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He； like Joey； but even more so； had mana within him。 He could perform strange feats。 He knew the meanings of the puzzling words。 He knew the curious ways of numbers。 He knew； by some strange power； what the world was like； away beyond the horizon； out through the Golden Gate； that there were islands far in the ocean beyond the little rock…tips of the Farallones； that they sometimes saw standing up above the horizon on clear days。
The children； he came to realize； were not only children； but they were also unsophisticated and inexperienced as children in the Old Times had rarely been。 None of them had ever seen more than a few dozen people。 Though their lives； he believed； had been happy； they had been happy with the simplicity of a few satisfying experiences； repeated again and again。 They had not suffered the continual shock of change which had so affected children in the old days； both for good and for bad； making them nervous on the one hand； and yet alert on the other。
Children so unsophisticated might easily e to feel a certain dread of him； to regard him as a being with powers different from their own； not altogether earthly。 At times he sensed this feeling and even saw definite evidences of it。
Yet at other times； indeed generally； he was merely their own father or grandfather； or Uncle Ish； a person they had known all their lives； with whom they had romped on the floor when they were little。 They had no more respect for such a person than children ever had。 In fact the bigger ones already showed the adolescent feeling that the older man was blundering and quite obtuse。 Perhaps they stood in some awe； but still they played tricks on him。
Once； not a week after the incident of the hammer； they had set a tack for him in his chair； though that was one of the oldest of all tricks to play on a teacher。 And again； after they had left the room with much suppressed giggling； Ish discovered that someone had worked that other old trick of pinning a strip of cloth to his rear； so that it hung down like a white tail behind。
Ish accepted such tricks in good spirit； and did not attempt to find out which one of the children had done them or to inflict any punishment。 In some ways the tricks pleased him； for they showed him that children considered him one of themselves。 But the tricks also chagrined him a little。 His ego was not above being pleased with the belief that he was a folk…hero or demi…god。 Was this a way to treat a demi…god； by putting tacks on his chair or pinning a tail on him； behind？ Yet； as he thought farther； he realized that the two attitudes were not inpatible or altogether unprecedented。
That is a strange thing…to be a god！ They bring the fat ox with the gilded horns； and at your altar they strike him down With the pole…ax。 You are proud of the sacrifice。 But then they take head and horns and tail and hide； and in the hide they wrap the entrails。 All this noisomeness they burn before your altar； and then go to feast themselves on the fat haunches！ You see the deceit； and you are angry with a god's anger。 You gather the thunderbolts； and your black clouds assemble。 But； no； you think then； 〃They are my people！〃 This year they are fat and proud and insolent…but who would wish his people to be mean and meeching？ Next year； if there is pestilence； they will really burn the ox…nay； many oxen！ So you pass it off； with only a little thunder； scarcely noticed in the pleasant confusion of the feasting。 〃I am not stupid；〃 you say to The Son； 〃but there are times when a god should seem stupid！〃 Then you wonder if you should have shared with him any secret of godship； but rather have looked for a convenient mountain to pile upon him。 He is altogether too handy with a sickle these days。。。。
Even you terrible ones who call for human sacrifice； you too must wink！ Ah； it is magnificently horrible！ The shrieks of his wife and the moans of the victim and the flailing axes of the killers！ There he lies； covered with blood； his tongue hanging out； a picture of loathsome death！ Yet soon； in the confusion of the dance； he rises suddenly and dances with the others and the red mulberry juice mingles with his sweat and disappears。 Then you； the terrible one； must be a wise god and remember only the horror of the seeming death； though every child in the village knows you are tricked。。。。
〃No； there is no need to grovel and rub the face in the dirt。 Merely bow the head； as you enter； ever so slightly。〃
Yet in the end； though he half feared the test； Ish could not resist an experiment。 Perhaps the incident of the hammer had really meant nothing。 He was curious。
He picked the time carefully…late one morning； when it was only a few minutes before dismissal。 He was preparing himself a retreat； if things got too embarrassing。 There was no difficulty； since he was the teacher； in bringing a discussion around to the point where he could put the question casually enough。
〃How was it。 do you think； that all these things。。。〃 he gestured widely with his hands； 〃how was it that the world happened to be made？〃
The answer came quickly。 Weston was the spokesman； although apparently any of the children could have answered： 〃Why； the Americans made everything。〃
Ish caught his breath。 Yet； immediately； he saw how the idea had arisen。 After all； if a child asked who made the houses or the streets or the canned food； any of the older ones would have said naturally that the Americans did。 He followed up with another question。
〃And the Americans…what about them？〃
〃Oh； the Americans were the old people。〃
This time Ish found it a little harder to adjust quickly。 In 〃the old people〃 he sensed not merely a reference to time； but also something close to superstition。 〃The old people〃…that had once meant fairies； people of the Other…world。 That might be its meaning now again。 Here was something he should work to counteract。
〃I was。。。〃 He began simply。 Then he paused and corrected himself； seeing no reason to use the past tense。
〃I am an American。〃
When he spoke； though they were the simplest of words； he had a curious feeling of pride e over him； as if flags were flying and bands playing。 It had been a great thing； in those Old Times； to be an American。 You had been deeply conscious of being one of a great nation。 It was no mere matter of pride； but also there went with it a profound sense of confidence and security in life； and a radeship of millions。 Yet now he had hesitated to speak in the present tense。
In the silence of his pause he saw the children looking at him； and then suddenly he sensed that his explanation had missed fire。 He had merely been trying to explain that there was nothing supernatural in those old people who had been the Americans。 He had tried merely to say； 〃Look at me； I'm Ish； father of some of you； granddad of one。 I've rolled on the floor with you。 You've mussed my hair。 Yes； I'm only Ish。 And now when I say； 'I'm an American；' I mean that there is nothing supernatural about Americans。 They were only people too。〃
This was what he had thought they would understand； but it had gone the other way round。 When he had said； 〃I a