Crawfish Redux--1960

This is a piece of a work in progress that appeared in The Pittsburg Quarterly Online in 1998. It is a work of fiction based on a Native American creation story that maintains a crawfish created man. I took some liberties with it, but it stays fairly true to the myth. The main character of the work is nicknamed Crawfish because he came out of his mother's womb backwards, as crawfish tend to do when threatened. I hope you enjoy it.

Crawfish Redux—1960

He appeared one day; an ancient American Indian dressed in tattered khakis, no shoes, and long dark hair, liberally sprinkled with grey, tied loosely behind his head with a leather thong. No one knew where he came from, or where he headed. He walked through Serpentville, his walking stick beating time on the hot, soggy blacktop road. No one would have noticed him if he hadn’t looked so much like an Indian. The children ran after him shooting questions at his back: “Who are you? Where do you come from? Where are you going? Are you really an Indian? Are you a chief?” He didn’t answer. Grownups stepped out of houses, stores, saloons. They asked him questions, the same ones the kids asked. He ignored them too.

He walked down Main Street, turned right on the Ellisonville blacktop and did not stop until he reached the Bayou Serpent bridge about a quarter mile out of town. He crossed the barbed wire fence that separated the road from the bayou and hiked along the waterway until he reached a mound about a mile or two from the road. He used his walking stick to clear away a path for himself through the briar bushes and sat cross-legged on the center of the mound. There he hummed softly to himself and ignored the questions as the kids ran, danced, and hopped around him. “What are you doing? Is that an Indian song you humming? Are you a real Indian? What are you doing?” they chirruped.

Jonel Pipe, the sheriff’s deputy, showed up around sunset and told the old man to move on. The Indian hummed softly, didn’t even look up. Jonel grabbed his left arm and tugged on it. He groaned, and the deputy backed off. After all, he did not want to hurt him. Jonel crossed his arms and stared hard at the Indian. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” When the man didn’t answer, the deputy shook his head and left. It was a free country, and he wasn’t hurting anything. Still there was something disconcerting about the scene.

The sun rose and set three times, and still, the old Indian didn’t move. A hawk circled overhead. Far off, a crop duster flew over a cotton field. He stood, wobbled a bit, and regained his balance. He lifted his arms up to the sky and faced the kids playing nearby—they had grown tired of waiting for him to do something, but they were afraid not to be there in case he did, so they showed up each day. They stopped what they were doing when he stood, scurried up the mound and gathered at his feet.

“The Great Spirit,” the old Indian said in a raspy voice that sounded like the wind through the briar bushes, “had no eyes or ears, but she heard and saw all that went on around her. Water covered Mother Earth. The Great Spirit made fish and shellfish to fill her waters. Then she told Crawfish to go to the bottom and mate with Mother Earth. Crawfish did and pulled up some of Mother Earth to make a home for their offspring. Crawfish named their progeny Chitimacha, and he lived on the home created by Mother Earth and Crawfish. The Great Spirit gave Chitimacha laws to live by, and all was well on the new earth for a while, but Chitimacha has a short memory, and soon, he forgot all the laws, and the new earth fell into chaos. The Great Spirit thought and thought and gave Chitimacha women and tobacco, and these made Chitimacha very happy, but Chitimacha made slaves of his women and became slave to his tobacco and demanded the Great Spirit give him more. The Great Spirit gave him animals and arrows to slay the animals, and these made Chitimacha very happy, but it wasn’t very long before Chitimacha grew tired of those and demanded the Great Spirit give him more. The Great Spirit gave Chitimacha knowledge of Mother Earth and taught him how to grow crops upon her. This made Chitimacha very happy, and he feasted on the fruits of Mother Earth, but soon, Chitimacha wanted more and once again, called on the Great Spirit to give him more. The Great Spirit gave Chitimacha the four directions. To the north, she gave Chitimacha the cold. To the south, she gave Chitimacha warmth and moisture. To the west, she gave Chitimacha great beasts to hunt and eat. To the east, she gave Chitimacha the white man. Chitimacha was very happy. When the cold of the north came down, it cooled and refreshed him. The warmth of the south nurtured his crops. The great beasts of the west fed and clothed his families. The white man from the east introduced him to a new Great Spirit who promised an even better world for Chitimacha. The white man taught Chitimacha to forsake Mother Earth and embrace their Great White Spirit. Chitimacha was very happy. He took from the Mother Earth and gave nothing back. This is not the true world, the white man told him. It is only a stopping place. Chitimacha drank in the white man’s words as eagerly as he drank the white man’s alcohol, but one day, Chitimacha saw that not all was well. Mother Earth was slowly dying. The rivers and bayous were barren. Farms and cities were replacing the woods and forests. Smoke from the white man’s automobiles and factories poisoned the air. Chitimacha demanded the Great Spirit make it right again. The Great Spirit had no ears or eyes, but she saw and heard all that went on, and she wept for Chitimacha.”

The old Indian stared up into the sky at a crop duster circling overhead. Then he watched as a green tractor inched its way across a cotton field. He finally let his gaze rest on the curious children around him.

“Please,” he said and fell back. He died, his wise and aged eyes staring lifelessly at the sky.

In life, the old Indian was a curiosity for the children. In death, he was frightening, and they ran away from his lifeless body. None of them understood the old Indian’s request at the end, except one.

He shook a tiny fist at the sky as he ran with the others to tell the grownups what he had learned.