whole town was gazing at the Eagle and the youth, and the song died away
in the distance, and the Eagle became smaller and smaller, winding its
way upward until it was a mere speck, and finally vanished in the very
zenith.
The people shook their heads and resumed their work, but the Eagle and
the youth went on until at last they came to the great opening in the
zenith of the sky. In passing upward by its endless cliffs they came out
on the other side into the sky-world; and still upward soared the
Eagle, until it alighted with its beloved burden on the summit of the
Mountain of Turquoises, so blue that the light shining on it paints the
sky blue.
“_Huhua!_” said the Eagle, with the weariness that comes at the end of a
long journey. “We have reached our journey’s end for a time. Let us rest
ourselves on this mountain height of my beloved world.”
The youth descended and sat by the Eagle’s side, and the Eagle, raising
its wings until the tips touched above, lowered its head, and catching
hold of its crown, shook it from side to side, and then drew upon it,
and then gradually the eagle-coat parted, and while the youth looked and
wondered in love and joy, a beautiful maiden was uncovered before him,
in garments of dazzling whiteness, softness, and beauty. No more
beautiful maiden could be conceived than this one,--bright of face,
clear and clean, with eyes so dark and large and deep, and yet sharp,
that it was bewildering to look into them. Such eyes have never been
seen in this world.
“Come with me, my youth--you who have loved me so well,” said she,
approaching him and reaching out her hand. “Let us wander for a while on
this mountain side and seek the home of my people.”
They descended the mountain and wound round its foot until, looking up
in the clear light of the sky-world, they beheld a city such as no man
has ever seen. Lofty were its walls,--smooth, gleaming, clean, and
white; no ladders, no smoke, no filth in any part whatsoever.
“Yonder is the home of my people,” said the maiden, and resuming her
eagle-dress she took the youth on her back again, and, circling upward,
hovered for a moment over this home of the Eagles, then, through one of
the wide entrances which were in the roof, slowly descended. No ladders
were there, inside or outside; no need of them with a people winged like
the Eagles, for a people they were, like ourselves--more a people,
indeed, than we, for in one guise or the other they might appear at
will.
No sooner had the Eagle-maiden and the youth entered this great building
than those who were assembled there greeted them with welcome assurances
of joy at their coming. “Sit ye down and rest,” said they.
The youth looked around. The great room into which they had descended
was high and broad and long, and lighted from many windows in its roof
and upon its walls, which were beautifully white and clean and finished,
as no walls in this world are, with many devices pleasing to the eye.
Starting out from these walls were many hooks or pegs, suspended from
which were the dresses of the Eagles who lived there, the forms of which
we know.
“Yea, sit ye down and rest and be happy,” said an old man. Wonderfully
fine he was as he arose and approached the couple and said, spreading
abroad his wings: “Be ye always one to the other wife and husband. Shall
it be so?”
And they both, smiling, said “Yes.” And so the youth married the
Eagle-maiden.
After a few days of rest they found him an eagle-coat, fine as the
finest, with broad, strong wings, and beautiful plumage, and they taught
him how to conform himself to it and it to himself. And as Eagles would
teach a young Eagle here in this world of ours, so they taught the youth
gradually to fly. At first they would bid him poise himself in his
eagle-form on the floor of their great room, and, laying all over it
soft things, bid him open his wings and leap into the air. Anxious to
learn, he would spread his great wings and with a powerful effort send
himself high up toward the ceiling; but untaught to sustain himself
there, would fall with many a flap and tumble to the floor. Again and
again this was tried, but after a while he learned to sustain and guide
himself almost wholly round the room without once touching anything; and
his wife in her eagle-form would fly around him, watching and helping,
and whenever his flight wavered would fan a strong wind up against his
wings with her own that he might not falter, until he had at last
learned wholly to support himself in the air. Then she bade him one day
come out with her to the roof of the house, and from there they sailed
away, away, and away over the great valleys and plains below, ever
keeping to the northward and eastward; and whenever he faltered in his
flight she bore his wings up with her own wings, teaching him how, this
way and that, until, when they returned to the roof, those who watched
them said: “Now, indeed, is he learned in the ways of our people. How
good it is that this is so!” And they were very happy, the youth and
the Eagle-maiden and their people.
