2/28/04: To Be or Not to Be... Eaten?
"Run, Bosworth!" was the first thing
I heard as I opened my car door on a cold February morning in
the village of Shungopavi at Second Mesa. Somewhat startled by
the cry, I looked around to see who was calling my name and why
I should be running. Out of the corner of my eye I saw hands
dangling out of a partially open window waving me toward the
adobe-brick home. Now I had my bearings but still could not see
any imminent threat. Then I heard them - the deep voices of the
Soyoko pressing their way down the alleyway between the two homes
I was nearest. I finally caught on and made a mad dash for the
door where my friends and "family" were. They were
laughing as I scrambled inside. "Careful, or the Heyheyas
will get you!" said one of the youngest girls. You could
see looks of real concern on the faces of the even younger girls
and boys who were holding onto the pant-legs of their mothers
and watching the actions of the other adults in the room. One
little boy was trembling, and his lower lip looked as though
it would only be moments before he burst into tears.
Relatives were bustling about the house, getting
ready for her arrival. Her shrill falsetto voice could be heard
outside in the corridor behind the house. "Soyoko-u-u-u,"
she sang, as she came closer and closer to the home where we
were hiding. The older children had seen her before and had obviously
made a successful barter with her since they were still around!
Their nervous anticipation of her arrival was accompanied with
laughter and erratic behavior. They were practically under the
feet of the adults who would later be the ones to intervene in
their behalf. The kitchen table was piled high with baked goods
- there were cakes and pies, and of course the traditional Hopi
yeast bread. In addition, uncles and grandfathers had placed
large sides of mutton in a cooler near the door. The girls prepared
token offerings of ground cornmeal, while it was the boys' responsibility
to have a jackrabbit or two ready for her when she came. Still
they knew that it would not be enough to satisfy her and "her
children" - the ogre monsters: nataska and wiharu.
Loud voices were heard outside the home. The screen
door rattled with wild energy. We knew it was time - they were
here. Just their appearance was enough to strike terror and fear
into the hearts of all those present. Their long snouts and sharp
teeth were menacing, but even more so were the cleavers, hacksaws,
and other cutting instruments stained the color of crimson. Soyok
Wuhti, the ogre woman, wore a thatched basket on her back - large
enough for a small child to be carried back to the kiva if he
or she did not produce a satisfactory offering or did not have
any relatives who were willing to ransom them with an offering
of their own.
The head of the household stood at the open doorway
and bantered back and forth with the Soyok Wuhti in his native
language. There was a lot of animated arguing going on between
them. It was clear that he was making a case for the inhabitants
of the house, but she would not relent. Her long crooked cane
would occasionally reach past the threshold in an attempt to
wrangle a stray child while her "boys" made wild gestures
with their fists and other implements. The Heyheyas stood nearby,
like a pack of hyenas waiting for scraps left over by the lions.
The argument didn't last long, and the children were coerced
to face the awful monster woman and make their offering. One
by one they approached her with a fistful of meal or a straggly
old jackrabbit. Clearly, she was not impressed and made frightening
attempts to take this boy or that girl back with her to feed
her children. Aunts and uncles were pleaded with and offerings
were made in an effort to ransom the children from the threatening
grasp of the Soyokos.
Nearly all of the baked goods were transferred
from inside the house to the insatiable arms of the Soyok Wuhti
and her family. Together with the offerings of mutton, the family
eventually convinced the gluttonous crew to keep moving, and
not one child was lost. Some of the children were delighted with
what they had just seen and with what had just taken place -
others were still wiping away the tears, but all had learned
an important lesson and strengthened their relationships with
their aunts and uncles - who are traditionally called upon to
administer discipline during the routine of daily life. With
each ransom offering, the aunts and uncles were entitled to the
loyalty (and obedience) of the child and, unless they wanted
to forfeit their ransom in the years to come, they were encouraged
to behave.
With the Soyoko gone, there was reason to celebrate.
A small portion of yeast bread had been withheld, and the lids
were removed from the two large pots resting on the burners in
the back of the kitchen. The rich aroma of hominy stew filled
the room as steam rose into the air. A sack of green chilies
was placed open on the table as we eagerly took our seats. Bowls
were passed around, and jokes were still being told about the
fearsome posse who had just visited the home. We ate heartily
and enjoyed one another's company. The children were unusually
well behaved at the table that day. I guess it was better to
sit down and eat than to be eaten!
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