In Section 1, Tayo mourns the loss of Josiah, whose home on the reservation he now resides in. More than anything, Tayo wishes Josiah were there to listen—to hear his grievances and comfort him in the midst of his trauma recovery, no matter how difficult. Whilst ruminating on this prospect, Tayo imagines what he might say to Josiah, including the following metaphor:
He wished Josiah were there, not forever like he had been wishing, but just long enough so Tayo could tell him how he’d been feeling lately, how he’d almost been convinced he was brittle red clay, slipping away with the wind, a little more each day.
Tayo envisions himself as "bitter red clay," eroding gradually over time. The combination of the trauma Tayo experiences abroad and at home erodes his psyche, making him feel like he's being scattered into the wind. What's more, brittle red clay tends to erode so rapidly due to a lack of moisture—likely the lack of rain Tayo bemoans, having himself "caused" a drought on the reservation by means of a desperate wartime prayer. No doubt the guilt Tayo feels in this situation erodes his psyche as well, scattering the fragments of his mental fortitude like dust in the wind.
In the following excerpt from Section 1, Silko utilizes metaphor to describe Tayo's initial thoughts, impressions, and emotions after he wakes up in the VA hospital:
The new doctor asked him if he had ever been visible, and Tayo spoke to him softly and said that he was sorry but nobody was allowed to speak to an invisible one. But the new doctor persisted; he came each day, and his questions dissolved the edges of the fog, and his voice sounded louder every time he came. The sun was dissolving the fog, and one day Tayo heard a voice answering the doctor. The voice was saying, “He can’t talk to you. He is invisible. His words are formed with an invisible tongue, they have no sound.”
Silko relates Tayo's experience in the VA hospital to that of fog being dissolved by the sun. Tayo himself feels invisible, the fog of trauma clouding his brain until the real world begins to break through, akin to rays of light penetrating thick clouds.
Thematically, this passage shares similarities with Ralph Ellison's novel Invisible Man, which explores the "invisibility" of Black Americans in the context of their trauma and cultural oppression. Both Tayo and the unnamed narrator of Invisible Man find themselves disregarded by White American society when they are no longer of interest or use, their needs and wants and bodies no longer worth the regard of the empire that once exploited them.
In the following excerpt from Section 1, Tayo reflects on the circumstances of his return from war, mourning the loss of Rocky. Silko employs a metaphor to illustrate Tayo's process in dealing with his grief:
It didn’t take Tayo long to see the accident of time and space: Rocky was the one who was alive, buying Grandma her heater with the round dial on the front; Rocky was there in the college game scores on the sports page of the Albuquerque Journal. It was him, Tayo, who had died, but somehow there had been a mistake with the corpses, and somehow his was still unburied.
In this passage, Tayo presents himself as an unburied corpse, wishing it was Rocky instead of him who survived the war. It is curious that Tayo views his own life as less valuable than Rocky's, given the racial dynamics within their family. Tayo may devalue himself in this scenario on account of a subconscious inferiority complex: he measures himself, a half-White man, against Rocky, a full Laguna Pueblo man, and comes up short. Tayo thus undermines his self-worth on a good day; on a bad day, in combination with his grief and trauma, Tayo regrets being the one to outlive Rocky.
In the following excerpt from Section 2, Tayo reflects on the role that alcohol plays in his own life and in the lives of other veterans. The narrative employs a metaphor in this passage, comparing liquor to medicine:
He had heard Auntie talk about the veterans—drunk all the time, she said. But he knew why. It was something the old people could not understand. Liquor was medicine for the anger that made them hurt, for the pain of the loss, medicine for tight bellies and choked-up throats. He was beginning to feel a comfortable place inside himself, close to his own beating heart, near his own warm belly; he crawled inside and watched the storm swirling on the outside and he was safe there; the winds of rage could not touch him.
While Tayo might see liquor as "medicine for the anger" that so plagues him, it is poisonous to his body and mind. He uses alcohol to quiet his thoughts and distance himself from the anguish he cannot avoid while sober. Such a heavy drinking habit, however, would undoubtedly exacerbate any stomach issues, delaying both the mental and physical process of healing from the traumatic experiences Tayo underwent in the war. While Tayo may view liquor as a cure in this moment, it is only something that keeps him cut off from himself—and from the rest of the world—in the long run.