How Mosquitoes Came to Be - Tlingit Story

The Tlingit, the northernmost of the great Northwest Coast tribes, lived in numerous villages from Prince William Sound down to the Alaska Panhandle. Like the Haida, Tsmshian, and Kwakiutl, they occupied large, rectangular, decorated and painted wooden houses; fished in big dugout canoes; held potlatches upon the death and burial of important persons; and made war to capture slaves as well as the booty necessary for giveaways during the potlatch.

The sea provided nearly their entire diet. The Tlingit were also great sculptors and carvers of totem poles, masks, ceremonial rattles, bowls, and painted boxes. Their women wove the famous Chilkat blankets and also fine, multicolored baskets. Their dress was highly decorative, often covered with the images of eagles and other animals, the outlines formed of round pieces of pearl shells or buttons acquired from whites. Women wore ornaments in their lower lips, so-called labrets.

The Tlingit were harshly treated and exploited by Russian fur traders. Today some 250 Tlingits live at Craig on Prince of Wales Island in Alaska.

HOW MOSQUITOES CAME TO BE TLINGIT

Long ago there was a giant who loved to kill humans, eat their flesh, and drink their blood. He was especially fond of human hearts. Unless we can get rid of this giant, people said, none of us will be left, and they called a council to discuss ways and means.

One man said, I think I know how to kill the monster, and he went to the place where the giant had last been seen. There he lay down and pretended to be dead.

Soon the giant came along. Seeing the man lying there, he said These humans are making it easy for me. Now I don't even have to catch and kill them, they die right on my trail, probably from fear of me!

The giant touched the body. Ah, good, he said, this one is still warm and fresh. What a tasty meal he'll make, I can't wait to roast his heart.

The giant flung the man over his shoulder, and the man let his head hang down as if he were dead. Carrying the man home, the giant dropped him in the middle of the floor right near the fireplace. Then he saw that there was no firewood and went to get some.

As soon as the monster had left, the man got up and grabbed the giants huge skinning knife. Just then the giants son came in, bending low to enter. He was still small as giants go, and the man held the big knife to his throat. Quick, tell me, where's your fathers heart? Tell me or Ill slit your throat!

The giants son was scared. He said My fathers heart is in this left heel.

Just then the giants left food appeared in the entrance, and the man swiftly plunged the knife into the heel. The monster screamed and fell down dead.

Yet the giant still spoke. Though I'm dead, though you killed me, I'm going to keep on eating you and all the other humans in the world forever!

That's what you think! said the man. I'm about to make sure that you never eat anyone again. He cut the giants body into pieces and burned each one in the fire. Then he took the ashes and threw them into the air for the winds to scatter.

Instantly each of the particles turned into a mosquito. The cloud of ashes became a cloud of mosquitoes, and from their midst the man heard the giants voice laughing, saying Yes, Ill eat you people until the end of time.

And as the monster spoke, the man felt a sting, and the mosquito started sucking his blood, and then the many mosquitoes stung him, and he began to scratch himself.

Papago Tribe Story - Butterflies

The Papago - the Bean People - a Southwestern tribe closely related to the Pima. They are probably descendants of the ancient Hohokam. The Papago are an agricultural people who irrigate by flooding.

Though frugal and peaceful, they could be tough when attacked. and they defended themselves stoutly against raiding bands of Apaches. Papago women are renowned for their wonderful baskets woven from yucca fiber. Their traditional houses were round, dome-shaped, and flat-topped, 12 to 20 feet in diameter, and usually had a brush shelter (ramada) attached. They now live on a four-part reservation of almost three million acres in Arizona. Some offshoots of the tribe also live in Sonora, Mexico.

BUTTERFLIES - PAPAGO

One day the Creator was resting, sitting, watching some children at play in a village. The children laughed and sang, yet as he watched them, the Creators heart was sad. He was thinking: These children will grow old.

Their skin will become wrinkled. Their hair will turn gray. Their teeth fall out. The young hunters arm will fail. These lovely young girls will grow ugly and fat. The playful puppies will become blind mangy dogs. And those wonderful flowers-yellow and blue, red and purple-will fade. The leaves from the trees will fall and dry up. Already they are turning yellow.

Thus the Creator grew sadder and sadder. It was in the fall, and the thought of the coming winter, with its cold and lack of game and green things, made his heart heavy. Yet it was still warm, and the sun was shining. The Creator watched the play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves being carried here and there by the wind. He saw the blueness of the sky, the whiteness of some cornmeal ground by the women.

Suddenly he smiled All those colors, they ought to be preserved.

I'll make something to gladden my heart, something for these children to look at and enjoy. The Creator took out his bag and started gathering things: a spot of sunlight, a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the cornmeal, the shadow of playing children the blackness of a beautiful girls hair, the yellow of the falling leaves, the green of the pine needles, the red, purple, and orange of the flowers around him.

All these he put into his bag.

As an afterthought, he put the songs of the birds in, too.

Then he walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing. Children, little children, this is for you, and he gave them his bag.

Open it; theres something nice inside, he told them.

The children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of colored butterflies flew out, dancing around the childrens heads, settling on their hair, fluttering up again to sip from this or that flower.

And the children, enchanted, said that they had never seen anything so beautiful.

The butterflies began to sing, and children listened smiling.

But then a songbird came flying, settling on the Creators shoulder, scolding him, saying: Its not right to give our songs to these new pretty things.

You told us when you made us that every bird would have his own song. And now you've passed them all around. Isn't it enough that you gave your new playthings the colors of the rainbow?

You're right, said the Creator. I made one song for each bird, and I shouldn't have taken what belongs to you.

So the Creator took the songs away from the butterflies, and that's why they are silent. They're beautiful even so! he said.