NO-NAME

by Tim Tingle

  Soon the houses caught fire and Choctaws ran from their homes. They passed baskets of water back and forth till the fires were put out.

  But this was a horrible thing to do, to burn people’s homes while they slept. The Choctaw Council met that night and war was declared on the Creeks. The young men of sixteen were excited. “We can show how brave we are,” they said.

  For four days the Choctaw men taught the young ones the ways of war. They taught them how to use new weapons and how to be so quiet not even the animals could hear them.

  At noon of the fourth day, they built a fire. The young men circled the fire and the old men chanted a war song.

  Way ho hanah hey yo

  Halo hey ya hey hey yo

  Way ho hanah hey yo

  Halo hey ya hey hey yo

  Way ho, hanah hey yo

  Way ho hey ya hey hey yo!

  The young men circled the fire, slowly at first. Then faster and faster they danced, till the spirit of the fire leaped into their hearts and they became warriors. They trailed after the Creeks that very night. The trail led by his tree, and No Name leaned against it. He knew she would be there. She kissed him softly and said, “No Name, I will always love you, even though you have no name. You must be careful. Please come back to me.”

  No Name spoke in the voice of a warrior, ready for battle. “I will bring back a brave name,” he said. “You will see.”

  Whispering Wind cried as she watched him go. She knew he had not heard her message. The Creeks left an easy trail to follow. They walked on the path, where anyone could see their footprints. “They are stupid,” the young men said. “See how easy it is to follow them!”

  But the older warriors knew better. “They fooled the guards,” they said. “They are leaving a trail for us to follow. It might be a trap.”

  After several days they entered Creek country, the state of Georgia today. The pine trees stretched to the sky. Soon they came to a cave on the side of a mountain, surrounded by boulders.

  The footprints of the Creeks led inside the cave. “We have them trapped inside!” the young men said. “There is no way out. We have them now!”

  But the old warriors shook their heads. “They are too smart for this,” they said. But on this sad day for Choctaws, the young men won out. They convinced the older ones the Creeks were trapped inside. Soon every Choctaw warrior, old and young alike, lifted their spears and bows and charged into the cave.

  They left only No Name outside, to guard the entrance. But there were no Creeks inside the cave. Instead, a hundred Creeks surrounded the cave, hiding in the boulders.

  They knocked No Name out with a rock and pulled him aside. They dragged a wooden gate to the entrance of the cave, so no one could get out. The gate was made of green cypress wood, to burn smoky and slow.

  They set fire to the gate and the flames shot up, making thick clouds of green smoke. They fanned the smoke into the cave. The Choctaws ran to the entrance, but they couldn’t move the gate. They coughed and began to fall. And die.

  Soon there was only one Choctaw still alive inside the cave. He kept his face to the ground where the smoke wouldn’t settle.

  Chapter 11

  It Can Hurt to Listen

  “Please stop!” I said to Mr. Robison. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want No Name to die. Did the Creeks kill him?”

  “Bobby, you have to trust me. Sometimes we have to go through all sorts of bad times before anything good can happen.”

  “Will the good ever come?” I asked.

  “Yes, good will come. And the bad times make you strong,” he said.

  “I’m tired of hearing that! Maybe I don’t want to be strong. Maybe I just want to live like a normal kid.”

  “Maybe we all want normal lives, Bobby. But nobody has it easy.”

  “Hoke,” I said. “I’ll trust you. But No Name better live.”

  “The Creeks didn’t kill No Name,” Mr. Robison said. “They let him live to tell the story.”

  After they left, No Name woke up. He saw the burning gate. He knew his friends were trapped inside. He ran to the gate and tried to pull it down.

  But the gate was heavy and his hands were burned. Then he heard the voice of the old man in the river, from when he was twelve. “Be brave and go into it,” the old man said. “He needs you.”

  No Name walked to the gate. He grabbed the burning boards and climbed them like a ladder. When he reached the top, he rocked and rocked till the gate fell on top of him.

  “You lied to me!” I shouted. “You said No Name lived!”

  “I told you the Creeks didn’t kill him,” Mr. Robison said. “But trust me, Bobby, this is a good story.”

  “I might listen and I might not, but I am mad at you,” I said. “Hoke, go on.”

  The Choctaw man who was still alive saw what No Name had done. He tried to pull the gate off of him, but it was too heavy. Ten minutes later, he kicked the burning embers aside.

  No Name was wrinkled and breathing his last breath. But in the old days there were people who had the spirit touch, and this man had the touch. He put his fingertips on No Name’s temple and lifted his face to the sky. “Holitopama,” he said.

  And his spirit left him. Whoosh!

  And No Name entered his body. Whoosh!

  It was a very strange thing, to be in the body of another. For several days No Name wandered in the woods, discovering who he was. The Choctaws came and found the bodies. They carried them back to Choctaw country.

  But when she came, Whispering Wind, she grew angry. “I told him to be careful,” she said. “I told him I would always love him, even though he had no name!”

  When she returned home, she threw herself on her bed. She refused to eat or drink. When they brought her food, she flung the bowl against the wall. “I don’t want to eat!” she said. “I don’t want to live.”

