In forgotten times, in the days of our ancients, at the Middle Place,
or
what is now Shíwina (Zuñi), there lived a youth who was well grown, or
perfect in manhood.

He had a pet Eagle which he kept in a cage down on the roof of the
first
terrace of the house of his family. He loved this Eagle so dearly that
he
could not endure to be separated from it; not only this, but he spent
nearly
all his time in caring for and fondling his pet. Morning, noon, and
evening,
yea, and even between those times, you would see him going down to the
eagle-cage with meat and other kinds of delicate food. Day after day
there
you would find him sitting beside the Eagle, petting it and making
affectionate speeches, to all of which treatment the bird responded
with a
most satisfied air, and seemed equally fond of his owner.

Whenever a storm came the youth would hasten out of the house, as
though the
safety of the crops depended upon it, to protect the Eagle. So, winter
and
summer, no other care occupied his attention. Corn-field and
melon-garden
was this bird to this youth; so much so that his brothers, elder and
younger, and his male relatives generally, looked down upon him as
negligent
of all manly duties, and wasteful of their substance, which he helped
not to
earn in his excessive care of the bird.

Naturally, therefore, they looked with aversion upon the Eagle; and one
evening, after a hard day's work, after oft-repeated remonstrances with
the
youth for not joining in their labors, they returned home tired and out
of
humor, and, climbing the ladder of the lower terrace, passed the great
cage
on their way into the upper house. They stopped a moment before
entering,
and one of the eldest of the party exclaimed: "We have remonstrated in
vain
with the younger brother; we have represented his duties to him in
every
possible light, yet without effect. What remains to be done? What plans
can
we devise to alienate him from this miserable Eagle?"

"Why not kill the wretched bird?" asked one of them. "That, I should
say,
would be the most simple means of curing him of his infatuation."

"That is an excellent plan," exclaimed all of the brothers as they went
on
into the house; "we must adopt it."

The Eagle, apparently so unconscious, heard all this, and pondered over
it.
Presently came the youth with meat and other delicate food for his
beloved
bird, and, opening the wicket of the gate, placed it within and bade
the
Eagle eat. But the bird looked at him and at the food with no apparent
interest, and, lowering its head on its breast, sat moody and silent.

"Are you ill, my beloved Eagle?" asked the youth, "or why is it that
you do
not eat?"

"I do not care to eat," said the Eagle, speaking for the first time. "I
am
oppressed with much anxiety."

"Do eat, my beloved Eagle," said the youth. "Why should you be sad?
Have I
neglected you?"

"No, indeed, you have not," said the Eagle. For this reason I love you
as
you love me; for this reason I prize and cherish you as you cherish me;
and
yet it is for this very reason that I am sad. Look you! Your brothers
and
relatives have often remonstrated with you for your neglect of their
fields
and your care for me. They have often been angered with you for not
bearing
your part in the duties of the household. Therefore it is that they
look
with reproach upon you and with aversion upon me, so much so that they
have
at last determined to destroy me in order to do away with your
affection for
me and to withdraw your attention. For this reason I am sad,--not that
they
can harm me, for I need but spread my wings when the wicket is opened,
and
what can they do? But I would not part from you, for I love you. I
would not
that you should part with me, for you love me. Therefore am I sad, for
I
must go tomorrow to my home in the skies," said the Eagle, again
relapsing
into moody silence.

"Oh, my beloved bird! my own dear Eagle, how could I live without you?
How
could I remain behind when you went forward, below when you went
upward?"
exclaimed the youth, already beginning to weep. "No! Go, go, if it need
be,
alas! but let me go with you," said the youth.

"My friend! my poor, poor youth!" said the Eagle, "you cannot go with
me.
You have not wings to fly, nor have you knowledge to guide your course
through the high skies into other worlds that you know not of."

"Let me go with you," cried the youth, falling on his knees by the side
of
the cage. "I will comfort you, I will care for you, even as I have done
here; but live without you I cannot!"

