Post by Okwes on Apr 14, 2008 13:24:36 GMT -5
Gopher's Revenge - Klamath
Young Gopher and his little sister Cottontail were orphans. They had no
father to teach them where to find the tenderest grass and sweetest roots,
and no mother to teach them how to dig a dry, snug burrow. But they lived
with their Grandmother Brush Rabbit, who was old and wise and had the
answers to many questions. And so they learned these things, and many more.
But the first question little Gopher asked was, "Where is my father,
Grandmother?"
And Cottontail, his sister, asked, "Where is my mother. Grandmother?"
"Ask me again when you are grown," said their grandmother with a shake of
her head and a sigh.
So when summer's green leaves turned yellow in autumn, little Gopher asked
once again, "Where is my father. Grandmother?"
And Cottontail, his sister, asked again, "Where is my mother. Grandmother?"
And once again their Grandmother Brush Rabbit shook her head and sighed.
"Ask me again when you are grown."
So it went as each season passed, and always their grandmother gave the same
answer. "Ask me again when you are grown."
When a year had passed and at last they were grown. Gopher asked once more,
"Oh, Grandmother, where is my father?"
And Cottontail asked as before, "Oh, Grandmother, where is my mother?"
"Your father was killed when you were kits," said the old Brush Rabbit, "And
your mother with him."
Gopher sat up straight. "Who killed them?" asked he.
Grandmother Brush Rabbit shivered. "The great Hagfish who lives in the river
that flows by the hill," said she. "The Hagfish stung them dead with her
dreadful sting. And of all the folk who went to find them, none came back
again."
Gopher said nothing, but when he went out to dig roots, he went instead to a
secret place he knew. There, a hole in the hillside led to a tunnel that led
to the place where the river ran by the hill. At the tunnel's end he looked
down and spied, sleeping in the shallow water in the shadows, the horrible
Hagfish. Her eyes bulged out, her scales were hairy, and her teeth were
shiny and sharp. The sting in her tail was long like a whip. Gopher looked
and looked, and then turned home again.
"Teach me to make arrows, my Grandmother,' said he.
"I will," said Grandmother Brush Rabbit, but her heart was heavy. She knew
what he hoped to do, and feared he too would never come home.
She showed him how to use an arrow flaker to shape arrowheads from stone,
and how best to feather a shaft. Six times Gopher chipped away flakes from
obsidian until what was left was an arrowhead. Then he trimmed and feathered
six shafts. And when he had finished and gone, old Grandmother Brush Rabbit
watched the river path and worried.
But Gopher left the path and went by the tunnel as he had done before. At
the far end he looked out from the hole in the hill to spy the horrible
Hagfish below. Then he put an arrow to his bowstring and shot. He shot
again. And again and again until all of his arrows were gone, stuck in the
ugly Hagfish. She roared and wriggled, tossed and thrashed, and lashed the
stones in the stream with her terrible sting. At last she died. And when
Gopher went down to the river's rim he saw a sight both sad and grim, for
the stream was as full of bones as of stones. At home, his sister Cottontail
and Grandmother Brush Rabbit were weeping by the cookfire when Gopher
appeared.
"Gopher!" they cried, and ran to meet him.
"Grandmother," said Gopher. "I have been to the river that runs by the hill,
and killed the old Hagfish who lived there." And he told of the river as
full of bones as of stones.
The news went out that the terrible Hagfish was dead, and when the animal
people heard, they came from near and far to give Gopher gifts. They brought
shells and beads and feathers and seeds, and everything good to eat. And
everyone danced and was glad.
And everyone still is glad, for it is thanks to Gopher that there is no
Hagfish in the World today.
Back in the Beforetime: Tales of the California Indians [the Klamath River
region in the north to the inland desert mountains and the southern
coastlands] Retold by Jane Louise Curry, 1987
www.billabbie.com/calath/castoryindex.html
Young Gopher and his little sister Cottontail were orphans. They had no
father to teach them where to find the tenderest grass and sweetest roots,
and no mother to teach them how to dig a dry, snug burrow. But they lived
with their Grandmother Brush Rabbit, who was old and wise and had the
answers to many questions. And so they learned these things, and many more.
But the first question little Gopher asked was, "Where is my father,
Grandmother?"
And Cottontail, his sister, asked, "Where is my mother. Grandmother?"
"Ask me again when you are grown," said their grandmother with a shake of
her head and a sigh.
So when summer's green leaves turned yellow in autumn, little Gopher asked
once again, "Where is my father. Grandmother?"
And Cottontail, his sister, asked again, "Where is my mother. Grandmother?"
And once again their Grandmother Brush Rabbit shook her head and sighed.
"Ask me again when you are grown."
So it went as each season passed, and always their grandmother gave the same
answer. "Ask me again when you are grown."
When a year had passed and at last they were grown. Gopher asked once more,
"Oh, Grandmother, where is my father?"
And Cottontail asked as before, "Oh, Grandmother, where is my mother?"
"Your father was killed when you were kits," said the old Brush Rabbit, "And
your mother with him."
Gopher sat up straight. "Who killed them?" asked he.
Grandmother Brush Rabbit shivered. "The great Hagfish who lives in the river
that flows by the hill," said she. "The Hagfish stung them dead with her
dreadful sting. And of all the folk who went to find them, none came back
again."
Gopher said nothing, but when he went out to dig roots, he went instead to a
secret place he knew. There, a hole in the hillside led to a tunnel that led
to the place where the river ran by the hill. At the tunnel's end he looked
down and spied, sleeping in the shallow water in the shadows, the horrible
Hagfish. Her eyes bulged out, her scales were hairy, and her teeth were
shiny and sharp. The sting in her tail was long like a whip. Gopher looked
and looked, and then turned home again.
"Teach me to make arrows, my Grandmother,' said he.
"I will," said Grandmother Brush Rabbit, but her heart was heavy. She knew
what he hoped to do, and feared he too would never come home.
She showed him how to use an arrow flaker to shape arrowheads from stone,
and how best to feather a shaft. Six times Gopher chipped away flakes from
obsidian until what was left was an arrowhead. Then he trimmed and feathered
six shafts. And when he had finished and gone, old Grandmother Brush Rabbit
watched the river path and worried.
But Gopher left the path and went by the tunnel as he had done before. At
the far end he looked out from the hole in the hill to spy the horrible
Hagfish below. Then he put an arrow to his bowstring and shot. He shot
again. And again and again until all of his arrows were gone, stuck in the
ugly Hagfish. She roared and wriggled, tossed and thrashed, and lashed the
stones in the stream with her terrible sting. At last she died. And when
Gopher went down to the river's rim he saw a sight both sad and grim, for
the stream was as full of bones as of stones. At home, his sister Cottontail
and Grandmother Brush Rabbit were weeping by the cookfire when Gopher
appeared.
"Gopher!" they cried, and ran to meet him.
"Grandmother," said Gopher. "I have been to the river that runs by the hill,
and killed the old Hagfish who lived there." And he told of the river as
full of bones as of stones.
The news went out that the terrible Hagfish was dead, and when the animal
people heard, they came from near and far to give Gopher gifts. They brought
shells and beads and feathers and seeds, and everything good to eat. And
everyone danced and was glad.
And everyone still is glad, for it is thanks to Gopher that there is no
Hagfish in the World today.
Back in the Beforetime: Tales of the California Indians [the Klamath River
region in the north to the inland desert mountains and the southern
coastlands] Retold by Jane Louise Curry, 1987
www.billabbie.com/calath/castoryindex.html