One day the maiden took the youth out again into the surrounding
country, and as they flew along she said to him: “You may wonder that we
never fly toward the southward. Oh, my youth, my husband! never go
yonder, for over that low range of mountains is a fearful world, where
no mortal can venture. If you love me, oh, if you truly love me, never
venture yonder!” And he listened to her advice and promised that he
would not go there. Then they went home.
One day there was a grand hunt, and he was invited to join in it. Over
the wide world flew this band of Eagle hunters to far-away plains.
Whatsoever they would hunt, behold! below them somewhere or other might
the game be seen, were it rabbit, mountain sheep, antelope, or deer, and
each according to his wish captured the kind of game he would, the youth
bringing home with the rest his quarry. Of all the game they captured he
could eat none, for in that great house of the Eagles, so beautiful, so
perfect, no fire ever burned, no cooking was ever done. And after many
days the food which the youth brought with him was diminished so that
his wife took him out to a high mountain one day, and said: “As I have
told you before, the region beyond those low mountains is fearful and
deadly; but yonder in the east are other kinds of people than those whom
you should dread. Not far away is the home of the Pelicans and Storks,
who, as you know, eat food that has been cooked, even as your people
do. When you grow hungry, my husband, go to them, and as they are your
grandparents they will feed you and give you of their abundance of food,
that you may bring it here, and thus we shall do well and be happy.”
The youth assented, and, guided part of the way by his faithful, loving
wife, he went to the home of the Storks. No sooner had he appeared than
they greeted him with loud assurances of welcome and pleasure at his
coming, and bade him eat. And they set before him bean-bread,
bean-stews, beans which were baked, as it were, and mushes of beans with
meat intermixed, which seemed as well cooked as the foods of our own
people here on this mortal earth. And the youth ate part of them, and
with many thanks returned to his home among the Eagles. And thus, as his
wife had said before, it was all well, and they continued to live there
happily.[2]
[2] This curious conception of the food of the storks and cranes
and pelicans, for of such birds the folk-tale tells, is
interesting. It is doubtless an attempt to explain what has been
observed with relation to the pelicans and the storks
especially: that they consume their food raw, and, as the Indian
believes, cook it, as it were, in their own bodies, and then
withdraw it, either for their young or for their final
consumption. As this semi-digested food of such birds resembles
very nearly the thick bean stews of the Zuñis, they have
evidently taken from it the suggestion for the special kinds of
food which were offered to the youth.
Between the villages of the Eagles and the Storks the youth lived; so
that by-and-by the Storks became almost as fond of him as were the
Eagles, addressing him as their beloved grandchild. And in consequence
of this fondness, his old grandfather and grandmother among the Storks
especially called his attention to the fearful region lying beyond the
range of mountains to the south, and they implored him, as his wife had
done, not to go thither. “For the love of us, do not go there, oh,
grandchild!” said they one day, when he was about to leave.
He seemed to agree with them, and spread his wings and flew away. But
when he had gone a long distance, he turned southward, with this
exclamation: “Why should I not see what this is? Who can harm me,
floating on these strong wings of mine? Who can harm an Eagle in the
sky?” So he flew over the edge of the mountains, and behold! rising up
on the plains beyond them was a great city, fine and perfect, with walls
of stone built as are the towns of our dead ancients. And the smoke was
wreathing forth from its chimneys, and in the hazy distance it seemed
teeming with life at the moment when the youth saw it, which was at
evening time.
The inhabitants of that city saw him and sent messages forth to the town
of the Eagles that they would make a grand festival and dance, and
invited the Eagles to come with their friends to witness this dance. And
when the youth returned to the home of his Eagle people, behold! already
had this message been delivered there, and his wife in sorrow was
awaiting him at the doorway.
