Man Behind Cuyama Valley Indian Massacre (12 pages)

PAGE 38 THECALIFORNIANS VOLUME12/NO, 3\ the other side to puke and moan and rub blood from their bodies. Twice I thought Coyote was waiting for me in Tipiknits Pahn. Water colder than ice filled my mouth and nose. The young man holding the rope sang his song and I sang mine, but he was strong and I desired life more than death, so we finally crawled over the rocks and let the warm May sun seep into our bones. Infants were tied into water-proof baskets and pulled across the river with no loss of life. Only two old women and one of the brave young men were carried away in the flood. The remainder of Chief Takac’s Waksachi village struggled over two more sharp hills and through two precipitous canyons before arriving at the flat-topped hill overlooking the Saganiu river. Chief Joijoi stretched his arms to embrace the multitude. Scraggly remnants from many Yokuts villages smiled and cheered. The Paiute representatives stared at the Yokuts with sparkling eyes and the tweaked smiles of condescension. Those Paiute fellows were something else, butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth of a one. Paiute and Mormon, not a lick of difference. So, on the first day of this so-called Ghost Dance, the Paiute smiled their missionary smile and the Yokuts smiled their dull-witted adolescent smiles and everybody was happy. Smiles all over the place and nobody was even drunk. What a bunch of bullshit. I waved her away. Such foolishness. Atall Telamni man walked slowly about the circle until all stood still to listen. “I have danced with the ghosts of my ancestors.” “Yes, yes,” the crowd murmured. “With the Washo I have danced and with the eastern Paiute beyond the mountains . have danced. Always the ghosts join with me in circling round and round the fire. They sing of their return to life with you. They sing of blissful days with you. They rejoice in your happiness.” Now the crowd exploded with screams of excitement. “Begin the dance! Begin the dance!” Two teams of six dancers stepped forward. Two sets of six singers began shaking their elderberry clappers and singing. “Ta? nana nina’ na ni. Hai’ nana ni na’ na ni,” they sang. Everyone joined in circling the fire. Everyone sang, “Hai’ na na nina’ ni.” No one saw the moon rise or heard the owls hoot. They sang and danced. Round and round. Round and round. Every once ina while one of Joijoi’s winatun scooted over to my side and whispered, “What do you hear, greatest tipne of the “This is why we are assembled together,” Joijoi shouted. Mothers hushed children, men stopped telling lies, and all turned to their host. “This is why we are assembled,” he repeated in a more moderate voice. “The Eagle — our Creator — will soon reveal himAn old Wukchumni woman whispered, “The dead will follow Eagle back to the Great Valley; my husband, your mother, all the dead will return to us.” I waved her away. Such foolishness. People?” “I hear a bunch of fools singing the same nonsense song over and over again. They all want to turn into a crow or a stick or water or something equally impossible. Foolish nonsense is what . hear.” “No, no,” the winatun said. self to us.” “A hhhh,” the massive crowd sighed in a rapturous hiss of excitement. “Six of our dead ancestors will return to us from Tipiknits Pahn. These honored spirits will be followed by six more and six more, and each will whisper instructions for us to our tipni.” A group of six Monache Paiute made loud, yodeling, otherworldly screams. They whirled round and round, like water falling through a hole, then collapsed in whimpering ecstasy. Others from the Paiute villages joined in this demonstration of joy, and through the entire disruption, Chief Joijoi stood silently, his arms outstretched, and maintained a smile of benevolent patience. When all was quiet again, he spoke. “José Jesus, supreme tipne of the Yokuts, will sit at my side. Many lesser tipne of the Yokuts and Paiute will surround me. They will listen for Eagle to speak. They will listen to the ranks of dead ancestors — six after six after six — to reveal their secrets.” Once again the screams and laughter and weeping and fainting swept through the crowd. Joijoi waited. “This is what you must do,” Joijoi finally said. “First, you must paint your totemic patterns upon your body as a welcome to the dead ancestors of your village. Next, you must listen to the singers and follow their instructions. No sleeping! No fooling around! Any who disobey the singers will turn instantly into a log of wood.” “Oooo,” the crowd said. I sat under a screen of thatch mounted on four stout branches. The shade was pleasant. An old Wukchumni woman brought me a lamb joint, a bowl of atole and a basket of water. “Your mother and I were cousins,” she whispered. “Are you ready to join my mother in Tipiknits Pahn?” I asked. “No, no. The other way round. She will return to us. Today, maybe tomorrow. All the dead will follow Eagle back to the Great Valley.” Tears struggled down the