"A moon，a cup，and now a snake."Mitsima rolled out another piece of clay into a long flexible cylinder，hooped it into a circle and pressed it on to the rim of the cup."Then another snake.And another.And another."Round by round，Mitsima built up the sides of the pot；it was narrow，it bulged，it narrowed again towards the neck.Mitsima squeezed and patted，stroked and scraped；and there at last it stood，in shape the familiar waterpot of Malpais，but creamy white instead of black，and still soft to the touch.The crooked parody of Mitsima's，his own stood beside it.Looking at the two pots，he had to laugh.
"But the next one will be better，"he said，and began to moisten another piece of clay.
To fashion，to give form，to feel his fingers gaining in skill and power-this gave him an extraordinary pleasure."A，B，C，Vitamin D，"he sang to himself as he worked，"The fat's in the liver，the cod's in the sea."And Mitsima also sang-a song about killing a bear.They worked all day，and all day he was filled with an intense，absorbing happiness.
"Next winter，"said old Mitsima，"I will teach you to make the bow."
He stood for a long time outside the house；and at last the ceremonies within were finished.The door opened；they came out.Kothlu came first，his right hand outstretched and tightly closed，as though over some precious jewel.Her clenched hand similarly outstretched，Kiakimé followed.They walked in silence，and in silence，behind them，came the brothers and sisters and cousins and all the troop of old people.
They walked out of the pueblo，across the mesa.At the edge of the cliff they halted，facing the early morning sun.Kothlu opened his hand.A pinch of corn meal lay white on the palm；he breathed on it，murmured a few words，then threw it，a handful of white dust，towards the sun.Kiakimé did the same.Then Kiakimé's father stepped forward，and holding up a feathered prayer stick，made a long prayer，then threw the stick after the corn meal.
"It is finished，"said old Matsima in a loud voice."They are married."
"Well，"said Linda，as they turned away，"all I can say is，it does seem a lot of fuss to make about so little.In civilized countries，when a boy wants to have a girl，he just……But where are you going，John？"
He paid no attention to her calling，but ran on，away，away，anywhere to be by himself.
It is finished.Old Mitsima's words repeated themselves in his mind.Finished，finished……In silence and from a long way off，but violently，desperately，hopelessly，he had loved Kiakimé.And now it was finished.He was sixteen.
At the full moon，in the Antelope Kiva，secrets would be told，secrets would be done and borne.They would go down，boys，into the kiva and come out again，men.The boys were all afraid and at the same time impatient.And at last it was the day.The sun went down，the moon rose.He went with the others.Men were standing，dark，at the entrance to the kiva；the ladder went down into the red lighted depths.Already the leading boys had begun to climb down.Suddenly one of the men stepped forward，caught him by the arm，and pulled him out of the ranks.He broke free and dodged back into his place among the others.This time the man struck him，pulled his hair."Not for you，white hair！""Not for the son of the she-dog，"said one of the other men.The boys laughed."Go！"And as he still hovered on the fringes of the group，"Go！"the men shouted again.One of them bent down，took a stone，threw it."Go，go，go！"There was a shower of stones.Bleeding，he ran away into the darkness.From the red-lit kiva came the noise of singing.The last of the boys had climbed down the ladder.He was all alone.