TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OF MAGIC

THE ZUNI SHALAKO

The Shalako ceremony is an annual religious event and said to be primordially the blessing of new homes. There are six Shalako, each requiring a home to be danced in, consecrated, but as there are not always enough new homes in the village, often old houses are repaired and replastered for the occasion. What counts is that the proper prayers are said at the turn of the winter solstice, as life without them would have no meaning. Writers and observers have said that the Shalako is a ceremony for the blessing of new homes, or a commemoration of the dead, or a part of the hunting procedures, or maybe part of the rain making. It is all this no doubt, but first of all it is Indian, it is Zuñi, and it does not require a reasonable explanation. One has to see it, one has to live it, and one has to feel something powerful coming out of it and that is enough . . .

FIRST AFTERNOON

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(2:20 p.m.) In the south field, walking from the White Rock, appeared Saiatasha, the Longhorn, the Leader of the Gods, and behind him the line of his colleagues with mysterious masks, moving to the rhythm of animal bones Rattling endlessly. Coming in single file, there were strange, small spots, so unreal in form that one could not guess their size. Because of their odd masks, it was hard to believe that they were actually men of the village, as a matter of fact, human at all.

They were met by a few people of the village and as they walked closer and closer to the house, a whole crowd was there to greet them in silence.

The six gods were preceded by a small boy painted black with spots of all colors scattered over him and wearing a dome-like mask. In his right hand he had a smoking firebrand and in the left, some mysterious paraphernalia including a dead rabbit. In front of him walked a man robed in a white buckskin, his face painted, and carrying a basketful of feathers. It was exciting and complicated; they carried so many things, so varied, so colorful, and so replete with refinements, that one wondered how the minds of so-called primitive people could invent so many shapes that to us seem unnecessary and unrelated.

So, here are the gods! They have gone through, I am told, a year's preparation for the ceremony. Everything was planned, prepared in detail, for months, rehearsed for days, repeated for hours; what they want to achieve is harmony and perfection, to reach a purity of heart that will be beneficial, not only for their people, but for the outside world as well-even if they know little about it.

When at the beginning of the winter solstice the Sun Priests have appointed men to represent gods and decided upon eight households where the dances will be performed, they have already given offerings for the dead in the river. All through the year the chosen ones who are sanctified will be regarded as gods themselves and, in turn, they will meet night after night learning from the Wa'we or Managers the proper ways of their personifications.

In the Kiwi-shrine, which the Hopi call Kiva, or ceremonial quarters, they will meet late into the night. They will be told their myth and their duties. They will have to go through physical ordeals and many frustrations to be pure enough for the sacred parts. They will have to work, help to build the new houses, cut wood, work the fields for the owners of those new homes. They have no other reward than eventually to be fed. As a matter of fact, the owner of the house will go into debt for years to have the honor of entertaining the gods. Then, forty-nine days before the great night of magic, two of the men leaders, impersonators of Longhorn and the great Father Koyemshi, will be given a cotton cord, two armfuls in length. They will marvel at the forty-nine knots, equally spaced, and sometimes enriched with turquoise, and then every morning, in a proper ceremony, they will untie one of those knots, for,when the last one is loosened, the special gods of the ceremony, the amazing Shalako, will come. We may laugh at such drama, we may scorn this circus-like show. Why? They all know that these are men and not gods. They have made those masks themselves, woven those kilts and painted their strange regalia, yet all of them believe, respectfully, what the old people have told them: that in the old days, the real gods came down to earth sent by a Wonawil'ona, the He-she power, which is life and is the initiator of life which abides in the clouds and is sent as messengers. The wind is cold. There is no snow on the ground. The gods have entered their house on the south side of the river. Behind them a large modern truck is unloading Navajos. Two dogs are fighting in an arroyo. A few tourists, anxious to find shelter, are going from door to door. A San Felipe, loaded with jewels, sits patiently in a car. A group of men, hidden in their black blankets, swiftly disappear behind some broad ovens, where women work on the last bread for the ceremonial food. A crowded village, rich with its amazing contrast and its quiet animation, with no surprise that behind four mud walls, gods are sitting and praying for the good of all Indian and other people.

