Free Code Talker by Chester Nez Page B

us,” Robert said, looking at the new pants. But rules had to be obeyed, and the first boys to get to the locker room before a game got the gear.
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    It was a Thursday. Cold. The two-and-a-half-mile trek to church was going to be chilly. And the weather was supposed to get worse. It would be colder by Sunday, when we’d again take that same walk. Church. Thursday and Sunday. Without fail.
    Another Robert, Robert Adams, and I arrived at church early and changed into altar-boy vestments. It was my fourth year as an altar boy. I could dress in the vestments, reciting the correct prayers with each item of clothing, in my sleep.
    â€œDo you think there’s a connection?” I asked.
    Robert raised both eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
    â€œBetween Catholic and Navajo.”
    Robert adjusted the neck of his flowing surplice. “Do you?”
    â€œHoly water and corn pollen. Kind of the same idea,” I said.
    Robert’s forehead furrowed. “I guess.”
    â€œEven the sign of the cross—forehead, chest, each shoulder. That’s kind of like a blessing with corn pollen.”
    â€œKind of.” My friend did not look convinced.
    â€œAnd what about our creation, speaking the Navajo word for ‘light,’ and then the sun appeared. In the Bible, God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and the sun appeared. Same thing.”
    A look of comprehension dawned on Robert’s face, and he smiled at me. “I think you’ve got something, there.”
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    The government school at Fort Defiance believed we students should all be Christian, specifically Catholic. I’ve always loved to sing. I sang in the Catholic church choir for three years while attending boarding school. I served as an altar boy for four years.
    Boarding school taught me about Christmas, the birth of Jesus. On the big day, each student received a bag of candy and fruit in celebration. And Fort Defiance erected a Christmas tree, a beautiful thing, covered with lights and ornaments. None of us had ever seen one before attending school.
    The priests and nuns taught us about Catholicism: the Trinity, saints, and sacraments. The new religion presented new ideas, differing in disquieting ways from the religion we had learned at home. The Navajo Right Way stressed the importance of a life in balance, a respect for all things as part of nature, even rocks and blades of grass. The Catholic Church stood in awe of God’s creation of the world, but did not feel the same kinship with nature that we Navajo children had been taught.
    The new religious teachings caused many of us to question where we really belonged—in the white man’s church or on the reservation with our own sacred beliefs. Torn between two cultures, we were unable to fully embrace either one. We didn’t know where we fit. Navajo ceremonies were seen by the nuns and priests as pagan, and the Navajo Holy People were looked down upon. The white clerics had no misgivings about voicing their disdain for the cultural heritage we had brought from home.
    The new teachings caused confusion. We students were taught only the white man’s way at school and only the Navajo way at home. And each culture saw the other as wrong.

CHAPTER SIX
    Building Grandmother’s Hogan

Early 1930s
    Father led our horse, the odd-looking, stripped-down wagon frame bumping along behind. I trotted beside him. “Look!” I pulled at Father’s sleeve and pointed at a tall, straight piñon with my thumb. “That one. Look how straight.”
    He nodded. “A good one.”
    I felt good being out with the men and not, for once, facing the disapproval of Auntie. Father and Uncle lifted the long two-handled saw from the wagon frame. They lined up on either side of the tree.
    â€œMove away from the trunk,” Father warned me.
    Uncle gripped one end of the saw and Father the other. Within five minutes, the twelve-foot tree