short and brown. Sturdy from his years of stacking seines and hauling salmon. The past few years of swimming through law text books gave Joseph glasses and deep sophist understanding of hypocrisy.
"It's time we moved on. This gets us nowhere." Joseph tips his 7-up and vodka to his lips. I drown some more beer. Hazy convictions. Complicated thought patterns. Layers of leaves under the solitary willow tree. Years upon years pile onto of each other. All rot and fading colors.
"Isn't that what all Natives do?" Amadeus grins, glancing at the woman sitting on each side of Joseph. "Drink and despair. Worthless wallowing."
Splash. Vodka swirls with clear bubbling soda. Joseph drinks. Sighs. "True. Most of us do. It's hard to forget history."
"So its remembering that makes you useless? Always thought it was your drunkenness." Amadeus wears a big 'fuck you,' on his face. Joseph winks back.
"We're all drunks trying forget. Some their suffering," Joseph catches Amadeus's eyes, "Others. Their sins."
"I don't repent. Let sins die with the dead and do something with your fuckin self."
"Not asking you to repent."
"What? To remember? So I can care real hard. Boo fucking hoo. It’s still useless. Why didn't your people do something while your sisters were being raped and your buffalo being killed?"
Joseph smiles slightly, standing up. "I don't give a shit about buffaloes. I'm from Alaska. Dickhead." Amadeus takes Joseph's place on the couch, while he leaves to the kitchen.
"What's your name? Where you from?" Amadeus turns toward Joseph's sister. He's got no idea.
"Doesn’t matter," she says, snuffing out a cigarette.
"What makes you thi-" Joseph is back. His got a knife. Using the dull side of a serrated knife, he holds it up against Amadeus's Adams apple, standing behind the couch. There is a terror in his eyes like scattering birds. His white skin is turning red. A web of veins grows up Amadeus's neck.
Joseph is calm as a dove. Silence buzzes, only broken by Amadeus's hot heavy panting. A little nervous, I pull out a paper and roll some tobacco.
"I was thinking...maybe a metaphor will do?" Joseph whispers in Amadeus's ear, "you just don't seem to understand."
Amadeus is silent and stiff. His eyes are watering, desperately trying to look at his captor. They jitter wildly back and forth. Looking at his own brain. Joseph's sister is pacing around the couch. She's taken my cigarette.
"Look in front of you," Joseph's sister stops in front of Amadeus. She stares, letting a stream of smoke flow along the curve of her face. "This is your sister. She's being raped. What are you going to do about it?" Joseph forces the dull side of the blade harder against Amadeus's throat.
"What are you going to do about it Amadeus," Joseph screams, shaking him. "Tell me, what you are going to do?" Joseph's sister spits on Amadeus's face. "There's a sign on the door Amadeus, it says, you’re not wanted here. What are you going to do about it?" Amadeus is weeping now, meekly trying to shake his head. Joseph's sister taps some ash onto Amadeus's lap.
"There are politicians and others around you Amadeus. They call you a worthless drunk. They pass laws for you, mocking your abilities. You can't do anything without help Amadeus. You can't win. One side pities your follies, the other shits on your accomplishments. You can't be equal and you won't be. What are you going to do about it Amadeus? Tell me."
All that remains are choking muffled cries. Joseph's sister continues pacing round the couch.
"Now. You go be a drunk and hate someone." Joseph releases his prisoner and tosses the knife onto the coffee table. It knocks over and breaks his drinking glass.
"My name's Hope, by the way. I come from my people.," say's Joseph's sister.
* * *
A few hours after Amadeus left, police showed up at Joseph’s apartment and arrested him on assault charges. He must have knew. Before they came he'd put on his nicest clothes. While officers were putting his cuffs on, he winked at me:
"Everyone should be arrested for their crimes," he said.
* * *
He'd come for a score. Looking for pussy. Tall and beautiful, with his tight white skin and dark eyes. I'd watched him come in, confident, witty, and crass. The only awkward note was his Austrian accent. Amadeus was a friend of a friend. An exchange student, bleeding for excitement.
