DON’T BELIEVE WHAT PEOPLE TELL YOU
{San Ildefonso or San Juan}
One day Rabbit Boy was nibbling on some nice green plants. He was so busy nibbling that he did not notice Fox Man creeping up on him. Fox Man grinned at Rabbit Boy. “What a coincidence. I was just thinking how nice it would be to have a fine, fat, juicy rabbit for dinner, and here you are. This is my lucky day.”
Fox was about to leap upon Rabbit Boy and eat him up, but Rabbit Boy stopped him. “Wait a minute, friend, not so fast. Don’t you know that it is very unhealthy to eat rabbits without having a drink of water first? ”
“I guess I forgot it,” said the Fox Man. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“The brook is right over here,” said Rabbit Boy.
While Fox Man was slurping up water, Rabbit Boy quickly picked up a big round stone, as heavy as he could lift it. Fox Man had just about finished drinking, but before he could turn around, Rabbit Boy told him: “Dear friend, if you close your eyes and open your mouth wide, I’ll jump right in and save you the trouble of bending over and picking me up.”
“You are really very considerate,” said Fox. “I am almost sorry for making a meal of you, but as you know, one has to eat.”
“Certainly, one has to eat,” said Rabbit Boy.
Fox Man was sitting up, his eyes closed and his mouth wide open, waiting for his treat, and Rabbit Boy threw the big round stone down Fox Man’s throat. The stone knocked out all of Fox Man’s teeth. The stone was stuck in his throat. Fox Man was choking, sputtering, struggling, trying to cough up the stone.
“You don’t have to always believe what people tell you, such as it being unhealthy to eat rabbits without drinking water first,” said Rabbit Boy as he was running away.
PART TEN
NANABOZHO AND WHISKEY JACK
NANABOZHO AND THE FISH CHIEF
{Great Lakes Tribes}
Nokomis was Nanabozho’s grandmother. “Grandson,” she said, “my hair is falling out because I have no oil to preserve it. The oil that your dead grandfather had given me has run out. I want you to get me some oil for my hair.”
“Grandmother,” said Nanabozho, “where can I get this oil?”
“You must go to the Great Lake in the North. This lake is the home of Meshena-Magwai, the Chief of All Fish. Go and kill him. Bring him to me. Then we will boil enough oil from his body to last to the end of time.”
“Grandmother,” said Nanabozho, “you make the fish line and the fishhook. I shall make the canoe.”
Nanabozho went to a lonely place on top of a hill. There he stayed for four days and nights, fasting and praying to Gitchee Manitou, the Everywhere Spirit, to bless his enterprise with success. Then he made his canoe out of birch bark. He made the paddle from oak. It took a whole big oak tree to make it. Then his Nokomis gave him the fish line and the fishhook. Then Nanabozho set out on the river that led to the Great Lake.
Nanabozho paddled out into the middle of the Great Lake. He threw out the line and the baited hook. In a loud voice he called out: “Meshena-Magwai, Chief of All Fish, take my bait!”
Way down at the bottom of the lake, the Chief of All Fish heard him. He told Trout: “Swim up and see who it is who dares to call me in this manner.”
Up on the surface, Nanabozho felt someone immensely strong tugging at his line. “It must be Meshena-Magwai,” he thought, “the Chief of All Fish. No one else could do such tugging.” Trout had taken the bait. He pulled at the line with such force that Nanabozho’s canoe was pulled halfway down, standing upright. Nanabozho was stronger than Trout. He managed to drag him into his canoe. He looked at Trout. He said: “You ugly, puny thing, you are not the Chief of All Fish. I think Meshena-Magwai is afraid to come up and fight me.”
Trout was angry to be called “puny” and “ugly.” He dove down to the bottom of the Great Lake and told the Chief of All Fish: “It is Nanabozho who is up there. He has no manners. He called me bad names. He says you are afraid to come up and face him.”
The Great Chief of All Fish said: “Is that so?” He called the Giant Pike. “Nephew, go up there and teach Nanabozho some manners.”
Giant Pike swam to the surface. He heard Nanabozho shouting: “Meshena-Magwai, Chief of All Fish, take my bait.”
