Zuni Folktales · How the Summer Birds Came (1/3)

How the Summer Birds Came

In the days of the ancients, in the town under Thunder Mountain called Kʻiákime, there lived a most beautiful maiden. But one thing which struck the people who knew her was that she seldom came forth from her room, or went out of her house; never seemed to care for the people around her, never seemed to care to see the young men when they were dancing.

Now, this was the way of it. Through the roof of her room was a little skylight, open, and when it rained, one of the Gods of the Rain descended in the raindrops and wooed this maiden, and married her all unknown to her people; so that she was in his company every time it rained, and when the dew fell at night, on his ladder of water descending he came, and she was very happy, and cared not for the society of men. By-and-by, behold! to the utter surprise of the people, whose eyes could not see this god, her husband, there was a little boy born to her.

Now, he was the child of the gods, and, therefore, before he was many days old, he had begun to run about and speak, and had wonderful intelligence and wonderful strength and vivacity. He was only a month or two old when he was like a child of five or six or eight years of age, and he would climb to the housetop and run down into the plaza and out around the village hunting birds or other small animals. With only his fingers and little stones for weapons, he never failed to slay and bring home these little creatures, and his mother’s house was supplied more than any other house in the town with plumes for sacrifice, from the birds which he captured in this way.

Finally he observed that the older men of the tribe carried bows and arrows, and that the arrows went more swiftly and straighter than the stones he threw; and though he never failed to kill small animals, he found he could not kill the larger ones in that way. So he said to his mother one night: “Oh, mother, where does the wood grow that they make bows of, and where do they get sticks for their arrows? I wish you would tell me.”

But the mother was quite silent; she didn’t like to tell him, for she thought it would lead him away from the town and something would happen to him. But he kept questioning her until at last, weary with his importunities, she said: “Well, my little boy, if you go round the cliff here to the eastern side, there is a great hollow in the rocks, and down at the bottom of that hollow is a great cave. Now, around that shelter in the rocks are growing the trees out of which bows are made, and there also grow the bushes from which arrows are cut; they are so plentiful that they could supply the whole town, and furnish all the hunters here with bows and arrows; but they cannot get them, because in the cave lives a great Bear, a very savage being, and no one dares go near there to get timber for the bows or sticks for the arrows, because the Bear would surely devour whoever ventured there. He has devoured many of our people; therefore you must not go there to get these arrows.”

“No, indeed,” said the boy. But at night he lay down with much in his mind, and was so thoughtful that he hardly slept the whole night. He was planning what he would do in the morning.

The next morning his mother was busy about her work, and finally she went down to the spring for some water, and the little boy slipped out of the house, ran down the ladder, went to the riverside, stooped down, and crawled along the bank of the river, until he could get around on the side of the cliff where the little valley of the spring that flows under Thunder Mountain lies. There he climbed up and up until he came to the shelter in the rocks round on the eastern side of Thunder Mountain. The mouth of this hollow was entirely closed with fine yellowwood and oak, the best timber we have for bows, and straight sprouts were growing everywhere out of which arrows could be made.

“Ah, this must be the place,” said the boy, as he looked at it. “I don’t see any Bear. I think I will climb up and see if there is anything to be afraid of, and try if I can cut a stick before the Bear comes out.”

He started and climbed into the mouth of the cavern, and his father, one of the Gods of the Rain, threw a tremendous shaft of lightning, and it thundered, and the cave closed together.

“Ha!” cried the boy. “What in the world is the meaning of this?” Then he stood there a moment, and presently the clouds finished and the cave opened, and all was quiet. He started to go in once more, and down came the lightning again, to remind him that he should not go in there.

“Ha!” cried the boy again. “What in the world does it mean?” And he rubbed his eyes⁠—it had rather stunned him⁠—and so soon as it had cleared away he tried again, and again for the fourth time.

Finally the god said, “Ah! I have reminded him and he does not heed. He must go his own way.” So the boy climbed into the cave.

No sooner had he got in than it began to get dark, and Wah! came the Bear on his hind legs and grabbed the boy and began to squeeze him very tight.

“O my! O my!” cried he. “Don’t squeeze me so hard! It hurts; don’t squeeze me so hard! My mother is one of the most beautiful women you ever saw!”

“Hollo!” exclaimed the Bear. “What is that you say?”

“My mother is one of the most beautiful women you ever saw!”

“Indeed!” said the Bear, as he relaxed his hold. “My son, sit down. What did you come to my house for? I am sure you are very welcome.”

