Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir

one, take a breath, swim to the next one, and so on.
“She would get so worried, but I really could breathe
underwater, m’ija!” he insisted, wonder and pride in
his voice. Later, when I learned about the special
relationship between the Chumash and the Dolphin
People, I understood.
So that day on the beach at Monterey, loving my
father, hating my father, that visit from the dolphins
was a gift. “Take him with you,” I whispered to the
flashing arcs of joyful gray bodies. “Take him back.
Let him be innocent again.”
And a coolness washed over my body, scalp to
sole. That’s how I imagine forgiveness feels, when it
comes, if it comes.
The Indians at the missions were very
severely treated by the padres, often
punished by fifty lashes on the bare back.
They were governed somewhat in the
military style, having sergeants, corporals
and overseers, who were Indians, and they
reported to the padres any disobedience or
infraction of the rules, and then came the