The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World Read Free Page B

better than I all the benefits of forming a partnership with the Jesuits. If you promise me you will visit him, I will give you the money. I trust you. What do you say?”
    â€œThat is very generous of you, Father. I am flattered. But please, just give me a little time.”
    â€œDon’t stretch my patience, my friend. I might change my mind. I’ll give you three days to come to a decision. Not a day longer.”
    â€œVery well. I will give you my answer in three days. I promise.”
    Poncet then turned on his heels to head back to the captain’s cabin, exhausted by the conversation. Radisson went in the opposite direction, watching an already pale sun drop off the horizon. On this brief late winter afternoon, from up on the topsails two watchmen gazed at the sky with concern. Great clouds were gathering again.
    * * *
    The ship pitched and rolled. Radisson had trouble falling asleep. He took his precious eagle-head knife out of its leather sheath and held it. He could see it now and again, whenever the pale light of the moon shone in through the window of the stern cabin in time with the ship’s rocking. Ever since Johan had become captain, Radisson had used this cubbyhole as his own private quarters: luxurious surroundings indeed compared to the cramped, cluttered, and foul-smelling conditions of steerage, which he shared with some thirty sailors. The young man was so excited by the opportunity that he had trouble sleeping, what with the bad weather rattling him from one side of his bunk to the other and the sheer joy he felt at once again being able to admire the knife he had kept hidden when he lived in steerage, for fear of having it stolen.
    A moonbeam lit up the sleek feathers, the finely drawn beak, the tiny little eye that peered back at him… The night became black as ink again.
    As he held the knife tight in his hands, the memories came rushing back. He felt the same sense of well-being that washed over him the first time he held the knife among the Dutchmen of Fort Orange. He could not explain the power the knife held over him, how it guided him, leading him who knows where. An Iroquois shaman could no doubt help him understand. But it would be a long time before he could meet one. Until then, he would have to make do with the energy it gave him.
    He thought of Shononses, the friend he had fought alongside for months. If the Iroquois had been right, the eagle was Radisson’s spirit animal, the animal he should look to as an example. But Shononses was no shaman and Radisson had barely mentioned his strange feelings for the knife. On the other hand, Shononses had told him that the knife’s handle was definitely not European in origin. That meant the power that emanated from it could not be European either. And that Radisson was going in the wrong direction as he made his way to Amsterdam.
    He was now sure he wanted to return to America. And so he decided to accept Father Poncet’s offer.
    Dense clouds blocked out the moon completely. As Radisson put away his knife, he remembered the words of his adoptive Iroquois sister: “Your knife is too beautiful to use for killing… It will help you find your way in life…” He felt the lock of her hair that she had slipped into the sheath and recalled their passionate kisses, the hurt she had felt at not being able to be with him. He felt the pinch of tobacco he had swiped from his father Garagonké, the crumbs of cornmeal taken from his mother Katari’s mortar, the arrowhead from his brother Ganaha, all carefully kept in a little pocket on the sheath… His Iroquois family came with him on all his adventures. They would be part of his flesh and blood forever. He would never forget the time he spent living among them. It was a shame he had had to leave them behind to escape with his life.
    Radisson tried to slow down his thoughts. He should sleep.
    The choppy sea had probably made Father Poncet sick again.