Includes Malamud's novel, The People, which was left unfinished at the time of his death in 1986, with the text presented as the author left it, as well as fourteen previously uncollected stories. Set in the nineteenth century, The People has as its hero a Jewish peddler who is adopted as chief by an Indian tribe in the Pacific Northwest.

and all, what I want to do most is take a hot piss and go back to the fort. My horse is waitin’ somewhere t’other side of them pines.” “We take you back,” said Windy Voice, imitating a white man. “Will you? Thanks, old chum. You boys are the nicest fucking Indians I do believe I have ever met.” Even Foxglove laughed at the man’s expression. A brave came galloping into camp one morning as Jozip was sensing spring on its way. The brave ran to Jozip’s tepee, tossed open the tent flap, and

they arrived on earth.” “But suppose they don’t let us go where we want to go and instead interfere with the People?” said Long Wind. “Then I will break off the meeting with the colonel and announce that we must move on again.” “Suppose the whites shoot at us?” “We will take care of that when it comes to that.” “Without arms?” “We are not without arms,” Chief Jozip said. “We don’t want to use our arms if we don’t have to.” “You will get nothing from the white faces but scorn and lies.”

“My dear girl. Why did you go away from me if I love you?” He wanted to carry her until she came back to life. “My dear dead girl, don’t go away from me.” He carried her out of the woods. But even as Jozip held her body, he rallied the Indians. “We fight for our lives,” he shouted. Indian Head appeared. He had been shot in the left shoulder. “I lost the ponies,” he said bitterly. “I lost some of the old people and some of the children. I barely got away from the whites alive. You were wrong to

clothes on. When he got his pants off he stopped and couldn’t go on. What do you think of a guy who would do a thing like that to a girl? He wasn’t much of a lover, was he? She was smiling broadly now, and she spoke in an older, disillusioned voice, “You’re different, Ed.” And she said, “You used to talk a lot.” He listened intently but said nothing. “But you still ain’t a bad-looking guy. How old are you, anyway?” “Twenty-eight, going on twenty-nine.” “Married?” “Not yet,” he said quickly.

you had that sweet-sixteen party in your house, your mother gave us that Greek coffee that had jelly in the bottom of the little cup?” She said she remembered. “Let me buy you a drink.” Farr reached into his pocket. He was smoking and squinted as he counted the coins. He caught Gus’s eye and ordered whiskey for her, but Gus wouldn’t take anything for it. Farr then slid a coin into the jukebox. “Dance?” he said, fighting a panicky feeling. “No.” Vastly relieved, he went to the bar and