Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!
For this session we read an excerpt from “The Night Watchman” by Louise Erdrich, posted below.
Our prompt was: โTell a story about diving to the bottom.โ
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The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich
As he did at the change of every season, Thomas gave his father a pinch of tobacco and asked for the story of his name. This story tied them together as Thomas was named after his grandfather, whose name had become the family surname. The original and real Wazhashk was a little muskrat.
"In the beginning," said Biboon, "the world was covered with water. The Creator lined up the animals who were the best divers. First the Creator sent down Fisher, the strongest. But Fisher came up gasping, couldn't find the bottom. Next Mang, the loon, ducked under the way they do."
Biboon curved his hand. "Loon tried. But failed." Thomas nodded in appreciation, loving the gestures he remembered from childhood.
"The Hell-diver flashed into the water, bragging it would succeed. That Hell-diver pulled itself deep down, and down. But no!"
Biboon waited, took in a deep breath.
"Last the humble water rat. The Creator called on that one.
Wazhashk. The little fellow dived down. He took a long time, a very long time, and then finally Wazhashk floated to the top. He was drowned but his paw was clenched. The Creator unfolded Wazhashk's webbed hands. He saw that the muskrat had carried up just a little off the bottom. From that tiny pawโs grip of dirt, the Creator made the whole earth.โ
"Miiโiw. That's it," said Biboon.
They were sitting outside. Biboon stared at the bright popple leaves, trembling and flashing as they swirled thickly off the branches. Once, the wild prairies had been littered with bones. Bones thick and white as far as he could see. He'd gathered and hauled the buffalo bones with his father. Eight dollars a ton down at the railroad yard in Devils Lake. His family had all dived to the bottom to scrape up dirt. But now his son was sitting with him. Their chairs tipped back against the whitewashed wall of old logs. The sun struck Biboon's face, no warmth to the light, a sign his own namesake was just over the horizon.
"I'm an old pinto pony, scrawny and always hungry. This winter might do me in," he said. His voice was light, amused.
"No," said Thomas. "You have to stick around here, Daddy.โ
"I'm a weight around your necks," said Biboon.
"Don't say that. We need you."
"I can't even dig a potato! Yesterday I fell over."
"Iโm sending Wade down to stay with you. We need you, like I said. This thing that's coming at us from Washington. I need you to help me fight it."
"Oh, fine," said Biboon, putting up his fists.
Credit:The Night Watchman, Louise Erdrich, p 172-173
Connections in Narrative Medicine 