Zuni Folk Tales

THE TRIAL OF LOVERS: OR THE MAIDEN OF MATSAKI AND THE RED FEATHER-4

For a long time the trail was pleasant, but to ward evening they came to a wide bed of cactus, and the plume passed over as swiftly as ever, but the young man's moccasins were soon torn and his feet and legs cruelly lacerated with the cactus spines; yet still he pursued the red plume until the pain seemed to sting his whole body, and he gasped and wailed: "Ah, my beautiful wife, wait for me; do wait, for I love thee and will not leave thee!" Then the plume stopped beyond the plain of cactus and waited until he had passed through, but not longer, for ere he had plucked all the needles of the cactus from his bleeding feet, it floated on, and he lifted himself up and followed until at evening the maiden again waited and bade him "Sit down and rest."

That night she seemed to pity him, and once more spoke to him: "Yo á! My lover, my husband, turn back, oh, turn back! for the way is long and untrodden, and thy heart is but weak and is mortal. I go to the Council of Dead Ones, and how can the living there enter?"

But the youth only wept, and begged that she let him go with her. "For, ah," said he, "my beautiful wife, my beautiful bride, I love thee and cannot turn from thee!"

And she smiled only and shook her head sadly as she replied: "Yo á! It shall be as thou willest. It may be thy heart will not wither, for tomorrow is one more day onward, and then down the trail to the waters wherein stands the ladder of others, shall I lead thee to wait me forever.

At mid-sun on the day after, the plume led the way straight to a deep cañon, the walls of which were so steep that no man could pass them alive. For a moment the red plume paused above the chasm, and the youth pressed on and stretched his hand forth to detain it; but ere he had gained the spot, it floated on straight over the dark cañon, as though no ravine had been there at all; for to spirits the trails that once have been, even though the waters have worn them away, still are.

Wildly the young man rushed up and down the steep brink, and despairingly he called across to the plume: "Alas! ah, my beautiful wife! Wait, only wait for me, for I love thee and cannot turn from thee!" Then, like one whose thoughts wandered, he threw himself over the brink and hung by his hands as if to drop, when a jolly little striped Squirrel, who was playing at the bottom of the cañon, happened to see him, and called out: "Tsilhl! Tsilhl!" and much more, which meant "Ah hai! Wananí!" "You crazy fool of a being! You have not the wings of a falcon, nor the hands of a Squirrel, nor the feet of a spirit, and if you drop you will be broken to pieces and the moles will eat up the fragments! Wait! Hold hard, and I will help you, for, though I am but a Squirrel, I know how to think!"

Whereupon the little chit ran chattering away and called his mate out of their house in a rock-nook: "Wife! Wife! Come quickly; run to our corn room and bring me a hemlock, and hurry! hurry! Ask me no questions; for a crazy fool of a man over here will break himself to pieces if we don't quickly make him a ladder."

So the little wife flirted her brush in his face and skipped over the rocks to their store-house, where she chose a fat hemlock and hurried to her husband who was digging a hole in the sand underneath where the young man was hanging. Then they spat on the seed, and buried it in the hole, and began to dance round it and sing,--

"Kiäthlä tsilu,

Silokwe, silokwe, silokwe;

Ki'ai silu silu,

Tsithl! Tsithl!"

Which meant, as far as any one can tell now (for it was a long time ago, and partly squirrel talk),

Hemlock of the

Tall kind, tall kind, tall kind,

Sprout up hemlock, hemlock,

Chit! Chit!"

And every time they danced around and sang the song through, the ground moved, until the fourth time they said "Tsithl! Tsithl!" the tree sprouted forth and kept growing until the little Squirrel could jump into it, and by grabbing the topmost bough and bracing himself against the branches below, could stretch and pull it, so that in a short time he made it grow as high as the young man's feet, and he had all he could do to keep the poor youth from jumping right into it before it was strong enough to hold him. Presently he said "Tsithl! Tsithl!" and whisked away before the young man had time to thank him. Then the sad lover climbed down and quickly gained the other side, which was not so steep; before he could rest from his climb, however, the plume floated on, and he had to get up and follow it.

Just as the sun went into the west, the plume hastened down into a valley between the mountains, where lay a beautiful lake; and around the borders of the lake a very ugly old man and woman, who were always walking back and forth across the trails, came forward and laughed loudly and greeted the beautiful maiden pleasantly. Then they told her to enter; and she fearlessly walked into the water, and a ladder of flags came up out of the middle of the lake to receive her, down which she stepped without stopping until she passed under the waters. For a little--and then all was over--a bright light shone out of the water, and the sound of many glad voices and soft merry music came also from beneath it; then the stars of the sky and the stars of the waters looked the same at each other as they had done before.

"Alas!" cried the young man as he ran to the lake-side. "Ah, my beautiful wife, my beautiful wife, only wait, only wait, that I may go with thee!" But only the smooth waters and the old man and woman were before him; nor did the ladder come out or the old ones greet him. So he sat down on the lake-side wringing his hands and weeping, and ever his mind wandered back to his old lament: "Alas! alas! my beautiful bride, my beautiful wife, I love thee; I loved thee, but I knew not thee and killed thee!"