"Ah, my youth," said the Eagle, "I would that you could go with me, but
the
end would not be well. You know not how little you love me that you
wish to
do this thing. Think for a moment! The foods that my people eat are not
the
foods of your people; they are not ripened by fire for our consumption,
but
whatever we capture abroad on our measureless hunts we devour as it is,
asking no fire to render it palatable or wholesome. You could not exist
thus."

"My Eagle! my Eagle!" cried the youth. "If I were to remain behind when
you
went forward, or below when you went upward, food would be as nothing
to me;
and were it not better that I should eat raw food, or no food, than
that I
should stay here, excessively and sadly thinking of you, and thus never
eat
at all, even of the food of my own people? No, let me go with you!"

"Once more I implore you, my youth," said the Eagle, "not to go with
me, for
to your own undoing and to my sadness will such a journey be
undertaken."

"Let me go, let me go! Only let me go!" implored the youth.

"It is said," replied the Eagle calmly. "Even as you wish, so be it.
Now go
unto your own home for the last time; gather large quantities of
sustaining
food, as for a long journey. Place this food in strong pouches, and
make
them all into a package which you can sling upon your shoulder or back.
Then
come to me tomorrow morning, after the people have begun to descend to
their
fields."

The youth bade good-night to his Eagle and went into the house. He took
of
parched flour a great quantity, of dried and pulverized wafer-bread a
large
bag, and of other foods, such as hunters carry and on which they
sustain
themselves long, he took a good supply, and made them all into a firm
package. Then, with high hopes and much thought of the morrow, he laid
himself to rest. He slept late into the morning, and it was not until
his
brothers had departed for their fields of corn that he arose; and,
eating a
hasty breakfast, slung the package of foods over his shoulders and
descended
to the cage of the Eagle. The great bird was waiting for him. With a
smile
in its eyes it came forth when he opened the wicket, and, settling down
on
the ground, spread out its wings and bade the youth mount.

"Sit on my back, for it is strong, oh youth! Grasp the base of my
wings, and
rest your feet above my thighs, that you may not fall off. Are you
ready?
Ah, well. And have you all needful things in the way of food? Good. Let
us
start on our journey."

Saying this, the Eagle rose slowly, circling wider and wider as it went
up,
and higher and higher, until it had risen far above the town, going
slowly.
Presently it said: "My youth, I will sing a farewell song to your
people for
you and for me, that they may know of our final departure." Then, as
with
great sweeps of its wings it circled round and round, going higher and
higher, it sang this song:

Huli-i-i-- Huli-i-i--
Pa shish lakwa-a-a--
U-u-u-u--
U-u-u-u-a!
Pa shish lakwa-a-a--
U-u-u-u--
U-u-u-u-a!

As the song floated down from on high, "Save us! By our eyes!"
exclaimed the
people. "The Eagle and the youth! They are escaping; they are leaving
us!"

And so the word went from mouth to mouth, and from ear to ear, until
the
whole town was gazing at the Eagle and the youth, and the song died
away in
the distance, and the Eagle became smaller and smaller, winding its way
upward until it was a mere speck, and finally vanished in the very
zenith.

The people shook their heads and resumed their work, but the Eagle and
the
youth went on until at last they came to the great opening in the
zenith of
the sky. In passing upward by its endless cliffs they carne out on the
other
side into the sky-world; and still upward soared the Eagle, until it
alighted with its beloved burden on the summit of the Mountain of
Turquoises, so blue that the light shining on it paints the sky blue.

"Huhua!" said the Eagle, with the weariness that comes at the end of a
long
journey. "We have reached our journey's end for a time. Let us rest
ourselves on this mountain height of my beloved world."

The youth descended and sat by the Eagle's side, and the Eagle, raising
its
wings until the tips touched above, lowered its head, and catching hold
of
its crown, shook it from side to side, and then drew upon it, and then
gradually the eagle-coat parted, and while the youth looked and
wondered in
love and joy, a beautiful maiden was uncovered before him, in garments
of
dazzling whiteness, softness, and beauty. No more beautiful maiden
could be
conceived than this one,--bright of face, clear and clean, with eyes so
dark
and large and deep, and yet sharp, that it was bewildering to look into
them. Such eyes have never been seen in this world.

