Zuni Folktales · The Revenge of the Two Brothers on the Háwikuhkwe, or the Two Little Ones 16 and Their Turkeys (3/3)

“Drop me and make your winnings,” cried the old Turtle. “I guess I can take care of myself,” he chuckled from the inside of his shell; and it was short work for the boys to cast down all their enemies whom Amiwili had blown upon, and the others fled terrified toward Háwikuh.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the two boys as they began to take off the scalps of the Háwikuhkwe. “These caps are better than half a flock of Turkeys.”

“Who’ll proclaim our victory to our people?” said they, suddenly stopping; and one would have thought they belonged to a big village and a great tribe instead of to a lone house on top of Twin Mountain, with a single old granny in it; but then that was their way, you know.

“I will! I will!” cried the old Turtle, as he waddled off toward Twin Mountain and left the boys to skin scalps.

When he came to the top of the low hill south of Master Canyon, he stuck a stick up in the air and shouted.

“Hoo-o! Hawanawi-i-i-i!” which is the shout of victory; and, not seeing the old woman, he cried out two or three times.

“Hoo-o! Iwolohkia-a-a!” which, as you know, means “Murder! Murder!” The old woman heard it and was frightened. She threw an old robe over her shoulders, and, grabbing up the fire-poker, started down as fast as her limping old limbs would let her, and nearly tumbled over when she heard old Etawa shout again, “Iwolohkia!”

“Ha!” said she; “I’ll teach the shameless Turkey killers, if I am an old woman;” and she shook her fire-poker in the air until she came up to where the old Turtle was waiting.

Here, just as she came near, the old Turtle pretended not to see her, but stood up on his legs, and, holding his pole with one hand, cried out, “Hoo‑o! Hawanawi‑i‑i‑i!” which was the shout of victory, as I told you before.

“What is it?” cried the old woman, as she limped along up and said: “Ah! ahi!” (“My poor old legs!”)

“Victory!” said the proud Turtle, scarcely deigning to look at her.21

“Who has this day renewed himself?” she inquired.

“Thy grandchildren,” answered the old Turtle.

“Have they won?” asked the old woman, as she said: “Thanks this day!”

“Many caps,” replied the Turtle.

“Will they celebrate?”

“Yes.”

“Who will purify and pass them?” asked the granny.

“Why, you will.”

“Who will bathe the scalps?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will swing the scalps round the pueblo?”

“Why, you will.”

“Who will adopt them?”

“Why, you will.”

“Who will bring out the feast?”

“Why, you will.”

“Who will be the priest of initiation?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will be the song-master?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will be the dancers?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will draw the arrows and sacrifice them?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will strive for the sacrificed arrows?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will lead the dance of victory?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will be the dancers?”

“Why, I will.”

“Who will go to get the women to join the dance?”

“Why, I will.”

“What women will dance?”

“Why, you will.”

“Who will take them to preside at the feast of their relatives-in-law?”

“Why, you will.”

“Who will be their relatives-in-law?”

“Why, you will.”

“Who will be the priests of their Father Society?”

“Why, I will.”

And they might have talked that way till sunset had not the voices of the two boys, singing the song of victory, been heard coming over the hill. There they were, coming with two great strings of scalps as big as a bunch of buckskins.

“Oh! poor me! How shall I swing all those scalps round the pueblo?” groaned the poor old woman as she limped off to dress for the ceremony.

“Why, swing them,” answered the old Turtle, as he stretched himself up with the importance of being master of ceremonies.

So the boys brought the scalps up and the old Turtle strung them thickly on a long pole.

So day after day they danced and sang, to add strands to the width of the boys’ badges. And the old Turtle was master-priest of ceremonies and people, low priest, song-master, and dancers; sacrificer of arrows and striver after the arrows. He would beat the drum and sing a little, then run and dance out the measure; but it was very hard work.

And the old woman was mother of the children and sisters, and their clan, and somebody’s else clan, matron of ceremonials, and maidens of ceremonials⁠—all at the same time;⁠—but it was very hard work, consequently they didn’t get along very well.

That’s the reason why today we have so many song-masters and singers, dance leaders and dancers, priests and common people, father clans and mother clans, in the great Ceremony of Victory.

Thus it happened with Áhaiyúta and Mátsailéma and their old grandmother, and their grandfathers the Rainbow-worm and the old Turtle. That is the reason why rainbow-worms are no bigger than your finger now, because their great grandfather blew all his substance away at the Háwikuhkwe. That’s the reason why the great Turtles in the faraway Waters of the World are so much bigger than their brothers and sisters here, and have so many marks on their shells, where the arrows glanced across the shield of their great grandfather. For old Etawa was so proud after he had been the great master of ceremonies that he despised his old pond, and went off to seek a new home in the Western Waters of the World, and his grandchildren never grew any bigger after he went away, and their descendants are just as small as they were.

And thus shortens my story.