Gods Without Men

1920

The man was Deighton, but the People called him Skin Peeled Open, on account of his burned face. No one could say why the other white men hated him so. He had money: He paid for stories with new-minted silver dollars. He even had an automobile. Perhaps it was because he was sick. On the nights he slept in the camp, you could hear him coughing. Once Stone Apron couldn’t sleep for the noise of it and got up to fix him rabbit-bush tea. Didn’t help. He sounded like he was going to die.

He was a tall and ragged kind of a man, with an oil-stained coat and a week’s growth of whiskers making his face lopsided, for they grew only on one half of his jaw, the half not smeared with smooth pink scar tissue. When he first came the young boys threw stones, then ran to hide down by the water. The men who turned out to drive him away were amazed to hear him speak. He told how he’d stayed at a camp on the far side of the Colorado and People there had taught him Language. His accent was strange and many times he used women’s words or mistook one thing for another, but finding a white who could speak at all was a wonder. Two-Headed Sheep was another name for him. Freak of nature.

What did he want? He asked after old ones. Who was the wisest? Who knew the songs and could tell him the names of plants? The People were suspicious, but he was persistent and showed money, so they took him first to Thorn Baby, who was strong in English and could remember when mule deer still ran in large herds on the land. The man said Thorn Baby had too much white schooling and that was when they decided he was crazy, the kind of white who would always be trying to turn his own whiteness upside down. They wanted him to leave then, but he kept hanging around and somehow they got used to him. He gave presents to the children and said “good day” in his comical accent and finally they suggested he talk to Segunda, who loved to gossip so much the young men called her Empty Clay Olla, the kind that makes a hollow noise when you rap it with your fingers. She knew that was her name. They thought she was just a deaf old woman, but she knew. The crazy white man visited her and seemed happy afterward. Everyone agreed: The two of them fitted, like a joint in a socket.

Soon a routine was established. Skin Peeled Open would drive to the camp and spend whole days watching Segunda weave baskets, listening to her talk about the time when the animals were men. He would listen and write in his book, which made some of the People nervous, reminding them as it did of the magic worked in courts and land offices, the kind that always fell out one way.

She grew comfortable in his company. They’d sit together under her ramada, looking out at the stand of palms by the water hole, she cross-legged on a mat, he on the little folding stool he brought with him in a footlocker, along with his bedroll and the cans of corned beef that were a sore temptation to mouths bored with yucca and mesquite meal. The man pretended not to notice when food disappeared from his trunk. He could easily have put a padlock on it, if he’d wanted.

He complimented Segunda on her baskets. Who had taught her to weave? What materials did she use? How many different styles did she know? He watched her cut willow and grind yucca root and devil’s claw into dyes. He made her feel proud of her baskets — most people had no use for them now that they could buy basins and pails from the general store — so she let him follow her to the ditch to watch how she soaked the yucca fiber in guano. Above all, he wanted to know if there were any old stories about basket weaving. Of course there were, and when she got tired of his pestering, she told them. She told of the basket that Ocean Woman used to scoop up the sun, and the basket Coyote used to bring the People back from the west, carrying it on his back like a water spider with its sac of eggs. She told other stories, such as the one about the time Dog and Coyote went their separate ways, Dog to the camp and Coyote to walk around. She told about the time when Coyote and his brother Wolf lived on Snow-Having and hunted bighorn sheep.

Then came a day when he wanted her to say disgusting words. She was upset and would not speak to him. After that, she began to pick up her basketry and hide when she heard the sound of his machine coming toward the camp. She complained about it to her nephew. Little Bird sat the man down and explained, very slowly, as you would to a child, that it was forbidden to speak the names of the dead. The man took out his little book. Interesting, he said. So does the name die with the person? His speech made no kind of sense. If a name had died, there’d be no need to forbid people to use it.

Little Bird told him he wasn’t welcome anymore. The man didn’t understand. Little Bird just couldn’t get him to see, not after he’d written so much down in his book. That was typical of them. He even asked to speak to Segunda. Little Bird blushed, and pretended not to know such a person.

Then the man did a strange thing. He sent his woman. She was young and pretty, which made the People laugh because he was such a stringy old thing. Under her big straw hat, her face was as white as salt. With her dusty skirts and her patched shirtwaist she cut a sorry sight. She had no jewelry, not so much as a string of beads, and when she sat down on the earth you could see the holes in her shoes. Then the People knew she was not rich, though the man Deighton drove an automobile. They said to one another: There must be trouble between them.

