Long ago.—Eh.—Long ago in the north in Whitehouse lived the people. At
that time they had a war dance. At that time, when they were dancing,
Salt-Woman and her grandsons, the Twin-Heroes, were travelling in this
direction searching for a town, yes, some place where nobody would make
dirt, searching for good water standing on the ground; for that they
were searching. At the time they reached Whitehouse the people were
having a war dance. They arrived at the east end of the town, and they
climbed up the ladder, entered after having climbed down, but nobody
said anything to them. Then they climbed up and out again. Again they
climbed down into a house on the west and again they entered, climbing
downward. Here also nobody invited them in and nobody gave them to
eat. Then they climbed up going out and climbed down the ladder. Then
the grandmother spoke thus, “Grandchildren, are you hungry?” said she
to them. Then the Twin-Heroes spoke, “Yes,” they said to her. Then
the grandmother, Salt-Woman, spoke thus, “Now let us go for the last
time, climb up the house to the west.” Thus said Salt-Woman. They
went westward and climbed up, then they climbed down the ladder and
entered. When they had entered the Parrot People were about to eat.
They said, “How is everything?”—“It is well,” said the Parrot People.
“Sit down,” said the Parrot People. Then they sat down and soon they
were satisfied. After a while the one who was the mother of the Parrot
People spoke thus, “Give them to eat,” said she. Then they gave them
to eat and they dipped out the deer meat with a chamber vessel. Then
the one who was the mother spoke thus, “Take this; eat,” said she.
Then Salt-Woman put her hand into the soup that had been dipped out
and she stirred it with her hand and they ate and they were satisfied.
Then the one who was the mother of the Parrot People took it away.
She spoke thus, “I wonder why this soup is so different,” said she.
Then she tasted it. Then the one who was the mother spoke thus, “Oh
my, that soup is very sweet,” said the one who was the mother. Then
Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Behold, go on, dip it out and give it to them
and eat,” said Salt-Woman. Then she dipped out the soup and passed
it about. They sat down there together. Then Salt-Woman took scabs
from her body (which was salt) and she put the salt in for them. Then
Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Let us continue to stir it,” said Salt-Woman.
Then they stirred it and ate. Now Salt-Woman spoke thus, “I tell you
this,” said Salt-Woman, “I am Salt-Woman, there is no sickness on my
body. Is not this my body pure salt?” said Salt-Woman. “Now I also tell
you this,” said Salt-Woman. “How many children have you and how many
families of Parrot People live here?” said Salt-Woman. “Now go ahead
and come in this direction,” said she, “for I am very grateful because
you gave me to eat,” said Salt-Woman. Now the one who was the mother
of the Parrot People went to call her relatives. She brought the whole
number of them. Then she took them down and Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Are
these your relatives, the Parrot People?”—“Yes,” said the one who was
the mother. “Indeed,” she said, “Go ahead, take this basket and give
it to me,” said Salt-Woman. Then she gave the basket to Salt-Woman and
salt came off from her arms and from her feet. Then she picked it up
and put it into the basket. “Take this,” said Salt-Woman, “with this
you will season what you eat.” Then again she spoke thus, “Enough,” she
said, “it is good, thank you. Now we shall climb up and go out from
here. You stay here,” said Salt-Woman, “then, when the Twin-Heroes are
ready we shall open the door after a while.” Thus spoke Salt-Woman.
Then they climbed up and went away and climbed down again. After they
had climbed down outside the children came and looked at them for a
while. The Twin-Heroes were playing thereabouts with a shuttlecock.
Then the children spoke thus, “Boy,” said they, “go ahead, bring me
this shuttlecock,” said the children. Then the younger one of the
Twin-Heroes spoke thus, “Go ahead,” said he, “stand there to the
south under the cotton wood tree.” The children went southward. They
arrived there. Then the children spoke thus, “Go ahead,” they said.
“Now look out,” said the elder one of the Twin-Heroes, “I throw the
shuttlecock southward.” When it arrived at the south where they stood,
the shuttlecock fell down between them. Then all were turned into
chaparral jays. All flew upward. Then Salt-Woman and her grandchildren
went to the south. They arrived in the south. Then the elder one of
the Twin-Heroes stood up. He took up his shuttlecock in his turn.
The younger one said, “Now, look out, it is my turn. Let me make
the shuttlecock fly to the north.”—“Go ahead,” said the elder one.
The younger one made the shuttlecock fly northward. In the north it
reached the plaza and when the shuttlecock fell down the people were
transformed into stones. Then Salt-Woman spoke thus, “Enough,” said
she, “Now go ahead to the house of the Parrot People and open the door.”
