Читать книгу Creation Myths of Primitive America - Jeremiah Curtin - Страница 8

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This myth, which recalls the Helen of Troy tale, is extremely interesting both as regards personages and structure. At present I shall make but few remarks, and those relating only to personages. Hluyuk Tikimit, quivering porcupine, known here as Norwan, is the cause of the first war in the world. The porcupine in American mythology is always connected with sunlight, so far as my researches go, and Norwan is connected with daylight, for she dances all day, never stops while there is light. Her title of Bastepomas, food-giving, is also significant, and would help to show that she is that warm, dancing air which we see close to the earth in fine weather, and which is requisite for plant growth. We have another “light” person in this myth, Sanihas, who is light in a generic sense, daylight generally and everywhere. The root Sa in Sanihas is identical with Sa in Sas, the Wintu word for “sun.” Sa means “light” and Sas “for light,” i.e. for the purpose of giving light. Sanihas is the light which is given.

In Bastepomas, the title given by Olelbis to Norwan, the first syllable ba means “to eat,” bas means “for to eat” or food, tep means “to give,” and tepomas “she who gives;” the whole word means “she who gives food.”

Chulup Win Herit, the great chief, the white, pointed stone who lives on the bed of the great eastern water, the ocean, the husband of Sanihas, has a counterpart in Tithonos, the husband of Eos or Aurora, in classic mythology. Both had beautiful wives, and were visited by them nightly in the bed of the ocean. Chulup’s tragedy is somewhat greater, for he is caught by Wai Karili and pounded into bits near the present Mt. Shasta, while Tithonos is only changed into a cricket. Eos, the Latin Aurora, was considered as the whole day by most poets, and Sanihas in Wintu mythology is the whole day, all the light that Sas gives.

There was a reason why Norwan preferred Tede Wiu to Norbis, but we can only infer it at present. The present Wiu bird is brown, and has no significance in this connection, but there was a red Wiu, the bird into which the Tede Wiu who fought with Norbis was changed. That he was a person who might be preferred by Norwan, herself a special form of light, is evident when we consider the immense importance in European tradition of the robin-redbreast and of the red-headed woodpecker among Indians.

That Norwan, food-giving light on the earth, was worth fighting for, is evident.

PERSONAGES

After each name is given that of the beast, bird, or thing into which the personage was changed subsequently.

Bisus, mink; Boki, sturgeon; Búlibok, a small nighthawk; Chali Dokos, obsidian; Chati Wai Halina, pine-nut bug; Chir Chuma, sucker; Cho, blackbird; Chuchu, dog; Chulup Win, a pointed rock; Chutuhl, a small bird that goes in flocks; Dokos, flint; Dokos Hilit, flint fly; Hamam, the longest black feather in the tail of the black vulture; Hau, red fox; Hawt, eel; Héssiha, tomtit; Hlihli, acorn; Hluyuk Tikimit, quivering porcupine; Ho, polecat; Hokohas, mud turtle; Hus, turkey buzzard; Kahi Buli Pokaila, wind mountain old woman; Kahit, wind; Kaisus, gray squirrel; Kar, blue heron; Karili, coon; Katsi, chicken hawk; Kaukau, white heron; Kawas, basket; Keli, flint from which knives are made; Kichi Not, a kind of arrow; Kíchuna, a small bird that frequents rocks; Kilichepis——; Kiri Hubit, a kind of wasp; Kobalus, a shell; Koip, a small bird which calls “koip”; Kopus, a small night-owl; Kot, diver; Kóyumus, a flint of mixed colors; Kukupiwit, crooked breast; Nomdal Lenas, streaks in the west; Nomel Hiwili, a bird with white-tipped wings which comes down with a buzz very quickly; Nom Sowiwi——; Nom Toposloni, west fir bark; Norbis, dwelling or sitting in the south; Nórhara Chepmis, heavy south wind with rain; Norpatsas, southern fire sparks; Norwan——; Notudui Ulumus, he stoops and picks up stones; Pai Homhoma, he buzzes in the manzanita; Patkilis, jack rabbit; Puiké Tsumu, a deep red flint; Saiai Not, hollow arrow; Saias, white flint; Sánihas, daylight; Sau, acorn bread; Sawe, mixed white and blue flint; Sedit, coyote; Séhinom Chábutu, chicken hawk; Serin Dólite, small bumble-bee; Siriwit, whirlwind; Sútunut, black eagle; Tede Wiu, a small brown bird about as large as an English sparrow; Tenek Not, a kind of arrow; Tidok, ant; Tsánteris, a kind of shell; Tsotso tokos, a small very adhesive burr; Tsudi, mouse; Tsuini, a kind of small fish; Tubuk——; Tuichi kelis, feathered head net; Wai Charatawa——; Waida Werris, polar star; Wainom Yola, northwestern snow; Wai Hau, northern red fox; Wai Not, northern arrow; Wik, small night hawk; Wai Karili, northern coon; Wul Wuhl, linnet; Yípokus, black fox.