(2:35 p.m.) Shulawitsi, the little Fire God, walked out, quietly, preceded by his "father." The crowd opened respectfully as they went toward the pathway made for them with stones and wood across the bed of the river. He was a very young boy, thin and shivering, but conscious of the importance of his mission. Almost more than some of the more spectacular gods, he fascinated me through the night and, in him, I admired the youth of the Zuñi people. I am sure he had gone to our schools maybe he had a job in Gallup, forty miles away, where so many of the teenagers are employed, for example, as pinboys at the bowling alley but he had come in time for the great honor of his life. Later, I saw him sleepy, but courageous, and when he had to dance, I could understand that the Zuñi never tire.He followed an itinerary through the north side of the village, stopping in front of the eight houses where the dancers were to spend the night. Soon after, with the same quietness, the council of the gods came out and crossed the river. They went directly to the first of six houses which were to be theirs for the night, and then, at once, people crowded around them on plaza, at windows, on top of trucks, on roofs, only to look at a hole dug in the ground, fitted with a slab of stone on the west side. Something so simple, so uninteresting, yet they all watched with expectation. Then suddenly it was like turning a page of a rare book and facing a superb color plate: In the weak sun, piercing through the low clouds of the December afternoon, the strange masks started to move. The leading Longhorn was heavy, draped with loose buckskin, with a stout mask protruding on one side, as if a long turquoise arm would be reaching from his right ear. That heavy mass moved slowly, lifting one foot with hesitation, and then bringing it down with power, as his right hand shook the bundle of deer scapula. His whole body moved forward as though he were going to fall, and his feet went up again and down-again the bones rattled-and he kept on going in front of the whole crowd followed by a green mask with two green sticks tied on top. This one was a fat fellow with naked torso dyed purple. He wore a floating kilt of pure white buckskin and his hands were filled with sacred feathers and small deer antlers. Opposite the first god was a similar figure with two prominent white ears, garnished with a frame of black hair. His square, small eyes, expressionless with an introspective look, seemed to look into eternity. He carried his heavy mask always a little bit tilted forward. He moved queerly, shaking bones, and uttering a strange call sounding like "Hu-bu-bu." Every time they separated they were silent, but as they were charging against each other, the queer note came out of the masks, and behind each one of them the green fellows were jumping and moving with animation.

On the sides were two different dancers carrying giant yucca leaves. One was an Indian version of a figure out of a playing card. His body paint was stylized in squares as in an ultramodern painting. The right arm and the left leg were yellow, the other blue. He had a long round beak and the mask was of many colors in checks with a heavy collarette of raven plumes. The other one was all black and yellow, without squares, dignified with his black mask. Over each ear, he had a colorful wheel almost like the Zodiac*.

These two were running at full speed around the others. The whole thing was a fantastic quadrille. Then they started to drop some of the plumes tied on colored sticks. As suddenly as they started, they left in single file. They moved up towards the east; to the front of another house, just slightly farther away, and there, over another hole, they started again the same dance. The crowd followed them; and then to the next house, and the next, until all six were blessed. Then they went through the passage between the houses, for it could hardly be called a street, blessing again one hole after the other until all the houses were revisited. At last they came back to the first one and stood in front of it. Behind them a man in Levis and red moccasins was pushing a shovel, -filling the holes until there was no more trace of the coming of the gods, until Mother Earth had swallowed for good the prayer sticks thrust in her womb. It suddenly struck me that there must have been thousands of those holes filled with plumes wherever we walked, like little graves of men's wishes and hopes, symbolized by those prayer wands, but I had no idea yet of the amazing quantity of the burying of prayers that I would see the next day. Feeling that the time had come for the gods to enter their house, we tried to get inside so as to be able to witness the ritual within. As soon as we succeeded, with difficulty, we learned that, at the door, the host was already receiving the gods and blessing them in the usual manner: that of

