The son of God, the Deathless One, had a wife, and she was a good woman. One day she went out to gather fruit, and the Hot Wind saw her and stole her away. The Deathless One found the Wind's trail, and knew the footprints; so he went home to his grandmother, the First Woman, and said, "I have seen the trail of the Wind who has stolen my wife, and I am going to follow him.' So the Deathless One followed the trail untill he came upon some people who lived close beside it, and he asked of them, 'Have you seen any one pass?' 'Yes,' said the people, 'The Wind passed by a short time ago, and with him went a beautifull woman.' Also they said, 'The Wind is a great pole-player. (games played with poles and rings are aboriginal Indian games found among many tribes.) He has beaten every one, and has won all the people. Stop for a while and we will tell you how the Wind plays. If you let him play with his own pole, he will beat you and put you with the rest of the men, women, and children that he has won. But if you will wait we will make you two good poles to play with, and then perhaps you will beat the Wind and win back the people and set them free.' So they made good poles for him, and the Deathless One went on until he came to the wind's lodge that was made of willowbrush, and there, inside, sitting with the Wind, he saw his wife. 'Ho, friend!' said the Wind, 'will you play pole with me?' 'Yes,' said the Deathless One. 'That's why I have come.' The Deathless One looked at the Winds pole; it was not made of wood, but of a dead man's thigh-bone. He did not want to play with the bone pole. Then he said to the Wind, 'Give me your ring that I may look at it.' He took the ring and knew that it was made of a live snake, for he saw the gleam of it's eyes. He had pins (the pins are possibly cactus thorns) in his hand, and with these he pierced the eyes of the snake, and gave back the ring to the Wind. The Wind tried to throw the ring, but he clould not, because it was dead. He tried again, and then asked of the Son of God, 'How did you kill this?' Õ like not your ring nor your bone pole,' said the Deathless One; 'I have a good ring and good wooden poles.' Then he threw away the Wind's ring and pole and made ready to play. 'Where did you get these good poles and this ring?' said the Wind. 'I like them. I will play with you and stake half of these people.' They played one game, and the ring leaped over the Wind's pole and fell on the pole of the Deathless One, and so the Deathless One won half the people. The second game went the same way, and the Deathless One won the other half of the people. Then said the Wind, 'Are you a runner?' 'No,' said the Deathless One, 'I'm not a runner, but I mean to run with you to-day.' 'Let us race,' said the Wind. 'Let us start from the south and race all around the earth. The one that first reaches again the south point shall win the other. If I win you, I shall kill you; if you win me, you may kill me.' They started from the south and ran all around the earth, and before noon the Deathless One reached again the starting-point. There he waited untill the Wind came. The Wind stepped up close to him and said: 'I am ready if you are ready. You may kill me.' The Deathless One took up a stick and struck at the Wind's head, but every time he struck the Wind dodged. Then a little fly helped the Deathless One; the fly flew into his ear and said, 'Aim at his head, but strike the shadow of his head upon the ground.' So the Deathless One struck downward at the shadow and killed the Wind. Then he said: 'I never saw a man such as the Wind. Now I will make him no man, but wind only.' So he cut the body into four quarters, and threw them east, west, north, and south. That is why the wind still blows from four directions, but no loner lives in the form of a man. (the wife of the Deathless one probably represents the fruitfulness of the earth which was taken away by the hot wind, and upon whose release depended the life of the people.)
Then the Deathless One released his wife and brought her home.
THE MOJAVE-APACHES -SHORT STORY: THE FIRST WOMAN WHO MADE THE SON OF GOD
OUT OF THE BOOK: THE INDIANS BY NATALIE CURTIS 1968 (C) 1907 BY PAUL BURLIN
THE STORY OF GOMOIDEMA POKOMA-KIAKA
Many years ago we lived not here upon the earth but down under the ground. And ther came the time when we had no fruit and there was nothing to eat. So we sent the humming-bird to see what he could find. Where-ever he might find fruit or food of any kind, there the people would go. He flew up into the sky, and there he saw a grape-vine that had his roots in the underworld and grew up through a hole in the middle of the sky into the upper world. The humming-bird saw the hole in the sky and flew through it, and came to a land where mescal and fruits and flowers of all kinds were growing. It was a good land. It was this world. So the humming-bird flew back and told the people that he had seen a beautifull country above. "Let us all go up there," he said. So they all went up, climbing on the grape-vine. They climbed without stopping until they had come out through the hole in the sky into the upper world. But they left behind them in the underworld the frog-folk, who were blind. Now when the people had lived for a while in that land they heard a noise, and they wonderend at it and send a man to look down the hole, through which they had come, to see what made the noise. The man looked and saw the waters were rising from the underworld and were already so high that they nearly reached the mouth of the hole. The people said. "The blind frogs below have made this flood, and if it rises out of the hole it will wash us all away." So they took counsel together, and then they hollowed out a tree like a trough and put into plenty of fruits and blankets. They chose a beautifull maiden and laid her in the trough, and closed it up and said, "Now if the waters come and we are all washed away, she will be saved alive." The flood came up through the hole, and the people ran to the mountains, but thougt the mountains were high the waters rose over them. The trough floated like a boat, and the flood kept rising, till at last it nearly touched the sky. Still the waters rose till the waves dashed the trough against the sky, where it struck with a loud noise. It struck first to the south, then to the west, then to the north, then nearly to the east.Then the flood began to go down. The people had said to the woman, "If you hear the waters going down, wait till the trough rest on the earth, then make a little opening and look around you." When the trough rested on the ground the woman opened it and went out. She looked all around her, over all the world, but saw no one. All the peolple had been drowned. Then the woman thought, "How can I bear children and make new people?" She went up into the mountains early, before sunrise, and lay there alone. Then the daylight came and the beams from the sun shone warm upon the woman, and the water dripped from the crag, and in this way she conceived, and bore a daughter. When the child was grown to maidenhood the mother said to her, "Do you know, my daughter, how you came to be?" And the maiden said, "No." "I will show you," said the mother. So she led her daughter up into the mountains, and bade her lie down as she herselfs had lain. And the maid lay on the mountain all day. Next morning early, before sunrise, the mother went to her, and she lay down upon her daughter and look at the sun. Then she quickly sprang up, and in this way the maiden conceived of the sun, and the child that she bore was the Son of God - Sekala Ka-amja, "The-One-Who-Never-Died."
