Read Online Bearwalker by Joseph Bruchac - Free Book Online

as he brings one foot and then another down onto the ground with the careful deliberation of a heron wading into uncertain waters. I reach out my hand to help him balance and he takes it. His hand is dry and cool and his long fingers wrap around my wrist. It doesn’t bother me at all. I’m used to helping old people like that. I do it all the time with Grama Kateri onthe days when her “rumatiz” is acting up.
    â€œThank you, boy,” the cloud-haired old woman says, patting me on the back. “So nice to see a young man with manners.” Then she pokes a finger at the chest of the old man. “Not an invalid, you say? Hah. Let’s you and me run a hundred-yard dash and see who wins now, Wally Philo.”
    She turns to look down at me.
    â€œBoy,” she says, “Wally’s walker is in the backseat. Be a dear now and get it before this old fool falls down on his face and we have to use a derrick to get him back up again.”
    As I go to the back door, Mr. Philo raises his hand in a gesture like that of a priest about to give a benediction. “Fall down? Hah. With this new wiring in my chest, by this time next week I’ll be dunking a basketball again.”
    â€œIn your dreams, darling,” Mrs. Philo replies.
    â€œIf I could interrupt for a moment,” Mr. Wilbur says, “let me introduce one of my students to you. Baron Braun, these two superannuated cutups are the founders of this camp, Wallace and Dora Philo.”
    Mrs. Philo reaches over to grasp my hand. “Braun? We knew a Braun family, didn’t we,Wally? You a Mohawk, boy?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I say.
    â€œ Seh’kon ,” Mr. Philo says, leaning over to take my other hand with those long fingers of his.
    â€œ Seh’kon ,” his wife repeats.
    I’m stunned. They’ve just greeted me in flawlessly pronounced Mohawk.
    Mr. Philo is the one who explains. “I was a fairly successful professional basketball player. Way long ago.”
    â€œBefore the invention of the wheel,” Mrs. Philo interjects.
    â€œAlong the way, I learned how popular basketball is among Indians. So I used to do a workshop every now and then in reservation schools. That’s where I picked up a bit of Mohawk. I remember back about twenty years ago there was a tall young man by the name of Braun who had some promise as a guard at the Akwesasne school.”
    â€œThat would be my dad,” I answer. I wait for them to ask the question I don’t want to hear. Where is he now? But they don’t ask. The Philos just look at each other and nod.
    The four of us stand there in silence. It isn’t awkward, more like the kind of silence I’m usedto experiencing around Indian elders, a silence that gives folks a chance to just settle in with each other. Mr. Wilbur is the one who finally breaks it.
    â€œI have to say I’m really glad to see you both. This is perfect timing. But what brought you here?”
    For the first time, the Philos look surprised.
    â€œAre you joking, dear?” Mrs. Philo says. “You’re the one who left us the urgent message saying that we had to be here at Chuckamuck today.”
    Mr. Wilbur puts his hand to his chin. “Listen,” he said, “I didn’t send you any message at all. I wonder what—”
    He doesn’t finish that sentence. The sound of an explosion cuts him off.

10
Stuck
    T he road is totally blocked. Unless we want to walk, we’re stuck at Camp Chuckamuck. We’re gathered after dinner around the big fireplace in the main building. Almost all of us are here except Mr. Osgood. Just about everyone is acting like all of this is no big deal.
    But I don’t think so. This is a big deal. That explosion didn’t just block the road, it also took out the phone lines, which ran between the hills that collapsed when the dynamite went off. The only reason we still have electricity is because the power