  One day No Name entered the town, in the body of another. He went to her house and said to her mother, “I would like to see Whispering Wind.” Her mother looked at him strangely. This young man had never called on her before, but he was the only one to return from the battle, so she stepped aside.

  No Name knelt by her bed. “It is me, No Name,” he said. “I have come back for you.”

  She opened her eyes with hope, but when she saw the face of another, she grew angry. “This is a trick,” she shouted, “to bring me back to life. It will not work!” She put her palm on his chest and, with all her strength, shoved him out the door.

  No Name stumbled backward and hit the ground hard. He asked himself, “How could she do this? This is what my father did. How could she do this to me?”

  And then he smiled. “This is a sign,” he said. “I know what to do.”

  No Name entered her room, so quietly she didn’t know he was there. He leaned close to where she lay on the pillow, and he kissed her behind the ear.

  She sat up and yelled, “What are you doing?”

  No Name stood up and laughed. “I am doing what you did to me for all those years. And then you would say, ‘No Name, No Name, I will always love you, even though you have no name.’”

  Then he knelt beside her and took her hand. “I have come back for you,” he said. “No one else could know this but me. Please, come back to me.”

  Whispering Wing closed her eyes, and when she opened them, there he was. No Name. And then it was the face of another—but she knew, somehow, that No Name had come back to her.

  He lifted her and took her to the river to drink. On the way back they picked berries, and that night they cooked pashofa, Choctaw corn soup. A week later, they were married, telling no one who he was.

  And a month later came the time to end the grieving. Everyone in town gathered, with all the kinfolk. They told stories over a campfire, stories of the ones they had lost. Finally it came time for the last one to speak, the father of No Name.

  Everyone grew nervous when he stood before the fire. “You are right to be nervous,” he s
aid. “Every day you have heard me yell at my son. I was so mean to him. But now, I feel so bad. I would give my life, this night, if I could spend a day with him and let him know how much I loved him. But now he is gone and I cannot.”

  Then came the time for the one who had returned to receive his new name. No Name, telling no one who he was, stepped before the fire. “I would like to choose my own name,” he said, and the elders agreed.

  No Name cast his eyes around the fire, looking at everyone, till finally he saw his true father. “I choose for myself a good name,” he said. “I choose for myself a strong name. From this day forward you can call me No Name.”

  His father lifted his head and looked at his son, and somehow he knew. And this was a secret they kept until death. Every month, No Name and his father would go hunting or fishing together. Sometimes they went to the coast, sometimes to the woods. But wherever they went, they were together, father and son.

  And No Name and Whispering Wind lived a long and happy life.

  “Now,” Mr. Robison said. “What do you think of the story?”

  “Hoke,” I said, “you’re off the hook. But I still didn’t want him to die.”

  Chapter 12

  Finally, Basketball!

  “Hoke,” Mr. Robison said, “I better get home. My wife is already worrying.”

  He climbed out of my room and was about to leave—but he hesitated, like he remembered something important. He knelt down and leaned over the edge.

  “I’m coaching the high school basketball team this year,” he said.

  “I thought you taught history.”

  “I do, but now I’m the basketball coach, too. Ever thought about playing high school basketball?”

  “Dad would never let me. I have to sneak away to the park to play.”

  “Just leave your dad to me,” Mr. Robison said. “You can have supper with my family after practice. I’ll tell your dad he won’t have to fix your supper.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “Dad never fixes me supper. I fix it for him.”

  Mr. Robison didn’t say anything, but I knew what he was thinking.

  “I’m beginning to understand why you dug this hole,” he finally said. “But don’t worry, son. I’ll clear everything with your dad. You do want to play, don’t you?”

  “I’ll play on one condition,” I told him.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll play if Johnny plays,” I said. “He’s the best rebounder in town. And he plays good defense, too.”

  “Funny you’d say that,” said Mr. Robison. “I was at Johnny’s house earlier today. He said he’d play only if you did. He said you were the best three-point shooter in town. Sounds like we have the makings of a pretty good basketball team.”

  “Mr. Robison, Dad won’t let me play.”

  “Want to bet?” Mr. Robison said. “If he says yes, you have to mow my yard next Saturday.”

  I had to laugh at that one. “Hoke, Mr. Robison. Either way, I win!”

  “So do I,” said Mr. Robison. “See you Saturday.”

  He pulled the door over my room and was gone. I leaned back and thought about everything that had just happened. Mr. Robison knows where I am. But I trust him. He won’t tell Dad. And what if I do get to play basketball? Wow! That would be so cool.

  In a few minutes I fell asleep. But not for long.

  Knock! Knock! A loud knocking on the door woke me up.

  “Mr. Robison,” I said, “I thought you were gone.”

  “This is not Mr. Robison,” a soft voice replied. It didn’t sound like Mr. Robison. Not even close.

  “Who are you?”

  “Faye, from next door.”

  “Carolina Faye?”

  “Yes. Can I come in?”

  “Does anybody know you’re here?”

  “No. I know your underground room is a secret.”

  A secret, I thought. Some secret. First Mr. Robison and now Carolina Faye knows about my secret room. But I didn’t want any more visitors, not this late.

