The New World by Andrew Motion

himself as a person might do before undertaking a ritual of great significance, with his head lowered and his eyes closed. Once he was concentrated in this way, he looked up again and took from one of his friends a small hatchet—which was presented sideways, on flat palms—and used this weapon to chop the backbone of the alligator in two with a single heavy blow.
    As the yellow eye turned cloudy at last, the Indian rose so that he was standing over his victim, then carefully inserted the point of his spear into the gash he had made between the shoulders, pushing downward until almost the whole length of the weapon was hidden inside the skin. Next, when he was quite sure there was no more danger, he stepped away from the body and joined his friends to stand in line with them, with their heads all thrown back to make another chant. This was unlike the first, having no hint of threat or excitement but rather a note of sadness—as though, after the passion of the kill, their only feeling was regret.
    I have to admit I did not understand at the time why a person might grieve for something he had been determined to destroy; but I did at least begin to think that such a ceremony, for all its strangeness, meant those who took part in it could not be described merely as savages.
    When the chant ended, so did our role as spectators, and two of the Indians broke away from their fellows and bounded toward us up the slope of the river-bank. Watching them in their battle I had already noticed how slightly built they were, how nimble and darting; now, as they came close to us for the first time, I saw they were also very open-faced and affable. It struck me that our approach to each other was more like a meeting between friends who had long been separated, than one between strangers who had every reason to feel suspicious. In my own case this had something to do with simple curiosity; in theirs, I could not decide whether it showed a natural kindness, or was derived from previous contact with travelers like ourselves.
    As with their hunting, so with their greeting. They made it into a ritual by halting a yard in front of us and holding up one hand with the palm outward, as I had previously done myself. I noticed the skin of their fingers was rubbed sore where the rope had chafed them; the rest of their bodies were smooth and supple-looking, and their skin a dark reddish-brown, the same color as the earth thereabouts.
    To show we understood their good intentions and shared them, Natty and I then climbed down from our ponies and made the same gesture in return. The Indians seemed very pleased with this and looked happily at one another, and I dare say would have taken us back to their village immediately if we had not delayed them. But Natty had the idea that we should do more.
    “Show them the necklace,” she said.
    “There’s no need,” I told her, very surprised by the idea.
    “Show them,” she repeated.
    “I…”
    “Show them,” she said for a third time, and because I did not think clearly enough about what the effects might be, I obeyed. I opened the satchel where it lay against my chest, and drew out the necklace to hold it toward our friends; even though we were sheltered by trees, and the sunlight only penetrated the leaves in odd little flicks, the silver pieces glowed as if they were alive.
    “Not like that,” said Natty. “They’ll think you’re giving them a present. Put it on.”
    Once again I did as she asked, tying the leather string behind my neck, and polishing the silver pieces with a quick movement of my hand as they lay flat against my shirt.
    When I looked up again I found our friends had retreated several yards and were gazing at me with anxious faces; one of them had actually dropped onto his knees and seemed to be recommending that others did the same.
    “They recognize it,” said Natty. “They think you’ve killed him.”
    “Do they know him then?” I said—which was foolish of me, but I