Native American Legends
The Poor Turkey Girl
A Zuni Legend
Long, long ago, our ancients had neither sheep nor horses nor cattle;
yet they had domestic animals of various kinds--amongst them Turkeys.
In Mátsaki, or the Salt City, there dwelt at this time many
very wealthy families, who possessed large flocks of these birds,
which it was their custom to have their slaves or the poor people
of the town herd in the plains round about Thunder Mountain, below
which their town stood, and on the mesas beyond.
Now, in Mátsaki at this time there stood, away out near
the border of the town, a little tumbledown, single-room house,
wherein there lived alone a very poor girl,--so poor that her clothes
were patched and tattered and dirty, and her person, on account
of long neglect and ill-fare, shameful to look upon, though she
herself was not ugly, but had a winning face and bright eyes; that
is, if the face had been more oval and the eyes less oppressed with
care. So poor was she that she herded Turkeys for a living; and
little was given to her except the food she subsisted on from day
to day, and perhaps now and then a piece of old, worn-out clothing.
Like the extremely poor everywhere and at all times, she was humble,
and by her longing for kindness, which she never received, she was
made kind even to the creatures that depended upon her, and lavished
this kindness upon the Turkeys she drove to and from the plains
every day. Thus, the Turkeys, appreciating this, were very obedient.
They loved their mistress so much that at her call they would unhesitatingly
come, or at her behest go whithersoever and whensoever she wished.
One day this poor girl, driving her Turkeys down into the plains,
passed near Old Zuñi,--the Middle Ant Hill of the World,
as our ancients have taught us to call our home,--and as she went
along, she heard the herald-priest proclaiming from the house-top
that the Dance of the Sacred Bird (which is a very blessed and welcome
festival to our people, especially to the youths and maidens who
are permitted to join in the dance) would take place in four days.
Now, this poor girl had never been permitted to join in or even
to watch the great festivities of our people or the people in the
neighboring towns, and naturally she longed very much to see this
dance. But she put aside her longing, because she reflected: "It
is impossible that I should watch, much less join in the Dance of
the Sacred Bird, ugly and ill-clad as I am." And thus musing
to herself, and talking to her Turkeys, as was her custom, she drove
them on, and at night returned them to their cages round the edges
and in the plazas of the town.
Every day after that, until the day named for the dance, this poor
girl, as she drove her Turkeys out in the morning, saw the people
busy in cleaning and preparing their garments, cooking delicacies,
and otherwise making ready for the festival to which they had been
duly invited by the other villagers, and heard them talking and
laughing merrily at the prospect of the coming holiday. So, as she
went about with her Turkeys through the day, she would talk to them,
though she never dreamed that they understood a word of what she
was saying.
It seems that they did understand even more than she said to them,
for on the fourth day, after the people of Mátsaki had all
departed toward Zuñi and the girl was wandering around the
plains alone with her Turkeys, one of the big Gobblers strutted
up to her, and making a fan of his tail, and skirts, as it were,
of his wings, blushed with pride and puffed with importance, stretched
out his neck and said: "Maiden mother, we know what your thoughts
are, and truly we pity you, and wish that, like the other people
of Mátsaki, you might enjoy this holiday in the town below.
We have said to ourselves at night, after you have placed us safely
and comfortably in our cages: 'Truly our maiden mother is as worthy
to enjoy these things as any one in Mátsaki, or even Zuñi.'
Now, listen well, for I speak the speech of all the elders of my
people:
If you will drive us in early this afternoon, when the dance is
most gay and the people are most happy, we will help you to make
yourself so handsome and so prettily dressed that never a man, woman,
or child amongst all those who are assembled at the dance will know
you; but rather, especially the young men, will wonder whence you
came, and long to lay hold of your hand in the circle that forms
round the altar to dance. Maiden mother, would you like to go to
see this dance, and even to join in it, and be merry with the best
of your people?"
The poor girl was at first surprised. Then it seemed all so natural
that the Turkeys should talk to her as she did to them, that she
sat down on a little mound, and, leaning over, looked at them and
said: "My beloved Turkeys, how glad I am that we may speak
together! But why should you tell me of things that you full well
know I so long to, but cannot by any possible means, do?"
