Chapter XVIII
Relation of Man to Nature—Dancing as a Form of Worship Learned from the Animals—Tarahumare Sacrifices—The Rutuburi Dance Taught by the Turkey—The Yumari Learned from the Deer—Tarahumare Rain Songs—Greeting the Sun—Tarahumare Oratory—The Flowing Bowl—The National Importance of Tesvino—Homeward Bound.
Since the people obtain their subsistence from the products of the soil, they naturally are deeply concerned in the weather upon which their crops depend. Rain, therefore, is the focal point from which all their thoughts radiate. Even the plough is dipped into water before it is put to use, in order that it may draw rain. The people may try to force the moon and the sun to give them rain. In times of drought they reproach especially the moon for making the people live on the leaves of the ash-tree and what other poor stuff they can find; on her account they are getting so thin that they can no longer recognise themselves. They scold her, and threaten to denounce her to the sun. The sun himself may be rebuked for lack of rain. At other times they may throw up water to heaven with many ceremonies, that Tata Dios may replenish his supply. Generally, however, their relations with the gods, as with men, are based on the business principle of give and take.
Sacrifices of food, the meat of domestic animals or of game, and of tesvino, are needed to induce Father Sun and Mother Moon to let it rain. The favour of the gods may be won by what for want of a better term may be called dancing, but what in reality is a series of monotonous movements, a kind of rhythmical exercise, kept up sometimes for two nights. By dint of such hard work they think to prevail upon the gods to grant their prayers. The dancing is accompanied by the song of the shaman, in which he communicates his wishes to the unseen world, describing the beautiful effect of the rain, the fog, and the mist on the vegetable world. He invokes the aid of all the animals, mentioning each by name and also calls on them, especially the deer and the rabbit, to multiply that the people may have plenty to eat.
As a matter of fact, the Tarahumares assert that the dances have been taught them by the animals. Like all primitive people, they are close observers of nature. To them the animals are by no means inferior creatures; they understand magic and are possessed of much knowledge, and may assist the Tarahumares in making rain. In spring, the singing of the birds, the cooing of the dove, the croaking of the frog, the chirping of the cricket, all the sounds uttered by the denizens of the greensward, are to the Indian appeals to the deities for rain. For what other reason should they sing or call? For the strange behaviour of many animals in the early spring the Tarahumares can find no other explanation but that these creatures, too, are interested in rain. And as the gods grant the prayers of the deer expressed in its antics and dances, and of the turkey in its curious playing, by sending the rain, they easily infer that to please the gods they, too, must dance as the deer and play as the turkey.
From this it will be understood that dance with these people is a very serious and ceremonious matter, a kind of worship and incantation rather than amusement. Never do man and woman dance together, as in the waltz and polka of civilised people. The very word for dancing, “nolávoa,” means literally “to work.” The wise old man may reproach laggard, inexperienced younger ones, saying, “Why do you not go to work?” meaning that they should go to the dance and not stand idly about while the feast is going on. If the Tarahumares did not comply with the commands of Father Sun and dance, the latter would come down and burn up the whole world.
The Indian never asks his god to forgive whatever sin he may have committed; all he asks for is rain, which to him means something to eat, and to be free of evil. The only wrong toward the gods of which he may consider himself guilty is that he does not dance enough. For this offence he asks pardon. Whatever bad thoughts or actions toward man he may have on his conscience are settled between himself and the person offended. I once asked a prominent heathen shaman why the people were not baptised, and he said: “Because Tata Dios made us as we are. We have always been as you see us. People do not need to be baptised, because there is no devil here. Tara Dios is not angry with us; why should he be? Only when people do bad things does he get angry. We make much beer and dance much, in order that he may remain content; but when people talk much, and go around fighting, then he gets angry and does not give us rain.”
Dancing not only expresses prayers for rain and life, but also petitions the gods to ward off evil in any shape, as diseases of man, beast, or crops. The people may dance also in case too much rain is falling, or for luck in field work, hunting, despatching the dead, etc.; and in this way they also give thanks for the harvest. By dancing and with tesvino they express all their wants to the gods, or, as a Tarahumare told me, “We pray by dancing and the gourd.”
