Bernie would make another pot of coffee and break out the special chocolate-covered cookies as she worked her way to the heart of the matter.

“There was this bootlegger from around Missoula. Donald somebody. Like the duck. Drug dealer. Back then it was alcohol. Today it’s other stuff. So, Donald the Duck would bring his booze onto the reserve, and Leroy would find him or he would find Leroy. Didn’t much matter. The result was always the same. Leroy would get drunk, and when he got drunk, he would do something stupid.”

“This is where Uncle Leroy paints the guy’s house?”

“Stop getting ahead of the story. I raised you better than that.”

Sometimes Bernie would tell the story quick, and sometimes she would draw it out.

“Like I said, in those days, you had to have a pass to leave the reserve. Signed by the agent. Leroy didn’t pay much attention to that rule, and every time he left the reserve without a pass, that agent would try to have him arrested. And every time Leroy asked that agent for a pass to leave the reserve, Nelson or Wilson would turn him down.”

Even if you didn’t know the story, you knew that this kind of a situation was bound to go bad at some point.

“Nelson or Wilson had a house. Government issue. It wasn’t a big house. The roof leaked a little, and it didn’t have no better insulation than a plastic sack. It was painted white, but that didn’t last long. Cold winters and hard winds stripped the paint away until there was nothing left but the wood. You need me to draw you a picture?”

“Nope. I can see it.”

“So, this one time, Donald the Duck brought his wagonload of booze onto the reserve, and before long, Leroy found him. And not long after that, Leroy got his big idea.”

SO WE’RE IN PRAGUE, and Mimi has me take a picture of her rubbing the dog on the plaque. And then she rubs the guy being thrown off the bridge.

“Rubbing St. John of Nepomuk is supposed to bring you good luck and ensure that you’ll return to Prague.”

“We just got here.”

“Rubbing the dog doesn’t do anything.”

We walk to one end of the bridge, and then we walk back. The sky is overcast. The water is dark slate. We pause in the middle and watch the tour boats go up and down the river.

“You want to take a boat ride?”

“No.”

“You slept in the chair last night.”

I take a photo of the river and the stretch of city on both sides. “My stomach hurt.”

“I know it’s the demons, Bird.” Mimi puts her hand on my back. “They can only hurt you if you let them.”

We continue walking. The tourists have increased. Small groups stand around each of the statues.