room.
As far as Hawk was concerned, there was only one conclusion to be drawn from the answer. Although he lived in Rawlins’ house, he had not been taken in as a member of their clan. He was separate from them.
Through the long winter and into spring, Hawk rarely saw his father. The trip to Phoenix turned out to be the first of many. Before he left and each time he came back, his father would seek out Hawk and, depending on the length of his return visits, would see him several times in between. The discussions were either instructive or related to how Hawk was doing with various school subjects. Never was Hawk asked how he was adjusting to his new life, how he was getting along with the Rawlinses, or if he missed the Reservation life.
Always the time spent with his father was alone. No one else was ever included. Each time his father came back from a trip, he brought Hawk a present. One time it was a shiny new pocketknife, another time a leather belt, and so on. Hawk had no way of knowing whether Chad received a gift, too.
By the time school closed for the summer, he had learned the meaning of words like “bastard,” “mistress,” and “illegitimate.” Listening to the conversationsof the cowboys, Hawk heard the contempt they held for most of the Indians.
Gradually, it became apparent to him that his father felt shame … shame because Hawk had been born on the wrong side of the blanket and because his mother was an “Indian squaw.” That was why his father only saw him alone.
There were times when he remembered wistfully what it had been like when his mother was alive. Seated at the table, he would stare at slices of the soft, white bread. His mouth would wish for the taste of the tortilla-like bread his mother used to make. He would lie in bed at night, listening to the creaking of the wood house, and long to hear the comforting repetitious chants of the “sings.” Sometimes he would sing them to himself, but he had to do it softly, or else the woman Rawlins would come to his room and whip him with her stinging tongue.
The advent of summer meant spending most of every daylight hour outside. It was taken for granted that he would work. The cowboys had grown used to having him around all the time and had ceased to regard him as an oddity. Sometimes they even included him in their jokes and laughter. Hawk had such a natural aptitude and an eagerness to learn that they were always giving him tips and pointers.
The first week of June, Chad came home to the ranch for the summer. The first few days after his return, Hawk saw little of him. Late one afternoon he had just finished his assigned task of cleaning out two of the barn stalls when Chad walked in.
“Have you see my father?” Chad followed Hawk to the water hydrant that stood by the horse troughs in the corral. “We’re supposed to go riding this afternoon.”
“No.” Hawk turned on the faucet and bent to drinkfrom the running water, the excess spilling in to fill the horse tank.
“He’ll probably be here shortly,” Chad replied with unconcern and rested the toe of his boot on the bottom rail of the corral fence. With his thirst slaked, Hawk shut off the hydrant and glanced at his half-brother. There was nothing in his expression to indicate his presence was unwanted. A natural curiosity to know more about this stranger who was his relative kept Hawk by the corral fence. Chad sent a sidelong glance his way, then let his gaze sweep over the area. “All this is going to be mine someday,” he announced, then looked back at him and said nothing. “I know who you are.” He began to study Hawk with a quiet kind of curiosity. “I’ve heard my mother talk about you.”
“What does she say?” The fascination he felt for his father’s first wife had increased over the months until Hawk became totally entranced by her.
But Chad wasn’t interested in answering Hawk’s question. “Was your mother really a Navaho?”
“Yes.” Hawk could
As far as Hawk was concerned, there was only one conclusion to be drawn from the answer. Although he lived in Rawlins’ house, he had not been taken in as a member of their clan. He was separate from them.
Through the long winter and into spring, Hawk rarely saw his father. The trip to Phoenix turned out to be the first of many. Before he left and each time he came back, his father would seek out Hawk and, depending on the length of his return visits, would see him several times in between. The discussions were either instructive or related to how Hawk was doing with various school subjects. Never was Hawk asked how he was adjusting to his new life, how he was getting along with the Rawlinses, or if he missed the Reservation life.
Always the time spent with his father was alone. No one else was ever included. Each time his father came back from a trip, he brought Hawk a present. One time it was a shiny new pocketknife, another time a leather belt, and so on. Hawk had no way of knowing whether Chad received a gift, too.
By the time school closed for the summer, he had learned the meaning of words like “bastard,” “mistress,” and “illegitimate.” Listening to the conversationsof the cowboys, Hawk heard the contempt they held for most of the Indians.
Gradually, it became apparent to him that his father felt shame … shame because Hawk had been born on the wrong side of the blanket and because his mother was an “Indian squaw.” That was why his father only saw him alone.
There were times when he remembered wistfully what it had been like when his mother was alive. Seated at the table, he would stare at slices of the soft, white bread. His mouth would wish for the taste of the tortilla-like bread his mother used to make. He would lie in bed at night, listening to the creaking of the wood house, and long to hear the comforting repetitious chants of the “sings.” Sometimes he would sing them to himself, but he had to do it softly, or else the woman Rawlins would come to his room and whip him with her stinging tongue.
The advent of summer meant spending most of every daylight hour outside. It was taken for granted that he would work. The cowboys had grown used to having him around all the time and had ceased to regard him as an oddity. Sometimes they even included him in their jokes and laughter. Hawk had such a natural aptitude and an eagerness to learn that they were always giving him tips and pointers.
The first week of June, Chad came home to the ranch for the summer. The first few days after his return, Hawk saw little of him. Late one afternoon he had just finished his assigned task of cleaning out two of the barn stalls when Chad walked in.
“Have you see my father?” Chad followed Hawk to the water hydrant that stood by the horse troughs in the corral. “We’re supposed to go riding this afternoon.”
“No.” Hawk turned on the faucet and bent to drinkfrom the running water, the excess spilling in to fill the horse tank.
“He’ll probably be here shortly,” Chad replied with unconcern and rested the toe of his boot on the bottom rail of the corral fence. With his thirst slaked, Hawk shut off the hydrant and glanced at his half-brother. There was nothing in his expression to indicate his presence was unwanted. A natural curiosity to know more about this stranger who was his relative kept Hawk by the corral fence. Chad sent a sidelong glance his way, then let his gaze sweep over the area. “All this is going to be mine someday,” he announced, then looked back at him and said nothing. “I know who you are.” He began to study Hawk with a quiet kind of curiosity. “I’ve heard my mother talk about you.”
“What does she say?” The fascination he felt for his father’s first wife had increased over the months until Hawk became totally entranced by her.
But Chad wasn’t interested in answering Hawk’s question. “Was your mother really a Navaho?”
“Yes.” Hawk could
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