American Indian Trickster Tales (Myths and Legends) (22 page)

Iktomi took his sharp knife out of its beaded knife sheath and began to skin and dress the deer. Then he gathered wood and, with his strike-a-light and tinder, made a fire. There was not much wood and it was wet. It wasn’t much of a fire. And it had grown very cold. Iktomi was shivering. His teeth were chattering. He was saying to himself: “What good is my blanket to Inyan? He is just a rock. He does not feel either cold or heat. He does not need it. And, anyway, I don’t think Inyan had anything to do with my finding this deer. I am smart. I saw certain tracks. I smelled the deer. So there, I did it all by myself. I did not have to give Inyan anything. I shall take my blanket back!”

Iktomi went back to the sacred rock. He took the blanket off him.
“Tunkashila,”
he said, “this blanket is mine. I am freezing. You don’t need this blanket; I do.”

Iktomi wrapped the blanket tightly around his body. “Ah, that feels good,” he said. “Imagine, giving a blanket to a rock!”

When Iktomi came back to the place where he had left the deer, he discovered that it had disappeared—vanished, gone! Only a heap of dry bones was left. There were no tracks or any signs that somebody had dragged the deer away. It had been transformed into dry bones by a powerful magic.

“How mean of Inyan,” said Iktomi, “and how stupid of me. I should have eaten first and then taken the blanket back.”

{
Minneconjou Sioux
}

One day, Iktomi, the spider fellow, was talking a walk to see what he could see. Tiptoeing through the woods, he saw water sparkling through the leaves. “I am coming to a lake,” Iktomi said to himself. “There might be some fat ducks there. I shall creep up to this lake very carefully so that I cannot be seen. Maybe I shall catch something.”

Iktomi crept up to the water’s edge on all fours, hiding himself behind some bushes. Sure enough, the lake was full of nice, plump ducks. At the sight of them Iktomi’s mouth began to water. But how was he to catch the birds? He had neither a net nor his bow and arrows. But he had a stick. He suddenly popped up from behind the bushes, capering and dancing.

“Ho, cousins, come here and learn to dance. I have eight legs and I am the best dancer in the world.”

All the ducks swam to the shore and lined up in a row, spellbound by Iktomi’s fancy dancing. After a while Iktomi stopped. “Cousins, come closer still,” he cried. “I am the gentle, generous Spider-Man, the friend of all the birds, cousin to all fliers, and I shall teach you the duck song. Now, when I start singing, you must all close your eyes in order to concentrate better. Do not peek while I sing, or you will be turned into ugly mud hens with red eyes. You don’t want this to happen, do you? You have, no doubt, noticed my stick. It is a drumstick with which I will beat out the rhythm. Are you ready? then close your eyes.”

Iktomi started to sing and the foolish ducks crowded around him, doing as he had told them, flapping their wings delightedly and swaying to and fro. And with his stick Iktomi began to club them dead—one after another.

Among the ducks was one young, smart one. “I better check on what’s happening,” this duck said to himself. “I don’t quite trust that fellow with the eight legs. I’ll risk one eye. One red eye isn’t so bad.” He opened his left eye and in a flash saw what Iktomi was up to. “Take off! Take off!” he cried to the other ducks. “Or we’ll all wind up in this man’s cooking pot!”

The ducks opened their eyes and flew away, quacking loudly.

Still, Iktomi had a fine breakfast of roast duck. The Spider-Man’s power turned the smart young duck into a mud hen.

This is why, to this day, mud hens swim alone, away from other ducks, always on the lookout, diving beneath the water as soon as they see or hear anyone approaching, thinking it might be wicked Iktomi with a new bag of tricks. Better a live, ugly mud hen than a pretty, dead duck.

{
Santee
}

It was winter. It was cold. Iktomi was walking about. “It’s hard to find anything to eat. I have been going on an empty stomach for days.” Of course, that wasn’t true. He had eaten a rabbit only a few hours before, but Iktomi is always ravenous, he is never satisfied. “Oh, my,” he said, “listen to that poor stomach of mine growling.” He was looking around. Not too far away he saw Beaver sitting on the ice of a frozen lake. Beaver was cooking. He was stirring a large pot resting upon two stones with a fire under it. Iktomi’s nose began to twitch. He smelled the food. It smelled wonderful. “How can I get some of it?” he said to himself.

