Neither Wolf nor Dog by Kent Nerburn Page B

with war paint and wearing some little towel while he’s riding a horse across the prairie and shooting arrows at white men. It was so damn dumb I can’t even imagine it.”
    â€œThere!” interjected Grover. The Italian Indians in buckskin pants were racing along on their pintos shooting arrows and brandishing tomahawks.
    â€œAt least they’re not wearing those damn little towels,” Dan said. “Think about it, Nerburn. You live up in the woods. You should know how it is. Do people from New York and California ever come up there? I bet if they made a movie about where you live, it would just be a joke, too.”
    â€œThey have,” I said. “And it was.”
    â€œThen think about us. We’re Indians. We live out here in buffalo country. All we ever see are little tiny planes going over our heads between New York and California. They don’t stop here. Those people don’t want to stop here.”
    â€œExcept that New York woman,” Grover said.
    Dan nodded and continued. “That’s the way it’s always been. All the settlers either stayed in the East or they went straight across to California, and most of us Indians ended up in the middle. We were where no one else wanted to be. That’s why they let us be here.
    â€œBut all the movies and all the books came from either California or somewhere out East, so they didn’t know a damn thing about Indians except what they wanted to know. That woman that came from New York was just another one of them. She was just the new version. She’s probably back there right now writing some script where all the Indians talk like wise people. She’ll find some scriptwriter who has read some Indian speeches and then she’ll have the Indians talk like that. She won’t even know that we speak different when we are giving speeches. She won’t even care.
    â€œAnd you know what? When you get right down to it she’ll have the hero be a white person. The Indian will offer advice to the white person and that will make the white person better, but it will really be a movie about white people and how they become wiser when they add Indian wisdom to their white lives.
    â€œI don’t even know what the hell the movie is, but I’d bet everything that it will be like I say. They all are these days. Wesee them on video. We know what they’re like. Can’t have savages anymore. Now it’s the wise Indian — you know, at one with the earth and all — who makes white people get better by teaching them Indian ways, so they add Indian values to their whiteness.”
    â€œLike that ‘Dances with Wolves,’” Grover said.
    â€œYeah, exactly,” Dan said. “That was at least pretty good. They paid some real Indians and the Indians were pretty good. But the white guy got wise. He was the hero.”
    Grover had gone to the refrigerator for a carton of milk. “I wonder what that New York woman’s movie will be?” he asked.
    â€œâ€˜Old Indian That Cleared His Throat,’” Dan said.
    Grover laughed. “Well, I sure as hell wised her up, I know that. I better start watching for it on TV.”
    â€œThat’s the trouble,” Dan answered. “Whatever the hell she does, it’ll be on TV. Kids will see it. White kids, Indian kids. They’ll all see it and think that’s what Indians are like. They’ll see what some woman who almost peed in her pants thinks Indians are like, and they’ll believe it.”
    He stuffed the last bite of sandwich in his mouth. The TV was showing a woman spraying a garbage can with some air freshener. He pushed his plate away. “Give me some of that milk,” he said. Grover handed him the carton. He took a gulp directly from the spout.
    He handed it across to me. “No, thanks,” I mumbled.
    Grover turned toward me. “You better not write some book like that,