Salt-Face Woman tried to talk, but no one could understand. Then she spoke English to Thorn Baby and Charcoal Standing and those two told the People that her husband had sent her to the camp to be his mouth and ears. The other women felt sorry for her. They helped her build a shelter; Skin Peeled Open had already left and gone back to town.

One evening she came and sat down beside Segunda at the fire. Thorn Baby was embarrassed at having to repeat her words in Language. She was talking about dust. She was asking for the names of the dead. Segunda covered her ears. She was afraid. These people had death all over them. They were covered in death, like a hide. Segunda ran away. Thorn Baby came to find her in the arroyo to say that the woman had promised not to bother her again.

Salt-Face Woman stayed for a long time. After a while it seemed like she accepted the way of things. She was certainly a quicker study than her husband. Her voice grew louder. Segunda could understand some of what she said. But she made her afraid. Segunda didn’t want to talk anymore. Salt-Face Woman had struck her dumb. Everyone remarked on it. Empty Clay Olla not talking? What could be the matter?

When a person is dead, it is right for them to go into silence. You should never call them back. Trouble for them and trouble for you. It was possible the woman wasn’t human. She could have been wearing someone’s skin.

Then into camp came Mockingbird Runner, who’d been away working as a hand for one of the cattlemen. Ever since the time when the whites fought their war for the water holes, they’d hired People to watch over certain places. Mockingbird Runner carried a rifle and wore fancy boots, but he was also an owner of the Bighorn Sheep Song and People said he got his name because he knew how to run in the old way. His grandfather was a famous doctor who had a bat familiar that protected him from the cold. Though he was young, Mockingbird Runner had power. When he heard about Salt-Face Woman he went to take a look at her. The next thing Segunda knew, they were sitting together under a ramada and the little thing was writing in her book.

Segunda sidled closer, to listen to what they were saying. Mockingbird Runner was telling her a story of the time when Coyote was living with his brother Wolf at Snow-Having. They went to war with the Bear People and Wolf was killed. The Bear People took his scalp and Coyote snuck into the camp with his penis, the two of them disguised in the skins of old Bear women who’d been out gathering mesquite branches for the fire.

Mockingbird Runner was telling this story and the woman was writing it down. Of course he didn’t use the word penis. He called it Coyote’s tail.

Willie Prince, said the woman. That is only your English name.

Soon after that the man Deighton came back and took his woman away. Segunda felt happy, but all the same she talked to Little Bird about moving to another camp. There were many places they could go. People were down in Imperial Valley, and on the riverbank up near Adobe Hanging Like Tears. There would be trouble at Kairo, she was sure. The snakes were listening. They should go somewhere else. Little Bird had work driving mules at one of the silver mines in the mountains. He had to go back to that place. He said she could go to another camp if she liked. He would follow her later. But she was an old woman. It was hard to bestir herself to make a long journey on her own.

Then Deighton brought his wife back again. He left her with a box of canned food and drove away. Before he left, he raised his voice to her, saying she was wasteful and a poor worker. Salt-Face Woman hid in her shelter, where she thought no one would see her cry. That evening Mockingbird Runner sat beside her, telling her words. The names of animals and rocks and stars. The types of rain. Rain that slashes at the skin. Spring rain, as fine as palmita seeds.

Willie Prince, said the woman. That is only your English name. What is your real name?

Segunda had warned Mockingbird Runner about such questions. He laughed and told her she was a foolish old clay olla, with a few grains rattling around inside. That one was reckless. He didn’t care if the snakes were awake. He didn’t care about telling stories to a spirit. Segunda saw him show Salt-Face Woman the scars on his back from the mission school. She heard him sing one of the songs they taught him there. When the woman asked a third time, Mockingbird Runner told her his true name.

Who would leave a wife alone in a strange camp? It was obvious to Segunda the man Deighton didn’t care for Salt-Face Woman at all. Everyone said so. That was why she cried so much. At night it was cold. She had only a thin blanket. Segunda saw Mockingbird Runner bring her a quilt. She saw them talking in the firelight. She saw Mockingbird Runner lay down beside her.

I shall explain to her about death, said Mockingbird Runner, as he washed himself in the water the next morning. There is no need, Segunda told him. These people know more about it than you or I. But he would not listen. It was what Salt-Face Woman wanted to know, he said. He wanted to make her happy.

