For an hour Kwasa had been sitting stiffly on the stone ledge that ran
around the outer wall of the kiva, trying to get used to the smothering
mask Mosu had put over his head. This mask was a gorgeously painted
affair representing the head of a duck. Feathers of green and black
were fastened to the crest, and a huge bill of yellow cane projected
from the mouthpiece. In it Kwasa became for the time a Katcina, or one
of the supernatural beings which mediate between gods and men. As a
Katcina he represented one of the ancestral forms which had emerged
from the Lower World upon the day of Creation.
A tunic of cotton cloth reached to his knees. It was brown, and upon
it were painted zigzag white lines representing lightning. Over one
shoulder was a yellow scarf upon which the same design was repeated,
and on his feet were beautifully beaded moccasins, over which his
grandmother had bent for weeks, that they might be ready when the time
should come for her favorite’s adoption into the ranks of the men.
Around his neck, securely tied in a little buckskin bag, hung a charm,
an exquisite turquoise, blue as the spring skies and half as large as a
swallow’s egg. Old Tcua had fastened this on with trembling fingers as
Kwasa left her to descend to the kiva, saying as she did so:
“It is for luck. My father had it from an Antelope priest far to the
south. It is yours from this day.”
But Tcua did not know that Kwasa had another charm which to his boyish
imagination was more potent than the turquoise. Fastened in a fold of
his belt were three red and white sticks of cane, and as the lad sat
waiting on the ledge in the kiva he said to himself:
“I am glad I kept the dice: they have brought me much of good.”
He felt something thrust into his hand, and looking at it as closely
as he could through the eye-slits in his mask, he saw it was a
prayer-plume, or a short stick to which were fastened four feathers,
white for the north, red for the east, yellow for the west and green
for the south. This he knew he was to carry in the solemn ceremonies to
follow, as an invocation to the deities who dwell at the four quarters
of the earth.
“Come,” said the masked figure that had brought the prayer-plume, “the
gods wait for us.”
At the word, Kwasa slipped down from his seat and took his place in a
long line of youths and men which was being formed at one end of the
kiva. He saw Wiki, also carrying a prayer-plume, and wearing a beaver’s
mask. In the weird, flickering light from the fire at one end of the
chamber he could not distinguish many that he knew, and this, together
with the strangeness of the sacred mysteries in which he was about to
play a part, awed and half frightened him.
As the line formed the participants stamped softly upon the ground with
their moccasined feet, not advancing, but marking time to a wild and
monotonous chant which was accentuated by the rattling of small gourds
in the hands of the priests and their throaty “hi-yi-yi” as they moved
with cat-like tread about the sipapuh in the middle of the kiva.
At last the line began to move forward. Mosu took his place at the
head and led it around the outer edge of the kiva, close to the ledge.
Round and round they marched, each time drawing a little closer to the
sipapuh. At last they formed a compact row about the sacred opening,
and in this way encircled it four times more, each in passing stamping
his foot on the stone slab as a hint to the listening gods that their
attention was asked. At last, at a sign from Mosu, the line halted.
And now came the supreme moment. The participant who was to be most
highly honored was to be chosen to hold the sacred bowl above the
sipapuh while from the mouth of the great snake effigy which was
suspended from above should drop the Kawa-blessed seeds for planting.
Everyone in the circle fixed his eyes upon Mosu, each secretly hoping
that some deed of his own might be thought worthy such honored
recognition.
Kwasa held his breath with the rest, wondering which one of all
the line should be adjudged the most worthy. And for a moment the
tumultuous beating of his heart made him faint and dizzy as Mosu,
beckoning to him and speaking his name, put the great red and black
bowl in his hands.
[Illustration: “Trembling till he could hardly stand, Kwasa extended
his arms until the bowl was directly above the opening.”]
Trembling till he could hardly stand, Kwasa, at a sign from the priest,
extended his arms until the bowl was directly above the opening in
the slab and under the swinging head of the hollow effigy above. Then
through the tube came the seeds, first the yellow and white corn,
then the beans, the squash and melons, greenish cotton seeds and
rich-smelling brown grains of wheat. At last, when the bowl was nearly
full, there was poured down the colored corn for the sacred meal,
rounding and covering the rest.
Then Mosu motioned Kwasa to stand to one side, while Wiki was called
forward and given a similar bowl. Delighted at his friend’s good
fortune, Kwasa hardly heard the muttered congratulations that greeted
him as he stepped back into the circle. But stealthily fingering his
belt he patted the three red and white canes, telling himself that his
own luck and Wiki’s had been unchangeably entwined since the day they
had tossed the dice in the court.
But he had not time for more than a fleeting thought even for such
momentous things, for something else was happening above the sipapuh.
This time the attendant at the hatchway of the kiva poured through the
snake effigy into the sacred bowl a small stream of water, signifying
that thus would the snake deities of the clouds bless the planted seeds.
At another sign from Mosu, Wiki stepped back into the circle, and Kwasa
came forward to distribute to each person a handful of the Kawa-blessed
seeds. Then, taking a short stick tipped with stiff turkey feathers,
Mosu sprinkled the water from Wiki’s bowl to the six cardinal points,
north, east, south, west, the zenith and the nadir.
And the ceremony of the Blessing of Seeds was over.
Kwasa was glad to get out of the stifling air of the kiva and follow
the rest up the ladder into the court above, where the final great
rain-prayer rite was to be performed. In this he had no part, though he
still retained his mask and personated the pawik (duck) katcina in the
great circle that made the background for the principal actors.
Into this circle marched the long line of Snake and Antelope priests,
participants in this supreme drama of the year. Very awe-inspiring
they looked, their bodies rubbed with red paint, their blackened chins
rimmed with a broad line of white and their bare arms glittering with
barbaric ornaments. To a sort of hissing chant they marched about an
improvised sipapuh which had been located in the broadest part of the
court, shaking their rattles and stamping their feet upon the slab as
they passed. Four times they made the circuit, as in the ceremony in
the kiva, then suddenly breaking into groups of three they rushed to
the bush-covered kisi near the end of the circle. A group stopped for
a moment before this shrine, and in a moment proceeded, the foremost
priest, one of the Snake Clan, carrying in his mouth a squirming
snake. The Antelope priest who followed him, in an apparent frenzy of
excitement, waved a feathered prayer-stick to and fro to attract the
reptile’s attention, but the snake only coiled the more tightly about
the head and shoulders of the carrier. One after another each group
paused at the kisi and secured one of the wriggling reptiles.
Round and round they marched, and then, at a sign from Mosu, an
attendant suddenly darted forward and outlined a circle on the floor
with sacred meal. Into this the snakes were dropped, to be sprinkled
with meal as they fell. A wild scramble ensued, and in a few minutes
the snakes were recaptured by the third priests of the groups, who
darted across the court and down the niche stairway to replace the
reptiles in their native dens. From there they would carry the prayers
for rain to the deities of the clouds, the lightning and the thunder,
who would thus be brought to bless the crops and insure abundance for
the coming year.
“And now we are done with games,” said Wiki softly, as he and Kwasa
descended the ladder into the kiva to remove their masks and deposit
their prayer-plumes before the sanded altar at the end of the chamber.
“Yes,” returned Kwasa soberly, “but I shall keep the dice. They have
brought us good luck.”