Free Truth and Bright Water by Thomas King Page A

when she puts on her bulky sweater and looks at you hard, she seems heavier and fiercer than she really is. It’s all in her eyes. They grow large and darken into deep pools beyond light and sound, darken down to depths where black shapes float in black water.
    “So, how have you been?” says my mother.
    Auntie Cassie looks at my grandmother, and I can see the two ofthem are ready to start round two. “Fine,” says auntie Cassie. “Just fine.”
    I grab a gingersnap. “How long you going to stay?”
    “Long as it takes,” says auntie Cassie, and she gives me a big smile.
    “For what?”
    “Now wouldn’t you like to know,” says auntie Cassie.
    “I suppose this is about Mia,” says my grandmother.
    Things go quiet then as if somebody has done something rude and no one wants to admit that they did it. Auntie Cassie looks at the floor. My mother closes her eyes and rocks herself ever so slightly.
    “Another life,” says Cassie. “Another time.”
    “Who’s Mia?”
    “So, how have you been?” says my mother.
    The woman from Sweden opened the door. Through the screen, I could see that all she was wearing was a bra and panties. She was smoking a cigar and holding a glass.
    “It’s the little Red Indian,” she called back to auntie Cassie in her strange voice. “What shall we do with him?”
    Auntie Cassie was sitting on the bed. On the table in front of her was a deck of cards.
    “Do you want to play pokie?” said the woman from Sweden.
    “Poker,” said auntie Cassie, and she lay back on the bed and began laughing.
    Auntie Cassie and my mother look a lot like each other. I haven’t really noticed it before, but seeing them sitting there together, you can tell they’re sisters without looking twice. Auntie Cassie is a little taller and her hair isn’t quite as dark. And she smiles a little more than my mother. But that’s about it.
    Except for the tattoo on her hand.
    “What’s Elvin up to these days?” asks auntie Cassie.
    My grandmother shifts in her chair and the legs cut into the hard-wood.
    I look at my mother. “He’s making little wood coyotes,” I say.
    “Shit,” says auntie Cassie, and she starts to laugh.
    “Watch the mouth,” says my grandmother. “There’s a child in the house.”
    Auntie Cassie shakes her head and smiles. “Don’t worry,” she says to me, “she’s not talking about you.”
    “You going to stay?” I ask.
    Auntie Cassie straightens her skirt. “Now aren’t you the Curious George.”
    “Mom wanted to know.”
    “Monroe Swimmer is back in town,” says my grandmother casually, her lips yawning around her teeth.
    Auntie Cassie sits back. She’s smiling, but the hand with the tattoo is clenched and the letters on the knuckles are pulled tight and stand out against the skin. AIM. I don’t know if auntie Cassie has really been a member of the American Indian Movement or if she just got the tattoo to be cool.
    “You remember Monroe.” My grandmother closes her eyes and holds her hands in her lap so you can’t see the fingers.
    “He’s painting the old church,” I say, and this must be the wrong thing to say because everyone stops talking.
    “Honey,” says my mother at last, “why don’t you go out and check on the chickens.”
    “They’re asleep.”
    “Check on them anyway.”
    “This adult stuff?”
    “Go on.”
    “I won’t listen.”
    “Go on.”
    Inside the trailer that night, in the light, you could see right through the Swedish woman’s underwear. I tried looking at the deck of cards, but every time the woman spoke to me, I had to look at her.
    “Do you know how to play poker?”
    “Sure.”
    “All right,” said the woman, and she sat down in the chair. “You can deal.”
    Auntie Cassie sat on the bed in a pair of pants and a bra. She wasdrinking but not so you could tell right away. I won the first hand, and before I could pick up the cards to deal again, the Swedish woman reached around and undid her bra and slid her breasts