Then Kokomaht said: “I feel like making something.” Out of mud he shaped a being that was perfect. It had hands and feet, fingers and toes, even fingernails and toenails. Kokomaht waved this being four times toward the north and then stood it on its feet. It moved, it walked, it was alive: it was a man. Kokomaht made another being in the same way, and it was alive: it was a woman.
Bakotahl went on trying to make humans, piecing together seven beings out of earth. All were imperfect. “What are you making?” Kokomaht asked.
“People,” answered Bakotahl.
“Here,” said Kokomaht, “feel these people I’ve made. Yours have no hands or feet. Here; feel; mine have fingers, thumbs, to work, to fashion things, to draw bows, to pick fruit.” Kokomaht examined the beings Bakotahl had formed. “These are no good,” he said, and stamped them to pieces. Bakotahl was so enraged that he dove down deep beneath the waters amid rumblings and thunderings. From the depths he sent up the whirlwind, bringer of all evil. Kokomaht stepped on the whirlwind and killed it—except for a little whiff that slipped out from under his foot. In it were contained all the sicknesses which plague people to this day.
So Kokomaht was by himself except for the two beings he had made. These were the Yumas, and in the same way that he had created them, Kokomaht now made the Cocopahs, the Dieguieños, and the Mojaves. In pairs he created them. Then he rested. Four tribes he had created. After having rested, he made four more tribes: the Apaches, the Maricopas, the Pimas, and the Coahuilas. In all, he made twenty-four kinds of people. The white people he left for last.
The one he had made first, the Yuma man, said to Kokomaht: “Teach us how to live.”
“You must learn how to increase,” said Kokomaht. In order to teach them, he begat a son. Out of nothing, without help from a woman, he sired him and named him Komashtam’ho. He told men and women not to live apart, but to join together and rear children.
Still something was missing. “It is too dark,” said Kokomaht. “There should be some light.” So he made the moon, the morning star, and all the other stars. Then he said, “My work is done. Whatever I have not finished, my son Komashtam’ho will finish.”
Now, among the beings Kokomaht had made was Hanyi, the Frog. She was powerful; fire could not destroy her. She envied Kokomaht his power and thought to destroy him. Kokomaht knew this because he knew the thoughts of all the beings he had made, but he said to himself: “I taught the people how to live. Now I must teach them how to die, for without death there will soon be too many people on the earth. So I will permit Frog to kill me.”
Hanyi burrowed down underneath the spot where Kokomaht was standing and sucked the breath out of his body through a hole in the earth. Then Kokomaht sickened and lay down to die. He called all the people to come to him, and all came except the white man, who stayed by himself in the west.
The white man was crying because his hair was faded and curly and his skin pale and washed out. The white man was always pouting and selfish. Whatever he saw, he had to have at once. He had been created childish and greedy. Komashtam’ho, tired of hearing the white man crying, went over to him and tied two sticks together in the form of a cross. “Here, stop crying,” he said. “Here’s something for you to ride on.” The white man straddled these sticks and they turned into a horse, so the greedy one was satisfied—for a while.
For the last time now Kokomaht taught the people. “Learn how to die,” he told them, and expired.
“I have to make what my father could not finish,” said Komashtam’ho. He spat into his hand and from his spittle made a disk. He took it and threw it up into the sky toward the east. It began to shine. “This is the sun,” Komashtam’ho told the people. “Watch it move; watch it lighting up the world.”
Then Komashtam’ho prepared to burn the body of his father, but since there were no trees yet, he had no wood. Komashtam’ho called out: “Wood, come into being! Wood, come alive! Wood, come here to where I stand.” Wood came from everywhere and formed itself into a great funeral pyre.
Before he died, Kokomaht had told Coyote: “Friend, take my heart. Be faithful. Do what I tell you.” Coyote misunderstood Kokomaht and thought that he was supposed to eat the heart. Komashtam’ho knew this because he could see into Coyote’s mind. So he told Coyote: “Go get a spark from the sun to light a fire.”
As soon as Coyote was gone, Komashtam’ho took a sharpened stick and twirled it in some soft wood until he sparked a flame. “Look, my people,” he said, “this is the way to make fire. Quick now, before Coyote comes back.” With these words he lit the funeral pyre. The people did not lament for Kokomaht because they did not yet understand what death was. But before the flames had consumed the body, Coyote returned and leapt up quick as a flash to seize Kokomaht’s heart. He ran off with it, and though all the other animals and the people too chased after him, he was too fast for them.
Komashtam’ho called after Coyote: “You have done something bad. You will never amount to anything. You will be a wild man without a house to live in. You will live by stealing, and for your thefts the people will kill you.”
After Kokomaht’s body had been burned, the people asked Komashtam’ho: “When will Kokomaht come back.”
“He will never come back,” he told them. “He is dead. He let himself be killed because if he had gone on living, then all you people would also live forever, and soon there would be no room left on the earth. So from now on, everybody will die sometime.”
Then all the people began to lament. They wept for Kokomaht and for themselves. They did not want to believe that he would never come back. As they sat grieving, they saw a little whirlwind like a dust devil rising from the spot where Kokomaht had been burned. “What is it? What can it be?” they cried.
