FOLK-TALES OF ÁCOMA
What does the name imply? The ‘lore of the Folk.’ But the
‘folk’ are the backward people among ourselves, and from their
unwritten sagas and stories, their customs and beliefs, we find
an unmistakable record of the clash of opposing races, but of a
time long antecedent to history.—ALFRED CORT HADDON.
Three types of the survivals of inherited traditions regarding the
supernatural, and its relation to human beings, are the religious
beliefs, the great myths, and the folk-tales, which may be regarded as
myths in their infancy. Folk-tales are the happenings of more recent
times than those that are concerned with the origin of the race and the
heroic demi-gods.
Story-telling by the old men of any semi-civilized society is the pastime
of their leisure hours, and is all the literature of the tribe. With the
American Indian there were songs and tales for every adventure in their
tribal history. Imagination is so vital an element of all that the Indian
believes, entering into all he says and does in daily life, that it must
never be out of mind in any study of his culture.
All unexplained phenomena belong to the world of necromancy, and every
Indian language has its own name for this magic power residing in such
phenomena. Throughout the Indian world the song of birds is deemed a
magic spell. When, therefore, human beings sing, they too are weaving
magic, over the grinding, over the planting, over the painting of jars,
to bring the favor of those above upon that especial occupation. Hence,
singing is a universal accompaniment of Indian life and Indian worship.
In the book of Indian music by Natalie Curtis Burlin[160] there are
three songs given from Ácoma, belonging to the Corn-people, _Gátsina_
(K’at’sina), those mythological beings impersonated by masked dancers
in the ceremonials. Only two words appear in these songs, _shiwanna_,
meaning cloud, and _hawilana_, meaning growing corn. For the remainder,
vocables only are used. It is further stated that these songs are sung in
other villages, such as Laguna and Zuñi, and therefore they may not be
distinctively native to Ácoma. In folk-tales, just as in the myths, we
are warned against too much reliance upon explanatory significances. A
single tale may involve ten or a dozen interpretations. Waterman points
out that a most interesting fact in American folk-lore is the enormous
distance, sometimes thousands of miles, to which a tale can travel
from what it is fair to consider as its original home. Naturally the
explanation will vary with local conditions, for primitive man is even
more interested in and occupied by his immediate environment than are
we of a later age, and we are by no means emancipated from that limited
outlook upon the world about us.
Waterman says very happily that
if any one fact becomes clear from an acquaintance with
Indian society, it is this, that the satisfaction which
Indian audiences get out of the recital of a tale is not an
intellectual but an emotional one. He genuinely loves to listen
to a good story. The absorbing interest which primitive people
take in stories as stories is one of the picturesque features
of primitive life.... Explanations are decidedly less important
than the novelistic elements of the plot.[161]
Ácoma on its craggy height, haughtily indifferent or inimical to its
neighbors, has imparted little of itself to outsiders even in the way of
folk-lore or of music. Espinosa considers that the “Pueblo Indians have
given very little to the great traditional treasure of Spanish folk-lore
of New Mexico.... But some of them have absorbed a considerable amount
of Spanish folk-lore material.” He contributes two tales and about fifty
short anecdotes or fables, collected at the farm colony of Acomita by one
of his students, all of which show European ancestry.
I wish here to express my thanks to Mrs. N. V. Sanchez for her
translation of the following selection from this group of tales. That
called “San Pascual” is apparently a satire upon the Christian ritual. To
the ignorant lad the figure of the Lord on the cross means only that he
must be a criminal; when later He creates a feast from nothing tangible
it could only be through sorcery. The Indian everywhere attributed
diseases that followed the coming of the Spaniards to their sprinkling of
the neophytes with holy water. Only with these three things in mind does
the story of San Pascual become intelligible.
The same student collected fifty fables, from which I have chosen four,
one of which bears a certain likeness to that of Æsop called “The Fox and
the Crow.”[162]
Two stories given below were told to Dr. Parsons by the cacique of Ácoma
and written down by her in English. In one of these, for the first time
we gain faint hints of a tradition of an earlier settlement at the foot
of the rock which, if confirmed, would seem to ally the movements of
this Keresan tribe more closely to those of other mesa pueblos than has
heretofore been evident.
