tomorrow." I said.
"Very nice," he said, obviously not very impressed. He cleared the board of all the pieces. "Okay. I want you to set up the board again, and as you do, repeat as much of what I told you as you can,"
I felt a wave of panic. Truthfully, I had sat politely listening, but I was sure I wouldn't be able to repeat half of what he told me. Nevertheless. I began, and to my surprise, he wasn't upset by my errors. In fact. I realized his quiet way was not because of annoyance but an inner peacefulness I had never seen in someone as young. There was a maturity about him I couldn't help but envy.
"Can I ask what happened to your father?"
"You just did," he said.
I bit down on my lower lip.
"He was an alcoholic." Peter said.
"Unfortunately, that firewater thing is a stereotype idea about Native Americans that proves more the rule than the exception. Life on reservations. Indian land, is terrible. Poverty level doesn't begin to describe it."
"You're. a full-blooded Cherokee?"
"Yes," he said. "My aunt isn't. The Cherokees were driven out of Tennessee in 1838 in a historical event we call the Trail of Tears. Some mixed-blooded remained, and some returned, and my aunt is one of them."
He leaned over the board.
"Don't worry," he said. "I won't scalp you."
I guess my expression was pretty funny to him. His smile widened.
"How is it going?" Mr. Kaptor asked.
"It's a start," he told him.
"What's that Chinese proverb. Peter?"
"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a step," he replied, looking at me. "She's almost finished with the first step." He looked at his watch. "Let's go over it again," he said, and returned to the chess pieces.
When the club hour ended, my head was spinning, but I had to admit I enjoyed it. Peter went to talk to Mr. Kaptor. and I started out. I walked slowly, thinking about the day, my classes, the place I was now in. I thought about Uncle Palaver, too, and reminded myself to remind Brenda to get in touch with him. I was almost to my car when I heard. "Are you coming back on Thursday?"
I turned to see Peter Smoke.
"Yes, I am," I said. "I'm going to get my own chess set, too, and practice whatever I learn at home."
"It's not too bloody a game, too violent?"
"Stop making fun of me." I said, and he actually started to laugh. He nodded at my automobile. "You have your own car?"
"Yes. It was my mother's car."
"What happened to her?" he asked. "You asked about my father," he reminded me quickly.
I thought a moment. There was something about him that commanded honesty.
"Like the king shouldn't do, she moved into a square that the opponent controlled."
He stared, the meaning registering. "I said my father was an alcoholic. It's a form of suicide, too," he remarked.
I nodded. For a moment, we were just standing there. "Can I give you a ride home?"
He raised his eyebrows. "It'll be out of your way," he said. "How do you know? I didn't tell you where I live."
"It's a distance. It will take too long."