“What are you doing here, kid?”
It was a man’s voice.
It was morning. I’d overslept. I was scared.
“Hold it, kid. You lost? You must be from the reservation.
Your folks must be worried sick about you. Do they have a
phone?” Ernie, the owner, asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “But don’t call them.” I shook with cold.
The man made me hot chocolate. I told him why I was on
my own.
“I’ve lived by the reservation all my life. I never heard of this
test before. Pretty silly thing to do to a kid,” he said.
I’d thought that for months. But when he said it, I got angry.
“It isn’t silly. Kaws have done this for hundreds of years. All my
family went through this test. It’s why the Kaw are great warriors.”
“OK, great warrior,” he laughed. “You can stay if you
want.” He tossed me clothes that people had left on boats.
“Find something to keep you warm.”
The sweater was loose, but it felt good. I felt good. And I’d
found a new friend. Most important, I was surviving Ta-Na-E-Ka.
I stayed at Ernie’s for five days. Mornings I went into the
woods. I watched the animals and picked flowers. I’d never felt
better. I watched the sun rise on the Missouri.6 I ate everything
I wanted. I paid Ernie all my money for food.
“I’ll keep this in trust for you, Mary,” Ernie said. “Someday
you may need five dollars.”
I enjoyed every minute with Ernie. He taught me to cook,
and I told him Kaw stories.