"Trust in us," said the old Gobbler, "for I speak
the speech of my people, and when we begin to call and call and
gobble and gobble, and turn toward our home in Mátsaki, do
you follow us, and we will show you what we can do for you. Only
let me tell you one thing: No one knows how much happiness and good
fortune may come to you if you but enjoy temperately the pleasures
we enable you to participate in.
But if, in the excess of your enjoyment, you should forget us,
who are your friends, yet so much depend upon you, then we will
think: 'Behold, this our maiden mother, though so humble and poor,
deserves, forsooth, her hard life, because, were she more prosperous,
she would be unto others as others now are unto her.'"
"Never fear, O my Turkeys," cried the maiden,--only half
trusting that they could do so much for her, yet longing to try,--"never
fear. In everything you direct me to do I will be obedient as you
always have been to me."
The sun had scarce begun to decline, when the Turkeys of their
own accord turned homeward, and the maiden followed them, light
of heart. They knew their places well, and immediately ran to them.
When all had entered, even their bare-legged children, the old Gobbler
called to the maiden, saying: "Enter our house." She therefore
went in. "Now, maiden, sit down," said he, "and give
to me and my companions, one by one, your articles of clothing.
We will see if we cannot renew them."
The maiden obediently drew off the ragged old mantle that covered
her shoulders and cast it on the ground before the speaker. He seized
it in his beak, and spread it out, and picked and picked at it;
then he trod upon it, and lowering his wings, began to strut back
and forth over it. Then taking it up in his beak, and continuing
to strut, he puffed and puffed, and laid it down at the feet of
the maiden, a beautiful white embroidered cotton mantle.
Then another Gobbler came forth, and she gave him another article
of dress, and then another and another, until each garment the maiden
had worn was new and as beautiful as any possessed by her mistresses
in Mátsaki.
Before the maiden donned all these garments, the Turkeys circled
about her, singing and singing, and clucking and clucking, and brushing
her with their wings, until her person was as clean and her skin
as smooth and bright as that of the fairest maiden of the wealthiest
home in Mátsaki. Her hair was soft and wavy, instead of being
an ugly, sun-burnt shock; her checks were full and dimpled, and
her eyes dancing with smiles,--for she now saw how true had been
the words of the Turkeys.
Finally, one old Turkey came forward and said: "Only the rich
ornaments worn by those who have many possessions are lacking to
thee, O maiden mother. Wait a moment. We have keen eyes, and have
gathered many valuable things,--as such things, being small, though
precious, are apt to be lost from time to time by men and maidens."
Spreading his wings, he trod round and round upon the ground, throwing
his head back, and laying his wattled beard on his neck; and, presently
beginning to cough, he produced in his beak a beautiful necklace;
another Turkey brought forth earrings, and so on, until all the
proper ornaments appeared, befitting a well-clad maiden of the olden
days, and were laid at the feet of the poor Turkey girl.
With these beautiful things she decorated herself, and, thanking
the Turkeys over and over, she started to go, and they called out:
"O maiden mother, leave open the wicket, for who knows whether
you will remember your Turkeys or not when your fortunes are changed,
and if you will not grow ashamed that you have been the maiden mother
of Turkeys? But we love you, and would bring you to good fortune.
Therefore, remember our words of advice, and do not tarry too long."
"I will surely remember, O my Turkeys!" answered the
maiden.
Hastily she sped away down the river path toward Zuñi. When
she arrived there, she went in at the western side of the town and
through one of the long covered ways that lead into the dance court.
When she came just inside of the court, behold, every one began
to look at her, and many murmurs ran through the crowd,--murmurs
of astonishment at her beauty and the richness of her dress,--and
the people were all asking one another, "Whence comes this
beautiful maiden?"
Not long did she stand there neglected. The chiefs of the dance,
all gorgeous in their holiday attire, hastily came to her, and,
with apologies for the incompleteness of their arrangements,--though
these arrangements were as complete as they possibly could be,--invited
her to join the youths and maidens dancing round the musicians and
the altar in the center of the plaza.