ancient skin. “My husband, your mother, all the dead ancestors will return to us.” “What do you hear from Eagle? From the dead ancestors?” “Nothing,” I said. “Give us a signal when they speak to you,” the winatun said. “Tell the old Wukchamni lady to bring me some tobacco tea,” . said. “I will do as you ask, José Jesus.” When the first rosy blush of color eased over the eastern mountains, the tall Telamni man stepped forward and the dancing stopped. After a long moment, the professional dancers led everyone in one circuit to the right, then three turns of the circle to the left. “We are finished,” the tall Telamni man shouted. Now the men and women and children ran toward the river and everyone went swimming. Girls flirted with boys. Wives soaped and washed their husbands and whispered promises of delights tc come. Children cried for attention and for food. On the way back to their campsites everyone scrounged wood for cook fires and ther waited for Chief Joijoi to demonstrate his hospitality. Live steers were given to the various villages, and the animal: were quickly slaughtered, cooked and consumed. There was noth. ing more, just the skinny red and white steers. In the late afternoor sun, the young children cried for some bread or atole or mush. The headmen and elders of the various villages gave hard looks to thei host, Chief Joijoi. Many of the women began to search the we ground along the river, and in the meadows between the forest, fo roots and greens. At dusk the dancing and singing started again. “Hai nana nina’ nani. Hai’ nana nina’ nani,” they sang. Alway to the left. Step with the left foot and drag the right. Step and dray and sing. Round and round. “Heard anything, tipni?” “No.” “Heard anything, tipni?”

PAGE 38 THECALIFORNIANS VOLUME12/NO, 3\ the other side to puke and moan and rub blood from their bodies. Twice I thought Coyote was waiting for me in Tipiknits Pahn. Water colder than ice filled my mouth and nose. The young man holding the rope sang his song and I sang mine, but he was strong and I desired life more than death, so we finally crawled over the rocks and let the warm May sun seep into our bones. Infants were tied into water-proof baskets and pulled across the river with no loss of life. Only two old women and one of the brave young men were carried away in the flood. The remainder of Chief Takac’s Waksachi village struggled over two more sharp hills and through two precipitous canyons before arriving at the flat-topped hill overlooking the Saganiu river. Chief Joijoi stretched his arms to embrace the multitude. Scraggly remnants from many Yokuts villages smiled and cheered. The Paiute representatives stared at the Yokuts with sparkling eyes and the tweaked smiles of condescension. Those Paiute fellows were something else, butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth of a one. Paiute and Mormon, not a lick of difference. So, on the first day of this so-called Ghost Dance, the Paiute smiled their missionary smile and the Yokuts smiled their dull-witted adolescent smiles and everybody was happy. Smiles all over the place and nobody was even drunk. What a bunch of bullshit. I waved her away. Such foolishness. Atall Telamni man walked slowly about the circle until all stood still to listen. “I have danced with the ghosts of my ancestors.” “Yes, yes,” the crowd murmured. “With the Washo I have danced and with the eastern Paiute beyond the mountains . have danced. Always the ghosts join with me in circling round and round the fire. They sing of their return to life with you. They sing of blissful days with you. They rejoice in your happiness.” Now the crowd exploded with screams of excitement. “Begin the dance! Begin the dance!” Two teams of six dancers stepped forward. Two sets of six singers began shaking their elderberry clappers and singing. “Ta? nana nina’ na ni. Hai’ nana ni na’ na ni,” they sang. Everyone joined in circling the fire. Everyone sang, “Hai’ na na nina’ ni.” No one saw the moon rise or heard the owls hoot. They sang and danced. Round and round. Round and round. Every once ina while one of Joijoi’s winatun scooted over to my side and whispered, “What do you hear, greatest tipne of the “This is why we are assembled together,” Joijoi shouted. Mothers hushed children, men stopped telling lies, and all turned to their host. “This is why we are assembled,” he repeated in a more moderate voice. “The Eagle — our Creator — will soon reveal himAn old Wukchumni woman whispered, “The dead will follow Eagle back to the Great Valley; my husband, your mother, all the dead will return to us.” I waved her away. Such foolishness. People?” “I hear a bunch of fools singing the same nonsense song over and over again. They all want to turn into a crow or a stick or water or something equally impossible. Foolish nonsense is what . hear.” “No, no,” the winatun said. self to us.” “A hhhh,” the massive crowd sighed in a rapturous hiss of excitement. “Six of our dead ancestors will return to us from Tipiknits Pahn.