With the dances is always connected the sacrifice of an animal; the greater portion of the meat is eaten by the people themselves, who, beside, bring forth all kinds of nice food, the best they have. Such dancing festivals, as a matter of course, are given either by individuals or by the community. It is thought that Tara Dios himself comes down each time to make his demands on the Tarahumares for dancing and sacrificing. He communicates his wishes in a dream to someone, not necessarily a shaman; and in the dry season, when the Indians begin to prepare their fields, most of these notices come and are generally made known to all at a race, where many people always come together. During all these months hardly a day passes without a messenger being sent out from some place in the country to advise one or the other of the principal shamans that God has come down and demanded a feast. Sometimes Tata Dios asks for an ox to be killed; at other times he wants only a sheep. Frequently he indicates that the animal must be white; on other occasions he is not particular about the colour. The threat is added that if the sacrifice is not forthcoming, and the people do not dance soon, all the corn will be burned up, and they will have to die of hunger. Or, if there has been too much rain, the notice may say that, unless they sacrifice and dance at once, all will be drowned, because it is going to rain tremendously. Occasionally it is directed that they dance only a little while, then rest, then dance again; or else they have to keep on dancing for a night and a day, or two nights in succession. When a great many sacrifices have been made and animals begin to be scarce, Tara Dios may have to content himself with iskiate and tortillas. The people may continue to make feasts and to dance, and yet get no other results but fresh messages, ordering still more sacrifices. Then the Indians begin to argue with Tata Dios that he must not be so greedy; he has filled himself up with oxen and sheep and tesvino, and they cannot give him any more. When such revolt seems imminent the shaman may throw out an ominous hint that the sacrifices have to be made; for what would the Tarahumares say if Tata Dios wanted one of them to be killed?
Among the reasons given by the Christian Tarahumares for continued dry weather are the following. The Devil has made Tara Dios sick and has tied him up; or the Moon (Virgin Mary) is sick; or the people have not given Tara Dios enough food and he is very hungry; or the railroad engines of the Americans are making so much smoke that Tara Dios is angry; or, finally, someone at a feast has infringed upon the law of decorum, and thereby annulled its value.
At present domestic animals are considered more valuable at sacrifices than the beasts of the field and the forest; yet squirrels (chipawiki), turkeys, deer, rabbits, and fish are still used to some extent, especially by those who do not possess domestic animals. Twenty men may go out to hunt a deer, or from six to ten men try to bring in four or five squirrels for a communal feast, to which all contribute the corn necessary for the tesvino, say, half an almud, more or less, according to the means of each householder. Never does any one man give all the corn required for a tribal feast, though he may donate all the meat, in the shape of an ox, a cow, or a sheep. Goats are sacrificed only at burial functions. If the people do not give the best they have for the sacrifice, they will obtain only poor results.
The dances are always held in the open air, that Father Sun and Mother Moon may look upon the efforts of their children to please them. They dance on the level space in front of the dwelling, preferably each danced on its own patio. Some people have as many as three such dancing-places, but most of them have to content themselves with one. If a Tarahumare could afford it, he would have ten patios to accommodate more people and dances near his house.
The Beginning of the Rutuburi and the Yumari Dance.
To my knowledge there are six different dances, but of these I will describe only two, the rutuburi and the yumari, as these are the most important and the two almost exclusively used in the central part of the country. The other four I saw only among the southern Tarahumares.
The rutuburi was taught to the people by the turkey. Generally three crosses are put up, and there are three shamans, the principal one being in the middle; his assistants need not be shamans, but the master of the house and his son, or some trusted friend, may officiate. When the dancing is about to begin, these men take a position in a line before the crosses, facing east, and shake their rattles continuously for two or three minutes from side to side, holding the instruments high up in the air, as the rattling is meant to attract the attention of the gods. Then, with the singing and shaking of the rattles—now down and up—they move forward in a manner similar to that of a schoolgirl skipping over a rope, passing the crosses to a point as far east as the starting-point was to the west, altogether about eighteen yards. They then turn around and move back to the starting-point. In this way they keep on dancing forward and back three times, always in an easterly and westerly direction, swinging their rattles down and up, while passing from one point to the other, and from side to side whenever they reach it. The down-and-up movement of the rattle is not a simple down and up, but the down stroke is always followed by a short after-clap before the arm rises for the new swing, producing thus a three-part rhythm. They sing the following stanza, repeating it over and over again:
Introduction to Rutuburi
Ru-tu-bú-ri vǽ-ye-na Ru-tu-bú-ri vǽ-ye-na
Rutuburi, from one side to the other moving! Rutuburi, from one side to, etc.
