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But when it was all still perfect, and, as it were, new,
there lived in this village a maiden, the daughter of the priest-chief.
She was beautiful, but possessed of this peculiarity of character: There
was a sacred spring of water at the foot of the terrace whereon stood the
town.
We now call it the Pool of the Apaches; but then it was sacred to
Kólowissi (the Serpent of the Sea). Now, at this spring the girl displayed
her peculiarity, which was that of a passion for neatness and cleanliness
of person and clothing. She could not endure the slightest speck or
particle of dust or dirt upon her clothes or person, and so she spent most
of her time in washing all the things she used and in bathing herself in
the waters of this spring.
Now, these waters, being sacred to the Serpent of the Sea, should not have
been defiled in this way. As might have been expected, Kólowissi became
troubled and angry at the sacrilege committed in the sacred waters by the
maiden, and he said: "Why does this maiden defile the sacred waters of my
spring with the dirt of her apparel and the dun of her person_ I must see
to this." So he devised a plan by which to prevent the sacrilege and to
punish its author.
When the maiden came again to the spring, what should she behold but a
beautiful little child seated amidst the waters, splashing them, cooing
and smiling. It was the Sea Serpent, wearing the semblance of a
child,--for a god may assume any form at its pleasure, you know. There sat
the child, laughing and playing in the water.
The girl looked around in all directions--north, south, east, and
west--but could see no one, nor any traces of persons who might have
brought hither the beautiful little child. She said to herself: "I wonder
whose child this may be! It would seem to be that of some unkind and cruel
mother, who has deserted it and left it here to perish. And the poor
little child does not yet know that it is left all alone. Poor little
thing! I will take it in my arms and care for it."
The maiden then talked softly to the young child, and took it in her arms,
and hastened with it up the hill to her house, and, climbing up the
ladder, carried the child in her arms into the room where she slept.
Her peculiarity of character, her dislike of all dirt or dust, led her to
dwell apart from the rest of her family, in a room by herself above all of
the other apartments.
She was so pleased with the child that when she had got him into her room
she sat down on the floor and played with him, laughing at his pranks and
smiling into his face; and he answered her in baby fashion with cooings
and smiles of his own, so that her heart became very happy and loving. So
it happened that thus was she engaged for a long while and utterly
unmindful of the lapse of time.
Meanwhile, the younger sisters had prepared the meal, and were awaiting
the return of the elder sister.
"Where, I wonder, can she be_" one of them asked.
"She is probably down at the spring," said the old father; "she is bathing
and washing her clothes, as usual, of course! Run down and call her."
But the younger sister, on going, could find no trace of her at the
spring. So she climbed the ladder to the private room of this elder
sister, and there found her, as has been told, playing with the little
child. She hastened back to inform her father of what she had seen. But
the old man sat silent and thoughtful. He knew that the waters of the
spring were sacred.
When the rest of the family were excited, and ran to behold the pretty
prodigy, he cried out, therefore: "Come back! come back! Why do you make
fools of yourselves_ Do you suppose any mother would leave her own child
in the waters of this or any other spring_ There is something more of
meaning than seems in all this."
When they again went and called the maiden to come down to the meal spread
for her, she could not be induced to leave the child.
"See! it is as you might expect," said the father. "A woman will not leave
a child on any inducement; how much less her own."
The child at length grew sleepy. The maiden placed it on a bed, and,
growing sleepy herself, at length lay by its side and fell asleep. Her
sleep was genuine, but the sleep of the child was feigned. The child
became elongated by degrees, as it were, fulfilling some horrible dream,
and soon appeared as an enormous Serpent that coiled itself round and
round the room until it was full of scaly, gleaming circles. Then, placing
its head near the head of the maiden, the great Serpent surrounded her
with its coils, taking finally its own tail in its mouth.
