The Grandaughter

a rewrite of a previous piece

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The Granddaughter

Clara placed the heavy black iron back on the fireplace grate to heat. She turned out her grandfather’s pants pocket to remove the small, hard object that caused the iron to stop and then scorch the heavy duck fabric. It was a coin.

Her grandfather’s room was close and dark, the smell was a smell of old age, bitter laudanum and the whiff of the grave.

“Are you awake, Grandfather? Do you need anything?”

“Who is there?” The old man’s voice was a file across rusted metal, but there was yet some strength in his rasp.

“Clara, Grandfather, I have something of yours.”

“Clara is the name the crows at the mission give you. Why do you allow those old women to name you? You are Waving Grass that is the name your mother called you by. Open the curtains, I cannot see.”

“I found something in your pocket, as I was ironing. Some kind of coin, but I have never seen money like this, Grandfather. There is no image of the new king or the old queen. What is it?”

“Ah, I am forgetful. This should be in my medicine bag; it is good medicine it makes me feel better. My friend Crooked Nose got it in Ft.McLeod. He gave it to me. Why are you here, indoors? Why do you not run down to the lake and swim? It is hot today and the water is cool.”

“What is the coin,” she asked, “is it valuable? It isn’t gold.”

“The coin will buy a pouch of tobacco in America. I do not know what it will buy here in Canada, but it is valuable, yes. I do not want to lose it. Go now, swim in the lake.”

“There is too much work for me to do,” she said, “I have to get the house ready for the wedding. I don’t have time to play.”

“It is true then, you will marry a white man and the French Priest will say the words that cause you to be married. I hear the women whisper this as if I am a child or dead already.”

“He is a good man, Grandfather; he works for the province at Ft.McLeod. Father LeClerc is a good man too. He brings you the medicine that makes you sleep.”

“Be glad, child, be glad I am old and sick. If I was not I would rise up and kill you both. It would be better for you to be dead, and it had been a long time since I killed a white man.”

Clara brushed her hand across his brow. “The wars are a long time past now. We have a good home here. I am lucky to get such a fine husband.” She handed him the coin. “Do you want me to put it into your medicine bag, Grandfather?”

“In a little while, a little while. Hold it Waving Grass, look at it, and tell me what you see, my eyes are bad today.”

“There is a buffalo on the coin. I have never seen a buffalo.”

Her grandfather coughed explosively and held his body for a minute. “When I was your age they covered the world, but the white men killed them when they killed us.” He reached into her hand and turned the coin over. “What do you see on this side?”

I see an Indian, one of the people, dressed in the old way - the old Cheyenne way.”

“Yes, he is a Cheyenne and he is old now. I knew him as a young man, but all his fierceness is vanished, all this ghost of a warrior has left is dignity which he sells to any reservation photographer who has a drink of whiskey. This man is Two Moons; there is no doubt of it.”

Clara looked closely at the coin. “I have heard this name. The old men spoke of him. There was something about him they seemed to know but never speak about openly. He was a great warrior?”

“Good medicine, this Indian is good medicine, much better for me than the sleeping draught the French priest brings. The song of Two Moons is better medicine than the words the priest reads from his black book as sleep takes me.”

“Tell me Grandfather, tell me what you see when you look at this piece of American money. The day is fading, and the sun is going down behind the hills. Talk to me as if I were a man, and tell me what you see.”

“I see the hills, but I see the hills that rose above the Greasy Grass River behind the big village of the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho. The Greasy Grass is the water the whites call the Little Big Horn. I feel the summer heat, I smell the sweat, and a taste like iron and salt grows in my mouth. I see the blue shirts and the arrows, horses falling, and men. I see Two Moons raise his arm, bloody to the elbow, high above his head.

“I see the yellow hair in his hand.”

“This is what I see, child. I see it as if it was now. I had forgotten until I saw the coin and felt the medicine it gave. I do not think I asked your French priest for his medicine or his words. I do not think I ever asked a white man for anything.”

Waving Grass was silent for a long time; finally she rose and put the coin into the medicine bag. She tied the bag to the old man’s wrist with a leather thong and closed the curtains.

Reviews

[Jennie Baron]

A real gem and I'm glad I discovered it. You've organized this story so well and left that note of intrigue necessary for a good short story. The fact that Clara is called Waving Grass at the end is just the right touch to suggest what this experience with her grandfather means to her and where it might lead her.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts. I am grateful.

