When we arrived, the leader stepped aside at the entrance and spoke his language. The other Indians stopped. He spoke more words. Ten of them headed back into the heart of the village, leaving us with the leader and two others who were the complete opposites of each other: one chubby with a round head, and the other skinny with a long nose. The leader gave us the once-over––one by one––not speaking or giving any clues as to what he might be thinking.
Colby hopped from foot to foot, almost dancing. “I got to take a whiz, man,” he said. “Bladder gonna blow.”
“Not in the longhouse,” said the leader. He tossed his chin at his sidekicks, then said, “They’ll show you where we animals go.” He motioned for me and Tabby to enter the longhouse. The skinny Indian grabbed Colby by the arm and tried to lead him around the side.
I went to stop him. “We’re not leaving him.”
The leader stiffened immediately and stepped in front of me, so we were nose to nose. With this closeness, I realized he was over six feet tall, taller than Colby, and rangy and muscular like a farmer who’d been toiling away on the land his entire life.
The whole thing reminded me of Peter Murray, the bully who’d accosted me on my first night at the youth detention facility in Portland, clenching his fists and ordering me––the new fish––to give up my snack, or he’d pump my eyes shut. I agreed to give it to him, not because I was frightened by his threat or by the fact he was mean-looking and thirty pounds heavier, but because I was dog-tired and thought if we scrapped I’d be good for nothing and end up on the losing end. I went to my room, picked up my apple, dipped it in toilet water, gave it a quick flick and blow, and then walked out. Straight-faced, not a slump in either shoulder, and in front of everyone, I handed him my apple. I slept surprisingly well on my first night in youth detention, all things considered.
“You do not have a choice,” said the leader, jarring me out of my memory.
The chubby Indian placed his bone spearhead against my chest and gave it a light poke, then gestured the tip to the doorway, as if saying I better move or else. The leader laid a hand on the spear’s shaft without taking his eyes off me and pushed it aside.
“Your friend will come in after he is done,” he said.
“You sure about that?” I said, studying his face.
He looked to Colby, then to me. I got the feeling he was being straight.
“It’s all right,” said Colby. We held each other’s eyes for a moment. He gave me a look that said he’d be fine. So I entered the longhouse, Tabby following, unsure of myself, unsure of what we would face.