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I Am Zuni

During a recent Arts Festival in a southeastern state, an extremely inquisitive group of spectators were talking to one of the participants.

Their curiosity transgressed the boundaries of good manners as they quizzed the straight, slight young man who stood in back of a table. They asked about the turquoise and silver jewelry on the table, commented on its value and quality. They commented on his white, flared trousers and red velvet shirt and said that he surely was not Indian because he did not wear feathers.

The spectators drifted away, except for one who had traveled in the Southwest and who tarried to say that he knew the young man was ...

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