When I wanted to see my father, Rose said his body was lost in the weeds. I lost my temper and hit her so she cried, Rose, my sister whom I loved. “You lying shit!” I spat. She ran after me. People watched, but nobody interfered. Bad luck is catching. Around the camp-fire there were laments and praises for Hawk. I was old enough to hear the worry in the voices of some, the different tone of those who knew they would continue as they had always done. Leaders came and went; the Journey had to be made. Karly Campy sat silent. Rose led me to our tent half-asleep so I did not hear the arguments that followed the lamentations. I woke knowing the Journey had started. Rose’s eyes were gummed up, lashes stuck together. I tried to brush off the crusty stuff without disturbing her, but she was already awake. She put her arms around me and cried before I remembered. Our father’s mug and plate stayed in the basket.
