rough and her nails were broken. I pressed my face against the bars and she did the same and our lips met there between them.
I spoke to her in Spanish, but she shook her head to let me know that she did not understand. Then I spoke, using the few words I remembered from a song my mother had once sung to me. Those words she might understand, but they meant nothing to her. She spoke back and her words were strange to my ears. We stood helplessly, our hands touching, gazing at each other. She looked like my own mother, as I remembered her, only younger.
I heard Captain Cordova shouting, using a different voice than he had used with me. Between times I could hear the voice of Father Vicente. This talking seemed to last for a long time. Then Father Vicente came out with Señora Gomez and she opened my cell and dropped my clothes on the floor in the doorway.
I put them on and the three of us walked up the trail to the Mission, with the dog at our heels. He was big and shaggy and looked like a wolf. When I tried to pet him he backed away from my hand.
There were many wild flowers beside the trail, but mostly a blue flower like a spike with blooms. Karana picked two of them and gave one to Father Vicente and one to me.
Chapter 22
T HEY GAVE Karana a bed beside mine in the big room where all the girls slept. She was not used to sleeping in a bed and sometime that night she got up and lay down on the floor. Her dog, which she called Rontu-Aru, lay down beside her.
Señora Gallegos did not like this sleeping on the floor. Nor did she like the dog sleeping in the room. This most of all.
"Dogs should sleep outside where they belong," she said. "They have fleas and soon we will all have fleas."
She talked to Father Vicente about the dog Rontu-Aru. But he must have differed with her, for the next night Karana again slept on the floor and the dog slept beside her.
Then Señora Gallegos went to talk to Father Merced, who was Father Vicente's superior. Since the day of the fight with Capitán Cordova he had been ill in bed and we all prayed for him to get well. He disagreed with Father Vicente and the Señora told Karana that she could sleep on the hard floor, but that the dog would have to sleep outside in the courtyard with the other dogs.
The Señora told Karana what the Father had said, but Karana did not understand and I was of little help. She did the same thing she had done the nights before and when Señora Gallegos tried to move Rontu-Aru he growled at her and bared his teeth. Then the Señora called the mayordomo and he got some boys and all together they managed to tie the dog up and take him outside.
Karana said nothing while this was going on, but when they took Rontu-Aru she picked up her blanket and followed them. That night she slept in the courtyard and all the nights for a long time, her dog at her side.
Karana and I had a difficult time talking to each other. At first what simple things we said were said with gestures and sounds that had no meaning except to us.
All of the five fathers at the Mission were skilled at Indian dialects. They were people from many tribes at the Mission. And yet none of them could understand the language she spoke. I no more than any, although I was a member of the same tribe that Karana belonged to. As a child when my mother died, I knew a few words of our dialect, but when I lived at Pala with the Cupeños and at the Mission with the Spanish fathers I forgot the few words I had known.
What happened was, we lived without words, with only the touch of hands and tones of voice and a glance. We tried giving names to things.
I would pick up a shell on the beach and give it a name. In the beginning Karana tried to repeat what I had said, but after a while she gave this up.
She was amazed at the many shells we had on our beach—I felt that we had many more than she had seen on the Island of the Blue Dolphins. But she was very satisfied to hold them in her hands. The big ones, the
I spoke to her in Spanish, but she shook her head to let me know that she did not understand. Then I spoke, using the few words I remembered from a song my mother had once sung to me. Those words she might understand, but they meant nothing to her. She spoke back and her words were strange to my ears. We stood helplessly, our hands touching, gazing at each other. She looked like my own mother, as I remembered her, only younger.
I heard Captain Cordova shouting, using a different voice than he had used with me. Between times I could hear the voice of Father Vicente. This talking seemed to last for a long time. Then Father Vicente came out with Señora Gomez and she opened my cell and dropped my clothes on the floor in the doorway.
I put them on and the three of us walked up the trail to the Mission, with the dog at our heels. He was big and shaggy and looked like a wolf. When I tried to pet him he backed away from my hand.
There were many wild flowers beside the trail, but mostly a blue flower like a spike with blooms. Karana picked two of them and gave one to Father Vicente and one to me.
Chapter 22
T HEY GAVE Karana a bed beside mine in the big room where all the girls slept. She was not used to sleeping in a bed and sometime that night she got up and lay down on the floor. Her dog, which she called Rontu-Aru, lay down beside her.
Señora Gallegos did not like this sleeping on the floor. Nor did she like the dog sleeping in the room. This most of all.
"Dogs should sleep outside where they belong," she said. "They have fleas and soon we will all have fleas."
She talked to Father Vicente about the dog Rontu-Aru. But he must have differed with her, for the next night Karana again slept on the floor and the dog slept beside her.
Then Señora Gallegos went to talk to Father Merced, who was Father Vicente's superior. Since the day of the fight with Capitán Cordova he had been ill in bed and we all prayed for him to get well. He disagreed with Father Vicente and the Señora told Karana that she could sleep on the hard floor, but that the dog would have to sleep outside in the courtyard with the other dogs.
The Señora told Karana what the Father had said, but Karana did not understand and I was of little help. She did the same thing she had done the nights before and when Señora Gallegos tried to move Rontu-Aru he growled at her and bared his teeth. Then the Señora called the mayordomo and he got some boys and all together they managed to tie the dog up and take him outside.
Karana said nothing while this was going on, but when they took Rontu-Aru she picked up her blanket and followed them. That night she slept in the courtyard and all the nights for a long time, her dog at her side.
Karana and I had a difficult time talking to each other. At first what simple things we said were said with gestures and sounds that had no meaning except to us.
All of the five fathers at the Mission were skilled at Indian dialects. They were people from many tribes at the Mission. And yet none of them could understand the language she spoke. I no more than any, although I was a member of the same tribe that Karana belonged to. As a child when my mother died, I knew a few words of our dialect, but when I lived at Pala with the Cupeños and at the Mission with the Spanish fathers I forgot the few words I had known.
What happened was, we lived without words, with only the touch of hands and tones of voice and a glance. We tried giving names to things.
I would pick up a shell on the beach and give it a name. In the beginning Karana tried to repeat what I had said, but after a while she gave this up.
She was amazed at the many shells we had on our beach—I felt that we had many more than she had seen on the Island of the Blue Dolphins. But she was very satisfied to hold them in her hands. The big ones, the
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