With a blush and a smile and a toss of her hair over her eyes,
the maiden stepped into the circle, and the finest youths among
the dancers vied with one another for her hand. Her heart became
light and her feet merry, and the music sped her breath to rapid
coming and going, and the warmth swept over her face, and she danced
and danced until the sun sank low in the west.
But, alas! In the excess of her enjoyment, she thought not of her
Turkeys, or, if she thought of them, she said to herself, "How
is this, that I should go away from the most precious consideration
to my flock of gobbling Turkeys? I will stay a while longer, and
just before the sun sets I will run back to them, that these people
may not see who I am, and that I may have the joy of hearing them
talk day after day and wonder who the girl was who joined in their
dance."
So the time sped on, and another dance was called, and another,
and never a moment did the people let her rest; but they would have
her in every dance as they moved around the musicians and the altar
in the center of the plaza.
At last the sun set, and the dance was well-nigh over, when, suddenly
breaking away, the girl ran out, and, being swift of foot,--more
so than most of the people of her village,--she sped up the river
path before any one could follow the course she had taken.
Meantime, as it grew late, the Turkeys began to wonder and wonder
that their maiden mother did not return to them. At last a gray
old Gobbler mournfully exclaimed, "It is as we might have expected.
She has forgotten us; therefore is she not worthy of better things
than those she has been accustomed to. Let us go forth to the mountains
and endure no more of this irksome captivity, inasmuch as we may
no longer think our maiden mother as good and true as once we thought
her."
So, calling and calling to one another in loud voices, they trooped
out of their cage and ran up toward the Cañon of the Cottonwoods,
and then round behind Thunder Mountain, through the Gateway of Zuñi,
and so on up the valley.
All breathless, the maiden arrived at the open wicket and looked
in. Behold, not a Turkey was there! Trailing them, she ran and she
ran up the valley to overtake them; but they were far ahead, and
it was only after a long time that she came within the sound of
their voices, and then, redoubling her speed, well-nigh overtook
them, when she heard them singing this song:
K'yaanaa, to! to!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
Ye ye!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
K'yaanaa, to! to!
Yee huli huli!
Hon awen Tsita
Itiwanakwïn
Otakyaan aaa kyaa;
Lesna akyaaa
Shoya-k'oskwi
Teyäthltokwïn
Hon aawani!
Ye yee huli huli,
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Up the river, to! to!
Up the river, to! to!
Sing ye ye!
Up the river, to! to!
Up the river, to! to!
Sing yee huli huli!
Oh, our maiden mother
To the Middle Place
To dance went away;
Therefore as she lingers,
To the Cañon Mesa
And the plains above it
We all run away!
Sing ye yee huli huli,
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Tot-tot, tot-tot, tot-tot,
Huli huli!
Hearing this, the maiden called to her Turkeys; called and called
in vain. They only quickened their steps, spreading their wings
to help them along, singing the song over and over until, indeed,
they came to the base of the Cañon Mesa, at the borders of
the Zuñi Mountains. Then singing once more their song in
full chorus, they spread wide their wings, and thlakwa-a-a, thlakwa-a-
a, they fluttered away over the plains above.
The poor Turkey girl threw her hands up and looked down at her
dress. With dust and sweat, behold! it was changed to what it had
been, and she was the same poor Turkey girl that she was before.
Weary, grieving, and despairing, she returned to Mátsaki.
Thus it was in the days of the ancients. Therefore, where you see
the rocks leading up to the top of Cañon Mesa (Shoya-k'oskwi),
there are the tracks of turkeys and other figures to be seen. The
latter are the song that the Turkeys sang, graven in the rocks;
and all over the plains along the borders of Zuñi Mountains
since that day turkeys have been more abundant than in any other
place.
After all, the gods dispose of men according as men are fitted;
and if the poor be poor in heart and spirit as well as in appearance,
how will they be aught but poor to the end of their days? Thus shortens
my story.
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