American Indian Trickster Tales (Myths and Legends)

by Richard Erdoes

  They pushed the canoe into the water. They paddled in a frenzy. They paddled far out into the sea. Yehl steered the canoe into a fog bank and in it found the island. Yehl beached the canoe. He jumped out and, in his eagerness to get his hands on the wonderful things, ran toward the houses faster than he had ever done before. What he found in the seemingly abandoned houses surpassed his expectations. Here was wealth beyond imagination. The thought of possessing these things made Yehl giddy. He jumped with joy; he capered and frolicked like the fool he was. He screamed for his wife to come and help him pack and load the goods. “Lazy woman!” he shrieked. “Hurry, hurry, pack, pack, load, load!”

  Yehl is just about the laziest person in the world. He always lets his wife do all the work. But this time it was different. He toiled like a slave. Feverishly he gathered goods, tied them up in bundles, carried them to the boat, hurrying back to the houses for more. He panted. He was drenched in sweat. He urged on his wife to follow his example: “Pack, pack, load up, carry, carry, faster, faster!”

  His wife finally collapsed from exhaustion. She sat down in the middle of the largest room of the largest house and refused to move. “Husband,” she said, “I am almost dead from my exertions. I will sit here until you are finished. I don’t want these things that, I am sure, belong to somebody.”

  “Sit there, lazy one!” croaked Yehl. “I would beat you, but I don’t have the time for it.” He continued frantically to load his canoe with loot. His greed had no bounds. “I am rich!” he croaked. “Oh, how I will enjoy my wealth! Kaw, kaw, kaw!”

  At last Yehl was done. He had emptied the houses of whatever was valuable or edible. He called his wife: “Useless woman, get going. We are leaving.”

  “Husband, I can’t get up,” his wife called back. “Invisible hands are holding me down. Invisible hands of invisible people. I can’t move!”

  “Don’t make up silly stories, you old, no-good hag!” Yehl shouted. “Get a move on! Hurry, before it gets dark.”

  “I can‘t,” wailed his wife. “Invisible people won’t let me go!”

  “Don’t lie to me, stupid woman!” Yehl shouted. “Stay there till you rot. I’m going.” He ran to his canoe, sagging under the weight of so many goods, trying to shove it back into the sea. The canoe would not move. Yehl pushed and pushed with all his might, but the canoe would not budge.

  Then, to his horror, Yehl felt invisible hands grabbing hold of his arms, his legs, his wings, even his hair, gripping him with suffocating, supernatural strength, as a hundred voices whispered: “Give it back, give it all back!”

  For a while Yehl resisted. “These treasures are mine, mine, mine! I will keep them. I won’t give them back!”

  But immensely strong arms, belonging to unseen people, held him in a deadly embrace, squeezing the breath out of his body while he heard his wife wailing: “Husband, I beg you, don’t leave me behind!”

  “All right, all right,” Yehl croaked at last. “Whoever you are, you can have these things back, you stingy people.” And, at once, the invisible hands let go.

  Then Yehl’s wife came running, saying: “Husband, the people one cannot see released me. Here I am. Let’s bring all these things back to where they belong and let’s get out of here. This place makes me shudder.”

  All night, and most of the next day, Yehl and his wife labored to carry the ill-gotten things back. Then they shoved off in their canoe, paddling ever so slowly, bone-weary and tired. “I could weep,” said Yehl, “thinking of all those wonderful things we had to give back.”

  “And I could weep,” said his wife, “for having married such a greedy, foolish fellow like you.”

  RAVEN STEALS THE MOON

  {Haida}

  There was a tribe dwelling on the coast. They lived by fishing. They were nurtured by the sea. They were fish eaters. Now, Raven, the Trickster, was a very lazy bird. Instead of going fishing or hunting for himself, he followed the boats of the people, begging them to give him some of their catch. “Caw, caw, caw,” he screeched with his hoarse, raucous voice. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.” He was always hungry. He was insatiable.