"Come with me, my youth--you who have loved me so well," said she,
approaching him and reaching out her hand. "Let us wander for a while
on
this mountain side and seek the home of my people."

They descended the mountain and wound round its foot until, looking up
in
the clear light of the sky-world, they beheld a city such as no man has
ever
seen. Lofty were its walls,--smooth, gleaming, clean, and white; no
ladders,
no smoke, no filth in any part whatsoever.

"Yonder is the home of my people," said the maiden, and resuming her
eagle-dress she took the youth on her back again, and, circling upward,
hovered for a moment over this home of the Eagles, then, through one of
the
wide entrances which were in the roof, slowly descended. No ladders
were
there, inside or outside; no need of them with a people winged like the
Eagles, for a people they were, like ourselves--more a people, indeed,
than
we, for in one guise or the other they might appear at will.

No sooner had the Eagle-maiden and the youth entered this great
building
than those who were assembled there greeted them with welcome
assurances of
joy at their coming. "Sit ye down and rest," said they.

The youth looked around. The great room into which they had descended
was
high and broad and long, and lighted from many windows in its roof and
upon
its walls, which were beautifully white and clean and finished, as no
walls
in this world are, with many devices pleasing to the eye. Starting out
from
these walls were many hooks or pegs, suspended from which were the
dresses
of the Eagles who lived there, the forms of which we know.

"Yea, sit ye down and rest and be happy," said an old man. Wonderfully
fine
he was as he arose and approached the couple and said, spreading abroad
his
wings: "Be ye always one to the other wife and husband. Shall it be
so?"

And they both, smiling, said "Yes." And so the youth married the
Eagle-maiden.

After a few days of rest they found him an eagle-coat, fine as the
finest,
with broad, strong wings, and beautiful plumage, and they taught him
how to
comform himself to it and it to himself. And as Eagles would teach a
young
Eagle here in this world of ours, so they taught the youth gradually to
fly.

At first they would bid him poise himself in his eagle-form on the
floor of
their great room, and, laying all over it soft things, bid him open his
wings and leap into the air. Anxious to learn, he would spread his
great
wings and with a powerful effort send himself high up toward the
ceiling;
but untaught to sustain himself there, would fall with many a flap and
tumble to the floor. Again and again this was tried, but after a while
he
learned to sustain and guide himself almost wholly round the room
without
once touching anything; and his wife in her eagle-form would fly around
him,
watching and helping, and whenever his flight wavered would fan a
strong
wind up against his wings with her own that he might not falter, until
he
had at last learned wholly to support himself in the air.

Then she bade him one day come out with her to the roof of the house,
and
from there they sailed away, away, and away over the great valleys and
plains below, ever keeping to the northward and eastward; and whenever
he
faltered in his flight she bore his wings up with her own wings,
teaching
him how, this way and that, until, when they returned to the roof,
those who
watched them said: "Now, indeed, is he learned in the ways of our
people.
How good it is that this is so!" And they were very happy, the youth
and the
Eagle-maiden and their people.

One day the maiden took the youth out again into the surrounding
country,
and as they flew along she said to him: "You may wonder that we never
fly
toward the southward. Oh, my youth, my husband! never go yonder, for
over
that low range of mountains is a fearful world, where no mortal can
venture.
If you love me, oh, if you truly love me, never venture yonder!" And he
listened to her advice and promised that he would not go there. Then
they
went home.

One day there was a grand hunt, and he was invited to join in it. Over
the
wide world flew this band of Eagle hunters to far-away plains.
Whatsoever
they would hunt, behold! below them somewhere or other might the game
be
seen, were it rabbit, mountain sheep, antelope, or deer, and each
according
to his wish captured the kind of game he would, the youth bringing home
with
the rest his quarry. Of all the game they captured he could eat none,
for in
that great house of the Eagles, so beautiful, so perfect, no fire ever
burned, no cooking was ever done.

