The New World by Andrew Motion Page A

felt amazed by the confusion I had caused, and was sorry for it.
    “They’ll be grateful,” Natty said. “You’ll see.”
    She took my hand and led me forward, still raising her free arm as before, with the palm toward them. By the time we came close they had shuffled backward as far as the jetty and could go no further; their retreat was blocked by the body of the alligator.
    “We do not mean you any harm,” said Natty, speaking slowly and a little more loudly than usual, as if this allowed everyone to understand. When she had finished she let go of my hand and touched the necklace, running her fingers over the carvings of the animals, touching their hard little eyes and sweeping bodies, then holding her fingers toward our friends as if she was passing them something substantial—color, or warmth, or a skim of the silver itself.
    This seemed to reassure them a little and they began whispering to one another again, bending their heads together as if they did not want us to hear what they were saying. While this continued the clouds gradually lifted from their faces—lifted so thoroughly that when they turned back toward us again they seemed almost as simple and friendly as they had been at first. But there was a different look in their eyes, I felt sure of it.
    “They think you’re a god,” Natty said.
    “Nonsense,” I told her, because it was a preposterous idea.
    “Wait,” she said—and as though everything had already been planned, or Natty had seen it in a vision, one of the Indians then stepped forward. This was the tallest and oldest, the man who had killed the alligator and was obviously the leader of the whole party. With the monster’s blood still smeared on his chest and face he slowly took one, two, three paces until he was near enough to let me inhale the river-smell off his hair and skin; next, with a little nod as if to ask my permission, which I quickly gave by nodding in return, he extended his hand and gently touched the necklace, stroking his finger-ends over the silver pieces and the animals that chased across them, all the while murmuring under his breath.
    Whether he was praying or exclaiming or translating what he saw for the benefit of his friends, I had no idea. But the longer his admiration continued, the more I felt I should help him to a conclusion.
    “Black Cloud,” I said. As the words left my lips, I realized this was the first time I had spoken to anyone other than Natty for many weeks. Brief as they were, and although they were the name of an enemy, I felt I had made my first proper connection with our new world.
    “Black Cloud,” repeated the warrior, staring hard into my face. He was no longer touching the silver but holding my hand; his fingers felt slimy with river-water.
    “You see,” said Natty softly. “They think you’ve killed him. You’re their savior.”
    “Perhaps,” I told her, but without looking round because my eyes were fixed on my friend, who was now nodding his head very energetically, as if he understood everything.
    “Black Cloud,” he said again, “Black Cloud,” and then another word that sounded like “
mert
,” but when I repeated it to myself I realized was “
muerte.
”
    “I told you,” Natty went on. “
Muerte
. Death.”
    “Shouldn’t we tell the truth?” I asked, still facing away from her.
    “And how would we do that?”
    “We could explain somehow.”
    “Why?”
    “Because they’ll find out one day. They’ll see we’re liars.”
    “Again, Jim. How would they do that?”
    “Because Black Cloud will follow us. He’ll find these people and they’ll know. He’ll punish them. We’re putting them in danger if we lie to them.”
    Natty did not answer this, and I said nothing more; I felt too daunted—though cowardly might be a better word. I let my friend hold my hand for a moment longer; I smiled back at his own smiling face; I felt the hands of others patting me on the back as they also came forward; I let them