“But we couldn’t be like our ancestors again, because the world had changed too much. It was impossible. And we couldn’t find a new way that worked. The best we could do was to walk an in-between path, and survive any way we could.
“That’s what we were doing when Ngunda Aran came here. At first we didn’t trust him. His skin wasn’t white, but he was, or that’s how it seemed to us. And white people had come here before, wanting to help. Honest people. But they didn’t know how. They only thought they did. Mostly they depressed the spirit.”
The cook brought their orders, and they began to eat, slowly, Mr. M talking between bites.
“The difference between Ngunda Aran and other people who’d come to help, is that Ngunda knew how to do it. He already knew the Ladder worked for people of other races. For rich people who lived in the suburbs; poor people, black and white, in the cities—even convicts in prison. So he tried it here.
“He didn’t try to force anyone to do anything. He didn’t try to make anyone ashamed. He helped one person at a time, people who were willing, and when he was done, they were still Crows.
“But they had changed. Some others, when they saw that, thought it looked pretty good. They’d like some of that. And before long quite a few people had climbed the same Ladder, changing in ways that helped everyone. So we adopted him, and call him Akbaalía. Then he sent Crow people, volunteers, to learn to do what he did, so we could continue on our own. When someone felt pretty bad, or was coming off a big drunk, or beat up his wife, someone might say to him, or her, ‘You might go and see Dan at the clinic. Or Fawn, or Archy. Maybe they can help you.’ ”
Mr. M’s calm eyes found Lee’s, their touch mild. A rush passed over her that she couldn’t explain.
“Ten years ago, at basketball games, by half time quite a few people would have left. Someone would have a bottle in their pickup or car, and they’d go out and start to drink. Some would be drunk even before the game.
“Liquor was a curse to us, but in a way it was also a blessing. Believe me, I know. It dulled the feeling of futility—temporarily. At the same time it made everything more difficult. A child would be smart in school, but when they got old enough to start drinking with their friends, they didn’t study anymore. They got in fights. Some got pregnant. Some committed suicide. Most didn’t finish high school.”
Lee listened soberly. It reminded her of the black ghettos in Connecticut. “What did they do then?”
“Most lived at home with their parents, for a while at least. From time to time they’d work—mostly day labor. A few sold drugs.
“Some would get a steady job off the reservation. But lots of times they’d lose it because they got drunk and skipped work. Or got in a fight, and were put in jail. Or because they didn’t like the job, or the people they worked with, and quit. There was quite a lot of prejudice, more than now.
“Iiúoo made big changes. It’s the ladder people have used to climb into the fresh air and sunshine again. Now most of our children finish high school, mostly with good grades. There’s a scholarship fund, and quite a few go to college.
“The reservation doesn’t have any more resources than before, but we aren’t so poor anymore. There isn’t much drunkenness now, especially among young people. There aren’t many fist fights. Hardly anyone gets cut with a knife. The tribe has a new industry, up at Crow Agency, that makes components for computers. About two hundred people work there, only part time now because of the Depression. All of them, even the managers, are Apsáalooke, Crows. Tomorrow I’ll take you around so you can see, and talk to people.
“On the Ladder, some of the things we experience change what we believe. Some people don’t like that, some of the traditionals. The Baptist minister isn’t happy with it either, or Father Schweiger. But no one I know wants to go back to the way things were ten years ago. We are still the Children of the Crow. We still have our own ways.”