Free Native Affairs by Doreen Owens Malek

me Eli,” Fox’s grandfather said, as they sat down on the lawn chairs provided, and he poured the tea. “Now,” he went on, handing her a glass and settling back in his chair, “how did you meet my grandson?”
    Cindy described the rather unorthodox circumstances of their meeting to the old man, who nodded and seemed to find nothing strange about his grandson diving through a window onto Council Rock’s main street. In his turn he told her about his move to this new house, how Fox persuaded him that he would be better off in modern surroundings, and how Fox took great pains to find property where his grandfather would be comfortable. His every word was suffused with love for his dead son’s child. Cindy found herself thinking that while Fox might have lacked a mother’s care, he had missed nothing of affection thanks to these people who had raised him.
    “Well, enough of this,” Eli said suddenly, interrupting himself. “How can I help you?”
    Cindy removed a yellow legal pad from her large purse. “I’d like to ask you some questions, and I’d like to take notes, if I may.”  
    Eli gestured for her to scribble away.  
    “I’m especially interested in the Green Corn Ceremony, the busk , as you call it. Can you describe to me the rituals involved, and the stories that were told?”
    Eli nodded and launched into a flood of remembrance that gave Cindy writer’s cramp trying to keep up with him. The information was pure gold, however, and she had filled several pages with her own brand of shorthand when a sound from outside caused her to look up.
    Fox was cutting the weeds at the side of the driveway with a scythe. Stripped to the waist, his muscular torso streaming sweat, he swung the tool in a rhythmic arc, his whole body swaying gracefully in time to the motion of his arms. Cindy stared for several seconds before tearing her eyes away, but Eli had noticed her attention wandering from their interview.
    “My grandson is attractive,” he observed quietly, glancing from the girl before him to the driveway and then back again.
    Though somewhat startled, Cindy answered frankly. “Yes.”
    “He is very appealing to you, very sexual,” the old man continued, watching her reaction.
    Cindy could feel the flush climbing into her skin, but she answered again, “Yes.”
    Eli nodded. “It was the same with my son and Andrew’s mother. The heat between them was obvious, you could see it, almost touch it.”
    Her face flaming, unable to believe that she was having this conversation with Drew’s grandfather, Cindy said quietly, “Mr. Fox, if you are making comparisons between Drew’s mother and me, saying that I am like her...”
    Eli shook his head once, decisively. “You are not like her, and my name is Eli.”
    Cindy smiled, relaxing. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”
    “What, that my name is Eli?” he asked, twinkling, and she laughed.
    “You have a nice laugh,” he observed. “No, you are nothing like her. She was earthy, aggressive, outgoing—she chased my son. Now I would say that in your case Andrew is doing the chasing.”
    “But I’m not running away,” Cindy said, meeting his wise black eyes.
    Eli sighed. “You must understand my concern. When I see another of the Fox men bringing home another beautiful shankree girl, I worry.”
    “I’m not beautiful,” Cindy began.
    “Of course you are.” He made a dismissive gesture, as if the subject merited no further discussion. “And Andrew likes you. He likes you very much.”
    “How can you tell?” Cindy asked, her curiosity overruling her manners.
    “You’re here,” Eli answered. “You’re the first friend he has ever brought to meet me.”
    Cindy was silent, absorbing that.
    “You seem confused,” Eli said. “Don’t you know what it is that he likes? ”
    Cindy raised her eyes to his, waiting.
    “You have a sweetness, an innocence that even I can see. You’re different to him, the lady in the tower in one of those