AT a place east of Pas Puisono a woman came up out of the earth. Her name was Hluyuk Tikimit. She had another name, Pom Norwanen Pitchen. We call her also Norwan.

She appeared before the present Wintu people came out of the ground, at Tsarau Heril.

“I am in this world now,” said Norwan to herself. “I will look around everywhere to see from what places people are coming.”

She lived alone in her sweat-house, which was called Norwan Buli Hlut, remained in the house and danced during daylight.

Olelbis looked down at this woman and said—

“This is my sister, who has come up before the new people on earth. I don’t know what she will do yet.”

When Olelbis was building his sweat-house in Olelpanti, he cut a piece from a white-oak tree, and this piece rolled down outside the sky to the lower world, where it became a people in Nor Puiken, in the southeast, and that people were there before the present Wintus came out of the ground at Tsarau Heril.

“My dear sister has come up before the Wintus, and will be with them hereafter,” said Olelbis. “I have not settled yet how her work is to be, have not made her ready for it.”

He put his hand toward the southeast then, and took yósoü (a plant that has a red blossom). He gave this plant to Norwan, and said—

“Take this, my sister, and when you dance use it as a staff. It will have a blossom on the top which will be blooming always.”

He reached southeast to the same place, took a small bird, plucked a feather from each wing, gave the feathers to Norwan, and said—

“My sister, thrust these through your hair, just above your forehead, one on each side. These feathers will begin to sing in the morning early; you will know by them at what time you must begin to dance.”

He stretched his hand again to the southeast, and took buri luli, which is a little red blossom that grows in spring on a plant about a foot high. He gave the blossoms to Norwan and said—

“Roll this in your hands, crush it, put the juice on your face, and make your cheeks red.”

Olelbis turned then to his grandmothers, who were standing near by, and asked if they had acorns.

“We have,” said they. “We have plenty.”

Olelbis took a handful, gave them to his sister, and said—

“When you shell these acorns, rub them between your palms and hold your hands open; blow the dust which scatters; you will see it rise high into the trees, and acorns will come on them.”

It was on the first morning after she had come to Norwan Buli that Olelbis gave Norwan the staff, feathers, blossoms, and acorns. On the second morning very early the feathers began to sing; then flocks of birds of their kind came flying toward the sweat-house, and Norwan heard a voice far up in the sky calling to her, and saying—

“My brother’s daughter, you have come upon earth before the Wintu people, and are dancing. When you dance you must not look toward the west, nor the north, nor the south, but turn your face and look toward Hlihli Pui Hlutton in the southeast, the place from which your staff and your paint came.”

While this man was talking, Norwan looked up and saw him sitting with one leg crossed upon the other. He was holding a handful of white-oak acorns in his hand, and was sitting over the door of the sweat-house in Olelpanti. It was Kar Kiemila.

“Now, my brother,” said Olelbis to Hessiha, who lived with him in Olelpanti, “I think it is best for you to go down to our sister and stay with her. Live with her always. When your feathers drop away or are pulled off hereafter, they will become like you, and there will be hessihas on the earth everywhere. Our sister will tell you what to do. You will stay with her, never leave her. The people will call our sister Bastepomas, because she is the food-giving woman. When you see anything, let her know; when you hear anything, tell her; when you want to do anything, ask leave of her.”

Hessiha went down to live with his sister. Next day he saw a woman coming from the east and going west. He told Norwan, and she said—

“Watch which way she goes, my brother. Perhaps she will come to us here.”

He watched. She came straight to Norwan Buli.

“My younger sister,” said she to Norwan, “I came out in the east, but I don’t like to live there. I have left that place, and am going far away to the west. In the evening look westward, a little after sunset, you will see a red, yellow, and white person, Nomdal Lenas Loimis. I am she. I shall look nice. That is the kind of person that I am. I shall live in the west always, and you will see me there as streaks of colored light. I will turn my face to the east every evening on pleasant days, and all the Wintu people will say when they see me, ‘Winis Nomdal Lenas Loimis’ ” (look at Nomdal Lenas Loimis).

“Very well,” said Norwan, “I am glad to hear what you say, my elder sister.”

Nomdal Lenas went off to the west. She was an immensely large woman with a big face, her hair was cut across her forehead, and this made it look beautiful. She was the first woman in the world who cut her hair in that fashion. Her face was painted in streaks of red, yellow, and white.