In his canoe Nanabozho felt a tugging at his line. The pull was so strong that it made the canoe swirl around in circles, again and again. It made the whole Great Lake foam and swirl. The waters rushed about Nanabozho’s canoe in dizzying circles, making it spin wildly around its own axis. The waves formed an eddy that almost sucked Nanabozho and his canoe down to the lake bottom. But Nanabozho was mighty above all others. He succeeded in pulling Giant Pike into his canoe, though it took all his enormous strength.
When Nanabozho saw what he had caught, he was disgusted. “You insignificant, slimy thing,” he shouted. “You are not the great Chief of All Fish. Is Meshena-Magwai trembling in fear of me? Is that the reason he does not come up to face me?” With a mighty heave, Nanabozho flung Giant Pike back into the water.
Giant Pike at once dove straight down to the bottom of the lake, telling the Chief of All Fish: “Nanabozho says that you, O Great Chief, are afraid of him. He insulted me, calling me ‘slimy’ and ’insignificant.‘ Will you let him get away with this?”
“I guess I must take care of this matter myself,” said the Great Chief of All Fish, and he began slowly to rise to the surface.
Way above, Nanabozho was shouting: “Great Chief of All Fish, take my bait.”
Meshena-Magwai broke the surface, making a huge wave that made the lake overflow in all directions, covering the whole country around about with man-high water. He made the waters boil. The Great Chief of All Fish was so big that there was no word that could describe this bigness. With one mighty gulp, Meshena-Magwai swallowed up Nanabozho, canoe, paddle, and all.
Inside Meshena-Magwai’s body it was dark. Nanabozho heard a loud, reverberating thump, thump, thump. It echoed from the walls, which were the lining of Meshena-Magwai’s stomach. Every thump shook his body like an earthquake. Nanabozho discovered that this great thumping came from the heart of the Great Chief of All Fish. Nanabozho had a war club dangling from his belt. He never went anywhere without it. He took the club and used it to beat the giant heart. After he had done this for a while, the heartbeat got weaker and weaker. At last it stopped altogether. Meshena-Magwai, the Great Chief of All Fish, was dead. Nanabozho had killed him by hitting his heart with the war club. The waves carried Meshena-Magwai’s body to the shore. It was lying on the sand.
Nanabozho had won his battle, but Meshena-Magwai’s mouth was clamped shut. Nanabozho found himself trapped in the Great Chief of All Fish’s body. What was he to do? “Maybe I shall die in here,” said Nanabozho. “Maybe I shall die of starvation.” Then he heard a faint gnawing sound. It was made by a Squirrel that tried to make a hole through the Chief of All Fish’s side. Nanabozho did not know how Squirrel had gotten inside the Fish Chief’s body. It turned out that Squirrel was not strong enough to bore its way through to the outside. Then Nanabozho shouted loudly—so loud that it made the earth tremble: “This is Nanabozho, calling from within Fish Chief’s body. If there is a friend of mine about on the outside, let him help me to get out!”
There was a scratching outside, on Meshena-Magwai’s skin. It grew louder and louder. The squirrel continued to gnaw from the inside of the Great Chief of All Fish. From the outside, someone tried to scratch his way in. Finally the squirrel’s teeth met the claws of a Seagull. They had made a hole in the Great Chief of All Fish’s side. Squirrel and Seagull widened the hole until it was big enough to let Nanabozho squeeze through with his canoe. For their help, Nanabozho gave his two rescuers honoring names. He named Squirrel “Little Mighty Gnawer.” He named Seagull “Winged Mighty Scratcher.”
Nanabozho took leave of his two helpers. He tied the body of the Great Chief of All Fish to his canoe and paddled upriver to the home of Nokomis, his grandmother. He and Nokomi
s cut up Meshena-Magwai’s body and boiled it down to oil. They got so much oil that it formed a whole lake of oil, enough to treat the hair of every woman to the end of time.
WHY WE HAVE TO WORK SO HARD MAKING MAPLE SUGAR
{Menomini}
When Manabush came home empty-handed from a hunting trip, his grandmother, Nokomis, told him: “Go into the woods and collect birch bark for me. I am going to make sugar.”
Manabush did not know what she meant. He did not know what sugar was. Nobody did. He collected birch bark, which Nokomis stitched together into cups. Nokomis then went from maple tree to maple tree, cutting a small hole into the trunk of each and putting into every hole a small stick over which the sap ran down into the birch-bark cups fastened below.
