I understand his words. To give someone a knife may mean that you wish to cut the ties between you. But to just borrow it, even if you never give that knife back, it keeps that connection.

“Wado, Edoda,” I say as I slip the knife into the sheath, noticing as I do so that my father has decorated the sheath with a series of designs.

I am feeling happy, moved by his gesture. But before I can slip the knife in its sheath onto my belt, Sequoyah does something strange.

He takes his pipe out of his vest pocket, wets the index finger of his right hand, and sticks it into the pipe bowl.

“,” he says slowly, using the residue of ash on his finger to make marks on top of the bench next to him. “Knife.”

I look at those four marks in spite of myself. The first looks like a B, the second resembles a W, but the other two are nothing at all like letters in the English alphabet. In fact, I realize with a start, they are the same designs on the underside of the sheath he just gave me.

My father smiles. “ Yelasidi,” he says again, his finger touching each of those shapes as he does so.

A strange thing is happening to me. I actually am feeling myself drawn to those marks. It is as if they really are alive, as if they are speaking to me, trying to tell me something. I feel excited by that. But then I begin to feel another way—fearful! Is my father putting a spell on me? It is said that when someone begins to work evil medicine, they may use certain signs to draw you in, to steal your spirit.

Is my father’s kind smile and gentle voice just a disguise to hide that he has become one who works black magic? I’ve also heard it said that when someone wishes to become powerful in that bad way that they must sacrifice one of their own family members to gain such power.

Should I take that sheathed knife from my belt and throw it on the ground? Part of me wants to do that. But another part is telling me not to do anything rash. It is telling me to trust my father, keep this knife that he has given me.

But what should I do now?

I stand there for a moment, as still as a figure carved from wood.

Then speaking my words slowly and with great care I say, “I have to go now,” and walk out of Sequoyah’s shop.

CHAPTER 8

Confused Thoughts