“You remember,” he said approvingly. “Good.” “Are you the one I’m supposed to meet?”

He cocked his head. “I don’t know. Have you come here to meet someone, little bird’s Nest?”

She nodded. “My friend Ariel brought me. She said …”

“Your friend? Have you come with a friend? Where is she?”

Nest looked around. “Gone, I guess. Hiding.”

“Ah, just like your friend in the park five years ago. Mr. Pick.” Two Bears seemed amused. His broad face creased with his smile. “All your friends want to hide from me, it seems.”

She colored slightly. “Maybe you frighten them.”

“Do you think so?” He shrugged, as if disclaiming responsibility. “You’ve changed, little bird’s Nest. Maybe I can’t call you that anymore. Maybe you’re too old, too grown up.”

“You haven’t changed,” she replied. “You look just the same. What are you doing here?”

He looked around speculatively. “Maybe I’ve come to be with my brothers and sisters. The Sinnissippi are gone, but there are still plenty of other tribes. Some of them have prospered. They run casinos and sell fireworks. They have councils to govern their people and rules to enforce their proclamations. The government in Washington recognizes their authority. They call them Native Americans and pass laws that give them special privileges. They don’t call them Indians or Redskins anymore. At least, not to their faces.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “There is even a segment of the population who believes that my people were wronged once, long ago, when white Europeans took away their land and their way of life. Can you imagine that?”

Nest shook her head noncommittally. “Are you sure Ariel didn’t bring me here to see you?”

His face remained expressionless. “Why don’t we sit down and talk, little bird’s Nest?”

He led her to a bench facing out toward the water. A group of weathered men was sitting there, passing around a bottle and speaking in low voices. Two Bears said something to them in another language, and they rose at once and moved away. Two Bears took their place on the bench, and Nest sat down next to him.

“What did you say to them?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I told them they have no pride in themselves and should be ashamed.” The copper skin of his blunt features tightened around his bones. “We are such a sad and hopeless people. Such a lost people. There are some of us, it is true, who have money and property. There are some who have found a way of life that provides. But most of us have nothing but empty hearts and alcohol and bad memories. Our pride in ourselves was stripped away a long time ago, and we were left hollow. It is a sad thing to see. Sadder to live.”

He looked at her. “Do you know what is wrong with us, little bird’s Nest? We are homeless. It is a bad way to be in the world. But that is how we are. We are adrift, tiny boats in a large ocean. Even those of us who have land and houses and friends and neighbors and some sort of life. It is a condition indigenous to our people. We bear a legacy of loss passed down to us by our ancestors. We bear the memory of what we had and what was taken. It haunts us.”