American Indian Trickster Tales (Myths and Legends) (34 page)

Nanabozho climbed eagerly upon Buzzard’s back but noted that it was very smooth—too smooth, maybe. “The feathers on your back are very slick, brother,” Nanabozho told Buzzard. “I’m afraid to lose my grip and slide off you, falling to my death.”

“Don’t worry, brother,” Buzzard reassured Nanabozho, “just hold on. There’s nothing to it. I won’t let you fall.”

“Will you fly smoothly and evenly, without too much flapping of wings, without banking and jerking, without going too fast?”

“Trust me, brother,” said Buzzard. “Stop worrying. I will fly very slowly and carefully. I won’t show off, tumbling and diving and swooping. You won’t slide off my back.” But secretly Buzzard planned to play a trick upon Nanabozho.

Buzzard carried Nanabozho aloft, way up into the sky. At first he flew straight, without any sudden movements or fits and starts, letting Nanabozho enjoy the flight. “This is wonderful, brother,” said Nanabozho. “I thank you for letting me experience this.” Nanabozho’s enjoyment did not last long. Suddenly, without warning, Buzzard swept the sky in dizzying circles, banking steeply to left and right, spiraling upward and downward at ever-increasing speeds, tumbling wildly toward the earth below.

Nanabozho could not hold on. He fell off Buzzard’s back and plummeted straight down, crashing headfirst into the ground. The fall knocked Nanabozho senseless.

When he came to, the first thing Nanabozho noticed was a kindly-looking fellow with plump cheeks looking him in the face. “Who can this be?” he thought. “I don’t know him.” Then he discovered that the kindly-looking fellow was his own buttocks, because he was lying there all doubled up. He heard somebody laughing high above him. It was Buzzard, mightily pleased with the trick he had played on Nanabozho.

Still weak and addled by his fall, Nanabozho managed to unscramble himself and get on his feet. He limped away into the forest. “Buzzard has treated me badly,” he said to himself. “I will repay him in kind. The joke will be on him.”

Buzzard is a scavenger. If anything dead is lying somewhere, Buzzard will come and gobble it up. He loves carrion. Because of this Nanabozho transformed himself into the rotting carcass of a deer, lying in a place where it could be seen from far off. Nanabozho had the power to assume any shape he wanted. So he was lying there. Soon all the flying, creeping, crawling, and hopping carrion eaters came to feast on the dead deer—wolverines, crows, magpies, turkey vultures, and such like.

Flying high above, Buzzard saw all these scavengers converging upon the same spot. “There must be something good to eat there,” he thought. He flew a little lower. He saw the deer. “I must get my share of it,” he said to himself. “I must get it while something is left.” He swooped down. He squeezed himself through the crowd of the other dead-meat eaters. But then he stopped. He was thinking: “Nanabozho is so clever. He has the power of transforming himself. Could he have turned himself into this dead deer in order to play a trick on me? Could he deceive me in this way as part of a scheme to avenge himself?”

Buzzard was hopping around, very close to the dead deer’s body. The rotting meat smelled delicious to him. He longed to sink his crooked beak into the bloody, oozing carcass. “This surely is a dead animal,” he assured himself. “Even Nanabozho could not fake this enticing stench. Even he could not manage to change himself into this putrid mass. No, this is the real thing; it can’t be Nanabozho. I shall help myself to some of this meat. It is ripe, just as I like it.”

Buzzard plucked out one of the deer’s eyes. “Ah, how good this tastes!” he croaked. The deer’s mouth was wide open. Buzzard stuck his head deep into it, pecking at the tongue. Suddenly the deer’s jaws snapped shut. Buzzard’s head was caught between the teeth. The deer had come alive again. It was Nanabozho.

“How are you, friend?” said Nanabozho, talking through his teeth.

“Why don’t you try to pull your head out of my mouth? Is this not a great and convincing disguise? I fooled even a smart fellow like you.”

Buzzard pulled and pulled, but could not free his head, which was held as by a vise. He struggled for a very long time. Finally, Nanabozho opened his jaws just a tiny bit, so that, with one great effort, Buzzard could yank his head out, but not without stripping all the feathers from his head and neck.

“That’s for throwing me off your back, friend,” said Nanabozho, assuming his real form. “And for playing that trick upon me you shall be forever bald, and you shall stink always on account of the food you eat, so that everybody shall shun your company.” And so it has been ever since—Buzzard has remained bald. His once beautiful head feathers are gone for good. His scrawny neck is ugly, red, and shriveled. He smells so bad that nobody can stand to be around him. Nanabozho went away laughing.

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Manabush went out every day to hunt. When he came home one evening he found Nokomis sitting on her mat in her finest decorated deerskin dress, wearing a necklace and earrings made from pieces of seashells, her hair neatly combed and braided. He had never seen her in such a splendid state before. He asked her: “Grandmother, you are all dressed up. Did you entertain a visitor?”

