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As Brant walked up the drive a few days after the concert, he heard the roar of a power mower. He continued on towards the back garden just in time to see Randy drive the machine into the carriage house. He came up the brick walk toward him, wearing only a pair of ragged shorts and wiping his face on a towel draped around his neck. "Come on in. I'm going for a shower."

Brant followed him to his room, then grinned once Randy stripped the shorts off. "Now you look like an Indian's supposed to."

Randy whirled around. "What 'cha mean I look like an Indian? I am Indian."

"Look in the mirror."

Randy opened the closet door and examined his nude reflection in the full-length mirror. "Okay. So what?"

Brant pointed to the line of contrast at Randy's waist. "Now you really are a redskin."

Randy's skin was tinged faintly pink from exposure to the sun. "Scheisse. That's the unaka in me. This is as red as I ever get. I'm a little more sensitive to the sun than a full-blood would be; I'll just be a little darker tomorrow. I never could figure out why everybody thinks we're red, anyway. "

When he came from the shower, he pulled on a fresh pair of bikini briefs and sat on the edge of the bed next to Brant.

"You come up with the damnedest things."

"Like what?"

"Like expecting me to be red. I never know what you're going to come out with next."

"Hunh! You? I sometimes wonder if I even know you."

"See?"

"When we're alone like now, I know who you are and I can tease you a little, but at school or up at the cabin you're somebody else, even to me."

Randy's tongue pushed out his upper lip while he thought. "I guess. But I told you when we were up there that I'm completely Indian when I'm on the reservation. It's easy because a lot of the others are mixed blood like me. I just have to remember traditional courtesy when I'm around older people. At church and the U most of 'em don't even know I'm Indian, or if they do they don't care, so I don't get hassled about it. It's only at school I have to be a sonofabitch to keep 'em off my ass. I mean if they want to put me down for it, I'm going to make it tough for 'em as I can." One corner of his mouth twitched up. "It's kind of fun keeping 'em scared of what I might do next."

His expression grew serious again. "It's only people we let get really close can begin to know us. Jeez, even with being married to mother and living on the reservation for a couple of years, it took nearly ten years for the old man to be accepted as part of the clan and there's still things he doesn't know. You're closer to me than anybody else has ever been, but like I told you, a lot of the old ways you have to grow up with to understand. I wish I could share them with you, but unless you can feel them there's no way."

"Knowing you is enough."

"That's why I love you and take you as my brother."

"You called me brother at the cabin. You really want me for your Indian brother?"

"Why do you think I told you about my vision? You try to feel things like I do, but you don't ask what I can't give. It's the same with Hank and Helen. They loved mother so she and dad asked them to be my godparents, but you're the only ones who understand how it is with me. That's why you 're all special. Taking you as my brother means I accept you as part of my family clan."

"For real?"

"Sorry, but it's just for me. You can't become a real member unless the clan meets and votes to accept you, and that ain't likely to happen because you're white. Like I told you at the cabin, after dad and I visit my grandparents and talk about you, then I can take you with me to see them. When I explain why I take you as my brother, it'll help them accept you. If you work with me and study my people for a long time, then maybe there's a slim chance they might accept you like they finally did dad. But remember, it took over ten years for that to happen and he was married to mother."

"I'd like to be part of your clan because it's important to you, but it doesn't make that much difference to me long as we're together."

"You know we will be." Randy stretched then rubbed his back. "I need the whirlpool."

They leaned back in the swirling water, Brant sat beside Randy, stroking his back. Randy moaned with pleasure at the sensation filling him. Brant started to kiss him but pulled back, his face glowing red. Randy opened his eyes at the sound of an embarrassed cough from his father who stood in the doorway clad in nylon briefs, a towel in his hand.

"Don't go, father. We'll let you have it." Randy said calmly as Brant edged away.

"No, stay. I think we should talk about this." He stepped into the pool with a neutral expression and seated himself opposite the boys. Sensing that Brant verged on panic, he leaned back with a sigh, trying to think of words to relieve the anxiety.

"Sequoyah, if you and Brant think I'm upset by this, you're mistaken. Yours is a perfectly normal reaction to a great deal of repressed loneliness for which I can only blame myself, but I think I understand the source of your loneliness as well, Brant. Given the circumstances, it's normal that you would turn to each other. Such relationships between two young men are common throughout history and, I might add, son, that is particularly true of some of the Shamans. You've heard me speak of the Berdache of some of the other nations. Therefore, I see nothing of which you should be ashamed unless you choose to make it so. I am pleased by your modesty, for intimate moments cannot be shared with others."

"I know you're trying to understand, father," Randy put his arm around Brant's shoulders and pulled him closer, "but it's not just this once. I love Brant and he loves me. We make it together, but that's just part of it. I want to share everything with him."