“Alas! alas! my youth! my husband!” said she. “And so, regarding more
your own curiosity than the love of your wife, you have been into that
fearful country, and as might have been expected, you were observed. We
are now invited to visit the city you saw and to witness a dance of the
inhabitants thereof, which invitation we cannot refuse, and you must go
with us. It remains to be seen, oh my youth, whom I trusted, if your
love for me be so great that you may stand the test of this which you
have brought upon yourself, by heedlessness of my advice and that of
your grandparents, the Storks. Oh, my husband, I despair of you, and
thus despairing, I implore you to heed me once more, and all may be well
with you even yet. Go with us tonight to the city you saw, the most
fearful of all cities, for it is the city of the damned, and wonderful
things you will see; but do not laugh or even smile once. I will sit by
your side and look at you. Oh, think of me as I do of you, and thus
thinking you will not smile. If you truly love me, and would remain with
me always, and be happy as I would be happy, do this one thing for me.”
The youth promised over and over, and when night came he went with the
Eagle people to that city. A beautiful place it was, large and fine,
with high walls of stone and many a little window out of which the red
fire-light was shining. The smoke was going up from its chimneys, the
sparks winding up through it, and, with beacon fires burning on the
roofs, it was a happy, bustling scene that met the gaze of the youth as
he approached the town. There were sounds and cries of life everywhere.
Lights shone and merriment echoed from every street and room, and they
were ushered into a great dance hall, or _kiwitsin_, where the audience
was already assembled.
By-and-by the sounds of the coming dance were heard, and all was
expectation. The fires blazed up and the lights shone all round the
room, making it as bright as day. In came the dancers, maidens mostly,
beautiful, and clad in the richest of ancient garments; their eyes were
bright, their hair black and soft, their faces gleaming with merriment
and pleasure. And they came joking down the ladders into the room before
the place where the youth sat, and as they danced down the middle of the
floor they cried out in shrill, yet not unpleasant voices, as they
jostled each other, playing grotesque pranks and assuming the most
laughter-stirring attitudes:
“_Hapa! hapa! is! is! is!_” (“Dead! dead! this! this! this!”)--pointing
at one another, and repeating this baleful expression, although so
beautiful, and full of life and joy and merriment.
Now, the youth looked at them all through this long dance, and though he
thought it strange that they should exclaim thus one to another, so
lively and pretty and jolly they were, he was nevertheless filled with
amusement at their strange antics and wordless jokes. Still he never
smiled.
Then they filed in again and there were more dancers, merrier than
before, and among them were two or three girls of surpassing beauty even
in that throng of lovely women, and one of them looked in a coquettish
manner constantly toward the youth, directing all her smiles and
merriment to him as she pointed round to her companions, exclaiming:
“_Hapa! hapa! is! is! is!_”
The youth grew forgetful of everything else as he leaned forward,
absorbed in watching this girl with her bright eyes and merry smiles.
When, finally, in a more amusing manner than before, she jostled some
merry dancer, he laughed outright and the girl ran forward toward him,
with two others following, and reaching out, grasped his hands and
dragged him into the dance. The Eagle-maiden lifted her wings and with a
cry of woe flew away with her people. But ah, ah! the youth minded
nothing, he was so wild with merriment, like the beautiful maidens by
his side, and up and down the great lighted hall he danced with them,
joining in their uncouth postures and their exclamations, of which he
did not yet understand the true meaning--“_Hapa! hapa! is! is! is!_”
By-and-by the fire began to burn low, and the maidens said to him: “Come
and pass the night with us all here. Why go back to your home? Are we
not merry companions? Ha! ha! ha! ha! _Hapa! hapa! is! is! is!_” They
began to laugh and jostle one another again. Thus they led the youth,
not unwillingly on his part, away into a far-off room, large and fine
like the others, and there on soft blankets he lay himself down, and
these maidens gathered round him, one pillowing his head on her arm,
another smiling down into his face, another sitting by his side, and
soon he fell asleep. All became silent, and the youth slept on.