Throwing corn meal on them. Because of the crowd, we couldn't move, and moreover, the show indoors was so colorful that we forgot the gods. It was extremely warm in the room, a contrast to the sharp air of the plaza. The use of electricity for lighting was a surprise to us: it was going full blast; and the center of attention, the altar, was not illuminated at all. Not so long ago only kerosene lamps were hanging from the vigas, and a while back the fire was the only light. But modern convenience, in a way, gave value to richness of costume, brought out the colorful designs. At the far end of this very large room, maybe forty feet long, was an altar, a geometric combination of flat planes of wood highly painted and adorned with plumes. From the ceiling was hanging a cutout figure, half-man, half-eagle, red and green; in front of the altar a complicated mixture of prayer sticks, baskets, pottery, fetishes and tall insignia; these were made of cobs ending with macaw feathers, sign of the fraternity related to this house.

On the left side there was a group of singers with a soft drum, rattles, and flute. They were now inactive. From the door was a path of corn meal leading to low benches. On odd chairs, squatting, kneeling, standing one against the other, sat a crowd of of Indians of mixed tribes, Zuñi, of course, but also Navajos. Women in their velveteen shirts, babies in Woolworth's best, old men invisible in their blankets under their large hats. Well-groomed Pueblos with their square haircuts, young boys out of school in cowboy shirts and spurs. I think I noticed only two white people against the wall and then they disappeared very soon. These people had been there for hours, would be there for the rest of the night, would not leave except when urged by one of the priests.

On the right side of the altar along the wall was a long bench covered with skins and folded blankets. In front of it was another bench at an angle, so as to almost face the altar, and a group of chairs occupied by serious men in black.

I expected a stage, like in a Hopi kiva, at least half of the room being clear. I wondered then if the dancing would happen on the side, for each wall had large windows set in the thick adobe and opening in two adjacent rooms as large as the first ones. But these rooms were as crowded as the main one. In these, we could see a few more white people, a long table covered with enamel plates, silverware, Zuñi pots, china and bread. In the back of the diningroom a busy kitchen, well-equipped, in which women in ceremonial dresses were silently occupied. From it came the smell of stew and fresh bread, watermelon, and coffee. Along the windows were chairs occupied by families, neatly dressed and appearing very concerned. This was easy to understand as they were the "family of the house." Our hosts would watch the ceremony from these private loges. People kept coming, to the point that it was hard to breathe. It was also impossible to see how to get out of the room if one wished to do so. The constant motion of that standing crowd pushed you slowly from a good place near the door to one in front of a blank wall where you couldn't see a thing, or suddenly you find yourself behind the shoulder of the lady of the house. The immobility of the Navajos was amazing. One could not guess if they were fascinated by the display of colors or anxiously waiting for the meal. They didn't seem to see or hear anything and yet, at times, they shook hands with one another, smiling and looking deep into each other's These paintings were made from memory sketches after Paul Coze witnessed the Shalako many times. The ceremony is exclusively held at the pueblo of Zuñi, New Mexico, at the beginning of each winter.

The side sketches were made by a Zuñi boy and belong to the C. G. Wallace Trading Post. They represent Sal'imobiya, or War Brothers: each year only two appear to officiate such as ones for the North and the South, then the East and West, then the Nadir and Zenith.

The painting on this page represents the afternoon procession of Shulawitsi, or Little Fire God: the villagers and Indian visitors bless him by sprinkling cornmeal as he walks, preceded by his "father" carrying prayer plumes, in passing each of the new homes to be blessed that evening by the Shalako. The same procession will be made by the Council of the Gods later, when prayer plumes are buried in front of these houses.

The painting on the next page is the arrival of the six Shalako after sunset. They will be waiting at the Ant Place and are greeted by priests who sprinkle cornmeal over them. They stand about twelve feet high and their skirts are arranged over hoops, so the bearer can step in to carry the effigy.

The lower picture represents the blessing of a new home by the Shalako. While he is "sitting" outside, the Wa'le, or personators, are inside, climbing a ladder to deposit prayer sticks in a shrine attached to one of the viga, or beams.

Visitors are not yet allowed inside of the room; they are watching through the window, waiting sometimes, in the bitter cold and even in the snow.