“Why,” said the boy, “I came to get a piece of wood for a bow and sticks for arrows.”

Said the Bear, “I have looked out for this timber for a long time. There is none better in the whole country. Let me tell you what I will do. You don’t look very strong. You haven’t anything to cut the trees down with. I will go myself and cut down a tree for you. I will pick out a good one for a bow; not only that, but I will get fine sticks for arrows, too.”

So he stalked off into the forest, and crack, crack, he smashed the trees down, and, picking out a good one, gnawed off the ends of it and brought it to the boy, then gathered a lot of fine straight sticks for arrow-shafts and brought them.

“There,” said he, “take those home. Do you know how to make a bow, my son?”

“No, I don’t very well,” replied he.

“Well,” said the Bear, “I have cut off the ends; make it about that length. Now take it home, and shave down the inside until it is thin enough to bend quickly at both ends, and lay it over the coals of fire so it will get hard and dry. That is the way to make a good bow.”

“All right,” said the boy; and as he took up the bundle of sticks and the stave for the bow, he said: “Just come along toward night and I will introduce you to my mother.”

“All right,” said the old Bear; “I will be along just about sunset. Then I can look at your bow and see whether you have made it well or not.”

So the boy trudged home with his bundle of sticks and his bow stave, and when he arrived there his mother happened to be climbing out, and saw him coming.

“You wretched boy,” she said, “I told you not to go out to the cave! I warrant you have been there where the Bear stays!”

“Oh, yes, my mother; just see what I have brought,” said the boy. “I sold you to the Bear. He will be here to get you this evening. See what I have brought!” and he laid out his bow-timber and arrow-shafts.

“Oh,” said she, “you are the most wretched and foolish of little boys; you pay no attention to what anyone says to you; your mother’s word is nothing but wind in your ears.”

“Just see what I have brought home,” said he. He worked as hard as he could to make his bow, stripped the arrow-shafts, smoothed and straightened them before the fire, and made the points of obsidian⁠—very black it is; very hard and sharp were the points when he placed them on the arrows. Now, after placing the feathers on the arrows, he stood them up on the roof of the house against the parapet in the sunlight to dry; and he had his bow on the other side of the house against the other parapet to dry. He was still at work, toward sunset, when he happened to look up and saw the Bear coming along, slowly, comfortably, rolling over the sand.

“Ah!” said he, “the old man is coming.” He paid no attention to him, however.

Presently the Bear came close to the ladder, and shook it to see if it was strong enough to hold him.

“Thou comest?” asked the boy.

“Yes,” said the Bear. “How have you been all day?”

“Happy,” said the boy.

“How is your mother?”

“Happy,” said the boy, “expecting you.”

So the old Bear climbed up. “Ah, indeed,” said he, as he got over the edge of the house, “have you made the bow?”

“Yes, after a fashion.”

So the Bear went over, raised himself on his hind feet, looked at the bow, pulled it, and said, as he laid it down: “It is a splendid bow. What is this black stuff on these arrows?”

“Obsidian,” answered the boy.

“These points are nothing but black coals,” said the Bear.

“I tell you,” said the boy, “they are good, black, flint arrowheads, hard and sharp as any others.”

“No,” said the other, “nothing but coals.”

“Now, suppose you let me try one of those coals on you,” said the boy.

“All right,” said the Bear. He walked over to the other side of the roof and stood there, and the boy took one of the arrows, fitted it to the bow, and let go. It went straight into the heart of the Bear, and even passed through him entirely.

“Wah!” uttered the Bear, as he gave a great snort and rolled over on the housetop and died.

“Ha, ha!” shouted the boy, “what you had intended to do unto me, thus unto you! Oh, mother!” called he, as he ran to the sky-hole, “here is your husband; come and see him. I have killed him; but, then, he would have me make the experiment,” said the boy.

“Oh, you foolish, foolish, disobedient boy!” said the mother. “What have you been doing now? Are we safe?”

“Oh, yes,” said he; “my stepfather is as passive as if he were asleep.” And he went on and skinned his once prospective stepfather, and then took out his heart and hung it to the crosspiece of the ladder as a sign that the people could go and get all the bow-timber and arrows they pleased.

That night, after the evening meal was over, the boy sat down with his mother, and he said: “By the way, mother, are there any monsters or fearful creatures anywhere round about this country that kill people and make trouble?”

“No,” said the mother, “none whatever.”

“I don’t know about that; I think there must be,” said the boy.

“No, there are none whatever, I tell you,” answered the mother.