The brief form of “Borrowed Feathers” is added because of its allusion to
Katzímo, and also because there is little question that in it we have a
tale of purely Indian origin.
One significant allusion to Ácoma may be read in a volume of tales
collected by Cushing at Zuñi.[163] In the one called “The Maiden and
the Sun,” an Ácoma spectator takes part at a Zuñi festival, and runs
away with the body of the maiden’s mother. Later the scene moves to
Ácoma itself in an attempt to get from the dance-priestess there the
magic-working bones of the deceased woman. Here we have a striking proof
of certain inter-relationships of tradition and of custom between Ácoma
and Zuñi, about which ordinarily we hear emphatic denial rather than
confirmation.
BORROWED FEATHERS: DON’T LOOK UP: BACK TO LIFE
Informant, cacique (_hócheni_) of Ácoma, about 75 years of age
Long ago at Hanishoku[164] the pigeons (_houk_) were flying
about. They gave Coyote some of their feathers to fly with.
Coyote (_chuski_) was heavy and lagged behind. The pigeons
said, “Let us fly up to the water-hole on top of the mesa! Let
us fly on ahead of Coyote. He has a dirty mouth.” They flew on
to the water-hole, Coyote after them. When they had finished
drinking, they took their feathers away from Coyote and left
him there crying. As he was crying, the spider below heard him.
Spider said, “Somebody is crying.” Spider went up, and saw that
it was Coyote. Coyote said, “Will you take me down?” Spider
said, “Yes. Wait here until I get my basket. I will lower you
down in it.” Spider went down and got his basket. He said to
Coyote, “Get in, but as you descend do not look up. If you look
up, I shall drop you.” When the basket was half way down Coyote
began to say to himself, “I wonder why Spider does not want me
to look up!” Then he looked up. Spider let go of the basket,
and Coyote dashed down into pieces.
Another coyote passed by, and saw the pieces. “I wonder who
died here!” said he. “I had better see.” He gathered together
the bones, and covered them over with a cloth. On the north
side he began to sing,
“Tsaiu tsaiu akuhato
Nia ako nia ako.”
On the west side he sang,
“Tsaiu tsaiu akuhato
Nia ako nia ako.”
On the south side he sang,
“Tsaiu tsaiu akuhato
Nia ako nia ako.”
On the east side he sang,
“Tsaiu tsaiu akuhato
Nia ako nia ako.”
The coyote said, “I wish to see who is underneath. Arise!”
Out came Coyote. “Is it you?” “Yes.” “Who killed you?” “I was
on top of the mesa, and Spider threw me down.” “Where do you
live?” “I live far over on the south side.” “Well, go home.”
That is all (_tomesau_).—Pp. 220, 221.
FORGETTING THE SONG: INSIDE THE LIZARD
Informant, cacique of Ácoma
A long time ago (_tsikinomaha_) at Kaiaushitsa there was a
lizard (?) (_tapinosk_) singing. He sang,
“Heto uma tima
matiu ti mu.”
There came up a coyote (_chuski_) and listened. Lizard sang
again,
“Heto uma tima
matiu ti mu.”
Coyote said, “I think it was over there to the west.” He came
closer. He said, “Friend (_saukin_), are you here?” Lizard
said, “Yes.” Coyote said, “You have fine sound. I want you to
sing for me. I want to learn it.” Lizard said, “Very well.” He
sang,
“Heto uma tima
matiu ti mu.”
“Did you learn it, my sound?” asked Lizard. “Yes.” “Sing it.”
Coyote sang (in a lower key and ponderously),
“Heto uma tima
matiu ti mu.”
“I see you have learned my sound,” said Lizard. Coyote said, “I
am going.” He went to the east. As he approached a cedar tree,
singing his song, a rabbit sitting under the tree heard him.
The rabbit jumped up and ran into a prairie-dog hole. Coyote
ran after the rabbit, and began to dig in the hole. He dug,
dug, dug, until his nails were worn off. Then he tried to sing
his song, and could only say, “Mati, mati.” The rest he had
forgotten. He said, “I had better go back and ask my friend.”
He went back to Lizard, and said, “Friend, sing for me.” Lizard
only looked at him, saying nothing. “Friend, sing your song
for me. I am going to ask you four times. Then, if you don’t
sing, I shall swallow you down. Now, sing for me.” Lizard said
nothing. “Sing for me.” Lizard said nothing. “Sing for me.”