The center panel (next page) represents the races before the departure of the Shalako the last day. Trucks and cars belong to Indians only, as white people are not allowed on the south plaza. In the center, wearing black blankets, are the priests. In front of them, the Shalako are running back and forth, depositing prayer sticks in the ground, as two Salimobiya are prancing. On the extreme right, the pro cession of the departing Council of the Gods can be seen.

On the opposite page are portrayed the Koyemashis, sacred clowns, shown in the middle of the night when they visit each house. From the doorway they blast the crowd with impertinent remarks. They also have a house with an altar and will return there after their round-trip.

The lower picture depicts the mixed crowd of visitors. Here can be seen Navajos, Rio Grande Pueblos, Hopis, members of the Indian Service, anthropologists, students, and naturally, Zuñis. These tolerate white people and welcome those who are reverent of the rites. Rooms are clean, large, sometimes twenty by sixty feet and about twelve feet high. Women are busy in the back, preparing food all night for relatives and Indian guests.

On the next page is the battle of the Shalako teasing the Koyemashis. This brings laughter in the middle of the night. The big masks are clapping their mouths and the clowns similate their fear. The walls are decorated with blankets, Hopi sashes and deer heads.eyes. All so rich, so full of human varieties, so respectful, that one expected some great religious event like the coming of the prophet, and, actually, the operations of the priests and even the gods themselves were only incidents in the multiplicity of so many varied actions.

THE LITANY

(4:30 p.m.) There had been some motion with priests going up a ladder. No doubt some prayer plumes were also put in a hole in the middle of the floor, when the gods came in, one at a time. Then the most extraordinary thing happened, taking gradually the tempo of a dream, inconsistent, incomprehensible, fascinating. The first black men greeted the first god by standing in front of him with his two hands on his shoulder and starting to balance the god back and forth. Slowly, very slowly, he gave the impression of actually handling a ghost as if the god didn't touch the earth any more. It was as if he were hanging from a wire, the heavy mask vacillating so gracefully and so lightly under the reverent pressure of the priest's hand. Gradually he forced him down onto a bench; then he sat in front of him, touching his knees, his hands holding the god's hands. He knelt down, took off the god's moccasins, touched the hands again, giving a strange motion to them. Now all the gods were oscillating, and, one by one, were forced, gently, to sit. They were in a corner of the room, one row of giants with expressionless masks, facing a row of wise, peaceful faces as impassive as they were. Soon young men brought long cigarettes, made of reeds; in the same confidential manner, they were lit and smoked. Between the two rows, the magic grew in smoke as though the smoke itself started to speak when a low muttering sound came from the men and the masks. It had the tempo of a litany. The sound murmured slowly at first then it quickened. It repeated itself; it insisted; it dominated everything else. A long song in unison, slow, a monotone, climbing up at the end of each syllable in a higher pitch, prolonged and intense, and then coming down like a deep wave and up again, with the smoke making a blue cloud over the strange communion of gods and mortals. As they smoked, the gods had lifted their masks halfway, becoming half human, and as they prayed, the men's foreheads had become motionless, as if changing themselves into wooden masks. For hours it went on, for hours they asked to tell why they came and how they came. For six hours, the gods went into their history since the beginning of time until the present moment, for Zuñi is the center of the world, and the living beings had to be reassured of this tale.

Then they spoke and prayed for fertility, for longevity and for goodness in the pueblo and for goodness for other people in the outside world.

Only in his corner, Shulawitsi, the Fire Boy, didn't speak, for he is the only one who stayed silent and concentrated on keeping awake to discover what the true meaning of life is.

COMING OF THE SHALAKO

I had watched the ceremony for almost two hours. I was tired by the trip and decided I had better have a little sleep, knowing that I would not get much during the night. My car was parked not very far from the gods' house. I was able to let myself out of the room and crawl into the car for a rest. Still hearing the monotonous litany, I went to sleep. It must have been about 6:30 p.m. when suddenly I awoke. It was dark now. I felt something coming across the river. There, over a little bridge, slightly discernible, were theShalako. They stopped at the bank-I still didn't know if I was dreaming-I had no idea of what was real. With many others, I rushed towards them but I couldn't go very far. Very politely, a man stopped us. Giant gods with stunning masks were standing in the mud between odd fences of empty corrals full of manure. It was so unlikely that we should see the Shalako for the first time in such a humble place, and I don't know why I thought of Christmas and the stables where Christ was born.

