Chapter 34
October 13
The Persistence of Memory
BRIGHT AND EARLY, Tony T brought two realtors and a chubby couple in identical nylon suits of the type that used to be called jogging suits, and may still be called jogging suits for all I know, but are now more frequently worn by fat people at their leisure, shopping in malls, strolling the streets of quaint seaside towns, or sitting in front of slot machines, so should probably more properly be called shopping suits or strolling suits or sitting suits, or perhaps just leisure suits.
“Mr. and Mrs. . . .”
Reader, I am embarrassed to say that I can’t remember the name of these people. Was it Widebottom? Littlewit? Vulgarhorde? Packagetour? Something like that. I’ll call them Mr. and Mrs. Highroller.
“Mr. and Mrs. Highroller — ”
“Arnold and Bobbi!” said Mrs. Highroller.
“Arnold and Bobbi are looking for a very special spot,” explained realtor number one.
“Look no further,” I said jocularly.
“Well, actually, the Highrollers have some very special needs,” said realtor number two.
“Of course,” said Albertine sweetly. “Anyone looking for a very special spot must have very special needs.”
“We want to build a casino,” said Arnold.
“A casino,” said Albertine.
“Oh? What’s your tribe?” I asked.
“We’re not sure,” said Bobbi. “Arnold is looking into that.”
“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” he said. He gave me a wink, and I had the feeling that if I had been standing near enough to him he would have given me a nudge too.
“He’s quite certain that he can turn up some Indian blood somewheres,” said Bobbi.
“If necessary, I’ll get a transfusion,” said Arnold. He winked again, and he began shuffling my way with nudging in his eyes.
“But if we don’t find that we’re actually Indians per se, then we’re quite confident that we can find some and bring them into the venture.”
“Strictly as figureheads, you understand,” said Arnold, “or I guess I should say totem poles.” He sidled up to me and aimed an elbow at my ribs, but, drawing on the uncanny ability of my people to see the nudge-that-follows-the-joke-that-is-not-funny coming, I dodged it.
“I think that there’s more to it than that,” said Albertine. “I think those casinos have to be on tribal land.”
“Hey, all of this was tribal land once upon a time, wasn’t it?” asked Arnold.
I said, “Well, I guess it was, now that I think about it.”
“You must have some evidence of Indians here somewhere.”
“Actually, we do,” I said. “Shell mounds. Heaps of clamshells at spots where the Indians used to hold feasts.”
“There you go!” said Bobbi. “This is tribal land.”
“Do you think we’d have any trouble building a causeway out here?” asked Arnold. “It’s kind of inconvenient as it is, you know, being an island and all.”
“A causeway?” said Albertine, twisting her mouth into an adorable smirk. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of slipping the mayor a little wampum.” She winked at Arnold and dealt him a nudge too swift to dodge.
[to be continued]
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