Next morning Hessiha saw another woman coming from the east. She stopped at Norwan Buli, and said—

“My younger sister, we came upon this earth at the same time, before the Wintu people. I am going to the west a little distance. I came out in the east, but I did not like the place there. I am going to Bohem Buli. I will stay there and live on the north side of the mountain. I will be a mountain woman. My name is Kukupiwit Pokte.”

She went to Bohem Buli.

Norwan danced always during daylight, never stopped in the daytime, never rested till evening.

Norbis Kiemila, the white oak which rolled to the southeast, looked toward the northwest and saw Norwan. “I see my wife on this earth,” said he.

One evening Hessiha and Norwan were in the sweat-house, and Hessiha said—

“My sister, I have heard news to-day from Norbis Kiemila. He says that you are to be his wife.”

She said nothing, and Hessiha talked on: “My sister, I heard a man say that he would come to see you. He lives at Sonomyai—he is Sedit, Sedit of Sonomyai.”

“My brother,” said Norwan, “what are you telling me?”

“I am telling you, my sister, what I have heard. Sedit is coming.”

“Why does he come? I don’t like him. He has a bad breath.”

Next morning Norwan rose and began to dance.

“My sister,” said Hessiha, that evening, “I hear that a man is coming from Chanahl Puyuk, a good man. His name is Kaukau Herit. He is coming to see you.”

“Why does he come here?” asked Norwan. “His neck is too long, his legs are too long.”

“Well, my sister, I have heard that a man who lives far away west is coming to see you, Kobalus Herit. He is a good man. He lives at Nomken Kobalus Waimemton.”

“That man has a crooked nose,” said Norwan, “and a crooked mouth. I don’t like him, he is all twisted.”

Next evening Hessiha said—

“There is a man who lives at the same place as Kobalus Herit. He wants to see you. His name is Tsanteris Herit.”

“That man has a hollow breast,” said Norwan. “I don’t like him.”

“A man from the far north is coming, Keli Herit.”

“I don’t like him,” said Norwan; “he has a bad odor. He smells like the earth.”

“A man from way down south, Bisus Herit, is coming to see you.”

“Oh, I don’t like him; his legs are too short; he eats bony fish.”

“My sister, a man is coming who lives a short distance south of us, Tede Wiu Herit.”

“I don’t like him; he has too much breast; it sticks out too much.”

“My sister, Katsi Herit is coming.”

“I know him,” said Norwan. “He is too quick-tempered: he gets angry too easily.”

“Chati Wai Halina Herit is coming to see you.”

“I don’t like him; he smells of pitch always.

“I must go now for wood; we have no wood this evening,” said Norwan, and she went out to bring some. She brought an armful, and while going to the same place for a second bundle she heard some one coming. A man took her by the arm. She turned, and saw Sedit of Sonomyai dressed beautifully. She pushed him away and ran home. Sedit did not follow her.

Next morning early she went out, and looking at one side of the door saw two stones lying there, and a hooked stick four or five feet long, called lakus, used to pull a limb of a tree toward you. She broke the stones to pieces, broke the stick, threw the pieces in the fire, and burned them. She knew that some man had put them there and intended to come. That night she was lying on the south side of the sweat-house and her brother on the north. It was dark, and they heard some one coming toward the house. The stranger came in, sat down behind Hessiha, sat with his head between his hands; his hair was sticking out, and looked as though it had never been combed. Norwan looked at this person, never took her eyes from him, but said not a word, and he said nothing. After a while he stood up and walked out. While going he threw something toward Norwan. It fell near her, and she picked it up. It was a small net bag half full of mice. She threw it after the stranger. He was Chati Wai Halina.

When morning came, Norwan took a bundle of brush, went to where the visitor had sat, swept the place clean, and threw fresh earth on it.

The next night they heard some one walking outside. Soon a man came in. He had a quiver in his hand made of deerskin. He looked around and went over behind the place where Norwan was lying and sat down. She lay there looking at him. After sitting awhile he lay down, stayed all night, and went away just at daybreak. This was Norbis Kiemila.

In the early morning before dancing she built a fire outside and sat down at it. That same morning Hessiha saw a man coming toward them, coming from the southeast. When he came to where Norwan was at the fire, he sat down. His name was Serin Dolite. He wore a bunch of fresh leaves on each side of his head. He had a second name, Pai Homhoma.