These honored spirits will be followed by six more and six more, and each will whisper instructions for us to our tipni.” A group of six Monache Paiute made loud, yodeling, otherworldly screams. They whirled round and round, like water falling through a hole, then collapsed in whimpering ecstasy. Others from the Paiute villages joined in this demonstration of joy, and through the entire disruption, Chief Joijoi stood silently, his arms outstretched, and maintained a smile of benevolent patience. When all was quiet again, he spoke. “José Jesus, supreme tipne of the Yokuts, will sit at my side. Many lesser tipne of the Yokuts and Paiute will surround me. They will listen for Eagle to speak. They will listen to the ranks of dead ancestors — six after six after six — to reveal their secrets.” Once again the screams and laughter and weeping and fainting swept through the crowd. Joijoi waited. “This is what you must do,” Joijoi finally said. “First, you must paint your totemic patterns upon your body as a welcome to the dead ancestors of your village. Next, you must listen to the singers and follow their instructions. No sleeping! No fooling around! Any who disobey the singers will turn instantly into a log of wood.” “Oooo,” the crowd said. I sat under a screen of thatch mounted on four stout branches. The shade was pleasant. An old Wukchumni woman brought me a lamb joint, a bowl of atole and a basket of water. “Your mother and I were cousins,” she whispered. “Are you ready to join my mother in Tipiknits Pahn?” I asked. “No, no. The other way round. She will return to us. Today, maybe tomorrow. All the dead will follow Eagle back to the Great Valley.” Tears struggled down the ancient skin. “My husband, your mother, all the dead ancestors will return to us.” “What do you hear from Eagle? From the dead ancestors?” “Nothing,” I said. “Give us a signal when they speak to you,” the winatun said. “Tell the old Wukchamni lady to bring me some tobacco tea,” . said. “I will do as you ask, José Jesus.” When the first rosy blush of color eased over the eastern mountains, the tall Telamni man stepped forward and the dancing stopped. After a long moment, the professional dancers led everyone in one circuit to the right, then three turns of the circle to the left. “We are finished,” the tall Telamni man shouted. Now the men and women and children ran toward the river and everyone went swimming. Girls flirted with boys. Wives soaped and washed their husbands and whispered promises of delights tc come. Children cried for attention and for food. On the way back to their campsites everyone scrounged wood for cook fires and ther waited for Chief Joijoi to demonstrate his hospitality. Live steers were given to the various villages, and the animal: were quickly slaughtered, cooked and consumed. There was noth. ing more, just the skinny red and white steers. In the late afternoor sun, the young children cried for some bread or atole or mush. The headmen and elders of the various villages gave hard looks to thei host, Chief Joijoi. Many of the women began to search the we ground along the river, and in the meadows between the forest, fo roots and greens. At dusk the dancing and singing started again. “Hai nana nina’ nani. Hai’ nana nina’ nani,” they sang. Alway to the left. Step with the left foot and drag the right. Step and dray and sing. Round and round. “Heard anything, tipni?” “No.” “Heard anything, tipni?”