One maiden appealed to her father, who was a warrior of local prominence, and he braced the stranger. They spoke in signs, and their dialogue was approximately this:

  “Youth, I would speak with you.”

  “I am honored to converse with you, Father.” For this was the courteous address for an elder man, by a youth of either gender.

  “My daughter regards you well, and so do I, though our acquaintance has been only a day and night. I would have you marry her, and be one with our tribe.”

  “I would like that, for your daughter is beautiful and you are bold. But I must not stay.”

  “Why is this?”

  “I am a man of dishonor, stripped of my name and exiled from my tribe. I may not return or settle elsewhere until I have accomplished two significant things. I am therefore not eligible to join you and your lovely daughter, much as I would like to do so.”

  There was a pause, for this was serious news. “For what great crime was this punishment imposed on you?” the father asked at last.

  “I spoke sacrilege. I doubted the story of the First Father and the Tortoise Shell.”

  The father was taken aback. “You were indeed insolent! I can see that our cultures differ from each other in many respects, and surely many of our beliefs are not the same, but we too honor that story and know it to be true. The very sky asserts its validity. What are the two things you must do?”

  “I must perform a truly selfless act, and I must achieve belief in the validity of that story.”

  The father nodded. “This is appropriate, for surely it was the arrogance of ignorance that led you to this folly. When you accomplish it, return here; perhaps my daughter will not yet have married elsewhere.”

  “I thank you for your tolerance, Father. But tell her not to wait, for though I shall strive to accomplish the first, I fear I shall never succeed in the second. I have had to advise other maidens of this.”

  The father was angered by this continuing presumption of perspective, but held his temper, for he had initiated the dialogue. “Perhaps if you will accept some guidance . . .”

  “I will listen with respect, Father, but I am unable to compel my own belief.”

  “It is this: go south from here, to the place of the red slope. There you may find what you seek.”

  The young man bowed his head. “I thank you, Father, for this advice. I will go there.” And he turned and proceeded south.

  Actually this advice was similar to other suggestions he had received in the course of his travel. Thus he had come generally south, proceeding from tribe to tribe. The description of the place had varied, but there did seem to be a destination that others felt could help him. He hoped they were right, for it was painful to be cut off from the respect and association of others. He was surviving well alone, but his great desire was to be accepted, to marry well, and to know the security of the support of a good community.

  He walked for a day, and spent the night in a tree overhanging a quiet river. He speared a fat fish for his breakfast, apologizing to its spirit for depriving it of its body, and walked on south. After several more days he came to a hill that was covered with red flowers, and knew this was the place.

  On that slope was a lodge, and in the lodge was an old man. His body was lean to the point of emaciation, and his skin was pallid. It seemed that he would die before long.

  “Allow me to fetch some food for you,” the young man said, augmenting his words with signs so that he could be understood.

  The old man made a weak signal with one hand: “It is no use. I will die anyway.”

  But the young man went to the field and foraged for beans and a gourd, and went to the nearby river and dug out some clams, and brought these and fresh water to the lodge. He made a fire and prepared a good meal for them both.

  While they ate, they conversed. The old man was called Sky River. He had traveled widely once, and knew something of the young man’s tongue, so soon they were able to talk as well as sign. That was just as well, for it turned out that the old man was almost blind, and could hardly see the signs. “Who are you, and why do you help one who can do nothing for you in return?” Sky River inquired.

  The young man explained about his exile and lack of a name. “I help you because you need help,” he concluded. “I would not care to let you die without comfort when I could prevent it.”

  “I thank you for this help, but it is a wasted effort, for I shall die within two days anyway. My grandsons were killed in battle, and my granddaughters live in other villages, so there is no one to maintain me. It is best simply to let me expire alone, sparing yourself the mischief of the presence of my spirit.”

  The young man knew what he meant. Spirits, newly freed from their bodies, could be jealous of the living, and strike at any person they encountered. It was therefore best to be elsewhere when a person died. Nevertheless, he persisted. “I have little to lose, and you have great need, so I will help you regardless. What more may I do for you?”

  Sky River made a second objection. “If I had my wish, it would be to die in our sacred place, so that my spirit will have the company of the spirits of those I have known in life. But that place is far from here, and difficult to reach even for one in health and unburdened. It would have been a struggle for both of my stout grandsons to paddle me there.”

  “I will take you there, so that you may die in peace.”

  “This is a very generous offer, but you can not do this, for only a man’s own kin may take him there. The spirits of the sacred place would destroy any other men who intruded.”

  The young man was silent for a time, considering. Then he had a new notion. “I will adopt you as my grandfather. Then I will be your kin, and the spirits will allow me to bring you there.”

  “That would be risky,” Sky River said, “because the spirits might not recognize the adoption, and would slay you regardless. In any event, you owe me nothing, for I have given you nothing. Spare yourself this thankless chore and go your way with my thanks for what you have already done for me.”