“My sister,” said this man, “I have come because my uncle sent me to tell you that the people at Hlihli Pui Hlutton finished talking yesterday, and they are going to have a great feast and a pleasant time. ‘Tell my niece,’ said he, ‘to come and dance with us.’ My uncle is Kopus Kiemila. He is named also Pui Uhlukyo. He is a Hlahi. He sent word to Norbis two days ago, and he sent word to Kaukau Herit. He has sent word everywhere. There will be a great many people in Hlihli Pui Hlutton. He has sent word to Sedit, who lives at Sonomyai, and to Katsi Herit, who lives opposite Pas Puisono, and to Kobalus Herit and Tsanteris Herit and Keli Herit and to Tede Wiu Herit, who lives at Koï Nomsono, and many others. He has sent to your brother Waida Werris. Waida Werris may come; he may not. Kopus Kiemila wants you to come surely.”

“Very well,” said Norwan, “I will go to-morrow.”

Serin Dolite was satisfied and went away.

“Now, my little brother,” said Norwan to Hessiha that night, “I am going away to-morrow. You will stay here, I hope. I shall be glad if you stay at home and take care of this house.”

When she rose in the morning, she stretched her right hand toward the southeast and got buri luli, which are very beautiful red flowers. She put her hand there a second time, and to her hand came hawe luli, pure white blossoms, for clothing. A third time she put her hand out, and hluyuk luli, which are the star flowers, came on it. These she put around her head as a garland, and made shoes of the same flowers. Then she took her staff yósoü.

“My brother,” said she, when dressed, “I am ready to go.”

“My brother’s daughter,” called Kar Kiemila from Olelpanti when she was starting, “go and dance. I will sit here and look at you.” Sweat-house doors look toward the south usually, but the great one above, made by Olelbis, on which Kar Kiemila was sitting, had its door in the east, because Olelbis took most of his beautiful things from the southeast, and he could look down in that direction from the door of his house in Olelpanti. The door in Hlihli Pui Hlutton was toward the west, because from that door they could see the great house in Olelpanti. The house built by Olelbis was the best in all the world, above or below. Kopus Kiemila’s house was second to it, and the best in the lower land.

Norwan went at the time appointed, and Hessiha stayed behind at Norwan Buli. When Serin Dolite brought the invitation, Norwan made him promise to meet her on the road.

“You must come,” said she, “to give me news before I reach the sweat-house.”

Just at the edge of a place called Pui Toror, Serin Dolite ran out and met Norwan.

“Oh, my sister,” said he, “Kopus Kiemila sent me to say to you to come quickly, to hurry. The people from every place are there now. All those have come of whom I told you, except Norbis and your brother Waida Werris; they have not come yet. Besides others, Boki Kiemila from Hlop Henmenas has come. You must hurry as much as you can, and come quickly.”

When he had given the message, he rushed back and left Norwan to travel at her own pace. She went along the top of Pui Toror, and came to a spot where she heard much laughing and talking. Soon she saw a large crowd of children playing. The ground was smooth—no rocks, no grass, just level land. When she came up, the children said to her—

“Our elder sister, we want to see the dance. We want to go to the sweat-house, but we have nothing to wear; we have no clothes and we can get none.”

The girls were all of the Tsudi people, the boys, Patkilises. Norwan looked around and saw at some distance a great many sunflower leaves.

“We took leaves like those,” said one of the boys, “and tried to put them on as ears, but we could not make them stay.”

Norwan stretched her hand southward, and gray fog which rises from water came on it. She put this fog on a Patkilis boy to wear. She stretched her hand to the east, and red and yellow feathers came to it. Of these she made ears for that Patkilis boy. She put her hand south and found willow catkins, white ones, and made a tail and put it on the Patkilis boy. She gave him shoes made of the catkins. When that one boy was dressed, she said, “Let all the others be like this one;” and that moment all Patkilis boys were like him.

Now she took acorn mould, green and brown, put it on one of the Tsudi girls. She took yósoü leaves from her staff (the leaves are like mice ears), and put them on the girl for ears. She took more acorn mould, rubbed and rolled it out like a little stick, and made a tail. When one Tsudi girl was dressed nicely, she said, “Let all the others be like this one;” and that moment they were like her.

“Now, sister,” said they, “we are ready.”

Norwan started, and all the Tsudi girls and Patkilis boys went with her. When they came to the door of the sweat-house, they looked around and saw that all the trees were full of fresh, beautiful acorns; the top of the house was covered with them. There were piles and piles of acorns inside and around the sweat-house, and a little way off a great many trees were loaded with fruit.

From Olelpanti they could see down into Hlihli Puihlutton. All persons who had come were inside. Norwan looked in and saw many people, all looking toward the door.

“See Norwan coming,” said they. “She is beautiful—oh, she is beautiful!”