"Then you accept Brant completely as your brother?"

Randy nodded. "I did when we were up at the cabin and I told him."

"For your sake, son, I'm delighted. Brant, I doubt that you understand enough about Native Americans yet to comprehend the full meaning of this. When one is taken as a brother by a Native American it involves a feeling so deep that when one hurts the other does also. The same for joy. There's no envy or jealousy between them, for what belongs to one belongs to the other. It's a total commitment. I'd begun to think it might be so, for I've seen the way the two of you function as one when you're playing together.

"Hank has noticed it, too. He came to see me one evening while you were practicing and mentioned how rare it is to find two people, especially young men, who seem to be completely in each other's minds. He said he had seen it only once before in a set of twins he taught many years ago. That's why I'm not at all surprised. However, your sexual attraction for each other is something you must resolve for yourselves." He leaned forward and took Brant's trembling hand in one of his, taking Randy's in the other. "Brant, do you feel as Sequoyah?"

"Ye ... yes, sir. I really love him," Brant managed to choke out.

"And it doesn't bother you that he identifies so strongly with his Cherokee heritage?"

Brant looked directly into his eyes. "No more than my leg seems to bother him."

von den Acker placed Brant's hand atop Randy's and sandwiched them between his own, expressing an Indian sentiment. "Then I am blessed with two sons."

Even after he and Randy were in bed, Brant remained bewildered, trying to understand Randy's father's calm acceptance. Snuggling against Randy, he said, "I almost died when your dad came in and caught me about to kiss you. I can't believe he was so cool about it."

"He's always that way. The only time I see him get really pissed is when somebody throws off on Indians or does something stupid on a dig."

"Did he really mean what he said to us?"

"He wouldn't kid around about something like this." He hugged Brant. "It means he loves you, too, so don't be scared of him."

"I've never been scared of him, but he seems sort of stiff and cold sometimes."

"That always happens when he's concentrating on some research or working on a book. I know it'll be hard for you with him being my dad and all, but I hope you can love him, too, because now I know how lonely he's been without mother."

"I'll try. Do you want me to call you Randy or Sequoyah?"

"I prefer Sequoyah because it's my Indian name and it reminds me of mother, but you're used to Randy from school, so it doesn't make any difference."

Randy awoke earlier than Brant the next morning and went downstairs to find his father still at the table in the kitchen, a cup of coffee and the morning paper in hand. When Randy took the other chair after pouring a cup of coffee for himself, his father laid the paper aside and set his cup down. His hand seemed to reach toward Randy's, withdrew an inch, then extended to grasp Randy's hand tightly.

"Until I saw you and Brant together I didn't realize how completely I had shut you out of my life, son. There's so much I don't know about you, and it's all my fault." He gazed into his son's eyes. "I love you, Sequoyah, even though I haven't shown it. But every time I looked at you I saw your dear mother and it made losing her that much harder. We had so few years together. But that's no excuse for letting my own grief displace you. Can you ever forgive me?"

Randy moved swiftly around the table to throw his arms about his father who had arisen. "I love you, too, dad, but for a long time I thought you didn't want me because I'm Indian."

His father hugged him tighter. "How can you possibly think that, son, when your mother ..." The stern face seemed to crumble. "God, I loved her so much. You're all I have left of her. I love you with all my heart, son."

"I know, now. It's just that everybody at school seems to hate me for being Indian, so I guess I thought you did, too. The worst part was not having anybody to talk to about things. You know, like being gay."

His father released him and motioned him back to his chair. "I'm proud that you felt free to tell me about you and Brant, son. Are you absolutely certain?"

Randy nodded. "For about four years now. Girls just don't do anything for me."

"Have you had relations with anyone before Brant?"

"Last year, one of the girls at the U tried to make it with me."

"My god! You were only a junior."

"How could she know, big as I am I look older."

"I suppose, but still ..."

"Forget it. She tried everything and nothing happened." Randy grinned. "It's kind of funny now. I guess she got insulted or something, because she called me a queer and threw me out. That was the only time."

"I had hoped you would have a better time of it than your mother had, particularly after we stopped associating with anyone who wouldn't accept her. You know well that you could pass for white, but having chosen your Cherokee birthright, you've forced the difference on others rather than trying to find common interests. "

"To keep 'em off my ass! I'm not going to let 'em make me miserable when I can keep 'em scared."

"And Brant was not?"

"No way. I tried to make him go away and he wouldn't. I thought at first he was just curious about me being Indian, but he really wanted to like me."

"What about your cultural differences? I know he's trying to learn from the questions he asks, but he obviously hasn't been exposed to any other culture than his own, if that."