The night passed, and in the morning when the breakfast was prepared, and
yet the maiden did not descend, and the younger sisters became impatient
at the delay, the old man said: "Now that she has the child to play with,
she will care little for aught else. That is enough to occupy the entire
attention of any woman."
But the little sister ran up to the room and called. Receiving no answer,
she tried to open the door; she could not move it, because the Serpent's
coils filled the room and pressed against it. She pushed the door with all
her might, but it could not be moved. She again and again called her
sister's name, but no response came. Beginning now to be frightened, she
ran to the skyhole over the room in which she had left the others and
cried out for help.
They hastily joined her,--all save the old father,--and together were able
to press the door sufficiently to get a glimpse of the great scales and
folds of the Serpent. Then the women all ran screaming to the old father.
The old man, priest and sage as he was, quieted them with these words: "I
expected as much as this from the first report which you gave me.
It was impossible, as I then said, that a woman should be so foolish as to
leave her child playing even near the waters of the spring. But it is not
impossible, it seems, that one should be so foolish as to take into her
arms a child found as this one was."
Thereupon he walked out of the house, deliberately and thoughtful, angry
in his mind against his eldest daughter. Ascending to her room, he pushed
against the door and called to the Serpent of the Sea: "Oh, Kólowissi! It
is I, who speak to thee, O Serpent of the Sea I, thy priest. Let, I pray
thee, let my child come to me again, and I will make atonement for her
errors. Release her, though she has been so foolish, for she is thine,
absolutely thine. But let her return once more to us that we may make
atonement to thee more amply." So prayed the priest to the Serpent of the
Sea.
When he had done this the great Serpent loosened his coils, and as he did
so the whole building shook violently, and all the villagers became aware
of the event, and trembled with fear.
The maiden at once awoke and cried piteously to her father for help.
"Come and release me, oh, my father! Come and release me!" she cried.
As the coils loosened she found herself able to rise. No sooner had she
done this than the great Serpent bent the folds of his large coils nearest
the doorway upward so that they formed an arch. Under this, filled with
terror, the girl passed. She was almost stunned with the dread din of the
monster's scales rhtmling past one another with a noise like the sound of
flints trodden under the feet of a rapid runner, and once away from the
writhing mass of coils, the poor maiden ran like a frightened deer out of
the doorway, down the ladder and into the room below, casting herself on
the breast of her mother.
But the priest still remained praying to the Serpent; and he ended his
prayer as he had begun it, saying: "It shall be even as I have said; she
shall be thine!"
He then went away and called the two warrior priest-chiefs of the town,
and these called together all the other priests in sacred council. Then
they performed the solemn ceremonies of the sacred rites--preparing
plumes, prayer-wands, and offerings of treasure.
After four days of labor, these things they arranged and consecrated to
the Serpent of the Sea. On that morning the old priest called his daughter
and told her she must make ready to take these sacrifices and yield them
up, even with herself,--most precious of them all,--to the great Serpent
of the Sea; that she must yield up also all thoughts of her people and
home forever, and go hence to the house of the great Serpent of the Sea,
even in the Waters of the World. "For it seems," said he, "to have been
your desire to do thus, as manifested by your actions.
You used even the sacred water for profane purposes; now this that I have
told you is inevitable. Come; the time when you must prepare yourself to
depart is near at hand."
She went forth from the home of her childhood with sad cries, clinging to
the neck of her mother and shivering with terror. In the plaza, amidst the
lamentations of all the people, they dressed her in her sacred cotton
robes of ceremonial, embroidered elaborately, and adorned her with
earrings, bracelets, beads,--many beautiful, precious things.
They painted her cheeks with red spots as if for a dance; they made a road
of sacred meal toward the Door of the Serpent of the Sea--a distant spring
in our land known to this day as the Doorway to the Serpent of the
Sea--four steps toward this spring did they mark in sacred terraces on the
ground at the western way of the plaza.
