A hush fell over everyone. They knew how difficult it must be for a father to speak of a defiant son. Felipe Campione came forward and a chill ran through Alberto. Felipe faced everyone and his manner was serious with a look of sadness.

My brothers, my heart is deeply troubled. I have lived my life on this rock we call home. I was born on the mesa and here I shall die. This is what I know.

My father taught me the ways of our people. I taught my sons these ways. Felipes eyes moved over the crowded kiva and settled on Alberto. There are truths men live by, truths that come from our ancestors. We live our lives by them. His voice became stronger, a voice that held everyone.

I was told many times that we must not change. That we are strong because we do not change. A murmur of approval swept the kiva. This is what the villagers were used to hearing.

I was told that if we listened to those outside our mesa, our people would wither like crops without rain. Again the audience echoed their approval. Albertos fathers eyes now seemed to focus on some point millions of miles away.

Now I am deeply troubled. My own flesh and blood stands here before you and he questions our ways. He has been in the white world. He feels he is better for it. Shouts rang out for the first time. It is a world we choose not to see. Now he tells me there is a better way. He has seen it and has lived in it.

Albertos heart beat faster as his father formed a picture of a larger world.

I do not approve of his attitude, but I cannot condemn his thoughts. Something was coming. The crowd was suddenly taken aback, their voices stilled.

Felipe Campione came closer to those seated and his arms came out and up in a gesture as he exclaimed, Are we so proud that we think the world revolves around our beliefs? Are we that vain? Now he had to almost shout because of the commotion his remarks caused. It made me think. Who is it with too much pride, my son or us?

My son has flaunted our rules. I believe in our rules. A sigh ran through the villagers. Our rules make me feel secure. Now the clan must decide if my son is to be punished. Some men and boys were on their feet.

Felipe went on, hitting hard. This mesa needs strong young men, men with pride, pride in themselves, pride in their own beliefs. Not just our beliefs. Alberto has that pride. He has the courage to show it even though you disagree.

Most of the villagers now tried to sort out what Felipe had said. Some told their sons to sit down and keep quiet. Hatred blazed on the old caciques face. His hands quivered and his arms shook and his face was dark with rage. The other two war chiefs stood beside him and they were stunned by Felipes hard-hitting message. He had momentarily shocked them into bewilderment.

Felipe hadnt finished and his voice rose stronger than ever. We need new voices here. We need young, fresh thinking. We must change our ways.

He sat down. Alberto couldnt tell whether the crowd was for him or against him. Whatever happened, his powerful words had been said. Albertos heart went out to him and he was immensely proud of him. His father had shaken many and he had made an enemy of the cacique.

The cacique leaned heavily on his brightly feathered staff and slowly climbed the four steps to the altar. No one had ever spoken like Felipe in the presence of the cacique. He had been seriously challenged. He turned from the altar, his words muted, but still carrying authority. Alberto Campione, he said, you have been brought before our ruling body because you flaunted our tradition. Do you have anything to say for yourself?

Now was the chance that Alberto had waited for. Now he could say as strongly as possible the many things that had made him bitter. But he looked at his father and knew that enough had been said.

Nothing, he said forcefully. My father has spoken. His words carry much wisdom and should be acted upon. I am proud to be his son. Alberto trembled as he said the last few words. The expectation of the lash made him sick. He hoped he could go the distance as a man.

The old man raised his staff over his head and he chanted words ancient to the clan as his face became pale. Slowly he pointed with his staff to a bullwhip hanging on the wall. Albertos punishment was at hand. Four times it would descend. Four times it would tear into his flesh.

Everyone was on their feet. The smell of blood was in the air. Now a mob of men and boys tensed as they waited for the whip to descend. Now, however, there were many who were realizing that Felipes words had aroused them and made them question what they were about to do.

The whip tore at Alberto. Searing torture racked his body. The whip descended again. Pain ripped at him and he fell over in agony. The two war chiefs pulled Alberto again to a kneeling position and the whip cracked for the third time. Alberto exploded in a bellowing rage. The whip cracked for the fourth and final time. Alberto shrieked and fell over and tried to right himself. As he did, he saw his father standing alone against a wall. Suddenly the wall and his father were one. A mountain rose against a barren desert. Its face was like polished marble. By it, a young Indian with thick black hair stood on a scaffold, carving his fathers face into the mountain. Alberto was looking at himself.