MARCH 8, 2002 . VOLUME 94 . NUMBER 19 . BACK TO HEADLINES . ARCHIVES




Water of Life

By LENA DETAR
Contributing Writer


Strange one, traveled, storyteller, Spiderwoman. She sets down her mano stone from grinding, takes a breath for a tale and spins it. Not our own, but something else-foreign. Children skip across hot stone to her shade, gathering to hear. The elders, though busy, seem to inch nearer as her dry voice fills sage and piñon air.

She says: Listen. I heard. In a land without so much sun lived a big man who could bid all other people to do his will, and they could not resist. But Big Man could not bid spirits-he was sick, and he suffered. Of three sons, the eldest two rode away-horses like rivers-and did not come back. The youngest warrior took a horse like mud. He helped a clown on the side of the road. This koshare, hairy-faced and wild-eyed, pointed the true way. Straight down a road paved with yellow silver, to a geyser, water of life.

Children nod. We know about water.

She says: Big Man was dying. Life water would keep any person away from the Dance Hall of the Dead for many years-maybe forever. The warrior son? He got the water in his skin, then found his brothers caught in a mountain trap. A cliff ledge. A stone maze.

Women grinding at the matatés nod. We know about stone.

She says: Warrior rescued the other two-of course. Took a long-canoe through ocean waves-just imagine-brine water and wind. Wind creating mountains from salty swells. Brothers replaced Warrior’s water with such stuff in the night-kept his drinking skin of pure life for their own. Finally Big Man’s territory launched itself up in front of the long-canoe. Wind drove them in, straight to their own Pueblo.

Young men nod. We know about long journeys’ wind.

She says: Warrior fed his brine to the big man, thinking it life. Guardians fell at him with sharp spears and axes. Older brothers, yes yes. Fed the life to Big Man, chased out the spirits, and got his reward.

Elders listening from outside the circle nod. We, too, know about brothers.

She says: This old head has forgotten the rest. Children remember. In the land without so much sun, trust only the clowns.


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