  “Some risks need to be taken,” the young man said. “I hereby adopt you as my grandfather, if you will accept, and I will do for you what a grandson does for his honored ancestor.”

  Sky River smiled with bemusement. “I accept, of course, and truly you are one I would have been glad to have had naturally. As you have no name, I will exercise the prerogative of my relationship and call you Blank.”

  “But I can accept no name until I—”

  “I have given you no name, merely a temporary designation of nothingness for my convenience. You may discard it when I am dead.”

  The young man smiled. “I see that you are versed in manners. I will use that designation for now. Where is the sacred place, and how may I transport you there?”

  “I have an old canoe, almost as near death as I am. It may endure for this final journey. But I think I can not guide you there, for I can not see well enough to tell one stream from another. We shall have to have help.”

  “Who will help us?” Sky River considered. “I once did a favor for the little child of the priest, Sweet Grass, and she said she wished to return it. Perhaps this is the occasion. The spirits should not Bother the priest’s girl.”

  So Blank picked up Sky River and carried him to the old canoe, and then paddled him downstream to the village of his people. The old man was fatigued by the effort and fell asleep, so when they arrived, Blank beached the canoe and left him there in shade. But as he sought to enter the village, a warrior challenged him. “Who are you, and what are you doing with that sick old man?” he signed.

  “That man is Sky River, my grandfather,” Blank signed in return. “I am taking him to the sacred place to die. But I must ask the priest’s little child to guide us, because I do not know the way and my grandfather can not see to guide me.”

  “What little child?” the warrior demanded.

  “He called her Sweet Grass. He thought she might do this for him.”

  The warrior stared at him with a new appraisal. “How can you be Sky River’s grandson, and we do not know of this?”

  “I adopted him this day.”

  “And what of his obligations?”

  “I will settle them.”

  “And what of his enemies?”

  Blank stood up straight, putting his strong hand on his good stone knife. “I will fight his enemies.”

  The warrior nodded. “I will tell Sweet Grass.” He departed, and Blank waited.

  Soon the warrior returned with a small figure swathed in a voluminous feather cloak. “Here is the priest’s daughter,” he said gruffly, and stood back.

  Blank faced her. “I regret asking such a favor of a child, but I must take my grandfather Sky River to the sacred place before he dies, and I need guidance. He thought you might be willing to help.”

  “What do you know of these matters?” she signed, her large eyes shining within the shroud of the hood.

  “I know nothing of anything. Only that I must get my grandfather there as soon as I can, for he is failing.”

  She studied him a moment. “And you will settle his obligations and fight his enemies?”

  “I will stand for his honor, in the manner of his kin. What needs to be settled?”

  “And if the settlement is arduous?”

  “Kin take no note of difficulty. I will settle it. He will die in honor.” He touched his knife again.

  Sweet Grass glanced at the village warrior, and nodded. He turned away, no longer standing ready to protect her from possible harm. “I will guide you,” she said.

  “But what of his obligations? His enemies?”

  “There are none. Sky River is well respected. We merely wished to know your sincerity.”

  So the villagers had not quite trusted a stranger, and had tested him. That was reasonable.

  They went to the canoe. Sky River was awake now. Sweet Grass went immediately to him. “Grandfather, why did you not tell me you were failing?” she asked, taking his gaunt hands in her tiny firm ones. She did not use signs now, so Blank had only a vague notion of her specific words, but her manner told him much. “I would have come to you.”

  “Ah, is it you, precious child?” Sky River asked, gratified. “I would not put this burden on you. But with a strong grandson to paddle me there, I think I can make it to the sacred place before I die.”

  “Of course you can,” she said. She lifted his hands and kissed them. “And of course I will guide you. You know I love you.”

  “I know it,” the old man agreed. “Now, maybe—”

  “Do you really think it can be?” she asked.

  “I do not know. But I think it is possible.”

  “Then rest, grandfather, and we shall get you there.” She got into the front of the canoe, and Blank shoved it carefully into the water and got into the back.

  Sweet Grass pointed upstream. Blank paddled vigorously, for there was a fair current and he had no help. In some tribes, women paddled canoes as well as men, but it seemed not here. In any event, a child would not have been able to help much.

  Sky River sank back, staring at the sky. It was clear that his vitality was weakening; he could die before nightfall. Yet he did not rest. “Sweet Grass, my grandson does not know of the love between us. May I tell him?”

  The girl turned, still shrouded in her cloak so that only her hands, feet, and eyes showed. She did not speak.

  “You spoke in my tongue,” Blank said. “She does not understand.”

  “Ah, yes.” The old man spoke in his native tongue, and now the girl reacted. She said something, and turned to face forward again. “She agrees,” Sky River said. “So I will tell you that I won her heart by telling her the tales of the sky. She knows and loves them all, and will share their truths with coming generations. She swore she would marry me when she was grown, but of course that was foolishness. She must not marry a failing old man.”

