Born with a Tooth Read Free Page B

schools and autonomy. Well, we never got a school. Some built onto their houses, and many have newer cars. But you know there’s still burnt-out war ponies with no windshields and most of the rez has rotted plywood and tarpaper roofs. The biggest difference when you look around is the Palace, on Centre Hill beside the rusting playground. The Palace is an old corrugated airplane hangar, insulated against winter and big enough to play a game of hockey inside, with room for spectators. There’s no windows to look out onto Killdeer Lake. Justtables and chairs to sit 450 people, and a high stage for me to call numbers from, and eight TV monitors spaced along the walls to show what ball’s being called.
    It used to be that the inside was filled with card tables and folding chairs, so empty and drafty that it was ugly. I learned soon enough to judge how well we were doing by the changes inside. After the first two years the cheap furniture was gone, replaced by sturdy pine cut from the bush. But the real measure is the walls. Roddy commissioned local kids to draw murals and paint pictures. Big colourful stuff showing Manitou and Indian princesses, the Sun Catcher with her buckskin arms stretched up welcoming another day, the Circle of Protecting Buffalo. One boy drew his red and black impression of a Jesuit being tortured by Iroquois. Roddy thought it would upset the wasichu and made the boy alter it. Now, on the wall behind the stage, there’s a drawing of a Jesuit priest and an Indian warrior standing on a cloud shaking hands. Even though Ollie would have hated it, the Bingo Palace has become a nice-looking place over the last eight years.
    Everyone is here to celebrate our eighth anniversary this weekend — cottagers up for the summer, townies, Indians. It’s even larger than the council expected, with the chance to win a $50,000 pot and tons of advertising in advance. The money we’re offering tonight is unheard of around here. A bunch of people have already come up and asked if the flyers were a misprint. “Fifty thousand dollars!” Abe from North Bay says real loud in my ear. “Goddamn if I’d ever have to work another day in my life!”
    This is the first chance Roddy’s ever taken in terms of the house making it big or going bust. First the people have to come. The even bigger chance for us is whether or notsomebody walks with the $50,000 pot, the final game of the night. I’ve never seen Roddy so nervous before. I must admit I’ve got my fingers crossed, toes too. If nobody walks with the jackpot, Roddy’s plans for a full casino — blackjack, craps, roulette, you name it — can go into motion.
    An Iroquois rez out by Beaverton’s already got a building going up with the same plan in mind. The Ontario politicians tried to stop them, and it was wasichu courts that declared Native autonomy. Roddy’s got that silver shovel in his closet and he’s ready to dig the first hole. After a big fight, he got the council to put up $25,000 when our New York Iroquois partners offered to help finance the casino deal. The Iroquois want to see if we can draw the crowds. It’s now down to the money to bring in the bulldozers. Roddy told me he wants me to be a casino manager.
    You couldn’t ask for a better day. The blackflies are gone for the season, so the clouds and little bit of rain’s made the cottagers antsy to get out and about. We open the doors at three p.m. sharp and have a buffet of casseroles and macaroni and venison. Old Blanche Lafleur from the tavern claims that, when she walked from her place to the Palace, she counted five hundred head, not including the little ones yelling and darting among the grown-ups.
    Saturday nights were never like this seven years ago when I first got a job working bingo after Ollie died. Word of our Palace hadn’t spread yet when Roddy hired me on at the snack counter. I worked my way up to official