He goes on suddenly: “When the Above Ones spoke, they said, we will send down the snake Uk’ten.”
Annawake leans forward with her arms around her knees, narrowing her eyes to listen. She wished she had her glasses.
She understands Cherokee better with her glasses on.
“We will send the snake Uk’ten to cut the child in half, and each clan can carry home one half of the child.”
“Wait a minute,” Annawake says.
“The mother from the grassland happily agreed. But the mother from the hill clan wept and said no, that she would give her half of the child to the plains clan, to keep the baby whole. And so the Above Ones knew which mother loved the child best.”
Annawake pulls off a moccasin and throws it at Ledger, hitting him square in the chest. She pulls off the other and just misses his head, on purpose.
“What, you don’t like my story?” He sits up startled, crossing his hands over his chest.
“Some old Cherokee story you’ve got there. That’s King Solomon, from the Bible.”
“Oh. Well, I Knew I got it from someplace,” he says, patting his pockets for matches to relight his pipe.
“It’s a yonega story,” she says.
“Is that true? Did a Yonega write the Bible? I always wondered about that. It doesn’t say on there, ‘The Bible, by so-and-so.’ ”
“I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t a Yonega. I think it was a bunch of people that lived in the desert and fished for a living.”
“If they lived in the desert and caught fish both, you better listen to them.”
“Give me my shoes back.”
He leans back to collect the one that flew over his shoulder, and tosses the pair. Annawake pulls them on over her bare feet and buttons them and the ankles.
“I’ve got to go down to the Council Chambers and give my recommendation in half an hour. And you haven’t told me a thing.”
“Not a thing, no.”
“Except that maybe I don’t want to jump for joy to see a baby cut in half. Which she’s going to be, either way.”
“Can I tell you something, little hothead?”
“What?”
“There’s something else growing back with your hair.”
“What’s that?”
“Sense. Used to be, you wanted your side to win all the time.”
“They taught me that in yonega law school.”
“Must be. You never had a bit of it in you before. I never saw you knocking down your own brothers to hit the score in a stickball game.”
“Okay, then, if you knew me so well, you never should have let me go to law school. If you knew it would just bring out my worst nature.”
“If you have a frisky horse you put him in a race. You don’t put him behind a plow.”
Annawake gets up, dusts off her knees and her seat. “What do you know from horses, anyway? You’re a Cherokee, not some war-whooping featherheaded Sioux.”
“I know enough about horses. I know you want one that has a good heart.”
“I hear Dellon’s truck up on the road. He’s driving me over to Headquarters. I’d better go.”
“Annawake, you’ve got you a good heart. Run with it.
Your whole life, you’ve been afraid of yourself.” He is looking right at her. Not through her, like most people do, to the paper doll that is Annawake Fourkiller, but into her.
She stands with her mouth open, waiting for a word.
Nothing comes. Then, “How did you know?”
Ledger seems entirely occupied with his pipe. He waves her off. “Birdy told me.”
Dellon is idling with the radio on. He turns it down when she gets in. “So did Ledger blow smoke on you and bless you for the hunt?”
“He blew smoke all right. He aggravates me. Nobody ought to be that smart.”
“Yeah, well, Annawake. That’s what some people say about you.” He rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t know who.”
“If I’m so smart, how come I’m miserable?”
On the radio, Randy Travis’s croony voice dips low over someone who’s been gone for too long.
“You just need you a man, that’s all,” Dellon says.
Annawake exhales sharply. “I’ve had enough men in my life to last me about seven lifetimes. Think about it, Dell, growing up with all you guys, and Daddy, and Uncle Ledger. All those penises! You all had me surrounded like a picket fence.”
Dellon shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”