Komashtam’ho told them: “It is the spirit of Kokomaht. His body died, but his soul is alive. He will go someplace—north or south, east or west—somewhere his spirit will dwell. He will never tire, he will never be hungry or thirsty, and though we weep because he has died, Kokomaht’s spirit will be happy always.”
And Komashtam’ho instructed the people in the nature of death. “When you die, you will be again with those you love who have gone before you. Again you will be young and strong, though you might have been old and feeble on the day you died. In the spirit land the corn will grow and all will be happy, whether they were good or bad when they were alive. So death is not something to be afraid of.” And when they heard this, the people stopped weeping and smiled again.
Then Komashtam’ho chose one man, Marhokuvek, to help him put the world in order. The first thing that Marhokuvek did was to say, “Ho, you people, as a sign that you mourn the death of your father Kokomaht, you should cut your hair short.” Then all the people, animals, and birds did as they had been told. The animals at this time were people also: they looked like humans. But when he saw them Komashtam’ho said: “These animals and birds don’t look well with their hair cut,” and changed them into coyotes and deer, into wild turkeys and roadrunners—into the animals and birds we have now.
After some time, Komashtam’ho let fall a great rain, the kind that never stops. There was a flood in which many of the animals were drowned. Marhokuvek was alarmed. “Komashtam’ho, what are you doing?” he cried.
“Some of these animals are too wild. Some have big teeth and claws and are dangerous. Also, there are simply too many of them. So I am killing them off with this flood.”
“No, Komashtam’ho, stop the flood,” pleaded Marhokuvek. “The people need many of these animals for food. They like to hear the songs of the birds. Rain and flood make the world too cold, and the people can’t stand it.”
So Komashtam’ho made a big fire to cause the waters to evaporate. The fire was so hot and fierce that even Komashtam’ho himself was slightly burned. Ever since that time, the deserts around here have been hot, and the people are used to the warmth.
After that, he called the people together and told them: “Over there is your father
Kokomaht’s house. We must pull it down, because when a man dies, the spirits of his house and of all his belongings follow him to the spirit land. So people must destroy all the things he owned in this life so that their spirits can serve him in the other world. Also, after a man has died, it is not good to look upon the things that he used to own. One sees his house, but he who dwelt in it is gone. One sees his water olla, but he who owned it is no longer here to lift it to his lips. It makes people sad, and they sicken with grief and longing. Therefore you Yuma people must always burn the house and possessions of those who die, and you must move to another dwelling where nothing reminds you of the dead. Also, never again mention the name of him who is gone. He belongs to another life, while you must start on a new one.” And from that time on, the Yuma have followed these rules.
Komashtam’ho took a huge pole, smashed the house of Kokomaht, and rooted up the ground on which it had stood. Water welling up from the rut made by the pole became the Colorado River. And in it swam the beings that Bakotahl—the Blind Evil One—had formed, the creatures without hands or feet, toes or fingers. These were the fish and other water animals.
Now Kahk, the Crow, was a good planter and reaper. He brought corn and all kinds of useful seeds from the four corners of the world. He flew south to the great water, stopping four times on the way and crying: “Kahk, kahk!” Each time he did this, a big mountain arose. After the overflow of the river which Komashtam’ho had made, Crow brought many seeds from the south for the people to plant.
The tribes had been scattered over all the world, but Komashtam’ho kept the Yuma near him because they were the special people he loved. “Listen closely,” he said to them. “I cannot stay with you forever. I am now only one, but soon I will become four. My name will no longer be Komashtam’ho. I will turn myself into four eagles—the black eagle of the west, the brown eagle of the south, the white eagle of the east, and the fourth eagle, whose name is ‘unseen,’ because no man has ever caught a glimpse of him.”
When Komashtam’ho had turned himself into the four eagles, he dwelt no longer among the Yuma in the shape of a man. He kept watch over them, however, and in their dreams he gave them power from Kokomaht. Thus Kokomaht advises the people through Komashtam’ho and tells them while they sleep: “Think about me, think of what I taught you. Sick people especially should follow my teachings.”
Now Bakotahl, the Evil Blind One, is under the earth and does bad things. Usually he lies down there quietly, but sometimes he turns over. Then there is a great noise of thunder, the earth trembles and splits open, and mountainsides crack, while flames and smoke shoot out of their summits. Then the people are afraid and say: “The Blind Evil One is stirring down below.”
Everything that is good comes from Kokomaht, and everything evil comes from Bakotahl. This is the tale—how it was, and how it is, and how it will be.
—Retold from several sources, among them Natalie Curtis’s report in 1909.
THE JICARILLA GENESIS
[JICARILLA APACHE]
In the beginning the earth was covered with water, and all living things were below in the underworld. Then people could talk, the animals could talk, the trees could talk, and the rocks could talk.
It was dark in the underworld, and eagle plumes were used for torches. The people and the animals that go about by day wanted more light, but the night animals—the bear, the panther, and the owl—wanted darkness. After a long argument they agreed to play the thimble-and-button game, and if the day animals won there would be light, but if the night animals won it would always be dark.