Ó-ma wǽ-ka xá-ru-si. Ó-ma wǽ-ka xá-ru-si.
All! many! Arms crossed! All! many! Arms crossed!
This is the introduction and prelude to the whole dance. After this formal opening the men take their places in line to the right of the shamans, and the women to the left. They stand for a few minutes while the shamans sing and swing their rattles, the men silently holding their arms folded over their breasts, as described in the song. This crossing of the arms I take to mean a salutation to the gods. While the Tarahumares of to-day never salute each other by shaking hands, neither is there any trace at present of their ever having saluted each other by crossing arms over the breast, which form was probably never used except with the gods, at ceremonies.
All the people are closely wrapped in their blankets, which they wear throughout the dance. In its general traits, the dance is performed in the same way as the opening ceremony. The shamans, or sometimes only the leader, jumps along as described, but the men just walk to and fro, and have to take long steps in order to keep abreast with the leaders. The women follow the men after the latter have gone several yards ahead, skipping in the same way as the shamans, though less pronounced. They stamp the, hard ground with the right foot and run without regard to time, so that the pattering of their naked feet reminds one of a drove of mules stampeding. They overtake the men, so as to turn around simultaneously with them and wait again for a few seconds for the men to get ahead of them. Thus the dance is continued without interruption for hours and hours. This may sound as if the spectacle was monotonous; but such is not the case. On the contrary, there is a certain fascination in the regular, rhythmical movement from side to side—like the double pendulum of some gigantic, unseen clock. The shaman specially captivates the attention of the observer, being the very incarnation of enthusiasm. He swings his rattle with energy and conviction, as if bent on rousing the gods out of their indifference, while he stamps his right foot on the ground to add weight to the words, which he pours forth in a loud, resonant voice from his wide-open mouth. Although the Tarahumare, as a rule, has a harsh and not very powerful singing voice, still there are some noteworthy exceptions, and the airs of the rutuburi songs are quite pleasing to the ear. These, as all their dancing-songs, are of great antiquity and strangely enchanting.
Rutuburi Dance.
Vá-sa-ma du-hú(-hu-ru)-si Sæ-va-gá wi-li
In flowers (is) jaltomate,[1] in flow-ers stands up,
Sæ-va-gá wi-lí wú-ka wú-ka.
In flowers stands up getting ripe, getting ripe.
Rutuburi Dance.
Rā-ya-bó va-mí va-mí-(ru) rā-ya-bó
(On the) ridge yon-der, yon-der (On the) ridge
be-mó-ko rā-ya-bó be-mó-ko.
fog (on the) ridge fog.
The water is near;
Fog is resting on the mountain and on the mesa.
The Bluebird sings and whirs in the trees, and
The Male Woodpecker is calling on the llano,
Where the fog is rising.
The large Swift is making his dashes through the evening air;
The rains are close at hand.
When the Swift is darting through the air he makes his whizzing, humming noise.
The Blue Squirrel ascends the tree and whistles,
The plants will be growing and the fruit will be ripening,
And when it is ripe it falls to the ground.
It falls because it is so ripe.
The flowers are standing up, waving in the wind.
The Turkey is playing, and the Eagle is calling;
Therefore, the time of rains will soon set in.
In the wet season, when the rabbits are about, the shamans sing of the rabbit. In winter time they sing of the giant woodpecker, and in harvest time, when the people begin to make merry, they sing of the blackbird.
