A homeless Indian recognizes his grandmother’s powwow costume, stolen fifty years earlier, in a pawnshop window. Confirmation that it is indeed his family’s comes from the fact that a hidden yellow pearl is sewn onto the garment. The pawnbroker wants to help, but he bought the outfit for a thousand dollars. He offers to sell it back to the Indian for that price, but he has twenty-four hours to do so. The Indian finds a few dollars, then drinks them with friends, and again, and invites friends to eat out, and so on. When he returns to the pawnshop, which seems to disappear and reappear elsewhere, he has only five dollars… but the pawnbroker agrees to give him the outfit. The story ends with the Indian dancing with his grandmother in the street in the powwow outfit. A touching little story.
“- You Indians. How the hell do you laugh so much ? I just picked your ass off the railroad tracks, and you’re making jokes. Why the hell do you do that ?
– The two funniest tribes I’ve ever been around are Indians and Jews, so I guess that says something about the inherent humor of genocide.”
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