The magic was on his side, the magic explained and gave orders. He stepped back in the outer room. When he is drunk asleep . The knife for the meat was lying on the floor near the fireplace. He picked it up and tiptoed to the door again. When he is drunk asleep, drunk asleep . He ran across the room and stabbed-oh, the blood!-stabbed again, as Pop heaved out of his sleep, lifted his hand to stab once more, but found his wrist caught, held and-oh, oh!-twisted. He couldnt move, he was trapped, and there were Pops small black eyes, very close, staring into his own. He looked away. There were two cuts on Pops left shoulder. Oh, look at the blood! Linda was crying. Look at the blood! She had never been able to bear the sight of blood. Pop lifted his other hand-to strike him, he thought. He stiffened to receive the blow. But the hand only took him under the chin and turned his face, so that he had to look again into Pops eyes. For a long time, for hours and

And suddenly-he couldnt help it-he began to cry. Pop burst out laughing. Go, he said, in the other Indian words. Go, my brave Ahaiyuta. He ran out into the other room to hide his tears. You are fifteen, said old Mitsima, in the Indian words. Now I may teach you to work the clay. Squatting by the river, they worked together. First of all, said Mitsima, taking a lump of the wetted clay between his hands, we make a little moon. The old man squeezed the lump into a disk, then bent up the edges, the moon became a shallow cup. Slowly and unskilfully he imitated the old mans delicate gestures. A moon, a cup, and now a snake. Mitsima rolled out another piece of clay into a long flexible cylinder, trooped it into a circle and pressed it on to the rim of the cup. Then another snake. And another. And another. Round by round, Mitsima built up the sides of the pot; it was narrow, it bulged, it narrowed again towards the neck. Mitsima squeezed and patted, stroked and scraped; and there at las

The crooked parody of Mitsimas, 90 IDPH his own stood beside it. Looking at the two pots, he had to laugh. But the next one will be better, he said, and began to moisten another piece of clay. To fashion, to give form, to feel his fingers gaining in skill and powerthis gave him an extraordinary pleasure. A, B, C, Vitamin D, he sang to himself as he worked. The fats in the liver, the cods in the sea. And Mitsima also sang-a song about killing a bear. They worked all day, and all day he was filled with an intense, absorbing happiness. Next winter, said old Mitsima, I will teach you to make the bow. He stood for a long time outside the house, and at last the ceremonies within were finished. The door opened; they came out. Kothlu came first, his right hand out-stretched and tightly closed, as though over some precious jewel. Her clenched hand similar

They walked in silence, and in silence, behind them, came the brothers and sisters and cousins and all the troop of old people. They walked out of the pueblo, across the mesa. At the edge of the clid they halted, facing the early morning sun. Kothlu opened his hand. A pinch of corn meal lay white on the palm; he breathed on it, murmured a few words, then threw it, a handful of white dust, towards the sun. Kiakim did the same. Then Khakims father stepped forward, and holding up a feathered prayer stick, made a long prayer, then threw the stick after the corn meal. It is finished, said old Mitsima in a loud voice. They are married. Well, said Linda, as they turned