What was going on down by the river? I could not see. The gods were two hundred feet away and we could hear their tubular beaks clapping, occasionally answering the prayers of the heads of the clans that had come to meet them, and then the mystery of that strange surrealistic scene was torn away by the voice of a Zuñi man who shouted, "You can all go and sleep now, they will stay here for a long time, nothing will happen. For a good rest, this is the time now," and the crowds disappeared while the six Shalako by the river bed were clapping and clapping their wooden beaks.

The two hours that followed remained in my memory as the numerous pages of a sketch-book. The temperature was mild and we took advantage of it to see what was happening elsewhere. We walked to the point of being lost in the village with practically only one main street, every house looking like the other except for their height and tiny passageways between them, with no street lights, but everywhere there was activity, Navajos asleep in the corner, busy people bringing food in and out to overcrowded rooms where we could discover the richness and the neatness of Zuñi life at the time of festivity.

We were trying to find landmarks and to be assured of where the houses were that would receive the Shalako, and walking around like us were other visitors, mostly Indians; eventually a car drove in, we met people on horseback, there were always dogs. The strangeness of that nocturnal watch was the silence, even the children were respectful and silent. There was a ghostly feeling because so many of the men and women were wrapped in their blankets, sliding silently along in their moccasins.

Occasionally we met friends: Santa Ana with half modern clothes, a group of Domingo men always carrying their bundle of jewelry for sale, white people from Santa Fé, anthropologists that one always meets in places in the Southwest where something of importance is going on, Hopis always knowing everyone and Navajos knowing none. And in the middle of this blackout, some tourists from the East that were told at Gallup that they should come, had come, had seen nothing, would see nothing and would go back, tired, cold and disgusted.

We didn't want to go and eat at the little restaurant that was open near the Trading Post for fear we would miss the first move of the Shalako. However, we were hungry, so we sat in the car and ate what we had brought with us, ate what a friend had brought and were still hungry for what we didn't bring. And then suddenly it was 8 o'clock and, without notice, the procession of the Shalako passed us. There was no excitement in the crowd, nothing like we would expect if the circus was in town. On the contrary, the whole crowd stood silent and respectful without moving an inch. The men took their hats off, and the gods, two at a time, went toward the house that they were to bless.

On each side of the tall god there were always two men, one as the official Impersonator, and strangely enough he was not carrying the effigy as yet. His assistant is called a Wa'le. This time he holds his pole supported by a feather strap attached to his belt, a long pole that holds the mask. Around him waves the heavy textile material that bulges out over a crinoline. Preceding them are more men with black blankets carrying baskets filled with feather sticks. At this time the first ritual begins when the god stands in front of the door and there is a continual exchange between the group outside and the priests indoors. The Impersonator This is finally greeted now. He puts some prayer sticks in the hole in the ground; with four fingers widely spread representing the four corners of the world, he marks the center of each one of the walls. He then climbs a tall ladder and puts more prayer plumes in the house altar (a small box, highly colored, hanging from a viga).

Following a trail of sacred corn meal, he reaches the complicated altar, its numerous fetishes, its baskets, where he puts all kinds of seeds under the soft weaving plumes, symbolizing the emblem of the House Fraternity. Also standing in vertical rows like midget pillars, the Milli, those wonderful ears of corn, enrobed in soft glossy feathers and ending with the tail of the macaw like a spark of fire.

We had left the house of the gods, left the house of the Shalako and the other Shalako house next to it and all the other houses that we were able to find in the dark and nothing very much was happening from our point of view. Naturally I believe that the very important things were said and prayed for during the time that the priests and gods were sitting, knee to knee, in the two rows against the wall.

