I’m continuing to work through the stories in Great short stories by contemporary Native American writers. With this post, we jump from 1968 to 1983, which mens we are getting close to contemporary territory. The story is “Turtle meat” by Jospeh Bruchac III.
Joseph Bruchac III
As before, I’m using anthology editor Bob Blaisdell’s intro and Wikipedia to introduce the author, though in this case Blaisdell is extremely brief. Bruchac was born in 1942 and, says Wikipedia, “identifies as being of Abenaki, English, and Slovak ancestry” with his Abenaki heritage coming from his grandfather. He writes poetry, novels and short stories, with “a particular focus on northeastern Native American and Anglo-American lives and folklore”, and is the director of a press which publishes new Native American writers. He is also a performing storyteller and musician.
This post’s short story, “Turtle meat”, was first published, according to Blaisdell, in 1983, in an anthology titled Earth power coming: Short fiction in Native American literature, which was published by the Navajo Community College Press. It was published again in Bruchac’s own collection, Turtle meat and other stories, nearly a decade later in 1992.
“Turtle meat”
Wikipedia’s description of his focusing on “northeastern Native American and Anglo-American lives and folklore” certainly rings true for this story. Blaisdell introduces the story this way, “In this strange great story about an elderly Native American who has been living for years with a debilitated woman, Bruchac writes one of the most extraordinary fishing scenes in literature”. That sure sets up some expectations. It is also a bit misleading because “the debilitated woman” is simply old. She hadn’t always been so.
The story concerns Homer LaWare who, when the story opens, had been Amalia (Mollie) Wind’s hired hand for decades after she had kicked out her husband and come for him. There’s a little sense of “Driving Miss Daisy” here except we are on a farm and life is more earthy than Miss Daisy’s refined life with her Black American chauffeur. To start with, Homer and Mollie have been lovers from the beginning, even though Homer always slept in his cot in the shed – his decision it seems, because “it’s the Indian in me”.
The point at which the story starts, both are showing their age. The story opens with Mollie calling out to him because she needs help getting off the toilet. He comes in from the once-farmed but now overgrown field, and “gently” lifts her, reassuring her that she’s not old, that it “must of was just a cramp. Nothing more than that”. This opening scene tells us a few things – that they are old, of course; that they are comfortable with each other; and that he is sensitively attentive to her physical and emotional needs. We also learn that she has retained ownership of the farm that had originally been her father’s, and that Homer is happy with that: “It’s the Indian in me that don’t want to own no land”. Her grasping husband, Jack Wind, had been sent packing, and her “no-good daughter” had not been seen for years.
The central part of the story describes Homer’s fishing expedition – his catching (and cleaning) several yellow perch, and then an old snapping turtle. It’s a battle – it was easier when he was young “and his chest wasn’t caved in like a broken box” – but he does it. Finally, having been out longer than he’d expected, he returns home, muddy and bloody, to find Amalia missing. Where is Amalia, and why is her daughter – who has “Jack Wind written all over her face” – sitting in Amalia’s rocker?
In one sense, “Turtle meat” is a traditional story of ageing parents and grasping children, but it is imbued with a different sensibility. Homer’s battle with the turtle recalls other literary battles between fishermen and their prey, but in this case it is not only about Homer confronting his age, but is also symbolic of the battle Amalia simultaneously faces. I suspect, too, that the choice of a turtle has specific cultural references for Bruchac, given turtles seem to feature often in his writing.
It’s a great story, as Blaisdell says, but what makes it particularly so is the writing. The characters are more than just types. There’s a natural dignity to them, with an individuality that is conveyed mostly through dialogue – and in Homer’s case, also through his thoughts expressed via italics. The descriptive writing is tight and fresh. And it has a quiet humour. Take, for example, Homer out on his boat:
He looked in the water. He saw his face, the skin lined and brown as an old map. Wattles of flesh hung below his chin like the comb of a rooster.
“Shit, you’re a good-looking man, Homer LaWare,” he said to his reflection. “Easy to see what a woman sees in you.”
How can you not warm to such a character and such writing?
Unfortunately, I don’t think this story is available online so you’ll just have to believe me that it’s another one worth reading from this anthology.