Lizard said nothing. Then he swallowed him down. Inside of
Coyote, Lizard sang,
“Heto uma tiuma
matiu ti mu.”
Coyote said, “Where are you?” “I am inside.” “Very well,
friend; but don’t cut my throat or my stomach. Just sing.” But
Lizard did cut his throat and his stomach, and Coyote fell down
dead.[165]
BORROWED FEATHERS
Informant, Getsitsa of Laguna, about 60 years of age
Long ago (_hamaha_), the bluebirds (?) (_kaihadanish_) were
grinding. Coyote (_chuski_) began to grind too. The bluebirds
said, “Let us all go get a drink on top of Katzímo! But
what shall we do with our friend (_saukin_) here? He has no
feathers. We must give him some of our feathers.” So they gave
him of their feathers. They flew to the top of the mesa. They
drank. Then they said, “Let us take back our feathers! Let us
leave Coyote here!” They took all their feathers away from him.
He roamed about looking for a way down. He began to jump. It
was steep. He fell and killed himself. The bluebirds wondered
what had become of him.[166]
THE SERPENT, THE MAN, THE OX, THE HORSE, AND THE COYOTE (From
Acomita)[167]
Once a man, while going through a meadow, found a serpent
trapped under a stone. The man had compassion for it and took
away the stone.
At that time the animals spoke the same as we, and the serpent
said to the man: “Now I am going to eat you: I am very hungry.”
“Why do you wish to eat me after I did you such a great
benefit?” But the serpent insisted on eating him and at last
the man said to him: “Wait a little while. Wait until that ox
gets here and then you may eat me.” “Good,” the serpent replied.
And as soon as the ox arrived the man said to him: “Where has
it been seen that a good deed is repaid with evil?” “In me,”
replied the ox. “After I served my master for many years he
unkindly turned me out here to get fat so that he can kill me.”
And then the serpent said to the man: “So you see it is right
that I should eat you.”
“Wait a little until that old horse comes, and then you may eat
me,” the man said to him. Good; so they waited, and as soon as
he came the man said to him, “Where has it been seen that a
good deed is repaid with an evil one?” “In me,” said the horse,
“for after serving my master for many years they left me here
for the wild beasts to eat me.” “Now you see how right it is
that I should eat you,” the serpent said to the man. “Wait a
bit until that coyote comes and then you may eat me.”
Good; so the coyote came and the man said to him: “Where has it
been seen that good is repaid by evil? This serpent was trapped
under a stone, and because I did him the benefit of taking away
the stone he now wishes to eat me.” “It is quite right that he
should eat you,” said the coyote, “but first I wish to see how
the serpent was trapped.”
The serpent then consented that they should roll back the stone
so that they might see how he was trapped. And as soon as he
was well trapped, the coyote said: “Was it like this that
he was trapped?” “Yes, it was like this,” they all replied.
“Good,” the coyote said to them, “if that is the way it was,
let him remain so, so that the devil may not cause him to eat
me also.”
SAN PASCUAL
A poor man who lived in a city had no family but his
disconsolate wife.
In the course of time they had a little child. And as they
were so poor there was no one they could ask to be godfathers.
Near the city lived a rich man who had many sheep, and they
determined to ask this rich man to be the godfather.
The rich man consented with much pleasure, and they took the
child to the chapel of the same city and baptized him. They
named him “Pascual the destitute.”
Not long afterwards, in three months, death came and carried
away the mother of the child, and the father then decided to
go and deliver the orphan to the godfather. And as at the same
time the farm foreman arrived with his party, the godfather
gave the child to him and said: “See here, man, take this child
with you, so that you may rear him with a goat, in order that
he may be of some service to you when he is a man.”
Good; so they took him to the steward and told him what his
name was and that the patron had said that they were to rear
him. And then they took him.
The steward was a very religious man and whenever he could he
went to divine services, but he never took the child.
When Pascual was ten years old and was now very useful, the
steward ordered the farm foreman to go to the house of the
patron, for he did not need him any longer.[168]
One day the steward went to mass, and left Pascual alone
taking care of the cattle. Pascual began to think, and said to
himself: “But what can mass be?” Finally he decided that if he
left him alone again he would follow him to find out what mass
was.