The boy began to tumble on the floor, rolling about, playing with his mother’s blankets, and throwing things around, and once in a while he would ask her again the same question, until finally she got very cross with him and said: “Yes, if you want to know, down there in the valley, beyond the great plains of sagebrush, is a den of Misho Lizards who are fearful and deadly to everyone who goes near them. Therefore you had better be careful how you run round the valley.”

“What makes them so fearful?” asked he.

“Well,” said she, “they are venomous; they have a way of throwing from their mouths or breath a sort of fluid which, whenever it strikes a person, burns him, and whenever it strikes the eyes it blinds them. A great many people have perished there. Whenever a man arrives at their den they are very polite and greet him most courteously; they say: ‘Come in; sit down right here in the middle of the floor before the fire.’ But as soon as the person is seated in their house they gather round the walls and throw this venom on him, and he dies almost immediately.”

“Is it possible?” responded the little boy; and for some reason or other he began to grow sleepy, and said: “Now, let us go to sleep, mother.”

So he lay down and slept. Just as soon as it was light the next morning he aroused himself, dressed, took his bow and arrows, and, placing them in a corner near the ladder, said: “Oh, mother, give me my breakfast; I want to go and shoot some little birds. I would like to have some roasted birds for dinner.”

She gave him his breakfast as quickly as she could, and he ran down the ladder and went to shooting at the birds, until he happened to see that his mother and others were out of sight; then he skulked into the sagebrush and went as straight as he could for the den of the Misho Lizards. There happened to be two young ones sunning themselves outside, and they said:

“Ah, my fine little fellow, glad to see you this morning. Come in, come in; the old ones will be very much pleased to entertain you. Come in!”

“Thank you,” said the boy. He walked in, but he felt under his coat to see if a huge lump of rock salt he had was still there.

“Sit right down here,” said the old people. The whole den was filled with these Misho Lizards, and they were excessively polite, everyone of them.

The boy sat down, and the old Misho said to the young ones: “Hurry up, now; be quick!” And they began to throw their venom at him, and continued until he was all covered with it; but, knowing beforehand, and being the child of the gods, he was prepared and protected, and it did him no harm.

“Thank you, thank you,” said the boy. “I will do the same thing.” Then he pulled out the salt and pushed it down into the fire, where it exploded and entirely used up the whole council of Misho Lizards.

“There!” cried the boy. “Thus would you have done unto me, thus unto you.”

He took two fine ones and cut out their hearts, then started for home. When he arrived there, he climbed the ladder and suspended the two hearts beside that of the Bear and went down into the house, saying, “Well, mother, is dinner ready?”

“There now,” said she, “I know it. I saw you hang those hearts up. You have been down there.”

“Yes,” said he, “they are all gone⁠—every solitary one of them.”

“Oh, you foolish, foolish, disobedient fellow! I am all alone in the world, and if you should go to some of those fearful places some time and not come back, who would hunt for me? What should I do?” said the mother.

“Don’t be troubled, mother, now,” said the boy. “I don’t think I will go any more. There is nothing else of that kind around, is there, mother?”

“No, there is not,” she replied; “not a thing. There may be somewhere in the world, but there is not anywhere here.”

In the evening, as he sat with his mother, the boy kept questioning and teasing her to tell him of some other monsters⁠—pulling on her skirts and repeating his questions.

“I tell you,” she said, “there are no such creatures.”

“Oh, mother, I know there are,” said he, “and you must tell me about them.”

So he continued to bother her until her patience gave out, and she told him of another monster. Said she: “If you follow that canyon down to the southeast, there is a very, very, very high cliff there, and the trail that goes over that cliff runs close by the side of a precipice. Now, that has been for ages a terrible place, for there is a Giant living there, who wears a hair-knot on his forehead. He lies there at length, sunning himself at his ease. He is very good-natured and very polite. His legs stretch across the trail on which men have to go who pass that way, and there is no other way to get by. And whenever a man tries to go by that trail, he says: ‘Pass right along, pass right along; I am glad to see you. Here is a fresh trail; someone has just passed. Don’t disturb me; I am sunning myself.’ Down below is the den where his children live, and on the flesh of these people he feeds them.”

“Mercy!” exclaimed the boy. “Fearful! I never shall go there, surely. That is too terrible! Come, let us go to sleep; I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

But the next morning, just as soon as daylight appeared, he got up, dressed himself, and snatched a morsel of food.

His mother said to him: “Where are you going? Are you thinking of that place I told you about?”