  The people were kind. From time to time they threw him a fish, but it did not matter how many times they fed him; it was never enough. “Caw, caw, caw,” he screeched. “More, more, more.” He grew even more demanding.

  The people got tired of his unending begging. “This bird is a pest,” they said. “He is a big nuisance. He is getting too overbearing. He does not leave us in peace for a moment. He gorges himself on half of what we catch. It is too much. We won’t feed him anymore!”

  Then they told Raven: “Enough is enough, never-full Trickster! No more fish!”

  Raven threw a tantrum. His eyes were glowing red with rage. He screeched: “Caw, caw, caw, you stingy people. I’ll get your fish all the same!”

  Then Raven began to steal the fish from the people. He snatched them right out of their nets, from their fishhooks, out of their boats. “Hah, hah, hah,” he croaked. “I told you!”

  Then the people began throwing stones at Raven. They even shot at him with their bows. Raven screeched: “Caw, caw, caw! At the time of the next full moon I’ll avenge myself. At the time of the next full moon I’ll get even with you!”

  The people were uneasy. “Raven has all kinds of power,” said the women.

  “He’s a trickster; he could make trouble,” said the men.

  “We’re afraid of Raven,” said the children.

  “He’s just a nasty bird,” said the chief. “He can’t do anything.”

  One night, at the time of the new moon, the people were sitting in a circle around the fire, eating smoked salmon and telling stories. Now and then one of the men said: “I wonder what Raven is up to now,” or one of the women would say: “I hope Raven is not up to any mischief.”

  “We are afraid,” said the children.

  “Stop it,” said the chief. “Raven is just a dumb, thieving bird. He has no power.”

  Then they all heard a mighty croaking and cawing, and the beating of wings. Raven came flying, circling over them: “Caw, caw, caw, now I’ll teach you a lesson!” Then Raven soared high into the sky, way, way up, and snatched the silvery moon, carrying it away, nobody knew where, leaving the people awestruck, cowering in darkness. Then there was loud wailing and lamenting.

  “What shall we do?” said the people the morning after. “How can we go on living without moonlight?” They were all very sad, but four days later they heard a loud croaking once more, and the beating of flapping wings. Raven had come back.

  “Caw, caw, caw,” he screeched. “Will you feed me again, if I put the moon back where she belongs? Wouldn’t that be worth a lot of fish? ”

  “I guess so,” answered the people. “What can we do? It’s a bargain.” Then Raven got the moon out from wherever he had been hiding her and, grasping the moon with his beak, flew way up into the sky and put her where she belonged so that she could bathe the night with her silvery light.

  “I thought Raven was just a pesky, good-for-nothing bird,” said the chief, “but now I have to admit that Raven is powerful.”

  YEHL, THE LAZY ONE

  {Haida}

  Yehl was hungry. He was too lazy to hunt or fish for himself. He was always freeloading, letting other people feed him. He came to a hut. In it lived an old woman and her daughter. The daughter was beautiful. Yehl said, “I have traveled all day. I could do with some refreshment.”

  The old woman was kind. She roasted up a salmon for him and also gave him some deer meat. The whole hut was full of every kind of food—dried meat, smoked salmon, all sorts of good things. Yehl said to himself: “This is a good place to stay for a while.” To the old woman he said: “I want to marry your daughter. I am a great hunter and fisherman. Also I am a tireless and skilled worker. I am a wood-carver and boat builder.”

  “That is just the kind of man I want for my daughter,” said the old woman. The daughter agreed. So they were married. Yehl was happy.
He gorged himself on the old woman’s food. Every night he made love to his wife. However, Yehl did not do any work. He just lay around, taking naps, singing a song, patting his full belly. The old woman and Yehl’s wife did all the fishing and trapping.

  The old woman told Yehl: “Son-in-law, you made us many promises of all the great things you would do for us. But you have not kept them. It is high time that you provide for your wife and myself.”

  “Mother-in-law,” said Yehl, “I noticed that you have only a very small canoe. I shall build you a really big boat, one to be proud of, a boat that can go far out into the ocean. A boat with which to catch whales and walrus. I will do this. You women go on catching salmon, trapping and snaring.”