The whole tradition was kept alive by this confidential repeating of the long litany. Without written language, without books, Indian legends and rituals are kept alive by the virtue of patience, by the long hours of listening and repeating, by the respect of the elders, who teach the young and who give, by their traditional ways, a substantial reach into a stable future. No wonder that with such training the Pueblo is not disturbed by what shocks us in life; that he accepts it without having to go into a one-way fatalism as do the Moslems; that he integrates the repetitions of the cycles of life, and greets every moment as a benediction. So for two or three hours, from our point of view, nothing goes on during the Shalako night, except boring litanies, endless prayers, and we, white snobs, cannot sense that all this is the brewing of a strong and happy race.

THE KOYEMSHI

It was in the middle of those thoughts that we found ourselves in front of one of the Shalako houses and ran into a group of extraordinary creatures that had nothing in common, at least in their appearance, with the magical sight we were lucky enough to witness so far; in front of us were twelve naked men of different shapes, their bodies seemed to be made of dry clay, their hands were moving gracefully in the air with elegance in the shape of their fingers. Their masks were set off their foreheads. Some were fat, some were thin, some were old, some were almost young boys and two were ghosts; we couldn't see those two, for they had died thousands of years ago at birth.

The Koyemshis were there in a compact group in front of the house lit by the indirect light coming through it, with Navajos and other visitors keeping a good distance from them, for if one touches a Mudhead, as they are commonly called, one would no doubt become sexually crazy; and here they were, alive adobe, in front of adobe walls. Pink shadows on the purple night and the three circle-like doughnuts that make the eyes and mouth of their masks, because of these being pushed backwards, were looking empty to the starless night. To add to their weird appearance, they were calling the householders names, joking about their virtues, and making jokes in a sort of chant.After 11 p.m. we discovered the Koyemshi House. Near their altar they were sitting in a row and shaped like human beings again. They wore immaculate white shirts; the ten of them, sitting against the wall, being served and waited on by a group of priests, and, naturally, at the end of the bench there must have been room for the two ghosts we couldn't see. That night all dead have returned to the village and the houses that are blessed are inhabited by all the Zuñi that have ever existed since they all emerged from the center of the world.

Now women are carrying baskets and pots from the nearby kitchen. All are joking and laughing-a contrast that was hard for us to assimilate, for the food they brought was hardly touched by the Koyemshi Impersonators and was immediately taken out to be sacrificed to the dead by being thrown into the river.

We can read about what it takes to be a Koyemshi, the high honor of being chosen at the end of the winter solstice, the self sacrifice of frustrations and restrictions, the daily meetings to learn the work of labor in getting wood or building houses, then the week's retreat with abstinence and chastity when the ten (plus two ghosts) have taken over this room. The last twenty-four hours without foodand now, at midnight, the feast. They eat slowly as it is part of the rites, they break the paper bread, they touch the large loaves and put their fingers in the stew. In front of them, with ceremonial gestures and great reverence, the priests neatly arrange bottles of Coca-Cola. As the Koyemshi slowly eat and drink, the priests come back from the river and fill the hole prepared in the center of the floor and stamp over the buried feather plumes. They nail down the threshold under which other wands were buried and now that everyone is back and the audience tensely watches, an old man, half blind, comes up from the altar and bowing to the clowns gives them, loaded with cigarettes, a shiny ashtray, bought yesterday at Woolworth's, as one by one (but not two) the ten light their candles with penny matches and smoke, their eyes closed, lost in the dream they are creating.

THE GODS ARE DANCING

When (1 a.m.) When we got back into the gods' house after our wandering about, it was like seeing old friends. Anxious Impersonators, also, had eaten. Side rooms were packed; it was quite a job to glance from the distance through one of the side windows and discovered that things had started to move, at last, inside the main room. In the far corner behind the altar, priests were using their blankets again as a wall, and in this little dressing room, dancers, one by one, were invested in their godliness again. The first one, Sal'imobiya from the Nadir, came out with a black dome for a head and for a nose, an extraordinary little beak, red and turquoise, almost lost in a cloud of raven's plumes. His nude body was designed carefully with black and yellow paint; in each hand he was waving yucca leaves. He didn't wait. In the left corner the Curing Society was starting their chant, shaking their rattles to incite them to dance; the room vibrated to the tone of a plaintive note on a flute and the slow pulse of a soft drum. There was no room to dance but a few sitting Navajos were forced into

leaning against the wall and the Kachina stepped forward, proud, pouncing, forcing himself a tunnel into the crowd, soon followed by Sal'imobiya of the Zenith, his torso quartered with mixed colors.

