"Adriana splashed a lot as I bathed her and I got a little wet but hersmile was worth it.Soon she was in her Winnie the pooh night dress and sitting on the bedas I brushed her fine hair through. Once brushed I tucked her into bedand it was then she said, "Story?" You want a story?" I asked; little Adriana smiled and nodded her headfuriously.I wanted to tell her about the mother she was named after but insteadsimply read two chapters of the brave little toaster! Which was one ofher favourite stories.After reading to Adriana until she drifted off to sleep and thenkissing her forehead, I left her room and went downstairs pausing onlyto tell my mother that I was going out and digging out my old Sonystowaway (Walkman) and a random cassette from the drawer.I left the house barefoot and headed the short distance towards thehills behind my house where I knew I would get peace and not bedisturbed, after a few minutes I started to jog slowly as I warmed upI then increased my pace until I. “Where are you going?” I asked her eventually, desperate to have a conversation after the solitude.“With you,” she said, now looking me full in the face and piecing me with her bright, black eyes.“But you can’t; it’s not safe,” I mused, disturbed, scared of myself.“Not safe?” she asked keenly.“I, ... I...” I stuttered, unable to form the words, admit my fears about my own temper.“Harvey, you are not a monster,” she remonstrated, getting straight to the heart of my concern. I looked at her, lost. How did she know? How did she know my mother’s word for me?“You are not a monster,” she repeated, “you were protecting Eliza then and I know you’ll protect me. Now you have become a man. Now,” she paused and grinned, “you are a brave!”And that made some sense. In Indian terms – in non-praying Indian terms – killing people could be justified. Now, I had become a real man. I was a brave.Mataoka’s pack was as big as mine. One of the things she had was a leather bladder. She carefully picked out.
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