And after many days the food which the youth brought with him was
diminished
so that his wife took him out to a high mountain one day, and said: "As
I
have told you before, the region beyond those low mountains is fearful
and
deadly; but yonder in the east are other kinds of people than those
whom you
should dread. Not far away is the home of the Pelicans and Storks, who,
as
you know, eat food that has been cooked, even as your people do. When
you
grow hungry, my husband, go to them, and as they are your grandparents
they
will feed you and give you of their abundance of food, that you may
bring it
here, and thus we shall do well and be happy."

The youth assented, and, guided part of the way by his faithful, loving
wife, he went to the home of the Storks. No sooner had he appeared than
they
greeted him with loud assurances of welcome and pleasure at his coming,
and
bade him eat. And they set before him bean-bread, bean-stews, beans
which
were baked, as it were, and mushes of beans with meat intermixed, which
seemed as well cooked as the foods of our own people here on this
mortal
earth. And the youth ate part of them, and with many thanks returned to
his
home among the Eagles. And thus, as his wife had said before, it was
all
well, and they continued to live there happily.

Between the villages of the Eagles and the Storks the youth lived; so
that
by-and-by the Storks became almost as fond of him as were the Eagles,
addressing him as their beloved grandchild. And in consequence of this
fondness, his old grandfather and grandmother among the Storks
especially
called his attention to the fearful region lying beyond the range of
mountains to the south, and they implored him, as his wife had done,
not to
go thither. "For the love of us, do not go there, oh, grandchild!" said
they
one day, when he was about to leave.

He seemed to agree with them, and spread his wings and flew away. But
when
he had gone a long distance, he turned southward, with this
exclamation:
"Why should I not see what this is? Who can harm me, floating on these
strong wings of mine? Who can harm an Eagle in the sky?" So he flew
over the
edge of the mountains, and behold! rising up on the plains beyond them
was a
great city, fine and perfect, with walls of stone built as are the
towns of
our dead ancients. And the smoke was wreathing forth from its chimneys,
and
in the hazy distance it seemed teeming with life at the moment when the
youth saw it, which was at evening time.

The inhabitants of that city saw him and sent messages forth to the
town of
the Eagles that they would make a grand festival and dance, and invited
the
Eagles to come with their friends to witness this dance. And when the
youth
returned to the home of his Eagle people, behold! already had this
message
been delivered there, and his wife in sorrow was awaiting him at the
doorway.

"Alas! alas! my youth! my husband!" said she. "And so, regarding more
your
own curiosity than the love of your wife, you have been into that
fearful
country, and as might have been expected, you were observed. We are now
invited to visit the city you saw and to witness a dance of the
inhabitants
thereof, which invitation we cannot refuse, and you must go with us. It
remains to be seen, oh my youth, whom I trusted, if your love for me be
so
great that you may stand the test of this which you have brought upon
yourself, by heedlessness of my advice and that of your grandparents,
the
Storks. Oh, my husband, I despair of you, and thus despairing, I
implore you
to heed me once more, and all may be well with you even yet. Go with us
tonight to the city you saw, the most fearful of all cities, for it is
the
city of the damned, and wonderful things you will see; but do not laugh
or
even smile once. I will sit by your side and look at you. Oh, think of
me as
I do of you, and thus thinking you will not smile. If you truly love
me, and
would remain with me always, and be happy as I would be happy, do this
one
thing for me."

The youth promised over and over, and when night came he went with the
Eagle
people to that city. A beautiful place it was, large and fine, with
high
walls of stone and many a little window out of which the red firelight
was
shining. The smoke was going up from its chimneys, the sparks winding
up
through it, and, with beacon fires burning on the roofs, it was a
happy,
bustling scene that met the gaze of the youth as he approached the
town.
There were sounds and cries of life everywhere. Lights shone and
merriment
echoed from every street and room, and they were ushered into a great
dance
hall, or kiwitsin, where the audience was already assembled.

