From Here to Paternity

Linda’s signal, glanced at his notes and lowered his voice. “We are fortunate to have a noted author, HawkHunter, with us to read from his masterwork, I , HawkHunter . This book was a New York Times best-seller for over a year, three months of that time in the number-one slot. This work, a slightly fictionalized account of HawkHunter’s own heritage, spoke to our country and to the world about the life and history of America’s first people.“
    “HawkHunter will read some selected passages and will then entertain questions and discussion from the audience. I’m honored to present John HawkHunter.“
    Thomas, looking proud but relieved, went back to sit down by Linda, and HawkHunter took the podium.
    He read from four different sections of the book. A superb speaker, he gathered the audience in immediately with his rich, beautiful voice. The sections he chose were both profoundly poetic and troublingly inflammatory. Perhaps the whole book was, Jane thought, sorry she hadn’t had time to reread it all before attending this presentation. The first part he read was from the viewpoint of a medicine woman in the sixteen-hundreds, meeting the first white men the tribe had ever seen. In a few paragraphs, the listener got to know her, to recognize her wisdom and the respect the tribe had for her, and just as quickly was made to cringe at the ignorant, lumpish whites and their dismissive, if not downright lewd, regard of her.
    The second and third sections HawkHunter read were much the same, albeit of different individuals and different time periods, but with the same theme: the superior Indian—spiritual, intelligent, and inherently noble and courteous—and the marauding whites—crass, greedy, and stupid.
    For a moment Jane got so caught up in the content of the reading that she almost forgot that her purpose here was not to have a literary or cultural experience, but to unmask a killer. HawkHunter’s reading was, to Jane at least, only a reason for her to assemble the people needed for her plan. Still, she found herself wondering what effect this provocative material was having.
    She knew the stone-faced Indian was a stereotype, but at that moment it was quite true of the people in this room. None of the tribe members whose faces she could see were overtly registering any emotion at all—no hint of a smile, no suggestion of a frown. The others, the genealogists and other resort guests, all looked slightly distressed. Their expressions ranged from sympathy to guilt to anger.
    HawkHunter opened the book to another page and read a passage about himself as a child. A very different piece—at first. It was about the joy of being a boy who was part of the land, nature, and a nurturing extended family. It was a charming, romping, happy story, and then it veered off into an account of some drunken white cowboys wandering onto the tribal land and raping his young aunt. It ended with HawkHunter, as an eight-year-old boy, hiding behind a rock so that the elders wouldn’t see him cry.
    He finished reading, closed the book, and shut his eyes for a moment as if overcome by the emotion of the experience all over again. Then, as a fitful spatter of applause started and quickly grew, he opened his eyes, made a suggestion of a bow, and said, “Are there questions now? Or anything in particular someone would like to discuss?“
    Jane stood quickly. “Mr. HawkHunter, I notice you’re still missing your tooth. I found it in the snow. Would you like to have it to give to your dentist?“
    There was a ruffle of sound. A little bit of amusement, some tutting disapproval.
    “I appreciate that, but you’re mistaken. My tooth was broken, but not lost. Other questions—?“
    “No, I believe this is your tooth,“ Jane said, holding up a tissue that was folded and taped.
    Little Feather had risen, scowling, and come hastily down the side aisle. When she reached Jane, she snatched at the little package roughly and went back to the podium. HawkHunter was looking at Jane with contemptuous amusement. “Well, ma’am, if you say so,“ he said with a laugh. He pointed to someone in the audience who was holding her hand up to be called on.
    Jane felt her face flush, but Shelley nudged her and she went on, overriding the woman who was attempting to ask about HawkHunter’s research. “Mr. HawkHunter, the odd thing about that tooth is that it doesn’t belong to an Indian.“
    He glanced at her with irritation. “Certainly not this