“So you want to borrow a blanket from us?” the man asked.
“Because you thought Indians would just happen to have some extra blankets lying around?”
War Dances by Sherman Alexie, New Yorker August 10-17, 2009
Despite his feigned outrage, the man in the hospital waiting room does have blankets, “a room full of Pendleton blankets,” and so the narrator’s father, feet amputated because of diabetes, is afforded a small comfort.
This story is all about small comforts, small moments, fathers, blankets, songs, “vodka straight up or with a nostalgia chaser,” fingers in brains, bound together by that unmistakable Sherman Alexie voice.
The New Yorkerest picked the “Travels in Siberia” essay, also quite good, but damned if I don’t get sucked in by Sherman Alexie every time.