INDIANS The Deer Dancer of Barrio Libre

THE DEER DANCER OF BARRIO LIBRE

When I saw my first Deer Dancer, I was in my 20s and had just moved from Chicago to Tucson. Even then, as a casual visitor to a Yaqui Indian ceremony, I was deeply moved by the powerful man who mimicked the prancing of a wary buck. I felt drawn into the forest world of majesty and magic. The Deer Dancer was a master of the ancient art of "transforming" himself into an animal. Sometimes he danced alone; other times he was joined by a shuffling oldster in a droll black mask. Someone told me that this was the Pascola, the old man of the fiesta: a speech-maker, clown, and ceremonial host who visits the Yaquis from the spirit realm. As I stood there swaying to the beat of the rasp and drum, I became determined to learn more about these Indians who danced in dusty villages at the edges of city freeways.

My opportunity came a year later when I teamed with my husband to write a film script for Tucson artist Ted DeGrazia. A devoted friend of the Yaquis, Ted had created a series of paintings depicting their unique Easter Pageant. Now he wanted us to bring these paintings to life on film.

The Yaquis are not indigenous Arizona Indians but refugees from Sonora, Mexico. Starting in the late 19th century, hundreds of Yaquis followed the freedom trail into southern Arizona. They sought relief from the threat of being murdered or exiled by powerful landlords who coveted their rich farms and minerals along the Yaqui River. Yaqui resistance was fierce, but faced with Mexico's full military force, they were driven from their river towns some 400 miles south of Tucson. A population of about 20,000 was soon cut to less than 3,000.

Some of the fleeing Yaquis gathered in makeshift villages on the outskirts of Tucson and Phoenix, where they found employment as farm, construction, and railroad laborers. As families regrouped, they began to revive their beloved fiesta figures, including the Deer Dancer and Pascola.

In 1978 the U.S. Government recognized the Yaquis as a tribe. Their ceremonies are a tribute to the vitality of a people who have retained their ancestral traditions through long periods of persecution.

I gained firsthand appreciation of these traditions during that long-ago Lent when my husband and I wrote our film script. Every Wednesday night, we stood on the plaza in Barrio Libre in South Tucson, immersed in the building drama of the Yaquis' portrayal of the Easter story. We felt vague dread at the arrival of the first eerie Chapayekas, men in grotesque helmet masks who represent the persecutors of Jesus. Our apprehension grew as each week more voiceless Chapayekas appeared, pantomiming quarrels and clacking wooden swords until they became a wild troop that seemed to control the village. We felt the longing for relief that Ted DeGrazia once described: "The Yaqui can't wait for Palm Sunday. Lent has been a long, hard time. So he shortens it a bit. He celebrates Palm Sunday on the night before. The Deer Dancer and his music are aboriginal, pagan. When he starts his dancing he is a fawn. During the night, he grows into a full-grown deer. As he dances, the people in the crowd exchange friendly 'good evenings.' The fiesta spirit is in the air."

The night before Palm Sunday is still a great time to see the Deer Dancer. Ceremonies are held in several Yaqui villages, but my husband and I prefer the intimacy of Old Pascua on Tucson's near west side.

Because some of the dancers and musicians drive up from Mexico, no one knows just when the dancing will begin.

At the darkening plaza, Chapayekas march about. They shake their belts of deerhoof rattles, shoot at each other with cap pistols, and clumsily impersonate the Deer Dancer and Pascola.

As the night grows late and chilly, a huge bonfire licks orange flames into the dark. Children chase around like whirlwinds, brandishing snow cones. At last voices start to buzz in anticipation. The Deer Dancer is coming, so it's time to press into the crowd around the dancing ramada.

And there he is under a glaring light bulb, a bare-chested athlete wearing a ribbon-bedecked deer headdress atop a white bandanna, a plaid shawl skirt covering his rolled-up pants, a cross dangling from his neck. He shakes his rattling regalia: a belt of thickly clustered deer hooves, anklets of dried cocoons, and hand-held gourds. He startles and darts, dancing to the chants of his three Deer Singers, who play the rasp and water drum.

As the Deer Dancer leaps into a corner, a Pascola steps forward with his mask on the side of his head. The cocoon rattles on his ankles rustle as he taps his heels to the gentle strains of the violin and harp.

When the music dies, the Pascola's special musician - the Tampaleo - begins to thump a drum and pipe reedy refrains whose origins are lost in time. The Pascola covers his face with his mask, and soon the Deer Dancer rises from his corner. To the elemental rhythms of the flute and drum, the two of them mimic the endless chase of the hunter and the hunted.