Kopus Kiemila was on the south side, near the door. He had five sacks of acorns near him. He was singing over them, singing about health and soundness. When he saw Norwan, he said—

“Come in; come in, my brother’s daughter. You are one of the last. All have come but two.”

She went beyond Kopus to a seat. A young woman who was sitting near rose and said—

“Come, my sister; come and sit with me.”

This was Hlihli Loimis. Her brother Hlihli Herit stood always on top of Kopus’s house and called, “Hai! Hai!” which means “Come! Come!” and beckoned with his hand for people to enter.

Norwan sat down at the south side of the door, and all the Tsudi and Patkilis children took their places behind her.

“You are almost the last to come,” said Hlihli Loimis. “Look at the north side of the house. See how many people are there. See the light; that is Kaukau Herit. He is white and shining; light beams from him.”

“Now,” said Kopus, “all you people from the north, my sons-in-law and my daughters-in-law, make ready to dance.”

The northern people rose at his call and danced. Kaukau Herit danced. When he rose and moved, it was as when a light is brought into a dark place. He danced five times and sat down.

“Now, my sons-in-law,” said Kopus, “sit back and look on. My sons-in-law from the west, you will dance now; dance you, Katsi Herit and Sedit of Sonomyai, and dance you, my daughters-in-law.”

The western people danced; Sedit, Boki, all danced. While they were dancing, they dropped beautiful shells. These shells fell from them as snow falls from the sky, and the whole floor was covered with shells, just as mountains in winter are covered with snow.

“Now sit back and look on,” said Kopus. The western people sat down.

“My sons-in-law and my daughters-in-law,” called Kopus to the southern people, “make ready to dance.”

The two Tede Wiu brothers from Koï Nomsono were to lead the southern people in the dance. Kopus called five times; the southern people did not move. Then the elder Tede Wiu made a step and stopped; when he raised his foot to take a second step, all began to dance. Both brothers carried a load of mempak on their arms, and each had a flint knife. As they danced they attached long strings of mempak to one side of the house higher than a man’s head; they extended the strings to the other side and tied them there. They stretched mempak in this way from side to side as they danced, and from end to end, lengthwise and crosswise; then they danced under it. The beautiful strings were shining in every color just above their heads. The music, the mempak, and the dancing were so beautiful that all were delighted; all people were glad; they could hardly sit still and look on.

The brothers danced up to where Kopus was sitting, took strings of shell and mempak from their necks and heads, and put them down before him; next they put down their two beautiful knives. When they had done this they danced away to the other end of the sweat-house, and then danced up again to where Kopus was.

Norwan rose and began to dance without knowing it. She could not help dancing. Every one looked at her. She danced with the two brothers, danced away to the other side of the house with them. Only after a time did she see that she was dancing.

The two brothers sat down; she sat with them. Then the three stood up and went out.

They had just gone when Norbis came in. He was splendidly dressed, wore mempak, had a garland of fresh young leaves on his head, and on the top of it mempak. He sat down and asked some one near by—

“Where is my wife?”

“Norwan has gone with the two Tede Wiu brothers.”

“I don’t believe that!” said Norbis.

He sprang up, went around, and asked others. All said, “She is with the Tede Wiu brothers.”

At last Norbis went out, taking his people. They had gone into the house, but had not danced. They followed at his call. He went swiftly to the northwest to overtake the two brothers.

The dance was at an end. All started home. Daylight was near.

The two brothers did not go to Norwan Buli Hlut, which was farther north than Koï Nomsono. They kept the woman at their own house till morning. When they reached home each of the brothers said—

“My people, be ready for a great hunt at daybreak.”

When daylight came the elder brother said—

“Come, my people, we will eat together. You must all eat with me this morning.”

While eating they heard shouts on the west bank of Bohema Mem, and soon they saw two men running toward them—men finely dressed, with plumes on their heads. The men crossed the river, and came to the house of the Tede Wius. They were the Wul Wuhl brothers.

“We are here to tell you,” said they, “that Norbis is very angry. He has roused all his people, and they are coming. He has sent us to tell you that he is beyond the Bohema Mem waiting for you. Norbis asks you to send out that woman to him.”

The brothers said nothing.

“If you give her, he will go home; if not, he will fight with you.”

“We cannot give her,” said the elder Tede Wiu. “We did not go to the dance for her; we did not take her away from it. She came with us of her own will. If we give her away, she may come back right away to us. She can go where she likes, but we will not give her to any one.”

The two messengers took this answer to Norbis.

“I believe this man will come against us,” said each of the brothers. They went into the house and brought out elkskin armor.[4]