In the morning, when broad daylight had come, the youth opened his eyes
and started. It seemed as though there were more light than there should
be in the house. He looked up, and the room which had been so fine and
finished the night before was tottering over his head; the winds
shrieked through great crevices in the walls; the windows were broken
and wide open; sand sifted through on the wind and eddied down into the
old, barren room. The rafters, dried and warped with age, were bending
and breaking, and pieces of the roof fell now and then when the wind
blew more strongly. He raised himself, and clammy bones fell from around
him; and when he cast his eyes about him, there on the floor were strewn
bones and skulls. Here and there a face half buried in the sand, with
eyes sunken and dried and patches of skin clinging to it, seemed to
glare at him. Fingers and feet, as of mummies, were strewn about, and it
was as if the youth had entered a great cemetery, where the remains of
the dead of all ages were littered about. He lifted himself still
farther, and where the head of one maiden had lain or the arms of
another had entwined with his, bones were clinging to him. One by one he
picked them off stealthily and laid them down, until at last he freed
himself, and, rising, cautiously stepped between the bones which were
lying around, making no noise until he came to the broken-down doorway
of the place. There, as he passed out, his foot tripped against a
splinter of bone which was embedded in the debris of the ruin, and as a
sliver sings in the wind, so this sang out. The youth, startled and
terrorized, sprang forth and ran for his life in the direction of the
home of the Storks. Shrieking, howling, and singing like a slivered
stick in the wind, like creaking boughs in the forest, with groans and
howls and whistlings that seemed to freeze the youth as he ran, these
bones and fragments of the dead arose and, like a flock of vampires,
pursued him noisily.
He ran and ran, and the great cloud of the dead were coming nearer and
nearer and pressing round him, when he beheld one of his grandparents, a
Badger, near its hole. The Badger, followed by others, was fast
approaching him, having heard this fearful clamor, and cried out: “Our
grandson! Let’s save him!” So they ran forward and, catching him up,
cast him down into one of their holes. Then, turning toward the uncanny
crowd and bristling up, with sudden emotion and mighty effort they cast
off that odor by which, as you know, they may defile the very winds.
_Thlitchiii!_ it met the crowd of ghosts. _Thliwooo!_ the whole host of
them turned with wails and howls and gnashings of teeth back toward the
City of the Dead, whence they had come. And the Badgers ran into the
hole where lay the youth, lifted him up, and scolded him most vigorously
for his folly.
Then they said: “Sit up, you fool, for you are not yet saved! Hurry!”
said they, one to another. “Heat water!” And, the water being heated,
nauseating herbs and other medicines were mingled with it, and the youth
was directed to drink of that. He drank, not once, but four times.
_Ukch, usa!_--and after he had been thus treated the old Badgers asked
him if he felt relieved or well, and the youth said he was very well
compared with what he had been.
Then they stood him up in their midst and said to him: “You fool and
faithless lout, why did you go and become enamored of Death, however
beautiful? It is only a wonder that with all our skill and power we have
saved you thus far. It will be a still greater wonder, O foolish one, if
she who loved you still loves you enough after this faithlessness to
save the life which you have forfeited. Who would dance and take joy in
Death? Go now to the home of your grandparents, the Storks, and there
live. Your plumage gone, your love given up, what remains? You can
neither descend to your own people below without wings, nor can you live
with the people of the Eagles without love. Go, therefore, to your
grandparents!”
And the youth got up and dragged himself away to the home of the Storks;
but when he arrived there they looked at him with downcast faces and
reproached him over and over, saying: “There is small possibility of
your regaining what you have forfeited,--the love and affection of your
wife.”
“But I will go to her and plead with her,” said the youth. “How should I
know what I was doing?”
“We told you not to do it, and you heeded not our telling.”
So the youth lagged away to the home of the Eagles, where, outside that
great house with high walls, he lingered, moping and moaning. The Eagles
came and went, or they gathered and talked on the house-top, but no word
of greeting did they offer him; and his wife, at last, with a shiver of
disgust, appeared above him and said: “Go back! go back to your
grandparents. Their love you may not have forfeited; mine you have. Go
back! for we never can receive you again amongst us. Oh, folly and
faithlessness, in you they have an example!”
So the youth sadly returned to the home of the Storks. There he
lingered, returning ever and anon to the home of the Eagles; but it was
as though he were not there, until at last the elder Eagles, during one
of his absences, implored the Eagle-maid to take the youth back to his
own home.