I leave the village haunted by the memory of the exotic costumes and quick bare feet; my ears ring with the angular resonance of the ancient Deer Songs. Refugio Savala, who as a child in 1905 fled from the Yaqui River to Tucson, sensitively described these chants: "The deer hunter's songs are . . . characteristic of life in the wilderness:

the human, the beast, the fowl, the bees, the amphibious animals, to the tiniest insect, the mountains, the streams, the rivers, the valleys, the meadows, the prairies, the forests, the flowers of all seasons - spring, summer, autumn, and winter - the wind, the rain, the clouds, the celestial bodies - stars, moon, and sun.

After Palm Sunday, the Deer Songs ring out again on Holy Saturday, when the Deer Dancer joins the forces of good vanquishing the evil Chapayekas. Pascolas - and sometimes a Deer Dancer - also can be seen at Yaqui household celebrations and public fiestas throughout the year. You can enjoy excellent Yaqui exhibits at several museums. (See Arizona Highways, April '77.) I discovered, for example, that the Amerind Foundation in Dragoon, east of Tucson, houses a fine collection of Yaqui musical instruments and masks along with other dancing regalia: cocoon leg rattles, deer-hoof belts, and the Pascola's hand-held jingler, called a senasum.

The deer headdress there was made by Silverio Aquilleras, a Deer Dancer from the Yaqui River area. A label told me that the ribbons on the antlers symbolize flowers, which are important in Yaqui imagery.

I was especially intrigued by the Amerind's miniature diorama, fashioned in plastic, clay, and oils by Tucson artist Arturo Montoya. The seven-inch Deer Dancer almost creeps along the ground, his muscles tight, while the Pascola beats a senasum against his palm.

Having heard about its interesting display of carved Pascola masks, I visited The Heard Museum in Phoenix. Tufts of goat, cow, and horsetail hair along with crosses and abstract designs embellish the black wooden faces. Expressions range from somber to sardonic.

I found a similar collection of Pascola masks in the north building of the Arizona State Museum on the University of Arizona campus in Tucson. In addition to Yaqui artifacts, this superb exhibit includes a fiesta scene that's uncannily lifelike. The figures have been cast from the bodies and faces of Indians.

Michael Lee, who did the casting, explains how he made these figures seem to live: "First I immersed myself in Yaqui culture. I went to their fiestas and stayed all night, sharing in their devotion. One of my Yaqui friends asked the dancers and musicians to act as models. With his encouragement, they welcomed me into their homes to do the casting."

Standing before this diorama, I suddenly recognized a familiar face, that same hard jaw, those angular, deerlike features, that expression of detached dignity; it was the Deer Dancer of my youth. His skin had wrinkled, and he'd developed a bit of a paunch, but he still exuded a stately aura. Yaqui tradition is very much alive in Arizona, and the Easter Pageant often includes a new Deer Dancer. In one of the Tucson villages last spring, he was a heavy-set youth who danced with confidence and enthusiasm. But to me, no one can move with the easy grace of my first Deer Dancer. To quote a Yaqui Deer Song:

THE DEER DANCER

expression of detached dignity; it was the Deer Dancer of my youth. His skin had wrinkled, and he'd developed a bit of a paunch, but he still exuded a stately aura. Yaqui tradition is very much alive in Arizona, and the Easter Pageant often includes a new Deer Dancer. In one of the Tucson villages last spring, he was a heavy-set youth who danced with confidence and enthusiasm. But to me, no one can move with the easy grace of my first Deer Dancer. To quote a Yaqui Deer Song: So now this is the deer person, So he is the deer person, So he is the real deer person.

WHEN YOU GO

In the following villages, the events of the Yaqui Easter Pageant and other ceremonial occasions are open to the public. Parking is available nearby.

Around Tucson, Yaqui ceremonies occur in Old Pascua (near Grant and Fairview); Pascua Pueblo, often called New Pascua (near Valencia and Camino del Oeste); and Barrio Libre (near 10th and 39th). Around Phoenix, Yaqui ceremonies can be seen in Guadalupe.

In Tucson, notification of major Yaqui ceremonial events appears in the newspapers. For details call the Pascua Yaqui Tribal Council, (520) 883-5000, or the Pascua Neighborhood Center, (520) 791-4609. In addition to answering your questions, each group will send you literature describing the Yaqui communities and their ceremonies.

In Guadalupe, near Tempe, notification of events is not published, and information is not readily available by phone. For times and dates, check the Tucson sources listed above.

Picture-taking and sound-recording are forbidden at the dances, and your equipment may be confiscated. Sketching and note-taking also are prohibited. On Good Friday, you may be requested to remove jewelry and place it in your pocket or purse.

The Amerind Foundation, (520) 586-3666, is located in Dragoon, 65 miles east of Tucson. The Heard Museum, (602) 252-8840, is in downtown Phoenix near McDowell and Central. The North Building of the Arizona State Museum, (520) 621-6302, is just inside the Park Avenue entrance to the University of Arizona in Tucson.