Djáhdjai Grasshopper
Djihens Ant
Wiĕs Deer
A man had two wives, Djáhdjai and Djihens. When it came root-digging
time, the two women went out every morning to dig roots, but they went
in different directions; they didn’t dig on the same flat.
At midday Djihens always went home with a basketful of nice, white
roots. Djáhdjai never went home till it was getting dark, and then she
had only a few roots in the bottom of her basket. Each night she took
Djihens’ basket and picked out all the longest and best roots, and when
her husband came from hunting deer, she said: “I dug these!”
The man loved Djáhdjai better than he did Djihens, but Djáhdjai didn’t
love him; she loved Wiĕs.
Each morning, as soon as she got to the flat, she began to dance and to
chirp her love song. Her song said: “Come this way, Big Head! Come this
way; I want to see you!”
Wiĕs listened, and as soon as he heard the song, he came up on the
rocks and looked down on the flat. He looked all around, as if counting
the trees and bushes to see that everything was right, that there was
nobody around, then he went to Djáhdjai.
Each evening the husband asked his wives if their moccasins were worn
out. Djihens always answered: “No, I don’t kick the ground all the time
and wear my moccasins out.”
Djáhdjai always had holes in her moccasins.
Her husband scolded, and asked: “How do you wear out your moccasins so?
I haven’t made moccasins for Djihens since we came here.”
“I can’t stand still when I dig; I have to jump around and stand hard
on the ground. I dig roots among the rocks, where they are long and
sweet. Djihens digs on the flat, and her roots are not as long as mine,
or as nice.”
“Well,” said the man, “I don’t know how you can wear out a pair of
moccasins every day. Your feet eat up moccasins as stones do.”
One morning, when Djáhdjai started off with her basket and digging
stick, Djihens thought she would watch and see where she went. So she
followed her. Every little while Djáhdjai turned around to find out if
anybody was looking at her. Djihens was hiding in the grass; she
couldn’t see her. When Djáhdjai got near the mountain, she stopped and
began to sing her love song. The song drew Wiĕs to the rocks. Djihens
hid under the grass, so he couldn’t see her. He looked all around, then
he started toward Djáhdjai.
The Wiĕs people had two trails up the mountain, one for men, the other
for women. Djáhdjai always waited for him at the end of the men’s
trail.
Djihens thought: “Now I know why she comes home with an empty basket.
She comes here to see Wiĕs; she draws him to her with her love song.
How nice it sounds!”
After a while Djihens crept away, went off to the flat to dig roots.
The next morning she followed Djáhdjai again. She listened to her love
song and saw Wiĕs come to meet her. That night she said to her husband:
“Don’t make new moccasins for Djáhdjai; she doesn’t care for you.” The
man didn’t believe her; he thought she was jealous of Djáhdjai.
Djihens always knew what he thought. She said, “If you don’t believe
me, go and listen to her love song.” Then she told him how Djáhdjai
stole her roots and said she had dug them herself.
The next day, after Djihens had carried her roots home, she went to
watch Djáhdjai. The woman spent the whole day with Wiĕs, then she dug a
few roots and went home.
The man had been a good hunter, but after Djáhdjai fell in love with
Wiĕs, he couldn’t find a deer, couldn’t find even a fresh track. One
day he went home early and asked Djihens: “Where does Wiĕs come from
when he comes to meet Djáhdjai?”
“I don’t know,” said Djihens. “I see him first on the rocks. He looks
around, then he comes straight down the mountain.”
When Djáhdjai came home and found her husband there, she said to
Djihens: “Why did you leave me and come to the house? I hunted a long
time for you.”
The man said nothing. He made believe he loved Djáhdjai more than ever.
But he said to Djihens: “To-morrow I will watch her myself.”
The next morning Djáhdjai said: “I am going to dig roots to-morrow;
to-day I will stay at home and rest.” When she didn’t see her husband,
she asked where he had gone.
Djihens said: “He can’t find any deer on this side of the mountain. He
is going to the other side. That is why he started so early.”
Djáhdjai said she was going to stay at home, but as soon as Djihens was
gone, she started off toward the mountain.
The man hid by the side of the trail Wiĕs came on. He hunted for his
most poisonous arrow and was going to shoot him. Then he thought: “No,
I will just watch them to-day.” Soon he heard Djáhdjai singing. When he
saw a big man stand on the rocks and look down at her, he was so
jealous that he cried. After a while he went home.
That day Djáhdjai said to Wiĕs: “My husband hunts all the time. I am
afraid he will see you.”
The next morning the man got up early and went to the mountain. As he
went, he talked to the mountain and to the earth; said: “Draw him
toward me. You, Earth, see everything; you know everything; you know
what Wiĕs has done. I want to punish him. Draw him to me.”
That day Djáhdjai wanted to stay at home. She didn’t know why her
husband went off so early mornings, but Djihens said: “I am sick. One
of us must dig roots; you had better go.”
The man tracked Wiĕs, then sat down to watch him and see where his life
was. As Wiĕs went toward the top of the mountain, the man saw that he
kept his life in his neck. He shot at him. Wiĕs ran off northeast and
fell among the trees. The man found him, cut up his body, and carried
home some of the flesh.
Djáhdjai looked up at the mountain and sang her love song; she sang a
long time, but Wiĕs didn’t come. When she got home, she said to her
husband: “You have killed a deer. Why don’t you cook some meat for me?”
He gave her a plateful. She ate it all; she liked it. Then he said:
“That was Wiĕs’ flesh. Did you like it?” The woman was scared. When she
tried to run away, the man shot her through the body. The arrow went in
under one arm, and came out under the other. It left a hole in each
side.
Then he said: “Hereafter you will be nothing but a grasshopper, but
your name will be what it is now, Djáhdjai. I hope that in later times
a man will never have such a wife as you were.”
To this day grasshoppers have a hole in each side.