Zuni, Pueblo of Pageantry

Coming committee meet the forerunners of the Shalako and some time is spent in ceremonies. The visitors cross the bridge and leave prayer plumes in pueblo shrines then distribute themselves among the houses to be blessed. They settle themselves and wait for the Shalako.

Just at dusk when every housetop is crowded with heavily blanketed Indians, the narrow lanes cluttered with visiting Navajos and the town walled with cars of curious whites, there comes a clear peculiar whistling cry and all eyes turn toward Corn Mountain. From a secret kiva at its base the gods are coming slowly down the trail toward Zuni. In single file the towering grotesque figures pace the path toward the river. Each one represents a bird and its decorations and colors are representative. Each figure wears a crest of feathers. Some are brilliant parrot plumage; some are peacock feathers, and some no doubt are from the south end of a denuded turkey gobbler! These feather head adornments stick up in fierce disarray and add to the wildness of their looks.

When the monsters reach the river bank they are screened from public gaze by massed Zuni who alone are allowed to cross the bridge. Inside the circle of Indians the gods become quite human. The high wooden frame topped by the mask is lifted from the shoulders of the man carrying it and deposited on a blanket spread to receive it. All carriers relieved of their burdens, the empty shells are left under guard while the carriers slip away to their homes to be fed and strengthened for the long night's ordeal. Fortified by a good beef stew and strong coffee they return to the gods and with the help of clansmen resume their burdens. With the framework resting on his shoulders and towering five feet above him, the motivating Indian has to step carefully in order to keep his balance. In addition to carrying the god, it must have its mouth opened and shut by means of strings in the hands of the bearer, and a piercing cry must accompany each clack of the bill. In other words each Zuni Shalako motor must be an Edgar Bergen. When curious visitors get too close the wooden bills open and close with a snap. A blue bruise on my arm testified for a week to the strength of a Shalako bill.

Knowing all the inner secrets of the mechanism I still find myself following the grotesque creatures around the pueblo gazing at them with superstitious awe. A few hundred other visitors seem to have the same impulse and the gods move from point to point closely followed. Then they divide into couples and take their places in the house assigned to them to bless. Dancing continues all night with intervals for feasting. When morning comes they again visit the pueblo shrines, cross the bridge and go through a fire making ceremony before they turn toward Corn Mountain. All visitors are driven back to the top of the hill so the gods may depart in privacy.

With Shalako disposed of, the new year begins for the Zuni people. Five days are devoted to dancing and feasting, and then for several weeks there are no dances. They have time to make the delicate silver and turquoise jewelry and the inlay work for which the women are more famous than the men. They portray their sacred dragonfly, which presides over many of their ceremonies, in turquoise and onyx and shell. Their warrior god takes shape in silver and turquoise. One can identify Zuni work by the rows and rows of tiny turquoise set in the silver.

The women use this danceless season to make their pottery and paint and burn it. Zuni pottery has lost the quality given it by old time potters, but it has an attraction with its decorations of frogs and of deer with the life-line running from the nose to a quite visible heart. From Zuni the traders obtain bushels of beaded rabbit feet which are snapped up by tourists. On some of the padded feet the women shape dolls or tiny animal heads. Drop into a home and all the women including the grandmother and the three year old girls are busily sewing colored beads.

This leisure period gives the women time to carry their prayer petitions to their own particular shrine which is half way up the steep trail on Corn Mountain. Women carry prayers there imploring their goods to influence a wandering husband or to smite some encroaching charmer; to send children to bless empty homes. Corn Mountain is the hill to which they all lift their eyes in time of trouble. More than once during the tragic centuries of Spanish rule the entire tribe lived as long as twelve years on top of Corn Mountain. Its influence dominates their daily life and actions just as its outlines dominate the landscape.

In March the planting ceremonies begin, and from then on any visitor dropping into the village is apt to see one of their colorful dances. The Stick Race is one worth watching. Since time immemorial the Zuni men have competed as runners. This Stick Race is really a foot race in every sense of the word. Teams of rival runners, each heavily backed by its supporters, race at least twenty miles along a chosen course, and kick before them brightly colored sticks which must never be touched except with the toes. It is somewhat difficult to extract a stick from a clump of cactus or out of the top of a juniper tree with the toes, but there is no other method allowed. Along with the racers, many of the gamblers keep pace. They know that most of their wealth in the way of jewelry, shawls, title to the crops in the fields and even their flocks, are running along with the men they have bet on. The housetops are packed with brightly shawled women and children watching the race. Each runner is bare with the exception of a G-string and a gay silk band around his hair. Inside that band is an arrow head. The nail of each forefinger is painted scarlet for some reason.

No time is specified for the Stick Race, but the Rain Dance is always held on August 19th. This is one of the dances in which the women play an important part. They dance, but are masked until not even a glimpse of a face is seen. Even their hands are concealed in their shawls, but their short brown feet are bare, and they tap the hard earth in rain rhythm all day long.

When snow is on the ground, as it often is there on the 5000 foot high mesa, the ancient and honorable Society of Sword Swallowers will stage the most mystifying of all Zuni ceremonies. One must see this dance before it is possible to believe that swords eighteen inches long and three-quarters of an inch wide, are really and definitely swallowed by the dancers. They are made of juniper wood. The handles are painted blue and have the breast feather of an eagle attached with a leather string. The blade is smooth with bear grease but at that getting the thing swallowed is quite a task. At times some of the newer members find themselves unable to gulp the sword and then a prompter steps from the sidelines and with quite a superior air does the chore himself. Ancestors of the performers were swallowing swords before Coronado knocked at their gates four hundred years ago. Zuni is incredible!

The White Mesa country, deep in the land of the Navajo, has yet to be completely explored. This area is of great beauty.

" White Mesa "

Years ago, as I topped the rise by Middle Mesa on the Tuba City-Tonalea road, I saw it for the first time. Off to the Northwest stretched the drybone whiteness of White Mesa, and there on that spot at that moment was born the desire to see more of his strange formation. For one reason or another including a war that desire never got started to be fulfilled until last year. Every time I drove to Rainbow Lodge in the intervening years, I would promise myself a visit, but the delightful view of this mesa from the Tonalea-Inscription House road and from the road around Navajo Canyon and Piute Canyon was as close as I got. Then last year the urge got too great, and one day driving around the north end of the Kaibito road we saw the large arch that is noted on the road maps. There having been a recent snow which dampened the sand to the extent that it made safe going, we started off to examine this arch at close hand. An Indian showed us the way, and after much trail blazing we reached this large bridge of stone. It is an extension of the mesa above curving gracefully to the valley floor, punctured by a hole some 150 feet high by probably that much in width. Its predominately white color is striped by red standstone which red grows more in profusion near the base. Later investigations disclose the fact that this white mass of sandstone rests on a base of red standstone, and its banding above its solidness adds