By-and-by the sounds of the coming dance were heard, and all was
expectation. The fires blazed up and the lights shone all round the
room,
making it as bright as day. In came the dancers, maidens mostly,
beautiful,
and clad in the richest of ancient garments; their eyes were bright,
their
hair black and soft, their faces gleaming with merriment and pleasure.
And
they came joking down the ladders into the room before the place where
the
youth sat, and as they danced down the middle of the floor they cried
out in
shrill, yet not unpleasant voices, as they jostled each other, playing
grotesque pranks and assuming the most laughter-stirring attitudes:

"Hapa! hapa! is! is! is!" ("Dead! dead this! this! this!")--pointing at
one
another, and repeating this baleful expression, although so beautiful,
and
full of life and joy and merriment.

Now, the youth looked at them all through this long dance, and though
he
thought it strange that they should exclaim thus one to another, so
lively
and pretty and jolly they were, he was nevertheless filled with
amusement at
their strange antics and wordless jokes. Still he never smiled.

Then they filed in again and there were more dancers, merrier than
before,
and among them were two or three girls of surpassing beauty even in
that
throng of lovely women, and one of them looked in a coquettish manner
constantly toward the youth, directing all her smiles and merriment to
him
as she pointed round to her companions, exclaiming: "Hapa! hapa! is!
is!
is!"

The youth grew forgetful of everything else as he leaned forward,
absorbed
in watching this girl with her bright eyes and merry smiles. When,
finally,
in a more amusing manner than before, she jostled some merry dancer, he
laughed outright and the girl ran forward toward him, with two others
following, and reaching out, grasped his hands and dragged him into the
dance. The Eagle-maiden lifted her wings and with a cry of woe flew
away
with her people. But ah, ah! the youth minded nothing, he was so wild
with
merriment, like the beautiful maidens by his side, and up and down the
great
lighted hall he danced with them, joining in their uncouth postures and
their exclamations, of which he did not yet under stand the true
meaning--"Hapa! hapa! is! is! is!"

By-and-by the fire began to burn low, and the maidens said to him:
"Come and
pass the night with us all here. Why go back to your home? Are we not
merry
companions? Ha! ha! ha! ha! "Hapa! hapa! is! is! is!" They began to
laugh
and jostle one another again. Thus they led the youth, not unwillingly
on
his part, away into a far-off room, large and fine like the others, and
there on soft blankets he lay himself down, and these maidens gathered
round
him, one pillowing his head on her arm, another smiling down into his
face,
another sitting by his side, and soon he fell asleep. All became
silent, and
the youth slept on.

In the morning, when broad daylight had come, the youth opened his eyes
and
started. It seemed as though there were more light than there should be
in
the house. He looked up, and the room which had been so fine and
finished
the night before was tottering over his head; the winds shrieked
through
great crevices in the walls; the windows were broken and wide open;
sand
sifted through on the wind and eddied down into the old, barren room.
The
rafters, dried and warped with age, were bending and breaking, and
pieces of
the roof fell now and then when the wind blew more strongly. He raised
himself, and clammy bones fell from around him; and when he cast his
eyes
about him, there on the floor were strewn bones and skulls.

Here and there a face half buried in the sand, with eyes sunken and
dried
and patches of skin clinging to it, seemed to glare at him. Fingers and
feet, as of mummies, were strewn about, and it was as if the youth had
entered a great cemetery, where the remains of the dead of all ages
were
littered about. He lifted himself still farther, and where the head of
one
maiden had lain or the arms of another had entwined with his, bones
were
clinging to him. One by one he picked them off stealthily and laid them
down, until at last he freed himself, and, rising, cautiously stepped
between the bones which were lying around, making no noise until he
came to
the broken-down doorway of the place.

There, as he passed out, his foot tripped against a splinter of bone
which
was embedded in the debris of the ruin, and as a sliver sings in the
wind,
so this sang out. The youth, startled and terrorized, sprang forth and
ran
for his life in the direction of the home of the Storks. Shrieking,
howling,
and singing like a slivered stick in the wind, like creaking boughs in
the
forest, with groans and howls and whistlings that seemed to freeze the
youth
as he ran, these bones and fragments of the dead arose and, like a
flock of
vampires, pursued him noisily.

He ran and ran, and the great cloud of the dead were coming nearer and
nearer and pressing round him, when he beheld one of his grandparents,
a
Badger, near its hole. The Badger, followed by others, was fast
approaching
him, having heard this fearful clamor, and cried out: "Our grandson!
Let's
save him!" So they ran forward and, catching him up, cast him down into
one
of their holes.

