Zuni Folktales · The Maiden of the Yellow Rocks (3/3)

“No,” said the elder one, “you must remember that we have been only pretending to be human beings. It would not do to take the maiden home with us.”

“Yes,” said the other; “I want her to go with us. Our grandmother kept making fun of us; called us little, miserable, wretched creatures. I want to show her that we amount to something!”

The elder brother could not get the younger one to leave the wife behind, and like a dutiful wife she said: “I will go with you.” They made up their bundles and started out. It was a very hot day, and when they had climbed nearly to the top of Thunder Mountain, the younger brother said: “Ahem! I am tired. Let us sit down and rest.”

“It will not do,” said the elder brother. “You know very well it will not do to sit down; our father, the Sun, has forbidden that we should be among mortals. It will not do.”

“Oh, yes, it will; we must sit down here,” said the younger brother; and again his wish prevailed and they sat down.

At midday the Sun stood still in the sky, and looked down and saw this beautiful woman, and by the power of his withdrawing rays quickly snatched her from them while they were sitting there talking, she carrying her little children.

The brothers looked around and said: “Where is our wife?”

“Ah, there she is,” cried the younger; “I will shoot her.”

“Shoot your wife!” cried the elder brother. “No, let her go! Serves you right!”

“No,” said the younger, “I will shoot her!” He looked up and drew his arrow, and as his aim was absolutely unerring, swish went the arrow directly to her, and she was killed. The power of life by which the Sun was drawing her up was gone, the thread was cut, and she fell over and over and struck the earth.

The two little children were so very small, and their bones so soft, that the fall did not hurt them much. They fell on the soft bank, and rolled and rolled down the hill, and the younger brother ran forward and caught them up in his arms, crying: “Oh, my little children!” and brought them to the elder brother, who said: “Now, what can be done with these little babies, with no mother, no food?”

“We will take them home to grandmother,” said the younger brother.

“Your grandmother cannot take care of these babies,” said the elder brother.

“Yes, she can, of course,” said the younger brother. “Come on, come on! I didn’t want to lose my wife and children, too; I thought I must still have the children; that is the reason why I shot her.”

So one of them took one of the children, and the other one took the other, and they carried them up to the top of Thunder Mountain.

“Now, then,” said the elder brother, “we went off to marry; we come home with no wife and two little children and with nothing to feed them.”

“Oh, grandmother!” called out the younger brother.

The old woman hadn’t heard them for many a day, for many a month, even for years. She looked out and said: “My grandchildren are coming,” and she called to them: “I am so glad you have come!”

“Here, see what we have,” said the younger brother. “Here are your grandchildren. Come and take them!”

“Oh, you miserable boy, you are always doing something foolish; where is your wife?” asked the grandmother.

“Oh, I shot her!” was the response.

“Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t want my father, the Sun, to take them away with my wife. I knew you would not care anything about my wife, but I knew you would be very fond of the grandchildren. Here they are.”

But she wouldn’t look at all. So the younger brother drew his face down, and taking the poor little children in his arms said: “You unnatural grandmother, you! Here are two nice little grandchildren for you!”

She said: “How shall I feed them? or what shall I do with them?”

He replied: “Oh, take care of them, take care of them!”

She took a good look at them, and became a true grandmother. She ran and clasped the little ones, crying out: “Let me take you away from these miserable children of mine!” She made some beds of sand for them, as Zuni mothers do today, got some soft skins for them to lie on, and fed them with a kind of milk made of corn toasted and ground and mixed with water; so that they gradually enlarged and grew up to be nice children.

Thus it was in the days of the ancients, and has been told to us in these days, that even the most cruel and heartless of the gods do these things. Even they took these helpless children to their grandmother, and she succored them and brought them up to the time of reason. Therefore it is the duty of those who find helpless babies or children, inasmuch as they are not so cruel and terrible as were the Gods of War⁠—not nearly⁠—surely it is their duty to take those children and succor and bring them up to the time of reason, when they can care for themselves. That is why our people, when children have been abandoned, provide and care for them as if they were their own.

Thus long is my story.