Read Online Code Talker by Chester Nez - Free Book Online Page B

boy and girl sitting at the ends of the rectangular table-for-eight finished their oatmeal. Before they could reach for my bowl, I wolfed the remnants of my cereal and placed dish and spoon on the table. The three younger girls sitting across from me did the same. But one of the two boys on my side of the table didn’t finish soon enough. The big girl glanced to be sure the dining room attendants weren’t watching and grabbed his last prune.
    Although the older two were there to make sure we younger ones ate, they generally snatched anything they wanted from the smaller students’ plates.
    A male monitor at the side of the room gave a hand signal, and we put our utensils down and stood, leaving dishes and trays on the table. Another signal told us to exit the cafeteria. I, along with the other boys my age, lined up quickly at the boys’ door. But not quickly enough. The eleven- to eighteen-year-old boys were already there, and the eleven- to eighteen-year-old girls were at the girls’ door. They’d all smuggled out dishes and leftover oatmeal, flinging them at one another as they exited. Soon we smaller kids became targets, with dishes, utensils, and coffeepots flying through the air. We ducked while matrons and administrators ran into the kitchen, leaving us on our own. Bullies barged into the bakery and stole bread, but the cooks didn’t dare intervene.
    Later that day, at lunchtime, I lined up single file with the other kids. As we approached the cafeteria, older boys whispered to us behind their hands. “There’s meat today. And bread. Make a sandwich and bring it to me.”
    â€œHey!” It was Coolidge, my older brother. He shook his fist at the bullies. “Leave my brother alone.”
    I smiled and ducked into my place at the table. I ate the mutton and bread that day, leaving none. Normally lunch was pinto beans cooked with a little bacon, so mutton was a real treat.
    Coolidge wasn’t always there to intervene, however, and I knew that next time I might leave the cafeteria hungry, hiding a sandwich in the kangaroo pocket of my uniform and handing it over to some bigger boy.
    Marching back to the dormitory in single file, I was careful to stay right behind the boy in front of me. No straggling allowed.
    From the dorm, we were called to afternoon classes. I waited while the fourth, third, second, and first graders lined up and marched to class. Finally it was my turn—kindergarten. Both Dora and I had done kindergarten at Tohatchi, but we’d been told that we had to repeat it there at Fort Defiance.
    In class I dove immediately into my assigned seat. No one spoke except the teacher. “Sit up straight, arms crossed in front of you,” she said, demonstrating the proper posture.
    That was usually the way we were told to sit, and everyone in class complied. I glanced over at the kids on the other side of the room. They sat stiff as statues, all trying not to move.
    Questions began. The teacher wrote YES and NO on the board, instructing the students to choose one or the other for each answer.
    Picture books and pictures taped to the walls helped in the learning process. We children listened, desperately trying to pull some meaning from what the teacher said. I clamped my lips together. As on other days, I volunteered no answers. Anyone who answered incorrectly was punished. It was safer not to volunteer, not to stand out.
    But the teacher called on me. “Yes,” I said, feeling sure that was the correct response.
    Her eyes squeezed into slits, and she slapped a ruler against her palm. “Chester Nez, the correct answer is ‘no.’ Come up here.”
    Head hanging, I walked slowly to the front of the class. While the other students sat silent the teacher whacked me across the shoulders with the ruler. It doesn’t hurt that much, I told myself, squeezing my eyes closed. But I knew it was wrong, trying to humiliate a person in front of his