And when they had finished the sacred road, the old priest, who never shed
one tear, although all the villagers wept sore,--for the maiden was very
beautiful,--instructed his daughter to go forth on the terraced road, and,
standing there, call the Serpent to come to her.
Then the door opened, and the Serpent descended from the high room where
he was coiled, and, without using ladders, let his head and breast down to
the ground in great undulations. He placed his head on the shoulder of the
maiden, and the word was given--the word: "It is time"--and the maiden
slowly started toward the west, cowering beneath her burden; but whenever
she staggered with fear and weariness and was like to wander from the way,
the Serpent gently pushed her onward and straightened her course.
Thus they went toward the river trail and in it, on and over the Mountain
of the Red Paint; yet still the Serpent was not all uncoiled from the
maiden's room in the house, but continued to crawl forth until they were
past the mountain--when the last of his length came forth. Here he began
to draw himself together again and to assume a new shape.
So that ere long his serpent form contracted, until, lifting his head from
the maiden's shoulder, he stood up, in form a beautiful youth in sacred
gala attire! He placed the scales of his serpent form, now small, under
his flowing mantle, and called out to the maiden in a hoarse, hissing
voice: "Let us speak one to the other. Are you tired, girl_" Yet she never
moved her head, but plodded on with her eyes cast down.
"Are you weary, poor maiden_"--then he said in a gentler voice, as he
arose erect and fell a little behind her, and wrapped his scales more
closely in his blanket--and he was now such a splendid and brave hero, so
magnificently dressed! And he repeated, in a still softer voice: "Are you
still weary, poor maiden_"
At first she dared not look around, though the voice, so changed, sounded
so far behind her and thrilled her wonderfully with its kindness. Yet she
still felt the weight on her shoulder, the weight of that dreaded
Serpent's head; for you know after one has carried a heavy burden on his
shoulder or back, if it be removed he does not at once know that it is
taken away; it seems still to oppress and pain him. So it was with her;
but at length she turned around a little and saw a young man-a brave and
handsome young man.
"May I walk by your side_" said he, catching her eye. "Why do you not
speak with me_"
"I am filled with fear and sadness and shame," said she.
"Why_" asked he. "What do you fear_"
"Because I came with a fearful creature forth from my home, and he rested
his head upon my shoulder, and even now I feel his presence there," said
she, lifting her hand to the place where his head had rested, even still
fearing that it might be there."
"But I came all the way with you," said he, "and I saw no such creature as
you describe."
Upon this she stopped and turned back and looked again at him, and said:
"You came all the way_ I wonder where this fearful being has gone!"
He smiled, and replied: "I know where he has gone."
"Ah, youth and friend, will he now leave me in peace," said she, "and let
me return to the home of my people_"
"No," replied he, "because he thinks very much of you."
"Why not_ Where is he_"
"He is here," said the youth, smiling, and laying his hand on his own
heart. "I am he."
"You are he_" cried the maiden. Then she looked at him again, and would
not believe him.
"Yea, my maiden, I am he!" said he. And he drew forth from under his
flowing mantle the shriveled serpent scales, and showed them as proofs of
his word. It was wonderful and beautiful to the maiden to see that he was
thus, a gentle being; and she looked at him long.
Then he said: "Yes, I am he. I love you, my maiden! Will you not haply
come forth and dwell with me_ Yes, you will go with me, and dwell with me,
and I will dwell with you, and I will love you. I dwell not now, but ever,
in all the Waters of the World, and in each particular water. In all and
each you will dwell with me forever, and we will love each other."
Behold! As they journeyed on, the maiden quite forgot that she had been
sad; she forgot her old home, and followed and descended with him into the
Doorway of the Serpent of the Sea and dwelt with him ever after.
It was thus in the days of the ancients. Therefore the ancients, no less
than ourselves, avoided using springs, except for the drinking of their
water; for to this day we hold the flowing springs the most precious
things on earth, and therefore use them not for any profane purposes
whatsoever. Thus shortens my story.
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