THE CUT-OFF HEADS OF MEMBERS OF THE lAMPI¬O-GANG VIRGULINO FERREIRRA DA SILVA (lAMPI¬O) OR 'LAMPOON' WAS THE LEADER OF A 'CANGA«O' GANG, WHOM FOUGHT AGAINST THE GREAT-FARMERS AND LANDLORDS IN THE POOR BRAZILIAN NORTHEAST... SOME CONSIDER HIM AS A JESSE JAMES HE GOT KILLED IN ANGICOS, SERGIPE IN 1938 AFTER A MEMBER OF THE GANG BETRAYED HIM HE AND HIS GANG GOT AMBUSHED IN A HIDE OUT BY THE POLICE WITH MACHINE GUNS THERE HEADS WERE CUT OF AND SENT TO SALVADOR, BAHIA TO THE STATE FORENSIC INSTITUTE AND LATER FOR PUBLIC EXHIBITION
WITH HIM DIED HIS SWEETHEART MARIA BONITA AND NINE OTHER GANGMEMBERS
SOME SAY THAT HE'S STILL RIDING THE 'SERT¬O', THE WILDERNESS, WHILE THE RICH FARMERS ARE STILL FEARFUL
The good meal combined with the white gin was too much for Juan and soon he felt a-sleep like a new born child in a colourfull hammock, which was a swinging between two walls. He woke up when the sun was allready settin' down. Confused he stumbled outside, took a shower by the waterwell and catched the smell of fried black-beans and fried fish. He walked back inside the cabin and saw the old singer sitting in his chair; this time without hat. His head was bold and just some grey twines were covered up the sides. In the shadows of the dancin' candlle lights he looked even more scrawny, a stone throw away from a resemblance of Klaus Kinki's 'Nosferatu the vampire', in the Werner Herzog movie. But it was all romantic, somehow unreal, so it could be only written in a good book. Outside Juan heard noises of some men arriving in pick-up trucks; there were five of them, the Sertanejos, the cowboy looking dwellers of the wasteland. Two wearing accordians, one a fiddle and another the Surdo, a big bass-drum. The last one carried a huge curved instrument which makes snoring sounds, which they named Cuica. 'Let's go to the barn,' said the old singer and, leaning on a old walking stick, he stumbled bended down, to the old barn. The barn was transformed like a music-room, a timber floor, a small mixer for voice and instruments, some aged amplifiers and a old piano. The little stage was decorated with some mikes and a colorful parrot whom folks over here named 'Jandaia' flew and produced strange noises around the location. 'Well... this is the place where my amigos are playing our music, music that's touching my soul... the songs of the nordestino, the 'bahi‚o' the music of hard times,' and there was a sad look in the old mans eyes. 'You see... music my dear John is a God's gift, something our are born with, a force you'll never get rid off...' The old man took his martin guitar, stepped, curved like a old tree forward to the mike. With tremblin hands he stroke a D and when he started singing there was no doubt in Juan's heart. The sound was fragile, his voice bounced, but clearly recognizable. The song the old man was a moanin' was called 'Honky-tonk blues', and slowly, the accordions joined in, the fiddle was like a cryin' dyin' man out on the street, while the Surdo accompained the rhythm and cuica made strange noises and sounded like a fierce snake. The blues was re-born in the middle of the Brazilian dessert. Juan took his guitar and forgot the world around him, his memories and future. When the song was finished the bass-drum started another beat, a Indian beat and the song told about a wooden Indian whom never bin kissed: Kawliga. The old man looked at juan: 'let's sing some together bro...' and he found C major: 'Hear that lonesome whistle blow... It sounds too blue to fly...' Just two guitars, a old Martin & a black Gibson, two voices, two former 'gringo's' in another world, far away from there memories, were succes was just a thing... a dyin' item in a world they would forget, a lonely dusty world, with too many 'messin around' on there minds... Then they sang the 'Lovesick Blues' and Sertanejos joined in and again they played there music in a way, so that no one could deny that music and lonelyness, should be the real synthesis. And then when the Sertanejos all ready left in their old truck, the man with the fake name Lucas an de the grey fake gypsy still singing there songs, from 'That's allright Mama' to 'Move it on over', until 'Will the circle be unbroken' make them fall in silence and tears. The next morning Juan awaked in a hammock and ask itself the question: why this world was so complicated? Mysterious. Because music was more important then fame, the fragility of glamour... and here in the wasteland he found his last episode. Here at this pace he would sing 'till the fatal day! But what could he sing in the future, whart would be his goal? New songs were hard to put on paper? Maybe a new love? A stronger 'Love me tender'? The silence was interrupted by the whistling of birds, and faraway he could hear the old man singing 'Weary blues from waitin'', with a voice like a broken chain, a fiddle, a certain melancholic voice with bluesome notes, which made Juan think of negro's on the cottonfields of Mississippi, the labourers at the fields of Mexico, Guatemala, Venezuela, and the slaves on the Brazilian wasteland.