Toward the middle of the night once more he heard strange, happy voices. The doorway to the Land of Spirits opened, and the light shot up through the dark green waters from many windows, like sparks from a chimney on a dark, windless night. Then the ladder again ascended, and he saw the forms of the dead pass out and in, and heard the sounds of the Kâkâ, as it danced for the gods. The comers and goers were bright and beautiful, but their garments were snow-white cotton, stitched with many-colored threads, and their necklaces and bracelets were of dazzling white shells and turquoises unnumbered. Once he ventured to gain the bright entrance, but the water grew deep and chilled him till he trembled with fear and cold. Yet he looked in at the entrances, and lo! as he gazed he caught sight of his beautiful bride all covered with garments and bright things. And there in the midst of the Kâkâ she sat at the head of the dancers. She seemed happy and smiled as she watched, and youths as bright and as happy came around her, and she seemed to forget her lone lover.

Then with a cry of despair and anguish he crawled to the lake-shore and buried his face in the sands and rank grasses. Suddenly he heard a low screech, and then a hoarse voice seemed to call him. He looked, and a great Owl flew over him, saying "Muhaí! Hu hu! Hu hu!"

"What wilt thou?" he cried, in vexed anguish.

Then the Owl flew closer, and, lighting, asked: "Why weepest thou, my child?"

He turned and looked at the Owl and told it part of his trouble, when the Owl suddenly twisted its head quite around--as owls do--to see if anyone were near; then came closer and said: "I know all about it, young man. Come with me to my house in the mountain, and if thou wilt but follow my counsel, all will yet be well." Then the Owl led the way to a cave far above and bade him step in. As he placed his foot inside the opening, behold! it widened into a bright room, and many Owl-men and Owlwomen around greeted him happily, and bade him sit down and eat.

The old Owl who had brought him, changed himself in a twinkling, as he entered the room, and hung his owl-coat on an antler. Then he went away, but presently returned, bringing a little bag of medicine. "Before I give thee this, let me tell thee what to do, and what thou must promise," said he of the owl-coat. The young man eagerly reached forth his hand for the magic medicine.

"Fool!" cried the being; "were it not well, for that would I not help thee. Thou art too eager, and I will not trust thee with my medicine of sleep. Thou shalt sleep here, and when thou awakest thou shalt find the morning star in the sky, and thy dead wife before thee on the trail toward the Middle Ant Hill. With the rising sun she will wake and smile on thee. Be not foolish, but journey preciously with her, and not until ye reach the home of thy fathers shalt thou approach her or kiss her; for if thou doest this, all will be as nothing again. But if thou doest as I counsel thee, all will be well, and happily may ye live one with the other."

He ceased, and, taking a tiny pinch of the medicine, blew it in the face of the youth. Instantly the young man sank with sleep where he had been sitting, and the beings, putting on their owl-coats, flew away with him under some trees by the trail that led to Mátsaki and the Ant Hill of the Middle.

Then they flew over the lake, and threw the medicine of sleep in at the windows, and taking the plumed prayer-sticks which the young man had brought with him, they chose some red plumes for themselves, and with the others entered the home of the Kâkâ. Softly they flew over the sleeping fathers and their children (the gods of the Kâkâ) and the spirits) and, laying the prayer-plumes before the great altar, caught up the beautiful maiden and bore her over the waters and woodlands to where the young man was still sleeping. Then they hooted and flew off to their mountain.

As the great star came out of the dayland, the young man awoke, and lo! there before him lay his own beautiful wife. Then he turned his face away that he might not be tempted, and waited with joy and longing for the coming out of the sun. When at last the sun came out, with the first ray that brightened the beautiful maiden's face, she opened her eyes and gazed wildly around at first, but seeing her lonely lover, smiled, and said: "Truly, thou lovest me!"

Then they arose and journeyed apart toward the home of their fathers, and the young man forgot not the counsel of the Owl, but journeyed wisely, till on the fourth day they came in sight of the Mountain of Thunder and saw the river that flows by Salt City.

As they began to go down into the valley, the maiden stopped and said: "Hahuá, I am weary, for the journey is long and the day is warm." Then she sat down in the shadow of a cedar and said "Watch, my husband, while I sleep a little; only a little, and then we will journey together again." And he said: "Be it well."

Then she lay down and seemed to sleep. She smiled and looked so beautiful to the longing lover that he softly rose and crept close to her. Then, alas! he laid his hand upon her and kissed her.

Quickly the beautiful maiden started. Her face was all covered with sadness, and she said, hastily and angrily: "Ah, thou shameless fool! I now know! Thou lovest me not!

How vain that I should have hoped for thy love!"

With shame, indeed, and sorrow, he bent his head low and covered his face with his hands. Then he started to speak, when an Owl flew up and hooted mournfully at him from a tree-top. Then the Owl winged her way to the westward, and ever after the young man's mind wandered.

Alas! alas! Thus it was in the days of the ancients. Maybe had the young man not kissed her yonder toward the Lake of the Dead, we would never have journeyed nor ever have mourned for others lost. But then it is well! If men and women had never died, then the world long ago had overflown with children, starvation, and warring.

Thus shortens my story.