He did so. The steward went away and Pascual followed him. When
he lacked only a mile to arrive in the city he saw a man coming
in a cart for wood. As the poor little fellow had never seen
carts, he said, “Now I know what mass is. This is it.”
As soon as the woodman came up he said to him, “May God give
you good days, kind sir.” “Good days to you, good boy.” Then
Pascual asked him: “Where is mass?” Said the woodman, “Go
straight along this road until you come to the plaza, there
where it is seen to _coloriar_, and the great house which is in
the little square in the middle is the church, and inside of it
they say mass.”
“And what does one do in mass?” asked Pascual. “Everything that
you see done, you do,” the woodman told him.
Good; he then went straight to the plaza and soon found the
chapel. Outside was an old woman, and he took her shawl from
her and covered himself. And he took off his breeches and
covered them up. Then he entered the church. And when they all
prostrated themselves they saw him without breeches, and some
of the mischievous ones pricked him behind. And then Pascual
pricked the old woman, who was in front of him, saying: “Prick,
prick, for they are pricking behind.”[169]
When everybody went out he remained alone, much frightened, and
when he saw the Lord nailed on a timber he said, “This poor man
killed or robbed.” The sacristan did not see him and locked all
the doors, leaving him shut in.
Then Pascual went to where the Lord was and said to him:
“Friend, do not be sad. I am going to work and I will bring you
food to fatten you. Where can I find work?” “Look,” said the
Lord, “go along the main street until you find a great house.
Ask for work there.”
The door opened and Pascual went out and came to the great
house, which was where the curate lived, and the sacristan came
out and asked him what he wanted. “I am looking for work.”
The curate then came out and said to him: “What kind of work
do you want?” “I do not know how to do anything but take care
of sheep,” replied Pascual. “Then come here. How much pay do
you want?” “Nothing but food for myself and a friend of mine.”
“Good, then take this hoe and weed the garden.” “How weed?”
“Level it all,” said the curate.
And Pascual weeded the garden, leveling it all, chili, onions,
and everything, he cut down level. The sacristan saw the
destruction and went to tell the curate. But when the curate
came he saw that all the pulled-up plants were flowering and
giving fruit. And the curate said to him: “Surely this is a
servant of God, who comes to test my gratitude.”
And he called Pascual to come and eat with him. “No, I only
want food for myself and for my friend.” They gave it to him
and he went away. When he returned the curate said to him:
“To-morrow I am going to make a great feast, and I wish you and
your friend to come and eat at my table.” They went, and the
curate made a very great feast.
And the Lord said to Pascual: “Tell the father to invite
to-morrow all the people to a feast except your godfather,
because he was ungrateful.”
The next day the gentleman made the feast, and when the people
were coming Pascual was much ashamed because he saw that
nothing was ready, and he said to the Lord: “But, men, nothing
is ready. That is why they have you a prisoner, because you are
a deceiver.” “Go bring a barrel of water,” the Lord said to
him. “And where shall I go to bring water?” “Go, Pascual, on
one side of the street and you will find it.” And Pascual went
out and returned with a barrel of water.
When he returned there was a large table well set out and full
of all kinds of viands. And Pascual said to the Lord: “With
reason they regard you as a witch.” “Be silent, Pascual; take
this barrel and follow me.” And Pascual followed him, and when
he turned around he saw dead persons lying on all sides, and he
said to the Lord: “With reason they held you prisoner, for you
are a regular murderer.” “Be silent, Pascual; follow me.” And
they went on, scattering water on all sides until everybody was
dead.
And when Pascual died he was raised to the celestial mansions.
And his godfather went to the eternal abyss for his ingratitude.
If it is true
He is over there;
If it is a lie
Then he is fooled.
SHORT FOLK-TALES AND ANECDOTES
(From Acomita)
22. A man who was very poor and had a very large family was
once talking with his children, and he said to them: “When I
have money I am going to build a house with balustrades.” One
of his sons came to him and said: “I am going to climb on the
balustrade.” Another said: “And I also.” And still another
said: “And I am going to sit on the balustrade.” The man became
angry and told them: “This disorderly family will wear out the
balustrade.” And he gave them all a good beating.
