“Now we are in the dark,” said they, “like the dark down there. Well, then, by means of the dark let us go down”—for they had wondrous power, had those Twain; the magic of in-knowing-how thought had they.
Down, like light through dark places, they went; dry through the waters; straight toward that village in the Underworld.
“Whew! the poor wretches are already dead,” cried they, “and rotting”—for their noses were sooner accustomed to the dark than their eyes, which they now opened.
“We might as well have spared ourselves the coming, and stayed above,” said Áhaiyúta.
“Nay, not so,” said Mátsailéma. “Let us go on and see how they lived, even if they are dead.”
“Very well,” said the elder; and as they fared toward the village they could see quite plainly now, for they had made it dark (to themselves) by shutting their eyes in the daylight above, so now they made it light (to themselves) by opening their eyes in the darkness below and simply looking,—it was their way, you know.
“Well, well!” said Mátsailéma, as they came nearer and the stench doubled. “Look at the village; it is full of people; the more they smell of carrion the more they seem alive!”
“Yes, by the chut of an arrow!” exclaimed Áhaiyúta. “But look here! It is food we smell—cooked food, all thrown away, as we throw away bones and corn-cobs because they are too hard to eat and profitless withal. What, now, can be the meaning of this?”
“What, indeed! Who can know save by knowing,” replied the younger brother. “Come, let us lie low and watch.”
So they went very quietly close to the village, crouched down, and peered in. Some people inside were about to eat. They took fine food steaming hot from the cooking-pots and placed it low down in wide trenchers; then they gathered around and sipped in the steam and savor with every appearance of satisfaction; but they were as chary of touching the food or of letting the food touch them as though it were the vilest of refuse.