Then another was ready; some of them, oddly enough, danced without their masks and as a matter of fact, suddenly, so close to us, the Shalako from his sitting position grew taller and taller behind the blanket wall, moved out and, preceded by his Wa'le, clapped his beak and raced at full speed down the narrow path of the Indian audience.

Then excitement started; the Shalako danced; topping all other dancers was the amazing gracefulness and balance of this eleven-foot mask, whose crown of eagle feathers almost whipped the rafters. Because of its crinoline, it looked sometimes as if the whole figure were going to fall, then it bounced back, turned around and danced and raced again. Next to the Shalako the Wa'le wore a shiny black velvet blouse, a white cap of leather; his bare legs were painted red and yellow. He was holding his head slightly back, his eyes closed, as in ecstasy, bringing his feet up and down with the precision and the rapidity of the most modern motor. Then he kept on dancing. He danced until we were tired; it was almost impossible to imagine that the human body could stand such a strain.

I was told that the two would alternate, and that for a rest the Wa'le will carry the Shalako mask and that the Impersonator will dance in front of the effigy. Nevertheless, when in the middle of the night we came again, the Gods' Impersonators were dancing without their masks and even without some of their other paraphernalia, but the Shalako and the Wa'le were still going full swing.

When we went back into the Koyemshi house, they, also, were dancing. A full deerskin with its head hanging was floating behind their back, they were going two at a time, dressing and undressing behind the movable curtain.

We watched them for an hour. Many of the visitors had found some shelter in houses about the village; they had slept for a few hours but now were back, for the room was crowded. It was a pleasure to see the respect shown by these white people: most of the tourists had gone and only true Southwesterners were there. Knowing the dance, many of the latter had been at Zuñi several times and all of them shared with the Indians the respect for the old ways. Around 2 a.m., suddenly, the main door opened and the Lieutenant Governor walked in. He was followed by what reminded me of a "Navajo Yebetchai" dance team. Behind him was a medicine man: a leader with a full crown of feathers, six men with masks and small bills and six redbearded ladies. The Lieutenant Governor looked around and walked directly to the head of the household. In a lengthy speech he asked permission to bring the team in and possibly to dance. He was answered in elaborate terms of politeness.

The Navajo dance which followed changed the whole mood, it brought a flash of wild excitement; the dancers were well dressed, quick and efficient. The team was well trained and not only did they give the proper songs but they overdid it, they went into falsettos to make a coyote's voice sound like a tenor. They moved about at great speed; they shook their rattles, and walked out. The whole crowd roared with laughter and as they came to the door, the Lieutenant Governor, again in a loud voice, addressing the old man, exchanged terms of extreme refinement and as a result, the dance started all over again. Then they stopped and people laughed, especially the Navajos, for all this was done in fun.

In the old days, they say, some kind of sickness was going through the Zuñi village. Navajos came in and sang the Yebetchai. As they left the Zuñis spat, saying, "Go home and take away our disease." And to that disease they said, "Go with those people." Since then the Zuñi have put on an imitation of the Yebetchai dance.

So they danced, once and twice, and were asked again and again. It was almost a little too much for us, but not quite enough for the Zuñi, so they had ten encores. We went into the next house where the Shalako were going strong, but the gods were resting, and when we moved into another Shalako house we ran into the Yebetchai team which started again its ten encores. We left. It was four o'clock. We were so sleepy that the cold in the streets and the warmth in the houses and all the crowd and all the dancing made us feel completely lost in space and time, almost in seasons.