The yumari was learned from the deer. According to tradition it is the oldest dance. At the hour appointed, the shaman, facing the cross and the east, here, too, opens the proceedings by shaking his rattle to both sides to notify the gods. Then he begins to walk around the cross, humming a song and marching in time to the rattle, which he now swings down and up. He makes the ceremonial circuit, stopping at each cardinal point for a few seconds. After this he begins his dance, and the rest of the assemblage gradually join in. The dance consists in short walks, forward and backward, with lock-step, the men being arrayed in line on both sides of the shaman, their eyes fixed on the ground, their elbows touching. In this way they swing to and fro, generally describing a curve around the cross, or, sometimes, forming a circle against the apparent movement of the sun. The women dance in a similar way, in a course of their own behind the men; but they frequently break ranks, jumping forward and backward with movements wholly devoid of grace. When the dance goes in a circle, the women move with the sun.
The tones marked with the accent > in each of the following yumari songs are grunts.
Yumari dance
Yumari variant
Yumari variant
The yumari songs tell that the Cricket wants to dance; the Frog wants to dance and jump; and the Blue Heron wants to fish; the Goatsucker is dancing, so is the Turtle, and the Grey Fox is whistling. But it is characteristic of the yumari songs that they generally consist only of an unintelligible jargon, or, rather, of a mere succession of vocables, which the dancers murmur.
Unlike the rutuburi, the yumari soon becomes tiresome, in spite of its greater animation. Yet the spectacle has something weird in it, especially when seen by the fitful flicker of the fire, which throws a fantastic light upon the grotesque figures, like goblins moving about on the same space. Many mothers carry their sleeping infants on their backs. Sometimes, the blanket which supports the baby loosens, and the little thing hangs half out of it, following every movement of the parent.
Dancing Yumari.
At most feasts both these dances are performed, and the Indians themselves consider them to have the same general purpose. It is, therefore, not easy to see the relation of the two dances to each other. Rutuburi is the more serious dance, and is more efficacious than yumari, though the latter, of course, has its own special value; for instance, it expresses a prayer that the shaman may have strength to cure. In yumari, all sing and dance, and very frequently all the performers are drunk, while during the former dance absolute decorum is observed. Both dances are for the sun and the moon—rutuburi, in order to call them down; yumari, to despatch them. Therefore, the usual dancing-feasts commence with rutuburi. When the function is about to be concluded, an hour or two before sunrise, yumari is commenced, and leads over to the second part of the festival, the eating and drinking. After this, yumari may be continued throughout the day, while the Indians get drunk. Rutuburi is also danced at thanksgiving for the harvest, while on such occasions yumari asks for a good year to come. Then, again, rutuburi may be danced throughout the day, and yumari at night; but generally the former dance commences soon after sunset. On one occasion, while I was waiting for the performance to begin, the son of the house, in answer to my query, pointed to the sky, and told me that the dance would not commence until the Pleiades reached a certain spot in the heavens, which I calculated to mean about eleven o’clock. This indicated that the stars have some connection with the dancing.
At the break of dawn busy hands begin to get everything ready for the great ceremony of the sacrifice. For several days the women of the household and their friends have been making tortillas and boiling beans and tamales (small quantities of unsalted ground corn, wrapped and boiled in corn-husks). An animal was killed on the preceding day, and the meat has been boiling (without salt) in large jars all day and all night. Tata Dios does not like bones, therefore no bones are cooked with this meat. Several of the women have been dividing their time between dancing and watching the food-supply, to guard it against mishap from any source: A blanket is spread underneath, just to the west of the cross, or the three crosses, as the case may be, and on it in a line they place the jars of tesvino; behind these are set three small earthenware bowls filled with the stringy mass of the meat; then come three baskets of tortillas; and finally three little jars with wooden spoons in each are brought on and put in their proper places, behind the rest of the food. The latter vessels contain medicines to be taken, for the welfare of the people is looked after from every point of view.
Sacrificing Tesvino after a Yumari Dance. The Cross was, on this occasion, covered with a Coloured Handkerchief.