Then, turning toward the uncanny crowd and bristling up, with sudden
emotion
and mighty effort they cast off that odor by which, as you know, they
may
defile the very winds. Thlitchiii! it met the crowd of ghosts.
Thliwooo! the
whole host of them turned with wails and howls and gnashings of teeth
back
toward the City of the Dead, whence they had come. And the Badgers ran
into
the hole where lay the youth, lifted him up, and scolded him most
vigorously
for his folly.

Then they said: "Sit up, you fool, for you are not yet saved! Hurry!"
said
they, one to another. "Heat water!" And, the water being heated,
nauseating
herbs and other medicines were mingled with it, and the youth was
directed
to drink of that. He drank, not once, but four times. Ukch, usa!--and
after
he had been thus treated the old Badgers asked him if he felt relieved
or
well, and the youth said he was very well compared with what he had
been.

Then they stood him up in their midst and said to him: "You fool and
faithless lout, why did you go and become enamored of Death, however
beautiful? It is only a wonder that with all our skill and power we
have
saved you thus far. It will be a still greater wonder, O foolish one,
if she
who loved you still loves you enough after this faithlessness to save
the
life which you have forfeited. Who would dance and take joy in Death?

Go now to the home of your grandparents, the Storks, and there live.
Your
plumage gone, your love given up, what remains? You can neither descend
to
your own people below without wings, nor can you live with the people
of the
Eagles without love. Go, therefore, to your grandparents!"

And the youth got up and dragged himself away to the home of the
Storks; but
when he arrived there they looked at him with downcast faces and
reproached
him over and over, saying: "There is small possibility of your
regaining
what you have forfeited,--the love and affection of your wife."

"But I will go to her and plead with her," said the youth. "How should
I
know what I was doing?"

"We told you not to do it, and you heeded not our telling."

So the youth lagged away to the home of the Eagles, where, outside that
great house with high walls, he lingered, moping and moaning. The
Eagles
came and went, or they gathered and talked on the housetop, but no word
of
greeting did they offer him; and his wife, at last, with a shiver of
disgust, appeared above him and said: "Go back! go back to your
grandparents. Their love you may not have forfeited; mine you have. Go
back!
for we never can receive you again amongst us. Oh, folly and
faithlessness,
in you they have an example!"

So the youth sadly returned to the home of the Storks. There he
lingered,
returning ever and anon to the home of the Eagles; but it was as though
he
were not there, until at last the elder Eagles, during one of his
absences,
implored the Eagle-maid to take the youth back to his own home.

"Would you ask me, his wife, who loved him, now to touch him who has
been
polluted by being enamored of Death?" asked she.

But they implored, and she acquiesced. So, when the youth appeared
again at
the home of the Eagles, she had found an old, old Eagle dress, many of
the
feathers in it broken; ragged and disreputable it was, and the
wing-feathers
were so thin that the wind whistled through them. Descending with this,
she
bade him put it on, and when he had done so, she said: "Come with me
now,
according to the knowledge in which we have instructed you."

And they flew away to the summit of that blue mountain, and, after
resting
there, they began to descend into the sky which we see, and from that
downward and downward in very narrow circles.

Whenever the youth, with his worn-out wings, faltered, the wife bore
him up,
until, growing weary in a moment of remembrance of his faithlessness,
she
caught in her talons the Eagle dress which sustained him and drew it
off,
bade him farewell forever, and sailed away out of sight in the sky. And
the
youth, with one gasp and. shriek, tumbled over and over and over, fell
into
the very center of the town in which he had lived when he loved his
Eagle,
and utterly perished.

Thus it was in the times of the ancients; and for this reason by no
means
whatsoever may a mortal man, by any alliances under the sun, avoid
Death.
But if one would live as long as possible, one should never, in any
manner
whatsoever, remembering this youth's experience, become enamored of
Death.

Thus shortens my story.


- From 'Zuni Folk Tales',  Frank Hamilton Cushing,1901