Manabush went from tree to tree, looked into the cups, and saw that they were full of maple syrup. He stuck his finger into the syrup and licked it. The syrup was sweet. Manabush said: “I never knew that anything so good existed.” There were many maples and many birch-bark cups and all were full of thick, sweet syrup. In this way maple sugar came about.
Manabush told Nokomis: “Grandmother, this maple sugar is wonderful, but the making of it is too easy. The syrup makes itself. No effort is needed to produce it. People will become too lazy to do any work. They will just sit on their haunches and eat maple syrup. This won’t do.”
Manabush climbed to the top of one of the trees and sprinkled water over it. This made the syrup into thin sap, which dribbled down into the cups drop by drop. Thus Manabush made sugaring hard work. Wood must be cut, birch bark must be collected and stitched into cups, the sap must be collected, and it must be boiled down into maple sugar for a long time. This way nobody would be idle. Would it have been better to make sugaring easy, the way Nokomis did at first? Who knows?
WHO IS LOOKING ME IN THE FACE ?
{Menomini}
Nanabozho was walking along. On the way he met Buzzard. They stopped to chat. “Brother, I envy you,” said Nanabozho. “You can fly, while I have to remain always down here on the ground. How I wish to be able to soar up into the sky, as you do. How I wish to be able to view the earth from high up among the clouds.”
“Yes, it is wonderful to be able to fly,” said Buzzard. “I pity you because you cannot do it.”
“Brother, why don’t you let me climb on your back?” begged Nanabozho. “Then you could take me with you up into the sky. Then I, too, could view the world from above.”
“What a good idea!” Buzzard agreed. “I will take you up there with me so that you can enjoy flying as I do, looking down at forests and mountains, valleys and hills, with all the animals moving about, everything spread out before you, to feast your eyes at the wonders below.”
Nanabozho climbed eagerly upon Buzzard’s back but noted that it was very smooth—too smooth, maybe. “The feathers on your back are very slick, brother,” Nanabozho told Buzzard. “I’m afraid to lose my grip and slide off you, falling to my death.”
“Don’t worry, brother,” Buzzard reassured Nanabozho, “just hold on. There’s nothing to it. I won’t let you fall.”
“Will you fly smoothly and evenly, without too much flapping of wings, without banking and jerking, without going too fast?”
“Trust me, brother,” said Buzzard. “Stop worrying. I will fly very slowly and carefully. I won’t show off, tumbling and diving and swooping. You won’t slide off my back.” But secretly Buzzard planned to play a trick upon Nanabozho.
Buzzard carried Nanabozho aloft, way up into the sky. At first he flew straight, without any sudden movements or fits and starts, letting Nanabozho enjoy the flight. “This is wonderful, brother,” said Nanabozho. “I thank you for letting me experience this.” Nanabozho’s enjoyment did not last long. Suddenly, without warning, Buzzard swept the sky in dizzying circles, banking steeply to left and right, spiraling upward and downward at ever-increasing speeds, tumbling wildly toward the earth below.
Nanabozho could not hold on. He fell off Buzzard’s back and plummeted straight down, crashing headfirst into the ground. The fall knocked Nanabozho senseless.
When he came to, the first thing Nanabozho noticed was a kindly-looking fellow with plump cheeks looking him in the face. “Who can this be?” he thought. “I don’t know him.” Then he discovered that the kindly-looking fellow was his own buttocks, because he was lying there all doubled up. He heard somebody laughing high above him. It was Buzzard, mightily pleased with the trick he had played on Nanabozho.
Still weak and addled by his fall, Nanabozho managed to unscramble himself and get on his feet. He limped away into the forest. “Buzzard has treated me badly,” he said to himself. “I will repay him in kind. The joke will be on him.”
Buzzard is a scavenger. If anything dead is lying somewhere, Buzzard will come and gobble it up. He loves carrion. Because of this Nanabozho transformed himself into the rotting carcass of a deer, lying in a place where it could be seen from far off. Nanabozho had the power to assume any shape he wanted. So he was lying there. Soon all the flying, creeping, crawling, and hopping carrion eaters came to feast on the dead deer—wolverines, crows, magpies, turkey vultures, and such like.
