62
RUNS WITH COURAGE
that no one could answer my questions about the white god.
“Jesus died for your sins,” Pinch Finger continued,
pointing to a picture of the man hanging on the crossed
pieces of wood.
I wiggled with impatience. I couldn’t sit still when I didn’t
understand. Finally I stood timidly and waited to be called on.
“Sarah?” Pinch Finger called my name hesitantly. I had
never stood to ask a question before.
“Who hurt
this
Jesus?” I asked inmy halting white words.
“It’s not this Jesus. It’s just Jesus. And it was the sinners
who hurt him,” she answered. “But it was all part of God’s
plan,” she finished quickly.
I sat down, more confused than before I had asked the
question.
After the lesson, we filed out of the church, ready for the
hour of reflection. This was a time when we were expected
to read the book called the Bible.
The air felt crisp and cool, and I looked up and realized
the trees were bare. When had I stopped noticing the
changing of the season? In my tiospaye, the seasons decided
our activities and movements. But at the school, all I paid
attention to were the sounds of metal bells clanging and the
movement of the white clocks.