“Would you ask me, his wife, who loved him, now to touch him who has
been polluted by being enamored of Death?” asked she.
But they implored, and she acquiesced. So, when the youth appeared again
at the home of the Eagles, she had found an old, old Eagle dress, many
of the feathers in it broken; ragged and disreputable it was, and the
wing-feathers were so thin that the wind whistled through them.
Descending with this, she bade him put it on, and when he had done so,
she said: “Come with me now, according to the knowledge in which we have
instructed you.”
And they flew away to the summit of that blue mountain, and, after
resting there, they began to descend into the sky which we see, and from
that downward and downward in very narrow circles.
Whenever the youth, with his worn-out wings, faltered, the wife bore him
up, until, growing weary in a moment of remembrance of his
faithlessness, she caught in her talons the Eagle dress which sustained
him and drew it off, bade him farewell forever, and sailed away out of
sight in the sky. And the youth, with one gasp and shriek, tumbled over
and over and over, fell into the very center of the town in which he had
lived when he loved his Eagle, and utterly perished.
* * * * *
Thus it was in the times of the ancients; and for this reason by no
means whatsoever may a mortal man, by any alliances under the sun, avoid
Death. But if one would live as long as possible, one should never, in
any manner whatsoever, remembering this youth’s experience, become
enamored of Death.
Thus shortens my story.
[Illustration: {Bird symbols}]
THE POOR TURKEY GIRL
Long, long ago, our ancients had neither sheep nor horses nor cattle;
yet they had domestic animals of various kinds--amongst them Turkeys.
In Mátsaki, or the Salt City, there dwelt at this time many very wealthy
families, who possessed large flocks of these birds, which it was their
custom to have their slaves or the poor people of the town herd in the
plains round about Thunder Mountain, below which their town stood, and
on the mesas beyond.
Now, in Mátsaki at this time there stood, away out near the border of
the town, a little tumble-down, single-room house, wherein there lived
alone a very poor girl,--so poor that her clothes were patched and
tattered and dirty, and her person, on account of long neglect and
ill-fare, shameful to look upon, though she herself was not ugly, but
had a winning face and bright eyes; that is, if the face had been more
oval and the eyes less oppressed with care. So poor was she that she
herded Turkeys for a living; and little was given to her except the food
she subsisted on from day to day, and perhaps now and then a piece of
old, worn-out clothing.
Like the extremely poor everywhere and at all times, she was humble, and
by her longing for kindness, which she never received, she was made kind
even to the creatures that depended upon her, and lavished this
kindness upon the Turkeys she drove to and from the plains every day.
Thus, the Turkeys, appreciating this, were very obedient. They loved
their mistress so much that at her call they would unhesitatingly come,
or at her behest go whithersoever and whensoever she wished.
One day this poor girl, driving her Turkeys down into the plains, passed
near Old Zuñi,--the Middle Ant Hill of the World, as our ancients have
taught us to call our home,--and as she went along, she heard the
herald-priest proclaiming from the house-top that the Dance of the
Sacred Bird (which is a very blessed and welcome festival to our people,
especially to the youths and maidens who are permitted to join in the
dance) would take place in four days.
Now, this poor girl had never been permitted to join in or even to watch
the great festivities of our people or the people in the neighboring
towns, and naturally she longed very much to see this dance. But she put
aside her longing, because she reflected: “It is impossible that I
should watch, much less join in the Dance of the Sacred Bird, ugly and
ill-clad as I am.” And thus musing to herself, and talking to her
Turkeys, as was her custom, she drove them on, and at night returned
them to their cages round the edges and in the plazas of the town.
Every day after that, until the day named for the dance, this poor girl,
as she drove her Turkeys out in the morning, saw the people busy in
cleaning and preparing their garments, cooking delicacies, and otherwise
making ready for the festival to which they had been duly invited by
the other villagers, and heard them talking and laughing merrily at the
prospect of the coming holiday. So, as she went about with her Turkeys
through the day, she would talk to them, though she never dreamed that
they understood a word of what she was saying.