Plain of Jars: and Other Stories

Marlene

$ 195 $ Marlene Iguess Frances and I have been going to Okies for about three years now, and in all that time a lot of changes have taken place. For a corner beer joint near the university, that’s saying a lot, since places like Okies generally don’t change at all. We’ve watched it go from being a place once patronized by university students and Indians to a biker bar. Yeah, for a while, when the bikers started coming in and the Wigwam Club opened up—that’s an Indian bar over on North 4th Street—we stopped going to Okies and started going to the Wigwam Club. Then when the drinks started getting higher at the Wigwam Club, we started going back to Okies. By then the bikers didn’t hang out there any more, and it had turned into something of a hippie bar, except for the few Indians who still went there all along, preferring the cheaper prices of beer to Indian company. Then a lot of black guys started patronizing the place, and soul music seemed to be about all that would get played on the jukebox, but that was okay most of the time, because the blacks never bothered Indians. Now all of a sudden the ’Skins have started coming back to Okies in droves, especially on Tuesday nights. It’s gotten to be that on Tuesday nights the place literally busts open at the seams, it gets so crowded. Somehow or another, Tuesday night has become an almost unofficial ’Skin night at Okies, and the Wigwam Club even closes up then. So it ought not be a surprise for you to learn that Frances and I were down there at Okies last Tuesday, starring around with all the other ’Skins, when what I’m going to tell you about happened. 196 $ geary hobson You know, the thing about Okies, you go down there, you buy a draft and then walk towards the back of the place and kind of stand around like everyone else. People are there, standing around in little groups, talking and laughing and drinking, and pretty soon they sort of start drifting towards the back booths as they empty out. A lot of the white people who’ve been sitting there start moving up to the front of the bar or go home, kind of like they’re worried we might massacre their wagon train or something. Pretty soon, the whole back area of Okies—the booths, the dance floor, the aisle—will be crowded with ’Skins. For about two hours or so, until closing time, the place jumps, and then afterwards there will almost always be a party at somebody’s house, and it will generally continue on until the daylight hours. Not many people make it to work or classes on time the next morning, saying that for Wednesday they’ll just hang it up. Anyway, as I was saying, it was no surprise that Frances and I were in Okies last Tuesday, but it was sure one hell of a surprise for us to see Marlene Little Cloud there. I was up at the bar, getting another beer, when I saw Marlene sitting there at the bar all alone. About six weeks ago her husband died, and I hadn’t seen her since before it happened. She’s a Navajo woman, about thirty-five years old. “Hey, Marlene. How’s it going?” She looked around and seemed pleased to see me. “Hey, Wayne. How are you?” “What’re you doing sitting up here all by yourself? We’re all in the back.” “Oh, I’m doing okay. Is Frances with you?” “Yeah, she’s in back. We’re sitting in a booth.” Just then, I got one of the bartenders’ attention and got my beer. It was crowded as hell right there at the bar. It made me feel like the thirteenth pig at the trough. People were bumping into each other like bugs in the water, it was so packed. I thought that Marlene might be feeling lonesome since Mike died, so I asked her again to come back and sit with us. “Okay. Lead the way.” We made our way through the crowd to the back room. When Frances saw her, she greeted Marlene pretty enthusiastically, since she hadn’t seen her for a long time, and everyone in the booth moved over so she could sit down with us. Ron Romero and a San...