[121] Franz Boas, Keresan Texts, Publications of the American
Ethnological Society, Vol. 8, p. 17.
Another example may not be amiss. Dr. Ruth Benedict recorded the
following as part of the creation myth from a Zuni Indian who has a
good command of English:
“The Two came to the fourth world. It was dark there; they could see
nothing. They met a man; he was naked and his body was covered with
green slime, he had a tail, and a horn on his forehead. He took them to
his people. The Two said to them, “In the upper world there is no one
to worship the sun. He has sent us down to you to take you out to the
world above.” They said, “We are willing. In this world we cannot see
one another, we step upon one another, we urinate upon one another, we
spit upon one another, we throw refuse upon one another. It is nasty
here, we do not want to stay. We have been waiting for someone to lead
us out. But you must go to the priest of the north; we want to know
what he has to say.”
They took them to the priest of the north. He said to them, “What is it
that you have come to say?”—“We want you to come out into the upper
world.”—“We are willing to go. In this world we cannot see, we step
upon one another, we urinate upon one another, we throw refuse upon
another, we spit upon one another. It is nasty here, we do not want to
stay. We have been waiting for someone to lead us out. But you must go
to the priest of the west; we want to know what he has to say.” (This
is repeated for the priests of the six directions.)
Cushing[122] has rendered the same incident as follows:
“Anon in the nethermost of the four cave-wombs of the world, the seed
of men and the creatures took form and increased; even as within eggs
in warm places worms speedily appear, which growing, presently burst
their shells and become as may happen, birds, tadpoles, or serpents, so
did men and all creatures grow manifoldly and multiply in many kinds.
Thus the lowermost womb or cave-world, which was Anosin tehuli (the
womb of sooty depth or of growth-germination, because it was the place
of first formation and dark as a chimney at night time, foul too, as
the internals of the belly) thus did it become overfilled with being.
Everywhere were unfinished creatures, crawling like reptiles one over
another in filth and black darkness, crowding thickly together and
treading each other, one spitting on another or doing other indecency,
insomuch that loud became their murmurings and lamentations, until many
among them sought to escape, growing wiser and more manlike.”
[122] Frank H. Cushing, Zuni Creation Myths, 13th Annual Report of the
Bureau of American Ethnology, p. 381.
I think these examples demonstrate that it is not easy to discover
from published material the stylistic pattern of primitive narrative.
Sometimes the rendering is bald and dry owing to the difficulties of
expression that the interpreter cannot overcome; sometimes elaborated
in a superimposed literary style that does not belong to the original.
In free prose narrative particular stress is laid upon the completeness
of the succession of events. Both Pueblo and Kwakiutl informants
criticize tales from this point of view. A Pueblo will say, “You
cannot say, ‘he entered the house,’ for he must first climb up the
ladder, then down into the house. He must greet those present properly
and receive the proper courteous reply.” None of these steps may be
omitted. This is illustrated by the example of the Laguna tale referred
to before (see p. 305). The Kwakiutl cannot say, “Then he spoke,” but
they would say “Then he arose, spoke and said.” They do not allow a
person to arrive at a place without first letting him start and travel.
An epic diffusiveness, an insistence on details is characteristic of
most free primitive narrative.
Besides these free elements, primitive prose contains passages of fixed
form which are, to a great extent, the source of its attractiveness
to the hearer. Quite often these passages consist of conversation
between the actors and in these, deviations from the fixed formula, are
not permitted. In other cases they are of rhythmic form and must be
considered poetry, chants or songs rather than prose.
In almost all reliable collections the fixed, formal parts are of
considerable importance. In a few cases, as among the Wailaki of
California, the connective text disappears almost completely.
In contrast to the fullness of the free narrative these formal parts
are apt to be so brief that they are obscure unless the significance
of the story is known to the hearers. Examples of these are the brief
tales of the Eskimo. In Cumberland Sound I recorded the following
example:[123] a tale of a woman and the Spirit of the Singing-House.
“Where is its owner? Where is its master? Has the singing-house an
owner? Has the singing-house a master? It has no owner.”—“Here he is,
there he is.”—“Where are his feet? Where are the calves of his legs?
Where are his knees? Where are his thighs?”—“Here they are, there
they are.”—“Where is his stomach?”—“Here it is, there it is.”—“Where
is his chest? Where is his arm? Where is his neck? Where is his
head?”—“Here it is, there it is.” He had no hair.
[123] Journal of American Folk-lore, Vol. 7, (1894), p. 45.
This means that the woman felt for the supernatural owner of the
singing-house. He is supposed to have bandy legs, no hair and no
occipital bone. To touch his soft head is immediate death.