Zuñi Folk Tales

by Frank Hamilton Cushing

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 Owl-women 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.