“My friends,” Sequoyah says, “you may believe that talking leaves belong only to the white people. That is no longer so. I have found a way so that we may record anything in our language using these marks.”

He holds up a large piece of paper with the eighty-six signs of the syllabary drawn upon it.

“Bird footprints?” someone near the front says. I cannot see him, but I recognize the owl-like voice as that of Equgugu’s father.

His words are answered by a little ripple of laughter from the people nearest him. But it is nervous laughter. Though everyone has agreed to gather here, they are uncertain about what they are going to see. And I am uncertain about how they are going to respond.

My father remains calm, that small understanding smile on his face is not mocking or defensive.

“Yes,” he says, “these do look a little like bird footprints. Your eyes are good, my friend. And we all know what bird footprints mean. They tell us where a bird has been, whether it was large or small, which way it walked before it flew on. But these marks mean much more than that.”

He put his hand on Ahyokah’s shoulder. “My daughter,” he says, “she will help me show you what these marks mean.” He points with his lips toward one of the trees on the far edge of the field next to the Council House. “Go.”

Ahyokah runs past the front of the crowd, not stopping until she reaches that faraway tree.

“Now,” my father says, “can my daughter hear what I am saying?”

“No.” Several voices in the crowd answer as one.

“Good. Now,” my father looks out at the crowd, “will someone speak a message to me?”

Big Rattling Gourd steps forward. I am relieved that he does so. He has long been a friend of my father’s but has avoided seeing him since his return from Arkansas because of all the bad things being said. But after Agili’s visit with my father, our town chief spoke to him. So two days ago, at Agili’s suggesion, he came to my stepmother’s cabin. Sequoyah showed him how he was able to make the leaves talk. It excited Big Rattling Gourd so much that he left saying that he would not be able to sleep that night.

“I will speak,” Big Rattling Gourd says. “Record these words: Big Rattling Gourd just spoke. He asked if the talking leaves can really speak Tsalagi.”

Sequoyah quickly writes the syllables. Then he hands the paper to Big Rattling Gourd, takes off his neckerchief, raises it high in the air, and waves it so that my sister can see his signal. As she begins to make her way back, my father speaks to the crowd.

“Now I will go over there.”