  “We could use a bigger boat,” said the old woman.

  Every morning, not too early, Yehl took the old woman’s tools, as he said: “To work on this big boat.” Every evening he came back, saying: “Mother-in-law, cook up a big salmon for me because I work so hard.” Or he would say: “Wife, roast me up a big moose liver. I need strength to do my work.” So he lived like a big chief.

  Every morning he went a good distance to a point jutting into the sea. There he would lie down, sunning himself, watching the sea otters playing, listening to the birds. The one thing he did not do was work. Now and then he would get up and give an old tree trunk a few whacks with his ax. The sound carried far. He wanted his mother-in-law and his wife to hear it to make them think he was working.

  When Yehl came home in the evening he would say something like: “Today I got more cedar wood for our big boat,” or “Today I have been working on the paddles,” or “Today I began carving the figure-head for the bow.” Every time the old woman or his wife would ask him, “When will the boat be finished?” he would say, “Soon, very soon.”

  One day, after Yehl had “gone to work,” the old woman told her daughter: “I do not trust that husband of yours. Follow his tracks. See what he is doing.” Yehl’s wife did what her mother told her to do. She followed Yehl’s tracks. She came near the point where Yehl was always loafing. She heard him snoring. He was sound asleep. There was no sign of someone being at work, no sign of a boat or even the beginning of a boat. The wife slipped away silently. Yehl had not woken up. He kept snoring.

  That evening, as he approached the hut, Yehl whistled and shouted: “A hardworking man is coming, a great boat builder arrives. What have you women cooked for me?” There was no answer. He went inside. The hut was empty. His wife and his mother-in-law were gone. There was no fire, just cold ashes. There was not a scrap of food left. The place had been emptied out. The women had made sure of leaving nothing behind.

  “I guess they caught on to my game,” Yehl said to himself. “I am so hungry. Women can be mean.”

  RAVEN AND HIS SLAVE

  {Tsimshian}

  Slavery occurred among some Northwest Coast

  tribes, such as the Haida, Tlingit, and Nootka.

  Slaves are usually prisoners from enemy tribes

  or their descendants. The lives of these slaves were

  not much different from those of their owners, but

  during potlatches an opulent chief might show his

  contempt for wealth and property by casually slaying one

  of his slaves with a special club called “slave-killer.”

  Raven was very hungry. He scrounged around for food but found nothing to eat. He flew along the seashore and came to rest near a large village with many people. A huge whale was lying on the beach. Raven thought of how he could have it for himself. He put on his raven blanket and flew over to the spot where the whale was lying. He screeched loudly. He used raven language. The villagers heard him. They could not understand his screeching but worried about what he meant.

  The following day some men in the village got together to gamble. Raven joined them. He sat down among the gamblers. He had disguised himself as a human being. He had the power to do this. The men did not recognize him for what he was. They talked among themselves about Raven. They said: “We would have liked to understand what Raven said. Maybe it was something important. Maybe he has the power to foretell the future.”

  Raven said: “I heard what he said. I understand raven language. He was warning us that in a few days a deadly disease would come and kill many people.”

  Then the men were very much afraid. The chief of that tribe was told about this.

  The next morning the chief said to his slave: “Go tell the people to pack up and leave.”

  The slave went from house to house, crying: “A deadly disease is coming. It will kill everybody. You people, pack up and leave! Hurry!” Then the whole tribe ran off in a panic.

  Raven was happy. He moved into the chief’s big house. He cut up the whale. He filled four houses with whale meat. He ate the meat and the fat. It lasted him for a long time. When the meat was gone, Raven prepared to leave. He took the chief’s fine dancing outfit and put it on. He threw his own raven blanket away. It was the one his father had given him. He was proud of his new outfit, but it turned into moss and lichens.