Randy looked at him seriously. "At least he's trying to understand the Indian part of me and that's more than anyone else has ever tried to do. In a way he's been as lonely as I was."

"I can certainly understand that. Is he just lonely, or is he actually gay?"

"He's gay. He said he used to make it with a guy where they lived before. It doesn't make any difference to me, because it's over. It's just him and me now."

"It isn't a lifestyle I would have preferred for you, son, but it's not my choice. I do regret that you will now most likely be subjected to hurt from another form of discrimination to that which you've already endured. Too, and this is most important, I hope that you will be faithful to each other, for you must surely be aware of the danger of AIDS. In any event, Brant is welcome as long as you are happy together."

With the barriers between them dissolved, Randy's eyes misted. "Thanks for understanding. I love you, dad."

Because of his father's calm acceptance, Randy became more open, and Brant occasionally found himself subjected to Randy's disappointed look when he pulled away to keep him from holding his hand as they walked together, or his arm from slipping around him when they stood close. He envied the freedom and self-assurance Randy seemed to feel.

His father having demanded that Randy buy a new pair of jeans, they walked through the mall to Flythes, the shop for which Randy still occasionally modeled. As they ambled along, they passed a photographic studio.

"I wish I had a picture of you," Brant remarked.

"I hate having my picture taken."

"Some model you are!"

"I get something out of that; it doesn't cost me. Besides, some Indians into the old ways don't like having their pictures made. They believe it steals their spirit. It takes a powerful ceremony to get it back."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"Not really, but I still don't like it much."

When they stopped in the food court for a drink, Brant said, "I'll bet your dad didn't even see those ads. You could have your picture made to give him for Father's Day or something and I could get a copy of it."

"I suppose. His birthday's coming up and he's been on my ass about a picture, so I guess maybe we ought to."

"What'cha mean we? You want me to have my picture taken, too?"

"Damn straight. Didn't you hear him say he had two sons? It means he accepts you as my Indian brother, so he'll want a picture of you, too. He calls you tatseli ahyotli meaning child in my care, and I call you oganali which means friend to me. All the other words in Cherokee for son and brother mean they're of the same blood. Besides, if you get a picture of me, I get one of you." He looked at Brant's neat shirt then down at his own. "Think we're okay now?"

"Sure. I hate dressed up pictures."

Though the photographer was the same that photographed Randy for the ads and was well acquainted with his moods, his patience wore thin when Randy became obstinate in front of the studio camera. Noticing the man's rising irritation, Brant whispered, "If you love me like you say, you could at least look happy about it." Only then did Randy give his engaging half-smile.

"You'll pay for this, you pesky paleface," Randy growled as they left.

After school a few days later, they returned to view the proofs and select the photos to be printed and placed in a double frame. On leaving the studio, Randy suddenly grabbed Brant's hand and pulled him into a nearby department store. Stopping at the jewelry counter, he pointed to a pair of tiny gold earrings. "Are they good?" He asked the clerk.

She removed them from the case and handed them to Randy. "Twenty-four carat gold. These are for pierced ears."

"Anybody doing piercing?"

She pointed to a nearby booth. "We have a nurse to do it."

Randy pulled a credit card from his billfold. "Okay."

Brant stared at him. "You're kidding."

While the clerk rang the purchase, Randy pushed back his long hair. In the lobe of his right ear glinted a tiny gold stud Brant had never noticed. "I want us to share. They'll be part of us with each other."

"My old man will likely throw a fit if he sees it."

"Let your hair grow a little more. It's long enough to hide it now."

Randy with him, Brant stepped reluctantly into the booth, dreading more pain. When the nurse started to swab Brant's left ear with antiseptic Randy quickly stopped her and told her to do the right one instead. A few minutes later they were back in the car. Brant looked in the mirror. With his fair coloring and blond hair, the tiny gold loop was all but invisible.

"Why the right ear? The other kids have their left ear pierced." Brant asked, as Randy picked up a tissue and carefully wiped the little drop of blood.

"Because the right ear shows we're gay."

He held back his hair while Brant replaced the stud with the companion ring, the gold gleaming against his bronze skin. His hands clasped Brant's head as he kissed him. "Thanks."

"Only because I love you, you rascally redskin."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because you call me a pesky paleface. If you'd been nice, I could have said beautiful brave, or wonderful warrior, or charming Cherokee. Maybe even intelligent Indian."

Randy snorted. "I guess I asked for it. At least you didn't call me a horrible half-breed."

"Hey, I'm teasing."

"I know. But the guy I decked sure wasn't."

"I'm glad you hit him; he deserved it. You just didn't deserve to get suspended."