Joseph sat across from me. Steady cracks of beer and the tinkering of ice, heated up conversation about home and politics. He was short and brown. Sturdy from his years of stacking seines and hauling salmon. The past few years of swimming through law text books gave Joseph glasses and deep sophist understanding of hypocrisy.
"It's time we moved on. This gets us nowhere." Joseph tips his 7-up and vodka to his lips. I drown some more beer. Hazy convictions. Complicated thought patterns. Layers of leaves under the solitary willow tree. Years upon years pile onto of each other. All rot and fading colors.
"Isn't that what all Natives do?" Amadeus grins, glancing at the woman sitting on each side of Joseph. "Drink and despair. Worthless wallowing."
Splash. Vodka swirls with clear bubbling soda. Joseph drinks. Sighs. "True. Most of us do. It's hard to forget history."
"So its remembering that makes you useless? Always thought it was your drunkenness." Amadeus wears a big 'fuck you,' on his face. Joseph winks back.
"We're all drunks trying forget. Some their suffering," Joseph catches Amadeus's eyes, "Others. Their sins."
"I don't repent. Let sins die with the dead and do something with your fuckin self."
"Not asking you to repent."
"What? To remember? So I can care real hard. Boo fucking hoo. It’s still useless. Why didn't your people do something while your sisters were being raped and your buffalo being killed?"
Joseph smiles slightly, standing up. "I don't give a shit about buffaloes. I'm from Alaska. Dickhead." Amadeus takes Joseph's place on the couch, while he leaves to the kitchen.
"What's your name? Where you from?" Amadeus turns toward Joseph's sister. He's got no idea.
"Doesn’t matter," she says, snuffing out a cigarette.
"What makes you thi-" Joseph is back. His got a knife. Using the dull side of a serrated knife, he holds it up against Amadeus's Adams apple, standing behind the couch. There is a terror in his eyes like scattering birds. His white skin is turning red. A web of veins grows up Amadeus's neck.
Joseph is calm as a dove. Silence buzzes, only broken by Amadeus's hot heavy panting. A little nervous, I pull out a paper and roll some tobacco.
"I was thinking...maybe a metaphor will do?" Joseph whispers in Amadeus's ear, "you just don't seem to understand."
Amadeus is silent and stiff. His eyes are watering, desperately trying to look at his captor. They jitter wildly back and forth. Looking at his own brain. Joseph's sister is pacing around the couch. She's taken my cigarette.
"Look in front of you," Joseph's sister stops in front of Amadeus. She stares, letting a stream of smoke flow along the curve of her face. "This is your sister. She's being raped. What are you going to do about it?" Joseph forces the dull side of the blade harder against Amadeus's throat.
"What are you going to do about it Amadeus," Joseph screams, shaking him. "Tell me, what you are going to do?" Joseph's sister spits on Amadeus's face. "There's a sign on the door Amadeus, it says, you’re not wanted here. What are you going to do about it?" Amadeus is weeping now, meekly trying to shake his head. Joseph's sister taps some ash onto Amadeus's lap.
"There are politicians and others around you Amadeus. They call you a worthless drunk. They pass laws for you, mocking your abilities. You can't do anything without help Amadeus. You can't win. One side pities your follies, the other shits on your accomplishments. You can't be equal and you won't be. What are you going to do about it Amadeus? Tell me."
All that remains are choking muffled cries. Joseph's sister continues pacing round the couch.
"Now. You go be a drunk and hate someone." Joseph releases his prisoner and tosses the knife onto the coffee table. It knocks over and breaks his drinking glass.
"My name's Hope, by the way. I come from my people.," say's Joseph's sister.
* * *
A few hours after Amadeus left, police showed up at Joseph’s apartment and arrested him on assault charges. He must have knew. Before they came he'd put on his nicest clothes. While officers were putting his cuffs on, he winked at me:
"Everyone should be arrested for their crimes," he said.
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