In the meantime the dancing goes on with undiminished force. Nearly every night during the dry season, for nobody knows how many centuries, the Morning Star has been looking down upon his sons, the Tarahumares, as they dance in the heart of the sierra, casting his last rays upon the weird scene around their dying fires before he flees from the approaching keeper of the day. Just before the first beam of the rosy light announces the coming of Father Sun, the dancing ceases, and the rattles are added to the sacrificial offerings on the blanket. Everybody now is ready to do homage to the deity about to appear above the horizon. The shaman greets him with the words, “Behold, Nonorugami is coming!” and then solemnly proceeds toward the cross, while the people form a line behind him and preserve a respectful silence throughout the ensuing ceremony. He fills a large drinking-gourd with tesvino, and, holding it in his left hand, throws a small dipperful of the liquor with his right hand into the air, three times to each cardinal point, making the ceremonial circuit. Then the meat and the tortillas are sacrificed in the following way: The shaman takes up from the ground the vessel in front of him, and lifts it three times toward heaven. Then with his fingers he takes up a little meat, offers it to the cross with the word “Koá!” (Eat), and throws it up into the air. Next he breaks off a small piece of tortilla, and repeats the same ceremony. Thus he sacrifices to all the cardinal points. The two assistants of the shaman follow their principal in every act he performs.
The solemnity of the scene is by no means impaired by the numerous dogs, which are gathering to see what they can snatch up. Of course, the people drive them away, but in the end they always get Nonorugami’s share of the food, while the god is supposed to eat only the nourishing substance.
What is left in the jars or bowls after the sacrifice is placed back on the blanket under the cross. The broth of the meat, too, is sacrificed, and so is the blood of the animal that has been killed for the feast.
Whenever the shaman returns to the people after performing the sacrifice, he says, “This was done on behalf of Nonorugami,” and all the people respond: “Matetravá! Matetravá! Kalahúpo!” (Thank you! Thank you! It is all right!)
When the gods have had their share of the tesvino and the food, the curing begins. The medicines are cold infusions of different medicinal plants. The shaman standing directly in front of the middle cross, takes up the jar containing the chief medicine, palo hediondo; his assistant to the north takes up the bowl containing a root called ohnoa; and the one on the south maguey water. After having duly sacrificed to the gods, the great shaman himself takes three spoonfuls of the medicine, and gives the same quantity to his assistant to the north, who in turn first takes his remedy and then gives some to the shaman. In the same way the latter exchanges with his assistant to the south, and then the two assistants exchange remedies. The bowls are then handed by the shaman to the owner of the house, who in turn passes them on to the first man in the row, and from him they go from hand to hand to the last man in the line, each man taking three spoonfuls out of each bowl, while each of the women gets four. The man who drinks last gives the bowls back to the owner of the house, who in turn hands them to the shaman, who puts them back on the blanket underneath the cross. Meanwhile the incense-burners have been filled with hot coals, on which the shaman now throws some copal, the smoke of which he waves over all the people. He, as well as the other men, open their blankets a little to get the smoke on their bodies. This finishes the curing act, and now a speech is made. At private festivals the shaman is the orator of the occasion, but at communal or tribal festivals the gobernador is expected to, and generally does, perform this part of the proceedings. Rhetoric is one of the accomplishments of the Tarahumares, though it is not to be judged in accordance with the white man’s standard. Here is a speech made by the gobernador at the end of one of the feasts I witnessed:
Listen to me! Stand up in a row and listen to what I have to tell you. All of you stand up in line, men, women, and children, because I am going to give you my words, to present to you the words which the One Above bids me to tell you. Now all is over! We have done something good to Tara Dios, and he has given you life to dance; and now he is giving you life for another year. All of you will have to make feasts like this. You have no experience; therefore listen to me and hear what I have to tell you. If you do not believe what I am telling you, the Devil will carry you off. You all are inexperienced, all of you who are standing here in a row around. Be quiet, and do all your business quietly. Drink quietly, talk quietly, sing quietly. And do not fight, because if in the fight you kill somebody, what will you have afterward? Nothing but sorrow and sadness! The One who is above us bids me to tell you, to say to all of you, men, women, and children, that this water, this tesvino that we are drinking is what makes us lose our heads. You know it all, and the One Above knows that this is the truth that I am telling you. Don’t fight, don’t pull each other’s hair, don’t beat anyone in the face until he bleeds. For the blood and the hair belong to Tata Dios, and you pull his hair and shed his blood. Drink tesvino to your hearts’ content, get much drunk, but then lie down and sleep, and in the morning you return to your homes without coming to blows with anyone.