Joseph Bruchac III
“Turtle meat” (orig. pub. 1983)
in Bob Blaisdell (ed.), Great short stories by contemporary Native American writers
Garden City: Dover Publications, 2014
pp. 50-56
ISBN: 9780486490953
Whispering Gums 
I can’t say I’ve ever heard of this author.
I’ll add it to my indigenous lit pages … remind me if I forget, because I’m super tired and am going to bed right now!
Thanks Lisa … no, I hadn’t heard either. I will try to (as I’ve done a few Native American stories in the last few months.)
I’ve done it now:)
Thanks Lisa
It was a great little story, wasn’t it? Your review really captured the excellence of the writing. I wonder what the symbolism of that turtle is though.
Thanks Carolyn. Yes, I wondered about that too. I’m not sure whether it is like his nation’s totem as he’s written about turtles a lot, but you’d have to think that there might be more to it too?
I am enjoying this book. The stories are a real treat to read.
I know people have to eat, and Indigenous peoples have always fed themselves this way, but I don’t like fishing and I don’t like killing, not even for food. So I’d rather not read about it.
The other question raised though, Is are you finding more and more of your friends sleeping separately? Milly and I of course live in different houses, but I am also finding men – old like me – saying that they much prefer to be in a separate bed, in a separate room.
I don’t like fishing either Bill – there’s something very visceral about it, but I don’t have a problem with people fishing for food to eat (though I do understand the vegetarian’s stance on it.) What I really hate is the catch-and-release sport. That to me is unacceptable – the treating animals as a sporting competitor when they have not agreed to be part of it is just outrageous.
Good question … I know a couple of friends who do, but so far most don’t as far as I know. I’m not sure all who do might admit to it? For the record, we are hanging in there – so far!! The depredations of age have not hit that badly yet.
Mr Penguin and I have separate rooms as he goes to bed early, I’m a night owl. I move around a lot and don’t sleep, his cpap machine makes noise. I love my own space.
Sounds very sensible to me. I’m a night owl too and Mr Gums finds that hard to cope with sometimes.
Bill, based on what I’ve read on the internet, sleeping in separate rooms is becoming normal with Millennials. They’ve discovered they just sleep better in their own rooms without snoring, blanket stealing, etc. Plus, a lot of folks have different work schedules, so one person may be asleep early when the other isn’t. Lastly, a lot of people are acknowledging that a light sleeper doesn’t sleep well with other people, and a lot of folks are light sleepers. These people are emphatic that sleeping in separate rooms is not an indicator of the health of their relationship; if anything, they comment how they are better partners because they are more rested.
That’s really interesting Melanie. The millennials are making a bit of sense it seems to me because I think sharing a bed can affect the sleep patterns of many people. A kingsize bed can help, but you have to have a big bedroom, and those sheets and doonas are huge!
We have a king size bed because when we had a queen size and it was summer, there was a lot of “don’t touch me!!!” going on. But with the king size, I feel like he may as well be on another planet, and if I think even more about it, perhaps that queen size mattress had gotten a divot in the middle and we were far more squished together than would have been normal.
We have a tiny apartment in Melbourne with a king size bed and that’s how Mr Gums feels. I think it’s good because you can have space when you need it but cuddle up too. But the sheets and doonas are so big to manage, so in our apartment here we’re moving into we’ve decided to stick with queen. But I know what you mean about summer.
And here is the important question: what the heck is a doona?
Ah, I wondered about that word. I think you call it a comforter? The Brits call it a duvet. It’s a fluffy quilt you use instead of blankets.
Ah, okay! Yes, comforter.
It was eiderdown when I was a kid.
Yes me too but they are different … they were quilted and used on top of sheets and blankets even, whereas doonas etc are usually quilted white items that are encased in a cover you take off and wash, and technically can sleep immediately under with no sheet.
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This book sounds so good. It sounds wonderful. I don’t read enough of the Native American books.
It’s a really great book, Pam. It’s little, but it is packed with good stuff!
This is a great project you’re working on, Sue. I appreciate that you help us find more about the author and where to find the story. I need to read more books by Native Americans. Interestingly, I’ve read more recently than in years past due to a Canadian blogger named Anne, who reads ARCs of Indigenous authors and gets me to locate copies for myself.
Thanks Melanie … I am enjoying doing it so I’ve been glad to see some interest in it. I’m glad you’ve found a source for info about more recent writers.