In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

She squints into the bright sunlight as she opens the door. Behind her lies a cocoon of cool darkness. Heavy curtains shield her home from the July Mississippi sun, making life bearable in a home with no air conditioning. The hum of fans stirs the quiet. Mallie Smith has been expecting us. She nods and motions for us to come in. Earlier that week, Glenda Williamson had called Mallie about coming by with a man from Indiana University who was putting together a collection of oral narratives from the tribe. Glenda and I had fallen into a routine in this respect. She would contact various elders in the Conehatta community where she lived, and we would go out together to talk to them. They were more comfortable speaking Choctaw than English, so Glenda would also act as translator. Mallie and I greet one another, fairly formally, as she motions to us to sit down. She and Glenda speak a bit in Choctaw, laughing easily and frequently while I sit smiling, waiting, observing. Like the majority of women in Conehatta her age, Mallie Smith wears the traditional-style dress that identi¤es older Choctaw women at a glance: long-sleeved, full-length, patterned cotton cloth with bric-a-brac sewn around the borders. The choice seems a cruel one for this climate, but the women who wear them prefer these dresses to contemporary options. The formal versions of these dresses are satin, shiny and bright, with hand-sewn diamond designs and elaborate beaded necklaces and earrings. Every female in the tribe has one, but it is worn only for special public occasions. For everyday, bric-a-brac substitutes for hand-sewn diamonds, cotton for satin, and an apron for beadwork. Mallie’s home is like many others in the community. The structures are designed by the government and are virtually identical to one another. The interiors, though they vary, share a pattern of decoration. Religious imagery dominates Christian homes. Pictures of Jesus and silk-screened tapestries of the Last Supper are the most common; prayer cards and candles also dot man1 Choctaw Verbal Art tels and shelves. Many in the community also appreciate American Indian art, particularly pieces collected during trips to the Southwest. Mallie Smith has a picture of Jesus on her wall, but the decorations that dominate are familial. Photographs of her children and grandchildren cover every wall. Hanging beside them are various plaques, gifts from these children declaring such praise as “World’s Greatest Mom.” We begin by talking about family. Mallie talks about her mother, who used to go to the tribal elementary schools and tell stories. She retrieves a tape of one of these stories from a back room, and we pop it into my tape recorder. The volume is set too high. Blaring from the speakers is the technobeat of the song “One Night in Bangkok,” a pop hit from the 1980s. By the time I ¤nd the volume, the song has abruptly been cut off mid-chorus and the distant voice of Bessie Solomon, Mallie’s mother, can be heard amid the hum of static. We all sit trans¤xed, listening to her voice. Even I who cannot understand a word of it am mesmerized by the steady lilt of her speech. The story is about Kashikanchak, a legendary cannibal who used to ravage unsuspecting Choctaw, particularly children. Mallie nods as she listens , remembering the story from when she heard it directly from her mother. Bessie Solomon passed away over a decade ago, and now Mallie Smith tells the story. She leans forward in her chair, closes her eyes, and begins. What follows is an unbroken stream of words, sentence ®owing upon sentence. When she¤nishes, she opens her eyes, nods to us, then settles back into her chair. Sometimes a question prompts her next story, other times one story leads into another . We ask about prophecy, and she tells us the stories she heard from her grandfather. Again, she leans forward, closes her eyes, and begins talking, longer this time as one prediction ®ows into the next. Ák ma amáfo yósh anopoholi yat tók o, anólih bannat pisá lá chih. And now, what my grandfather spoke about is, what I am going to try to talk about. Hih mat pi kaniyoh mih ósh maya chi ka áchih bíkah tók. Nanah anopoholih tók a ikalhoh kiyoh. Anok¤llit attalih bíkah kaníkma. Anok ¤llik mat yammak...

Share