All the time the speech is punctuated with expressions of approval, and at the end they all say: “Matetrava! Matetrava! Kalahupo!” (Thank you! Thank your It is all right!)
Ready to Begin Eating and Drinking after a Night’s Dancing of Rutuburi.
A speech is also often made in the beginning of the feast, when much the same sentiments are expressed. The orator tells the people to follow the good example of the host, that sacrificing and dancing may go on here, there, and everywhere, so that the gods will get plenty to eat and grant the prayers of the Tarahumares. He strongly admonishes them to keep away from women, as otherwise the value of the feast would be lost. This day belongs to Tara Dios, and nothing else is to be thought of. If anyone transgresses this command, he will have to give an ox or a sheep and tesvino, to make the feast all over again.
While the dancing and singing, sacrificing and speechmaking, are going on, the people behave with decorous solemnity and formality. The ceremonies are never interrupted by unseemly conduct; everybody deports himself with grave sobriety, and refrains from loud talking and laughing and from making any disrespectful noise. But after the gods have been given their share, the people go in, no less energetically, for enjoying themselves.
Food and tesvino are never distributed by the same man, nor are men and women waited on by the same functionary; in other words, one man is appointed for each sex, to dispense the tesvino, and two others to serve the food.
They eat but little of the solids, as it is customary for the guests to take home their portions, the women bringing jars and baskets along for the purpose. Little or nothing of the tesvino is spared, and it is the avowed intention and aim of everybody to get “a beautiful intoxication.” They all like to get drunk. An Indian explained to me that the drunken people weep with delight, because they are so perfectly happy. Every Tarahumare has in his heart a cross which Tata Dios placed there long, long ago, and this cross they respect. When drunk they remember Tata Dios better. At their feasts they sit alongside of him and drink with him. The women sit alongside of the Moon and remember ancient times.
But unfortunately this blissful stage of their intoxication does not last long, and then the animal nature in them manifests itself. Under the influence of the liquor, men and women rapidly lose that bashfulness and modesty which in ordinary life are such characteristic traits of their deportment. Furthermore, whatever grudge one man may’ have against another now crops out, and very likely a fight will ensue, in which the two opponents recklessly pull each other’s hair and punch each other’s faces. Sometimes in such an outbreak of unreasoning animalism one of the combatants will seize a stone and batter the other one’s head to crush it. Afterward, when sober again, the murderer may deeply deplore his deed—if he remembers it at all.
Mothers, when overcome by the spirit of the feast, may unawares allow their babies to fall out of the blankets and into the fire. Children may frequently be seen with bruises and scars which they carry as mementoes of some tesvino feast. I know one man who had no hair on one side of his head, having when a child been a victim of such an accident. But seldom, if ever, is a child allowed to become fatally injured.
Taking it all in all, it is a good-natured, jolly, silly crowd, out for a good time and enjoying themselves. All are good friends, and familiarity becomes unlimited. Late in the afternoon those still able to walk start on their way home. Rarely, however, can they reach their domiciles, if these are any distance off, before nature enforces her rights; and the track is strewn with men and women, who, overcome with the effects of their spree, have lain down wherever they happened to be, to sleep themselves sober. Tarahumare society has not yet advanced far enough to see anything disgraceful in debauches of this kind, which, if viewed from their standpoint, are pro bono publico; and we ourselves need go back only to our grandfathers’ and great-grandfathers’ time to find that inebriety was not at all inconsistent with good morals and high standing. Moreover, no matter how often the Tarahumares indulge in such saturnalia, as soon as they recover their senses they are as decorous and solemn as ever. Their native stimulant does not seem to affect either their physical or their mental faculties, and, all scientific theories to the contrary, their children are strong, healthy, and bright.