EARLY MORNING

We awakened at 6:30 in the morning in the car, cold and stiff. It was a very pale wintry sunrise. I had a queer sensation of discovering a new village in such a light. Many of the cars had gone; only a few Indians were inside. It was the time of hungry dogs and noisy cocks crowing on top of the stables. We walked towards the house of the gods. We couldn't discern what was going on but they were not dancing. It looked like more prayers and blessings. We walked through the whole village and went to the Trading Post restaurant in search of a cup of hot coffee, but everything was closed. A Zuñi had a little stand next to one of the Shalako houses, but all the coffee was gone! He told us to come back, so, in the meantime, we went into another house where the Shalako were still dancing and were invited into the main room. To do so we had to get in the back door from another street and we walked back through four rooms crowded with sleepy people. Large quarters with high ceilings. One after the other without outside windows like some medieval fortress in Europe and with no furniture except occasionally a table. But we had our minds on hot coffee, so we didn't stay very long, which was lucky, for now, it was definitely dawn with a pale yellow tinge about us and on the roof of the god's house was Longhorn standing facing the East.

There we could see in the distance the untying of the last knot on the tally cord, for this was the beginning of the 49th day. He sang a monotone prayer, moving his hand forward at the end of each verse, stretching the rope, and as the Yebetchai team came out and danced for the last time on the plaza, we were told that nothing would happen until the late part of the morning when would be held the most beautiful part of the Shalako ceremonythe Races.

We drove out and stopped at the little restaurant, now open, where we had a surprisingly good breakfast. We drove out of the village then and slept in the open air; it was good to stretch ourselves. We woke at ten o'clock.

When we parked on the bank of the river, we realized that everyone was anxious for the Races to start except the racers themselves. Many people who had just seen the beginning of the dance last night and had slept in Gallup had come back already. Like ourselves, all whites were turned down when we wanted to cross the bridge in order to park on the South Plaza. There, on the contrary, were cars loaded with Indians, neatly parked and it was rather striking to see them with late-model cars and trucks, many of them bright red. The morning had turned very cold with a slight wind.

At 12 o'clock noon the first procession came from somewhere on the west side of the village. First, the priests holding their milli, then more priests with baskets of cornmeal, then a Wa'le and the Shalako manager, then the Shalako, and behind him in a semi-circle the group of singers with rattles and the flute player.

I believe that the most touching and maybe the most humble was the procession of black-draped men dominated by the white and turquoise god that we were so happy to see now in daylight. But, then, the crowd! Indians from all nations in bright colors or old Levis, kids in school clothes, Indians employed in towns, wearing business suits. They all stood in rows, taking from their pockets, from underneath their shirts, from their skirts, from their pocketbooks, little pouches of sacred corn meal; and as the procession came by, the old and young women and children sprinkled corn meal to the priests, on the macaw feathers of the milli bundle on the Shalako and they breathed through their hands, inhaling power, and that simple gesture done with great humility was so striking that for the first time I felt how much we white visitors were out of place. Then something made me accept and understand why only the Indians were allowed on the South Plaza.

There isn't much I could say about the procession of the other Shalako or the gods on stopping at the same place between the stables and corrals nearby the special passageway over the half frozen river. The men in black blankets blessed the Shalako, thanked them and left them there.

In the quietness of the noon hour, in the stillness under the dark clouds there was no discordant note. This time instead of a modern plane, only a few crows flew over the(Please turn to page thirty-four)

WINTER LACE BY MARVIN WEESE

Through the night there was no sound in the forest. And with the dawn the forest folk looked out on a world that was white and wonderful, a world covered with a fluffy coat of winter lace! Every twig and every tree had been transformed with exquisite snow sculpture, the young coni-fers stood huddled in their robes of ermine, and every rock and bush had become a castle in a fairyland!

The juncos and chickadees soon were stirring in the branches and the nuthatches were on the porch for suet. The gray squirrels came out timidly at first but soon were leaping from branch to branch, bringing down a snowslide on their eager way to breakfast. And all the forest creatures made autographs trailing through the white space.

What a sparkling world greets the sunrise. White! Because every facet of every crystal reflects the rays of every color band of light. Every tip of cedar has become a spray of tinsel. Every twist of weed and vine is interwoven in a scintillating veil of lace.

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"WINTER WONDERLAND" BY JACK BREED. The silence is cold and white broken only when a branch breaks from the heavy load of snow it carries. It is winter in the forest. The snow reflects the blue sky so even the snow looks blue. In a few months the warm sun will melt the snow; then brown and green will come again to the forest.