N. C. Nelson
All Is Trouble Along the Klamath
A YUROK IDYLL
(Mrs. Oregon Jim, from the house Erkigér-i or “Hair-ties” in the town of Pékwan, speaking): You want to know why old Louisa and I never notice each other? Well, I’ll tell you why. I wouldn’t speak to that old woman to save her life. There is a quarrel between her and me, and between her people and my people.
The thing started, so far as I know, with the bastard son of a woman from that big old house in Wáhsek that stands crossways—the one they call Wáhsek-héthlqau. They call it that, of course, because it is behind the others. It kind of sets back from the river. This woman lived with several different men; first with a young fellow from the house next door, and then, when she left him, with a strolling fellow from Smith River. When she left him for a Húpa, they all began to call her kímolin, “dirty.” Not one of these men had paid a cent for her, although she came of good people. She lived around in different places. Two of her children died, but a third one grew up at the Presbyterian Mission.
He had even less sense than the Presbyterians have. He came down to Kepél one time, when the people there were making the Fish Dam. It was the last day of the work on the dam. The dam was being finished, that day. That’s the time nobody can get mad. Nobody can take offense at anything. This boy heard people calling each other bad names. They were having a dance. The time of that dance is different from all other times. People say the worst things! It sounds funny to hear the people say, for example, to old Kímorets, “Well, old One-Eye! you are the best dancer.” They think of the worst things to say! A fellow even said to Mrs. Poker Bob, “How is your grandmother?”; when Mrs. Poker Bob’s grandmother was already dead. It makes your blood run cold to hear such things, even though you know it’s in fun.
This young fellow I am telling you about, whom they called Fred Williams, and whose Indian name was Sär, came down from the Mission school to see the Fish-Dam Dance at Kepél. He was dressed up. He went around showing off. He wore a straw hat with a ribbon around it. He stood around watching the dance. Between the songs, he heard what people were saying to each other. He heard them saying all sorts of improper things. He thought that was smart talk. He thought he would try it when he got a chance. The next day, he went down by the river and saw Tuley-Creek Jim getting ready his nets. “Get your other hand cut off,” he said. “Then you can fish with your feet!” Two or three people who were standing by, heard him. Tuley-Creek Jim is pretty mean. They call him “Coyote.” He looked funny. He stood there. He didn’t know what to say.
Young Andrew, who was there, whose mother was from the house called “Down-river House” in Qóvtep, was afraid for his life. He was just pushing off his boat. He let go of the rope. The boat drifted off. He was afraid to pull it back. He went up to the house. “Something happened,” he told the people there. “I wish I was somewhere else. There is going to be trouble along this Klamath River.”