How do welty's descriptions of phoenix's

[In the following essay, Saunders surveys various critical interpretations of “A Worn Path,” emphasizing the story's ambiguous meaning and exploring its thematic affinities with other works of fiction.]

Of all the ingenious stories written by Eudora Welty over the past half century, it is perhaps “A Worn Path” that is most intriguing in terms of its ability to defy simple explanation. In a relatively early essay entitled “Life for Phoenix” [Sewanee Review, Vol. 71, 1963], Neil Isaacs manages to conclude that “the whole story is suggestive of a religious pilgrimage, while the conclusion implies that the return trip will be like the journey of the Magi, with Phoenix following a star (the marvelous windmill) to bring a gift to the child (medicine, also windmill).” Indeed the tale is in some sense, to use Isaacs' word, “suggestive” of a religious quest. The story begins conspicuously on a cold December morning, and just as quickly we are made aware that there is an old black woman “coming along a path through the pinewoods.” We observe her as she negotiates a series of obstacles in that wilderness on her way to Natchez, Mississippi, presumably to pick up some medicine for her grandson who, according to the nurse's calculation near the story's end, had swallowed a certain amount of lye two or three years earlier. Elaborating further on the biblical analysis, Isaacs interprets:

there are references to the Eden story (the ordering of the species, the snake in summer to be avoided), to the parting of the Red Sea (Phoenix walking through the field of corn), to a sequence of temptations, to the River Jordan and the City of Heaven (when Phoenix gets to the river, sees the city shining, and hears the bells ringing; then there is the angel who waits on her, tying her shoes), to the Christ-child in the manger (Phoenix describing her grandson as 'all wrapped up' in 'a little patch quilt ... like a little bird' with 'a sweet look').

All things considered, Isaacs' analogies are quite astute and provide us with the basis for a most interesting perspective: Phoenix Jackson is involved in that crucial search for meaning in life that is founded on basic Christian principles and designed, upon completion, to provide her with life-giving sustenance. Even if she is, due both to her advancing years and the nature of her difficult mission, about to die by the story's end, it is only so that life might be affirmed through acquisition of the medicine her grandson needs.

Nevertheless, Roland Bartel specifies the story's uncertain ending as indicative of something much more pessimistic. Entitling his brief explication “Life and Death in Eudora Welty's 'A Worn Path,'” [Studies in Short Fiction, Vol. 14, 1977] he urges us to “consider seriously the possibility that her grandson is, in fact, dead.” Presumably the lye that had been swallowed earlier was fatal, and now Phoenix has become engaged in a self-sacrificing ritual that carries her painfully over hills and through cave-like woods to get the “soothing medicine” that can only serve as a reminder of defeat. Commenting on what might be the significance of her name, Bartel continues, “If her grandson is dead, then the rebirth implied in her name is doubly pathetic: she unwittingly makes the journey to meet her own needs rather than her grandson's, and what begins as a life-sustaining journey seems to end in a journey of death.” Bartel argues vehemently for the prospect that Phoenix is just “a feeble old woman whose active imagination rescues her from the harshest aspects of her existence.” But by the time she has acquired her medicine, which is the purpose of her mission,