  Blank smiled through the exertion of his strenuous paddling. “Why not? Is it not a woman’s right to marry whatever man takes her fancy?”

  “But she is not just any girl, and will not be just any woman. She is the daughter of the priest. She will marry the next chief of our tribe.”

  “Oh, an arranged union,” Blank said. “I hope for her sake that he is a good man.”

  “I am sure he will be. It is not arranged; this is our way of designating the next chief without strife. She may marry any man, in or out of our tribe. That man will be the next chief.”

  Blank was surprised. “She chooses the next chief? By marrying him? That I have not heard of before.”

  “The truths of the sky are eternal, but the customs of tribes differ, as is proper. Her father trained her to choose well. The man she marries will be worthy, and the tribe will accept him and prosper. That is our way. Do you question it?”

  “No,” Blank said hastily. “I am bound to respect your way, for now I am kin to you. I was merely surprised.”

  “And of course there will be time,” the old man said, “because our present chief remains healthy. Only when he dies will Sweet Grass’s husband be chief. So there has been no hurry, and she has time to grow up and choose wisely, and to educate her husband in our ways before he comes to represent us. So it has ever been.”

  “It is an interesting way to do it,” Blank said. “And surely as good as any other.”

  “But you can see how foolish it would be for her to marry me,” Sky River continued. “I will die long before the present chief does. So I turned her down, though I love her like no other girl. But she has persisted, and has sought no other man. This is the favor she wishes to do me, as I long since lost my wife.”

  “But she is a child!” Blank said, surprised.

  The swathed figure glanced back, but remained silent.

  Sky River smiled weakly. “But she believes the myth of the First Father and the Tortoise Shell. Do you know it?”

  “Of course,” Blank said, somewhat briefly, because the forceful paddling was tiring him. “That is the story I questioned, so I was exiled from my tribe. I told you that.”

  “So you did; I remember now. May I tell Sweet Grass your situation?”

  “It is no secret. I still do not believe.”

  The old man spoke to the girl. She turned again, and regarded Blank somberly from under her hood. Then she pointed to the side: it was time to diverge from the main stream to a tributary.

  Blank guided the canoe to the lesser stream. But here the current was swifter, and he had to work even harder. He was an expert canoeist who had won races, but this was more of a challenge than he had anticipated. His muscles were beginning to hurt, and he was panting. But he had to keep paddling hard, because otherwise the canoe would be carried back down to the larger river, and the old man would not reach the sacred place in time.

  “Do you believe that the First Father is the god of green growing things?” Sky River asked.

  “Yes,” Blank gasped.

  “For so it is written in the sky,” the old man said.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe that he ages and fades every year, even as do the green growing things?”

  “Yes,” Blank gasped again.

  “And that each year he must be taken by canoe to the Place of Creation, following the great river in the sky?”

  “Yes.” The world was clouding, and Blank saw nothing but the canoe with the old man lying in its center and the cloaked silhouette of the girl sitting at its prow. His muscles simply could not operate much longer.

  “Where he is then reborn from the cracked shell of the giant tortoise?”

  “That—no,” Blank wheezed.

  Then the girl pointed to a small landing place beside the stream. Relieved, Blank used his last strength to propel the canoe there, and fell back, exhausted. It was well that he did so, for the canoe sank as soon as they left it.

  But Sky River would not relent. “Why do you believe so much, and not the rest?”

  “Because—” Blank paused to fetch in some more breath. “Because man is born of woman, not of a tortoise. Each creature brings forth only its own kind.”

  “But the First Father is not a man. He is a god. Gods are not bound by the rules of men.”

  “But then the First Father should not need to die or be reborn,” Blank argued, his breath returning.

  “Yet that is the god’s way. To renew the seasons. We know it is so because it is written in the sky.”

  “Possibly,” Blank said, not caring to argue. That could only alienate him from the man he was trying to help.

  “Now you must carry me to the sacred place,” Sky River said. “It is not far.”

  So Blank marshaled his remaining strength, picked him up, and followed Sweet Grass along a path through the forest. They came to a glade with a stone pedestal formed from a boulder. He set Sky River on the stone, as directed. It was rounded and cracked, but solid enough to support him.

  “Now it is done,” the old man said. “I thank you, grandson, for your valiant labor on my behalf. A lesser man could not have completed this journey, and a less constant one would not have tried. You have favored me as I favored my own adopted grandfather, many summers ago. I die with satisfaction.” He closed his eyes and died.

  Blank stared at the body. It seemed to waver, and a haze rose from it and wafted toward him. He breathed, and the haze entered him. He felt strange, yet exhilarated.

  Sweet Grass faced him. “You have done a great service,” she said. “Knowing of no reward.”

  “I did only what was right to do,” Blank said. “I am glad he died in the manner he wished to. A man’s death is a special thing.”