[Taylor]

Wow, Delmar. Packed, tight, a Stradivarius of a story. I felt very drawn in as though I were in the room. Your spare writing fit so perfectly the old man's directness. I have to look up laudanum. Thank you for sharing this story. Carolyn

[Delmar Cooper]

I'm glad you liked it. It is a rewrite of a much shorter version that I like better. I wrote this version to include his grand daughter. This character is one of my few repeat customers. I have written about him as an adolescent, as a young bridegroom and as a dying old man.

[Taylor]

My favorite part of this story is the description of Clara discovering the coin--having done my share of ironing, it was so simple but such a potent image. I will keep reading your work. I can learn a lot from you.

[Delmar Cooper]

You can learn more from my mistakes.

[C. Rose]

I like that you wait until the very end to refer to Clara directly as Waving Grass. I like that because she is his caretaker, you are able to have too characters of vastly different perspectives (kill the white man, marry the white man) have a pleasant conversation.

In my opinion, there could be more physical description spread out throughout the dialogue to ground the "floating head" phenomenon - then again, the dialogue is clearly the important part of this short piece and I imagine in pieces this short perhaps balancing description and dialogue becomes less important.

[Lyn Anderson]

This is an exceptional piece, and probably my favourite of all your stories. I want more.

[Matt]

Very interesting milieu, not often covered and you've done a great job bringing it to life. If you have a continuation in the works I'd read for sure, language is slightly over elaborate in places but fits the setting

[Delmar Cooper]

Thank you for reading and thank you for your comments. This piece ( and variations of point of view etc.) is the end of my association with Lame Beaver. A story about the middle of his life is in WC "Strawberry Moon."

Thanks for mentioning the" language." You call it elaborate: I call it stilted. It is formal and no contractions are used. I wanted the text to simulate a translation when I transcribed NA dialect to English. Just a conceit I used, it may not be appropriate mor wise, but it was convenient.

[Delmar Cooper]

Matt, I need to correct myself. I allowed "Clara" one contraction. I thought to show her association with the whites.

[Sophia Bar-Lev]

Very engaging story. I love how you built the suspense to the very end and your use of literary techniques is admirable. You inspire me and I appreciate it. Thank you again for reviewing the first chapter of my book a few days ago. I took your comments to heart and have completely re-written the chapter. I invite you to re-visit and give me your thoughts. I would really appreciate it.

[MysteriesUnsolved]

This was magnificent. The description with the use of ample literary devices was brilliant. Keeping the reader guessing about the real intent of the plot right till the end, only to find out there's more to it than what seems to be.

Having no reply by Clara at the end gets me imagining what she's going to do next which is the appeal of short stories after all. A good piece of writing.

There is one typo and a few tense changes but that can be fixed with a quick read through. If you want me to point them out, I wouldn't mind doing so.

[Delmar Cooper]

Unsolved,
Thanks for reading this. This story is an exercise version of an exercise. I wrote the story originally from strictly the old man's viewpoint without dialogue with any woman. This version much less bitter than that first try. I like the bitter version best. I wrote several stories involving this character, his name is Lame Beaver BTW and his tribe is Cheyenne. The stories deal with his coming of age, his marriage and in this one his death.

If I intended to keep this one as the primary version I would gladly accept your kind offer of a more indepth crit. As it is this story is not a keeper for me.

Your comments really perked me up today, thanks very much.

[MysteriesUnsolved]

You're welcome, though writing it from Lame Beaver's point of view describing his life story is a good idea in itself. I could sense the holding back of bitterness, though in all honesty, after all I think he's been through, the bitterness would make it better than anything else.

[Msada]

I adore this piece, your writing style is very emotional and crisp.
I love how the story assists the reader in using thier own imagination about the coin and it's purpose.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks so much for you kind comments. I do appreciate them.

[W.k.kortas]

The thing that good writing does...it never beats you around the head and shoulders, never tells you that THIS IS THE POINT OF MY STORY in capital letters. Good writing trusts its readers, letting them discover meaning by making them poke around the edges, making them notice the subtleties of "Clara" disappearing about two-thirds through the story, not insisting that there can be one and only one thing to take from a tale. Well, looky here!

[Delmar Cooper]

When I read I hope to discover the story as I go. An armchair Columbus.
Thank you for your remarks.