Flying high above, Buzzard saw all these scavengers converging upon the same spot. “There must be something good to eat there,” he thought. He flew a little lower. He saw the deer. “I must get my share of it,” he said to himself. “I must get it while something is left.” He swooped down. He squeezed himself through the crowd of the other dead-meat eaters. But then he stopped. He was thinking: “Nanabozho is so clever. He has the power of transforming himself. Could he have turned himself into this dead deer in order to play a trick on me? Could he deceive me in this way as part of a scheme to avenge himself?”
Buzzard was hopping around, very close to the dead deer’s body. The rotting meat smelled delicious to him. He longed to sink his crooked beak into the bloody, oozing carcass. “This surely is a dead animal,” he assured himself. “Even Nanabozho could not fake this enticing stench. Even he could not manage to change himself into this putrid mass. No, this is the real thing; it can’t be Nanabozho. I shall help myself to some of this meat. It is ripe, just as I like it.”
Buzzard plucked out one of the deer’s eyes. “Ah, how good this tastes!” he croaked. The deer’s mouth was wide open. Buzzard stuck his head deep into it, pecking at the tongue. Suddenly the deer’s jaws snapped shut. Buzzard’s head was caught between the teeth. The deer had come alive again. It was Nanabozho.
“How are you, friend?” said Nanabozho, talking through his teeth.
“Why don’t you try to pull your head out of my mouth? Is this not a great and convincing disguise? I fooled even a smart fellow like you.”
Buzzard pulled and pulled, but could not free his head, which was held as by a vise. He struggled for a very long time. Finally, Nanabozho opened his jaws just a tiny bit, so that, with one great effort, Buzzard could yank his head out, but not without stripping all the feathers from his head and neck.
“That’s for throwing me off your back, friend,” said Nanabozho, assuming his real form. “And for playing that trick upon me you shall be forever bald, and you shall stink always on account of the food you eat, so that everybody shall shun your company.” And so it has been ever since—Buzzard has remained bald. His once beautiful head feathers are gone for good. His scrawny neck is ugly, red, and shriveled. He smells so bad that nobody can stand to be around him. Nanabozho went away laughing.
WHY WOMEN HAVE THEIR MOON-TIME
{Menomini}
Manabush went out every day to hunt. When he came home one evening he found Nokomis sitting on her mat in her finest decorated deerskin dress, wearing a necklace and earrings made from pieces of seashells, her hair neatly combed and braided. He had never seen her in such a splendid state before. He asked her: “Grandmother, you are all dressed up. Did you entertain a visitor?”
“Who would visit me?” said Nokomis.
Manabush said to himself: �
��Someone has been seeing her, but she does not want me to know it.”
The next day Manabush went out again to hunt with his bow and arrows, and when he returned, Manabush once again found Nokomis sitting on her mat in all her finery, wearing her best leggings and finest quill-decorated moccasins. And again Nokomis’s hair had been neatly combed, and the partition, where her hair parted, had been painted vermilion red. Manabush thought: “Somebody surely must have been here to see Nokomis.” Aloud he said: “Grandmother, has somebody been here to see you?”
“Who would come to see me?” said Nokomis.
On the third day Manabush went into the forest as usual and upon coming home again found Nokomis sitting on her mat, all dressed up. This time he did not bother to ask Nokomis whether she had entertained a visitor. He said nothing.
On the fourth day Manabush went out as always, but he only pretended to go hunting. He came right back and, from behind a tree, watched the wigwam. Soon he heard somebody crashing through the bushes, making a great noise, grunting and snorting. Presently the maker of all that racket appeared from among the trees. It was Bear. He was huge and he waddled straight to the wigwam and went in. Manabush waited for a little while and then lit up the end of a piece of birch bark until it was burning. He crept up to the wigwam, pushed iaside the entrance cover, and looked inside. He saw Bear making love to Nokomis.
Manabush took his firebrand and thrusted it between Bear’s legs. Bear howled with pain. His fur caught fire. Growling ferociously, Bear tore open the wigwam’s side and burst through it. Howling, he ran off into the forest. Manabush ran after him with his bow and arrows. He caught up with Bear. He shot arrow after arrow into Bear’s body. One of them pierced his heart. Bear died.
American Indian Trickster Tales (Myths and Legends) Page 18