Aside from social and religious considerations, the drinking of tesvino is a vital factor in the national life of the tribe. Incredible as it may sound, yet, after prolonged and careful research into this interesting psychological problem, I do not hesitate to state that in the ordinary course of his existence the uncivilised Tarahumare is too bashful and modest to enforce his matrimonial rights and privileges; and that by means of tesvino chiefly the race is kept alive and increasing. It is especially at the feasts connected with the agricultural work that sexual promiscuity takes place.
A large gathering is not necessary in order to pray to the gods by dancing. Sometimes the family dances alone, the father teaching the boys. While doing agricultural work, the Indians often depute one man to dance yumari near the house, while the others attend to the work in the fields. It is a curious sight to see a lone man taking his devotional exercise to the tune of his rattle in front of an apparently deserted dwelling. The lonely worshipper is doing his share of the general work by bringing down the fructifying rain and by warding off disaster, while the rest of the family and their friends plant, hoe, weed, or harvest. In the evening, when they return from the field, they may join him for a little while; but often he goes on alone, dancing all night, and singing himself hoarse, and the Indians told me that this is the very hardest kind of work, and exhausting even to them.
Solitary worship is also observed by men who go out hunting deer or squirrels for a communal feast. Every one of them dances yumari alone in front of his house for two hours to insure success on the hunt; and when putting corn to sprout for the making of tesvino the owner of the house dances for a while, that the corn may sprout well.
In certain parts of the country, near Aboreachic, for instance, a dance called valixíwami is in vogue. Here the line of the women faces that of the men, and the two rows dance backward and forward, following each other all the time.
In a dance called cuváli, which is found still further south, the movements are the same as in the dance just mentioned, but the steps are different. It is danced for the same reason as rutuburi is, and it makes the grass and the fungi grow and the deer and the rabbits multiply. This is the only dance known to the Tepehuanes.
In the winter they dance for snow, a dance called yohé; and finally there is a dance called ayéna, which calls the clouds from the north and south that they may clash and produce rain.
I was present at feasts in which four of these dances were performed, and the order in which they followed each other was: Rutuburi, yumari, valixiwami, cuvali.
According to one version of the tradition, both yumari and rutuburi were once men who taught the Tarahumares to dance and sing. They live with Father Sun. Valixiwami and cuvali were also men and companions of the former, but much younger.
At certain feasts for the benefit of the moon, three cigarettes are offered under the cross. The shaman takes one of them, gives a puff, raising the cigarette at the same time upward toward the moon and saying: “Suá” (rise) “vamí” (yonder) “repá” (upward). This is repeated three times. The master of the house and his wife do the same. The ceremony is performed in order to help the moon to make clouds. Now all present may smoke. The Tarahumare never smokes in the middle of the day; he would offend the sun by so doing. He indulges in the “weed” mostly at feasts when drunk. When an Indian offers another man tobacco and a dry corn-leaf to roll his cigarette it is a sign that everything is well between them.
Every year between March and May a large performance takes place on a special patio in the woods. Its purpose is to cure or prevent disease, and much tesvino is consumed. A straw-man, about two feet high, dressed in cotton drawers, and with a handkerchief tied around its head is set up next to the cross. It represents Father Sun, and the cross is his wife, the Moon. Sometimes a stuffed recamúchi (cacomistle, bassariscus) is used either in the place of a straw-man or in addition to it. After the feast is over, the manikin is taken to the place from which the straw was obtained, in order to make the grass grow. The Christian Tarahumares keep it in the sacristy of their church.
The latter also celebrate Christmas, and on this occasion some of them, the so-called matachines, paint their faces and carry on their backs stuffed animals, such as the grey fox, squirrel, or opossum, while dancing to the music of the violin. They jokingly call the skins their muchachitos, and hold them as women carry their babies. At present the only object is to make the beholder laugh; but of course the play is a remnant of some ancient custom, the meaning of which is now forgotten through the new associations with which the missionaries of old imbued the ceremonies and rites found among the pagans.
A similar suggestion of antiquity is unmistakably embodied in the deer masks, as well as in the heads with antlers attached, which the same men also may wear.
During Easter week live rattlesnakes are carried about, but the heads of the reptiles are tied together so that they can do no harm. One man may have as many as four serpents with him.
[1] A kind of tomato.