  “Faye,” I said, “you need to go home. Dad might hear you.”

  “You dad is sound asleep,” she said. “Don’t you want some popcorn?”

  “Popcorn? You brought me popcorn in the middle of the night?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “I brought you a microwave oven.”

  “What? Are you crazy?” I asked her.

  “That’s not nice. But I’m not going away, not till you take the microwave.”

  I slid the door aside and Carolina Faye lowered herself into the hole. Then she turned and lifted a small microwave oven from the yard to my room.

  “That’s not gonna work down here,” I said. “There’s no electricity.”

  “I already thought of that,” she said. “I bought the microwave and a long extension cord at Goodwill yesterday. I plugged the cord into a socket on my back patio. I already tried it and it works.”

  “Still not gonna work,” I said. “My dad will see the cord.”

  “I’m a step ahead of you,” Carolina Faye said. “I glued leaves all over it, like you did the door.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said, staring at the microwave.

  “Try thank you,” she said.

  “Hoke, thank you.”

  Faye smiled and took a bag of ready-to-pop popcorn from her purse. “Now, let’s cook some underground popcorn.”

  While we waited for the popcorn to pop, I didn’t say anything. This adventure was speeding along too fast for my liking. First Mr. Robison appears. While I was glad about maybe playing basketball, I didn’t like him knowing my secret. And now the strange girl next door shows up, very uninvited. I didn’t like that one little bit.

  Faye ripped open the bag and we started eating popcorn. It was buttery and good. I was about to ask her if she brought sodas, as a joke. But before I could say anything, she pulled two cans of grape soda from her purse.

  “Here,” she said, handing me one.

  “Thank you.” I took a long swallow before I spoke. “Faye, I know you are trying to help me. But this won’t work.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You can’t come over any time you want to. Somebody’s gonna see you.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  “No. Faye, listen to me. You don’t know my dad. If he even suspects I’m hiding out here, I’ll have to run away. Far away.”

  “I know your dad has a bad temper,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Faye, as long as I am down here, I can feel safe. But not if you are gonna come over whenever you want to.”

  Carolina Faye and I ate our popcorn and drank our sodas without saying another word. When we finished, she stuffed the empty cans and popcorn bag in her purse.

  “I won’t come over, ever again, unless you ask me,” she said.

  “Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude,” I said, “but I’m down here for a reason.”

  “I have something else for you,” she said. She reached in her purse and pulled out a cell phone. “My big sister left this when she went to college. It still works.”

  “I can’t take that,” I said. “I don’t have any money.”

  “It’s a gift,” she said. “Just don’t get it wet. You know how to use it?”

  “Yes. I can use a cell phone. I might live underground but I’m not an idiot.”

  Faye laughed really loud, then covered her mouth quickly.

  “Oops. Sorry,” she whispered.

  I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t need words to tell her, “See what I mean!”

  Chapter 13

  Clean, Hard Play

  Of course I was lying about knowing how to use a cell phone. After Faye left, I pushed a button and the phone came to life. I pushed the same button again and everything went dark.

  “Hoke,” I said to myself. “My first cell phone. Cool. An Indian with a cell phone. And I already know how to turn it on and off.” I put the phone in my shirt
pocket and fell asleep.

  The next morning I woke up and the size of my problem slapped me in the face. I was on the high school basketball team, a really big deal. So was Johnny. I couldn’t live in my underground room and go to school. And if I didn’t go to school, I couldn’t play basketball.

  Hoke, now I’m beginning to understand, I thought. Mr. Robison’s no idiot. He thought of this all along. Oh well, school’s still two months away. Something’s bound to change.

  I looked through the pipe at the house. No sign of Dad. I lifted the door and crawled behind the tree. I leaned against it for a few minutes, listening. Still no Dad.

  I scrambled over the fence and ran to the park, forgetting all about my ankle. I knew he would be there, getting ready for his first season on a real basketball team. Johnny waved a little wave at me, then turned and shot a free throw.

  We were both so cool about this whole high school basketball thing. For two minutes. He made a free throw and tossed me the ball. I hit a three-pointer from the corner. Johnny gripped the ball with one hand and dribbled a few times.

  Then he dropped the ball and looked at me. He ran to the basket, leaped up, grabbed the rim with both hands, and shouted, “We’re on the team! Uniforms! Cheerleaders! Out-of-town games on the school bus! Practice every day after school! At the high school gym!”

  I dribbled the ball and shot a long one. Johnny was still hanging on the rim.

  “Not in my house, you don’t!” he hollered, swatting the ball across the court and all the way to the kids’ merry-go-round.

  I jumped up and pounded the air with my fists. “Yeah!” I shouted. “We gonna win some ball games. Me and you, Cherokee Johnny, we gonna win us some ball games!”

  We didn’t see them, not at first. We didn’t see the four Nahullo boys, wearing school jerseys, pick up the ball and amble our way. They were seniors and they’d played on the school basketball team since seventh grade.

  “What team you think you gonna play on?” the tallest one asked. “We already got our team. You couldn’t even warm the bench, not on our team.”

  Johnny and I just looked at each other.