The following column is a fictionalized satirical story written in the genre of ‘Creek Dialect Writings’. The events and characters depicted are fictitious.
Byline: Fus Yvhikv
”It’s All Creek to Me”
“Thluh, thluh, thluh,” Tarpalechee stammers.
“Duh, duh, duh,” I say mockingly.
The Frybread Boys crack up laughing.
“Spit it out, Tarp,” Yahola says. “You can do it!”
“No he can’t,” Fixico says. “Look at that contorted face!”
Tarpalechee’s face is indeed severely contorted. He has the pained expression of a man who just ate two Burrito Supremes at Taco Bell and now has acute gas and bloating. His strained face is made more comical due to his lips forming an “O” while flicking his tongue as he tries to correctly pronounce the Creek R sound.
“I think he needs to head to the cukuce. Stat!” Fixico says as he tosses a roll of toilet paper at Tarpalechee.
Tarpalechee’s face returns to its normal hang dog expression.
“Shhh! You boys go away,” Tarp commands. “Can’t you see I’m in my Creek language class? I’m trying to pronounce the R sound in our language.”
Tarpalechee points to his Dell laptop which is covered in duct tape. The image of the Creek language instructor is grainy and cloudy, but the audio is surprisingly good for a 15-year-old laptop. Tarpalechee closes the laptop and pounds it with his fist. When he reopens it, the picture is clear as White Lightening.
“You’re taking a Creek language class?” Yahola asks.
“Why would he do that. He still hasn’t mastered basic English,” I say.
“Aaaaaaaay,” Yahola and Fixico respond.
There is no R sound in the Creek language as in English,” the Creek teacher says. “In the Creek language the R has a sound like ‘thlee’ as in ath-THLEE-t. Mr. Tarpalechee, would you care to try the pronunciation?”
“How can she see me?” Tarp asks.
“Tawvte! Even that old computer has a camera,” Yahola replies.
“Mr. Tarpalechee?”
“Yes, yes, Mvhayv. I’ll be happy to give it a try.”
Tarp clears his throat as he stretches his tiny T-rex arms over his head. He clears his throat again and then is silent.
“While we’re still young,” I say.
“Thluh…thluh…thluh,” Tarpalechee stammers.
“You have to put the tip of your tongue against the back of your upper teeth. Then aspirate out the sides of your tongue,” the Mahaya says.
“What does aspirate mean?” Tarp asks.
“Heyluh!” Fixico says as he hits his forehead with the palm of his hand.
Tarpalechee attempts to put the tip of his tongue against his upper teeth, but he only manages to flick his tongue. With his puffy chipmunk cheeks, he resembles a rat snake.
“Injun’ speaks with forked tongue,” Fixico jokes.
“Mvts ci! Goot Won,” I say between peals of laughter.
“Thluh, thluh, thluh,” Tarpalechee continues to babble.
His attempts to aspirate drizzles us in a fog of spittle. Me, Yahola, and Fixico step back away from Tarp’s mist cloud. Fixico shakes his head and lights a cigar. He tilts his face towards the ceiling and blows a large smoke ring. Suddenly, Fixico moves next to Tarpalechee. His face is so close to Tarp’s that Fixico’s cigar could burn Tarp’s cheek.
“Now, repeat after me,” Fixico orders. “Thlee. Thlee. Thlee. Try it.”
“Thluh. Thluh. Thluh.”
“Thlee!”
“Thluh.”
Fixico’s brow furrows and his jaw tightly clenches as he gives Tarp a Clint Eastwood narrow-eyed stare. Fixico abruptly grasps Tarp’s mouth and jaw in his large hand.
“Now say it with me. Thlee!” Fixico says as he maneuvers Tarp’s lips.
“Glabba..f-frooni.” Tarp babbles.
Fixico tightens his vise-like grip on Tarp’s mouth which causes his lips to protrude. He now looks like Catfish Tarp.
“Heyluh! Again! Thlee!”
“Glabba…f-frooni.”
Fixico’s face turns a beet red. He stands with his hands clenched in a fist so tight that his knuckles are white. Tarp eyeballs Fixico warily.
“Hey boys,” I say to Fixico and Yahola. “I’ve got an idea. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
I walk over to Tarpalechee and without warning, bop Tarp on the head with the bottom of my fist.
“Thlee!” Tarpalechee immediately blurts out.
“Naget! He said it!” Yahola excitedly says. “Hvtvm, makaks ci!”
“Thlee, thlee, thlee,” Tarp says gleefully!
“I think he’s got it,” I observe. “Say some Creek words.”
“Rakko. Rehute. Rvfo. Rvro. Rvro Pvnkv,” Tarp says with a wide grin. “It’s all Creek to me!”
The Frybread Boys joyously high five Tarp and congratulate him on mastering the R sound. Fixico is giving Tarp a bear hug when we hear the sharp voice of the Creek Mvhayv.
“Mr. Tarpalechee!” the Mvhayv sternly says. “Please read and pronounce this word: ohhonvyvhanetskekot’os.”
“I’m not going to read that,” Tarpalechee says as he slams his computer shut.
-Hoccicit’os Eyasket, Fus.