Iktomi went over to Beaver. “Elder brother,” he said,
“Toniktuka hwo?
How are you this fine morning?”

“I am well,
lila washtay.
Thank you. I can’t complain.”

“I see you are cooking up a fine meal. It smells very good. I hear you are a fine cook, and a great hunter, too. What’s in the pot?”

“Oh, just some bear meat, cousin Spider.”

“Elder brother, I was told that you are the fastest runner hereabouts. Yes, people are talking about what a great runner you are.”

“People are always exaggerating, cousin Spider. You know how they are always speaking nonsense.”

“No, not at all, elder brother. You are justly famous,” said Iktomi. “But I have an idea. Why don’t we have a race, you and me? I would consider it an honor to race against someone like you.”

“Well, all right, cousin, I am game. In what way should we race?”

“We’ll walk around the lake to the far side and then we’ll race across the ice back to the pot here. And whoever reaches this pot first gets the bear meat.”

“Well, all right, cousin, if that’s what you want.”

Iktomi thought to himself: “That slow, fat old fellow will be easy to beat. I can already taste that delicious bear meat.”

They walked around the lake. They got to the far shore. “Now I’ll count to three, elder brother. When I say ‘three,’ we start running.”

“All right!”

The race began. The ice was very slick. Beaver, with his large, webbed feet, had the better hold on it. To Iktomi’s surprise and dismay, Beaver was getting ahead of him. Then a crack opened in front of Iktomi and he fell into the lake. He swam underneath the ice to where Beaver was already gorging himself on the bear meat.

There was a small hole in the ice right there. Iktomi put his mouth up to this hole. “Elder brother,” he begged, “please give me a little of the food.” Beaver took a small piece and dropped it into Iktomi’s mouth.

“Pilamaya,
thank you, elder brother, let me have some more.” Beaver dropped another piece into Iktomi’s mouth. “More, more,” said Iktomi. Beaver grabbed a big chunk of bear dung, which was there within his reach, and dumped it into Iktomi’s mouth.

“Is this a way to treat a relative?” Iktomi complained. He swam under the ice to another crack, big enough to let him climb out. He shook himself. He was frozen stiff. “That evil old fellow has played a trick on me,” Iktomi said to himself, “but this is not the end. Someday I shall have my revenge!” ,

{
Sioux
}

Iktomi, the clever Spider-Man, is smart, sometimes too smart for his own good. Iktomi was sitting on a log, one fine morning, sunning himself, when he saw Cetan, the Hawk, flying about. “Brother,” cried Iktomi, “give me a ride!” The good-natured Hawk let Iktomi climb on his back. Up in the air Iktomi enjoyed the flight and the fine view, but soon he was bored. Iktomi is always bored, unless he can play a joke on someone. He decided to have some fun at the Hawk’s expense.

Whenever they encountered somebody—an eagle, buzzard, or magpie—Iktomi made to them a gesture in sign language indicating that Hawk was a stupid, no-account hlete, good-for-nothing. Thus he played Hawk for a fool. He thought Hawk could not see him doing that. He thought: “Hawks don’t have eyes on the backs of their heads.”

What Iktomi forgot was that Hawk could see their shadow on the ground and could watch Iktomi making fun of him. “I’ll get even with that tricky Spider-Man,” thought Hawk, and all of a sudden turned over, flying upside down. Iktomi lost his grip and fell through the air, landing inside a hollow tree.

Iktomi was still trying to find his way out when it began to rain. It rained very hard. The tree was very dry. It soaked up the water like a sponge and swelled up. Poor Iktomi was being crushed to death.

Poor Iktomi! In his pain and fear he began to pray. “Great Spirit, why did you make me so smart that I always try to fool everybody? In the end I am only fooling myself. Please save me! Have pity on me!” Thus Iktomi humbled himself. His former pride and wickedness made him feel very small, so small that he was able to crawl out of that tree. A little humility and prayer can be a good thing sometimes.