That afternoon the two lovers climbed the rocks together. Though it was years since Segunda had walked so far, let alone scrambled over boulders or up narrow paths, she followed them. She saw them sit down together in a sheltered spot. She saw Salt-Face Woman open up her little book. Segunda crept closer and strained to overhear. It was as she’d feared. Mockingbird Runner was telling the story of the time Coyote traveled to the Land of the Dead.

Coyote was wandering around, aimlessly as usual. He was feeling sad that so many of his companions had been killed in the war against Gila Monster.

“Haikya! I am lonely. There is no one to help me carry the game I kill-aikya! Where are my friends, the friends with whom I used to play the hand game and sing by the fire? Gila Monster and his people have killed them all.”

He asked his penis, who knew many more things than he. “Penis,” he said, “what shall I do-aikya! Once I had companions to help me dance the old dances, but Gila Monster and his people have killed them all-aikya!”

His penis thought for a while. “If you want to see your friends, you must travel to the Three-Finger Rocks and look inside the cave beneath them. There you will find Yucca Woman, weaving a basket. She is blind and will not know what you are doing, just so long as you are quiet. Cling to a strand of devil’s claw and hold on tight, because she is weaving together this world and the Land of the Dead. At the moment when she holds the willow wands open, there is a gap between the two worlds. You can crawl into the Land of the Dead. But whatever you do, never let go of the devil’s-claw strand. If you do, you will be trapped.”

So Coyote traveled over the mountains and across the white sands and came at last to the Three-Finger Rocks. Sure enough, in the cave beneath he found old blind Yucca Woman, weaving her basket.

“Who is there?” asked Yucca Woman. “Nobody is there-aikya!” said Coyote. “Just an old dust devil, the kind the children beat with sticks.” And Yucca Woman went back to her basket weaving.

Coyote made himself very small and flattened his belly against a strand of devil’s claw, clinging tightly as Yucca Woman’s nimble fingers threaded the weft through the willow wands. As soon as the strand passed beneath the willow, Coyote found himself in twilight. It was cold and gray. He looked across the land and saw many dim green lights, the glowing campfires of the dead. He squinted into the darkness. Finally he recognized the faces of his companions, the young warriors killed in the war against Gila Monster. He called out to them. “Haikya! Hello, my brothers! How good to see you! Are you happy here-aikya? Do you have enough to eat?” His friends replied, but being dead their voices were very faint and hard to hear. Just then, the nimble fingers of Yucca Woman passed the devil’s claw strand back through the willow wands and once again Coyote found himself in this world.

He felt frustrated but remembered the wise words of his penis. A second time Yucca Woman passed the devil’s claw thread beneath the willow and a second time Coyote clung on tight and passed into the Land of the Dead. Once again he saw his companions sitting around the pale campfires. Once again he called out. This time they beckoned to him, showing him they had made a place for him beside the fire. Still he couldn’t hear their words. When he passed into the Land of the Dead a third time he couldn’t resist and let go of the strand. He dropped to the ground and went to sit by the fire with his companions. “Old friends, it is good to see you-aikya! Tell me the news. What game do you hunt down here in the Land of the Dead? Do you still wrestle and throw sticks to pierce the hoop?” His friends said nothing.

“Coyote!” said his penis. “You have been very foolish! Look what you’ve done!” Coyote squinted up through the gloom and saw a young warrior climbing onto the devil’s-claw strand. “Good-bye, Coyote!” shouted the warrior. “Good-bye and thank you. You have saved me from the Land of the Dead. I’ve been here ever since I was speared in the war against Gila Monster. Now I shall go back and feel the sun on my face, and run and hunt and lay down with a woman.” Coyote shook his fist. “Haikya! You tricked me-aikya! I’m sorry I ever came down here.” He wept and wailed as he thought about how he had been tricked. “What a fool was I, to let go of the strand of devil’s claw. Now I will have to wait here in this gloomy spot, until I can fool another person into taking my place.”

Segunda listened to this story and knew that for all his power, Mockingbird Runner had fallen into a trap. She lay in the cover of bush and watched the lovers take off their clothes. She saw his red body next to her white body, and she knew there would be a baby, and it would be Coyote’s baby, belonging half to this world and half to the Land of the Dead.