  Raven felt bad about this. He went back, picked up his discarded raven blanket, and put it on again. He went on. He saw a very beautiful dancing blanket hanging on a tree. He took off his raven blanket and tore it up, throwing the pieces away. He put on the beautiful dancing outfit. He laughed. He cried: “Now I look like a young chief!” But his new garment turned into dry, wilted grass.

  Raven wept. He went back, picked up the pieces of his raven blanket that he had thrown away, and somehow stitched them together with plant stems. Then he went on feeling sorry for himself. Then he saw once more a nice dancing outfit and a blanket made of marten fur hanging from a tree. He laughed. He dressed up in the dancing outfit and put the marten blanket over it. “Now I really look like a big chief,” he said to himself. He made out a village in the distance. He thought: “The people in that place will admire me. Do I not look every inch a chief?” But as he thought this, his garments once again turned into rotten moss and lichens.

  Again he felt sorry for himself. He went back for his old raven blanket, put it on, and flew toward this new village. He landed at some distance from this place. He said to himself: “I must arrive as a great man.” He took a pair of clamshells and made them into ear ornaments for himself. He shaped them like the ear ornaments big chiefs used to wear. Next he took a stick of rotten spruce wood and transformed it into a living slave, whom he named Lgum. Raven told Lgum: “Go into this village and tell the people there: ‘Behold, do you know that a great chief is about to visit your tribe?’ ”

  Lgum did as told. He went ahead, going from house to house, shouting: “Great tribe, do you know that a big chief is about to visit you? He is coming! He is here! He is wearing shiny abalone ear ornaments. Behold him!”

  Raven was strutting about on the beach. Lgum kept shouting: “A great chief is walking on the beach in front of your village. Come and behold him!” Then the whole tribe came running to meet Raven, who was honoring them with his presence. The tribe’s chief invited Raven into his house and set before him rich food of all kinds.

  While he was enjoying his meal, Raven looked around him and noticed that the chief’s house was filled with dried codfish. Raven thought that it would be good to have all this codfish for himself. He whispered to his slave: “When I leave the house, you must follow me.” Aloud he said: “I have eaten so much rich food that I have to relieve myself.”

  Lgum said: “I also have to go and relieve myself.”

  They left and went someplace behind the house. Raven asked his slave: “Did you see that great number of dried codfish?”

  Lgum answered: “I saw it.”

  Raven told him: “I want to have this codfish for myself. After we go back into the house, I shall pretend that I am stricken with a deadly disease. You must say: ‘Raven just died. He is dead.’ Then you must put me in a burial box. But do not close the lid too tight. Then tell the people to move away at once to
avoid dying from my sickness.”

  Raven and Lgum went back into the house. Raven pretended to fall sick. He was writhing on the floor. He moaned and groaned. He croaked: “This is the end of me.” Then he lay still.

  Lgum cried: “Great tribe, the mighty chief is dead. He died of a fatal disease. Let us put him into a grave box!” Lgum put Raven into the box. He tied the lid to the box with cedar-bark rope. He pulled the rope tight. He closed the lid firmly. Then he cried: “Great tribe, leave at once. Let everyone move away quickly, or you will all die of this chief’s sickness!” Then all the people fled in a great hurry, leaving all their belongings behind.

  After a while Raven called out from inside his burial box: “Lgum, is everybody gone?”

  “No, master,” answered his slave, “there are still some people around. Be patient.” Then Lgum went into the chief’s house and ate up the best of the codfish. Raven tried to get out of the box, but he could not free himself because the lid was bound so tightly. After Lgum had eaten as much as he was able to, he untied the box and let Raven out, saying: “The people are gone now.” Raven noticed at once that the best of the codfish was gone and he guessed that Lgum had played a trick upon him. But he did not say anything. Raven and his slave stayed at that place until the rest of the codfish was gone. Then they left.

  Raven and Lgum came to another village. Again Raven told his slave to announce the coming of a great chief—namely himself. Lgum went from house to house, shouting: “Oh, great tribe, do you know that a mighty chief is approaching? He is wearing wonderful ear ornaments of abalone shell. He is coming! He is here! Behold him!”