My Name Is Not Easy by Edwardson, Dahl (the reading list TXT) 📗

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Contents

PART I: THE DAY THE EARTH TURNED OVER (1960–1961) My Name Is Not Easy / Luke 3

Looking for a Tree / Chickie 10

Never Cry / Luke 17

Indian Country / Sonny and Chickie 28

How Hunters Survive / Luke 37

Snowbird / Chickie 49

Kickball / Sonny 56

Th

e Size of Th

ings Back Home / Luke, Sonny & Chickie 65

PART II: THE DAY THE SOLDIERS CAME (1961–1962) 75

Rose Hips and Chamomile / Donna 77

Burnt Off erings / Luke 85

Military Trash / Chickie 100

Th

e Day the Soldiers Came / Luke 108

Th

e Meanest Heathens / Sonny and Amiq 119

PART III: WHEN THE TIME COMES (1962–1963) 137

Coupons and Bomb Shelters / Chickie 139

Our Uncle’s Gun / Luke 149

Eskimo Kiss / Chickie 155

Forever / Luke 161

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PART IV: THE EARTH CAN’T SHAKE US (1963–1964) 167

He’s My Brother / Chickie 169

Eskimo Rodeo / Luke 177

Unchained Melody / Donna 186

A Weak Spot or a Secret Strength / Luke 193

Our Story 197

Civil Disobedience216

Good Friday228

EPILOGUE: A NEW GUN / Luke 240

AUTHOR’S NOTE 245

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PART I

The Day the Earth Turned Over

19601961

Th

e elders say the earth has turned over seven times, pole to pole, north to south.

Freezing and thawing, freezing and thawing,

fl ipping over and tearing apart.

Changing everything.

We were there.

We were always there.

Th

ey say no one survived the ice age but they’re wrong.

Th

ere were seven ice ages and we survived.

We survived them all. . . .

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My Name Is Not Easy

SEPTEMBER 5, 1960

LUKE

—

When I go off to Sacred Heart School, they’re gonna call me Luke because my Iñupiaq name is too hard. Nobody has to tell me this. I already know. I already know because when teachers try say our real names, the sounds always get caught in their throats, sometimes, like crackers. Th

at’s how it was

in kindergarten and in fi rst, second, and third grade, and that’s how it’s going to be at boarding school, too. Teachers only know how to say easy names, like my brother Bunna’s.

My name is not easy.

My name is hard like ocean ice grinding at the shore or wind pounding the tundra or sun so bright on the snow, it burns your eyes. My name is all of us huddled up here together, waiting to hear the sound of that plane that’s going to take us away, me and my brothers. Nobody saying nothing about it. Everybody doing the same things they always do. Uncle Joe is cleaning his gun and Aaka—that’s my grandma—is eating maktak. Jack is sprawled out on the 3

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M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y

bed reading Life magazine, and Mom’s dipping water from the fi fty-fi ve-gallon water drum to make tea for Aapa, my grandpa.

Bunna’s chasing Isaac across the fl oor on the opposite side of the room, showing him how to play cowboy with his authentic Roy Rogers gun and holster set. Pretending there’s a whole pack of Indians under the bed. Th

e only thing under

the bed is one little Eskimo: our youngest brother, Isaac, mad about the fact he’s always got to be the Indian.

I know that pretty soon Aapa’s gonna fi nish his tea, and when he does, he’s gonna belch and say taiku. But he isn’t thanking Mom or Aaka or anyone, he’s just saying it. Taiku.

Th

ank you.

Some things are good to know, like knowing what lies on the other side of that smooth line the tundra makes at the edge of the sky. When you don’t know, you feel uneasy about what you might fi nd out there, which is how I’m feeling about Catholic school right now. Uneasy. Wondering if it’s gonna be good or bad or both messed up together.

I never met them Catholics, yet, but I heard about them.

If you give them a kid ’til the age of seven, they got ’em for life.

Th

at’s what Catholics say. I watch Isaac scuttle across the fl oor, an uneasy feeling stirring in my stomach. Isaac is only six.

Aapa stands up from the table and belches good.

“Taiku.”

I wonder if Aapa knows what Catholics say. Probably not. Jack’s the one who told us about them Catholics and he wouldn’t say it to my aapa because Aapa is not a Catholic.

4

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M Y N A M E I S N O T E A S Y / L u k e Jack is Mom’s boyfriend.

Uncle Joe wipes his rag along the barrel of his gun and hands it to me, like he always does. “So. You going off to that place where they make you eat Trigger?” He leans down next to me when he says it, too, like he’s sharing a secret.

I think