“Who would visit me?” said Nokomis.

Manabush said to himself: “Someone has been seeing her, but she does not want me to know it.”

The next day Manabush went out again to hunt with his bow and arrows, and when he returned, Manabush once again found Nokomis sitting on her mat in all her finery, wearing her best leggings and finest quill-decorated moccasins. And again Nokomis’s hair had been neatly combed, and the partition, where her hair parted, had been painted vermilion red. Manabush thought: “Somebody surely must have been here to see Nokomis.” Aloud he said: “Grandmother, has somebody been here to see you?”

“Who would come to see me?” said Nokomis.

On the third day Manabush went into the forest as usual and upon coming home again found Nokomis sitting on her mat, all dressed up. This time he did not bother to ask Nokomis whether she had entertained a visitor. He said nothing.

On the fourth day Manabush went out as always, but he only pretended to go hunting. He came right back and, from behind a tree, watched the wigwam. Soon he heard somebody crashing through the bushes, making a great noise, grunting and snorting. Presently the maker of all that racket appeared from among the trees. It was Bear. He was huge and he waddled straight to the wigwam and went in. Manabush waited for a little while and then lit up the end of a piece of birch bark until it was burning. He crept up to the wigwam, pushed iaside the entrance cover, and looked inside. He saw Bear making love to Nokomis.

Manabush took his firebrand and thrusted it between Bear’s legs. Bear howled with pain. His fur caught fire. Growling ferociously, Bear tore open the wigwam’s side and burst through it. Howling, he ran off into the forest. Manabush ran after him with his bow and arrows. He caught up with Bear. He shot arrow after arrow into Bear’s body. One of them pierced his heart. Bear died.

Manabush dragged Bear’s body back to his wigwam. He threw it at Nokomis’s feet, saying: “Here, Grandmother, I have killed a bear. Now we shall feast on bear meat.”

“How did you kill him?” asked Nokomis.

“With my arrows,” answered Manabush.

He cut up Bear, roasted the meat, and offered a piece to Nokomis. “No, no!” cried Nokomis, horrified. “That was my husband and lover. I cannot eat it.”

Manabush then picked up a clot of Bear’s blood and flung it between Nokomis’s legs, crying: “Take this!”

Nokomis said: “Grandson, on account of what you have just done, from now on, all women will always have trouble every moon, and every moon will bring forth clots of blood like this one.” And so it has been ever since.

Wesakaychak, Whiskey Jack, was sitting on a hilltop watching a flock of geese splashing in a lake or flying above it. They soared and dipped, honking loudly, having a good time. Wesakaychak watched their graceful movements and effortless winging across the sky. He said to himself: “Why should these geese have the power to do this, and I do ‘ not have it? I want to be able to fly like those birds. I deserve to have this power.”

Wesakaychak went down to the lake, calling to the geese: “Little brothers, come over here! I have something to discuss with you.”

“Oh, no,” said the geese. “We know you. You’re the one they call Whiskey Jack. You are the one who tricked us before. We’ll keep our distance, because all you want is to knock us dead, pluck us, and eat us.”

“No, no, no!” protested Wesakaychak. “You got me wrong. I’d never do such a thing. I love you as my little brothers. Trust me.”

Finally the biggest, bravest gander went over to Wesakaychak. “All right, what do you want to discuss?”

“My little brother,” said Wesakaychak, “I have put things to rights down here on earth. I killed the harniful animals who ate up all the others, I protected the weak. I brought order into the world down here. So now I have time to attend to the sky and to all who fly in the clouds. I want to do good things for you. If you lend me a pair of wings, I shall fly around and see whether there are any problems to be fixed.”

The geese talked this over among themselves. Then the gander told Wesakaychak: “Elder brother, if you really mean to do good things for us, I guess we can lend you a pair of wings, but you have to be very careful. Flying is dangerous, even for those who are born to it. You must not be foolhardy but fly with caution.”

“I will be careful,” Wesakaychak promised.

The geese gave him an extra-large pair of wings. “Do not use them at once,” they warned him. “Wait four days and nights until the wings have grown solidly to your shoulders. Do not try to fly until four days have passed.”

“I promise,” said Wesakaychak. “I’ll do as you say. These wings are sacred to me. Thanks, little brothers, for lending me a little bit of your power.”

Wesakaychak could not curb his impatience to fly at once. He could not wait. He took off right away. He soared up into the sky, crying loudly like a goose: “Honk, honk!” He flew up and down, delirious with joy, and then one of his wings broke off and he tumbled headfirst into the lake. He almost drowned. He looked very bedraggled as he scrambled out of the water.