27. A man was riding horseback one day. It was raining, and he
wished to smoke his pipe. He had no matches, so he waited till
there was a lightning flash, when he put spurs to his horse and
went to light his pipe by the light of the flash.
29. A little coyote was going along with a chicken in his
mouth, and on the way the chicken said to him: “Why don’t you
say ‘cheese’?” And the coyote said ‘cheese’ and away goes the
chicken to the top of a tree. “Come down,” said the coyote to
her. “A command has come for all the animals to assemble.”
“Good,” said the chicken. “There are some hounds coming now.”
“That is not in the command,” said the coyote, and ran off.
36. They say that a Mexican of Alameda went to Albuquerque to
sell eggs. The American of the store said to him: “Sit down.”
“No sir, they are not to be given away (_no se dan_), they are
for sale,”[170] he said to this. Then the American, who did not
understand him, said: “Are you crazy?” And he replied: “No sir,
they do not grow, the hens lay them.”[171]
30. _Un pastor le diju al cura que quería pagar por una misa
tutanada con alaridos (cantada) en el palo gueco (pulpito), con
regaños en el tapanco (sermon) y con jumaderas en l’oyit’ el
cuajo (incensario)._
A shepherd told the curate that he wished to pay for a mass
(_tutanada_) with shouts (sung) in the hollow stick (pulpit)
with scoldings in the stall (sermon) and with smokes in the
little hole of the bladder (censer).
42. A woman had a neighbor who everybody said was a witch.
One night when she went to sleep with her she could not sleep
because she was so frightened.
About midnight the witch got up, took out her eyes and put
them on a plate, took off her arms and legs and hung them up
carefully, and then herself turned into a wolf and went out by
the chimney.
(In another version the woman goes away, unchanged, riding on a
broomstick. Collected by Miss Matilda Allen.)
A STORY OF LONG TIME AGO AT ÁCOMA[172]
or,
The Melons of Discord
(Ácoma Pueblo)
A long time ago, the people of Ácoma used to live on the
mesa below the present village. One day during that time the
governor announced to his people that there would be a rabbit
hunt on the following day and advised them to get their shoes,
clubs, bows, and arrows ready. So early the next morning
the whole village, except the governor’s daughter, whom he
commanded to stay at home, set out for the hunt.
But the daughter did not like to remain behind alone, so
shortly after the others had gone, and contrary to her father’s
wishes, she followed the party. That afternoon as the villagers
were cleaning rabbits for their evening meal, she overtook
them and hid behind a rock. A young man coming in late to join
the others passed near by and startled her so that she made a
movement that betrayed her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am trying to get a rabbit out from under this rock,” she
answered.
Then the young man, who had many rabbits strung around his
belt, gave a number of them to the girl and they went together
to join the rest of the party. The people were surprised to
see that the girl had killed so many rabbits; but her father,
the governor, was angry.
The hunt lasted four days. After they returned the governor,
together with all of the villagers, scolded the daughter for
her disobedience and ostracized her.
On the following day when everyone was busy preparing to dance
a _kachina_ dance in celebration of the success of the hunt,
the governor’s daughter ran over to the Zuñi village, four
miles to the west of Ácoma, and told the Zuñis that her people
were having a dance. She invited them to come and dance too.
The Zuñis accepted the invitation and went to Ácoma loaded with
melons, colored corn, and some of all of the fruits of their
harvest. The Ácomas did not have any real melons. They danced
with the melons made of dyed buckskin; and so when the first
relay of their dance was over and the Zuñis danced in with
their melons, the Ácomas were jealous. They demanded to know
why the Zuñis were intruding themselves into their _fiesta_.
Angry words followed and the Zuñis returned home enraged.
Then the Ácomas urged their governor to prepare for war, but
he refused to do so; and the villagers, remembering the spirit
in which the Zuñi Indians had left them, hastily removed their
possessions to the top of the high mesa, and built the present
village of Ácoma, leaving the governor alone on the mesa below.
Shortly thereafter the Zuñis came in their war paint and,
finding only the governor in a deserted village, they slew him
and returned home again.
Six days later the governor’s daughter went back to Ácoma and
perhaps lived happily ever after. Because a governor mistreated
his daughter and she avenged herself is the reason that Ácoma
occupies its present inaccessible position.