The game began. The magpie and the quail, who love the light and have sharp eyes, watched until they could see the button through the thin wood of the hollow stick that served as a thimble. This told the people where the button was, and in the first round, the people won. The morning star came out and the black bear ran and hid in the darkness. They played again, and the people won. It grew bright in the east and the brown bear ran and hid in a dark place. They played a third time, and the people won. It grew brighter in the east and the mountain lion slunk away into the darkness. They played a fourth time, and again the people won. The sun came up in the east, and it was day, and the owl flew away and hid.
Even though it was light now, the people still didn’t see much because they were underground. But the sun was high enough to look through a hole and discover that there was another world—this earth. He told the people, and they all wanted to go up there. They built four mounds to help them reach the upper world. In the east they mounded the soil and planted it with all kinds of fruits and berries that were colored black. In the south they heaped up another mound and planted all kinds of fruits that were blue. In the west they built a mound that they planted with yellow fruits. In the north they planted the mound with fruits of variegated colors.
The mounds grew into mountains and the bushes blossomed, fruited, and produced ripened berries. One day two girls climbed up to pick berries and gather flowers to tie in their hair. Suddenly the mountains stopped growing. The people wondered, and they sent Tornado to learn the cause. Tornado went everywhere and searched into every corner, and at last he found the two girls and brought them back to their people. But the mountains did not grow any more, and this is why a boy stops growing when he goes with a woman for the first time. If he never did, he would continue to grow taller.
The mountains had stopped growing while their tops were still a long way from the upper world. So the people tried laying feathers crosswise to make a ladder, but the feathers broke under weight. The people made a second ladder of larger feathers, but again they were too weak. They made a third ladder of eagle feathers, but even these would not bear much weight. Then a buffalo came and offered his right horn, and three others also contributed their right horns. The horns were strong and straight, and with them the people were able to climb up through the hole to the surface of the earth. But the weight of all those humans bent the buffalo horns, which have been curved ever since.
Now the people fastened the sun and moon with spider threads so that they could not get away, and sent them up into the sky to give light. And since water covered the whole earth, four storms went to roll the waters away. The black storm blew to the east and rolled up the waters into the eastern ocean. The blue storm blew to the south and rolled up the waters in that direction. The yellow storm rolled up the waters in the west, and the varicolored storm went to the north and rolled up the waters there. So the tempests formed the four oceans in the east, the south, the west, and the north. Having rolled up the waters, the storms returned to where the people were waiting, grouped around the mouth of the hole.
The Polecat first went out, when the ground was still soft, and his legs sank in the black mud and have been black ever since. They sent the Tornado to bring him back, because it wasn’t time. The badger went out, but he too sank in the mud and got black legs, and Tornado called him back. Then the beaver went out, walking through the mud and swimming through the water, and at once began to build a dam to save the water still remaining in pools. When he did not return, Tornado found him and asked why he had not come back.
“Because I wanted to save the water for the people to drink,” said the beaver.
“Good,” said Tornado, and they went back together. Again the people waited, until at last they sent out the gray crow to see if the time had come. The crow found the earth dry, and many dead frogs, fish, and reptiles lying on the ground. He began picking out their eyes and did not return until Tornado was sent after him. The people were angry when they found he had been eating carrion, and they changed his color to black.
But now the earth was all dry, except for the four oceans and the lake in the center, where the beaver had dammed up the waters. All the people came up. They traveled east until they arrived at the ocean; then they turned south until they came again to the ocean; then they went west to the ocean, and then they turned north. And as they went, each tribe stopped where it wanted to. But t
he Jicarillas continued to circle around the hole where they had come up from the underworld. Three times they went around it, when the Ruler became displeased and asked them where they wished to stop. They said, “In the middle of the earth.” So he led them to a place very near Taos and left them, and there near the Taos Indians, the Jicarillas made their home.
—Based on a tale reported by James Mooney in the 1890s.
[MODOC]
Before there were people on the earth, the Chief of the Sky Spirits grew tired of his home in the Above World, because the air was always brittle with an icy cold. So he carved a hole in the sky with a stone and pushed all the snow and ice down below until he made a great mound that reached from the earth almost to the sky. Today it is known as Mount Shasta.
Then the Sky Spirit took his walking stick, stepped from a cloud to the peak, and walked down to the mountain. When he was about halfway to the valley below, he began to put his finger to the ground here and there, here and there. Wherever his finger touched, a tree grew. The snow melted in his footsteps, and the water ran down in rivers.
The Sky Spirit broke off the small end of his giant stick and threw the pieces into the rivers. The longer pieces turned into beaver and otter; the smaller pieces became fish. When the leaves dropped from the trees, he picked them up, blew upon them, and so made the birds. Then he took the big end of his giant stick and made all the animals that walked on the earth, the biggest of which were the grizzly bears.
Now when they were first made, the bears were covered with hair and had sharp claws, just as they do today, but they walked on two feet and could talk like people. They looked so fierce that the Sky Spirit sent them away from him to live in the forest at the base of the mountain.
AMERICAN INDIAN MYTHS AND LEGENDS Page 11