Of Cabbages and Kings TALES FROM ZINACANTAN ILobert At. Laughlin SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 SERIES PUBLICATIONS OF THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION Emphasis upon publication as a means of "diffusing knowledge" was expressed by the first Secretary of the Smithsonian. In his formal plan for the Institution, Joseph Henry outlined a program that included the following statement: "It is proposed to publish a series of reports, giving an account of the new discoveries in science, and of the changes made from year to year in all branches of knowledge." This theme of basic research has been adhered to through the years by thousands of titles issued in series publications under the Smithsonian imprint, commencing with Smithsonian Contributions to Know/edge in 1848 and continuing with the following active series: Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology Smithsonian Contributions to Astrophysics Smithsonian Contributions to Botany Smithsonian Contributions to the Earth Sciences Smithsonian Contributions to the Marine Sciences Smithsonian Contributions to Pa/eobio/ogy Smithsonian Contributions to Zoology Smithsonian Studies in Air and Space Smithsonian Studies in History and Technology In these series, the Institution publishes small papers and full-scale monographs that report the research and collections of its various museums and bureaux or of professional colleagues in the world cf science and scholarship. The publications are distributed by mailing lists to libraries, universities, and similar institutions throughout the world. Papers or monographs submitted for series publication are received by the Smithsonian Institution Press, subject to its own review for format and style, only through departments of the various Smithsonian museums or bureaux, where the manuscripts are given substantive review. Press requirements for manuscript and art preparation are outlined on the inside back cover. S. Dillon Ripley Secretary Smithsonian Institution FRONTISPIECE: Disguised Aztec merchants in Tzinacantlan (Florentine Codex) SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY • NUMBER 23 Of Cabbages and Kings TALES FROM ZINACANTAN TLobert M. Laughlin SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION PRESS City of Washington 1977 ABSTRACT Laughlin, Robert M. Of Cabbages and Kings: Tales from Zinacantan. Smithson- ian Contributions to Anthropology, number 23, 427 pages, frontispiece, 11 figures, 8 maps, 1977.—This collection of 173 folktales, myths, legends, and personal reminis- cences from Zinacantan, Chiapas, Mexico was recorded in Tzotzil, primarily in 1960, but also in 1963, 1968, and 1971. Zinacantec oral literature as represented here in the contributions of nine individuals, eight men and one woman, constitutes a small part of the community's awareness of past and present. The narrative style is no different from that of everyday speech. The form and content of the tales may vary considerably from one telling to the next. While a good number of tale motifs show unmistakable European provenience, others, apparently native to Middle America, are widely represented throughout southern Mexico and Guatemala, with a far smaller number restricted to the Chiapas highlands. The Tzotzil texts, with free English translations, are accompanied by linguistic, ethnographic, and folkloristic commentary. OFFICIAL PUBLICATION DATE is handstamped in a limited number of initial copies and is recorded in the Institution's annual report, Smithsonian Year. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Main entry under title: Of cabbages and kings. (Smithsonian contributions to anthropology ; no. 23) Bibliography: p. Supt. of Docs, no.: SI 1.33:23 1. Tzotzil Indians—Legends. 2. Tzotzil language—Texts. I. Laughlin, Robert M. II. Series. GN1.S54 no. 23 [F1221.T9] 398.2 76-608180 For sale by the Superintendent of Documents. U.S. Government Printing Office Washington. D.C. 20402 Slock Number 047-0O0-O0346-6 Contents Page ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ix EPIGRAPH xi INTRODUCTION 1 Beautiful Soup 1 Genesis 2 Timeless Tales, Sacred Scraps 2 Being What It Would Seem To Be 4 Where, Why, Who, and When 5 The Language in Numbers 5 The Spoken Word 6 Antecedents and Consequence 7 Mystery 10 Taletelling . yi LINGUISTIC NOTES 14 ROMIN TERATOL 15 When the Guatemalans Were Blown Sky-high (Tl) 17 When the Guatemalans Were Blown Sky-high (T150) 21 When Christ Was Crucified (T8) . 23 A Visit to the Underworld (T9) 28 The Priest and the Constable (T10) 30 Rabbit in the Melon Patch (T21) 31 John Skin Slays the Sea Serpent (T107) 32 When One Stupid Indian Won (T i l l ) 37 Musician's Delight (T132) 39 The Child They Couldn't Send on Errands (T136) 39 The Three Suns (T13) 40 Why the Woman Had No Children (T105) 41 Tortor Beebee, Papa! (T106) . 42 How the Weak Ones Won, Rabbit Wins and Rabbit Loses (T5) 44 How to Take Care of Tigers (T2) 47 When His Slip Was Showing (T137) 49 The Buzzard Man (T43) 50 What's Man Like? (T3) 52 The Jaguar and the Jaguarundi (T16) 54 The Man Who Didn't Know How (T138) 54 Respect the Dead! (T15) 57 The Revolution (T14) 58 A Lick and a Poke (T45) 59 When Zinacantecs Rode Home on Horseback (TllO) 60 The Man Who Took the Spook's Wings (T125) 63 A Bottle Won't Do (T135) 65 The Charcoal Cruncher (T12) 66 How Rabbit Tricked Coyote (T20) 67 HI iv SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 Page Now, White Dove, Now Is the Hour (T44) 6 7 The Spook and the Girl from San Andres (T126) 68 A Visit to the Underworld (T19) 70 Not Men—Beeswax (T133) 71 Long Hair (T104) 71 The Man Who Lived a Dog's Life (T4) 73 A Long, Hard Night for Crickets (T141) 76 The Flood and the Dwarfs (T7) 76 The King and the Ring (Til) 77 Chili Cure (T134) 78 When the Soldiers Were Coming (T17) 78 Elopement (T18) 80 The Adventures of Johnny Fourteen (T109) 81 What an Old Woman Will Do to You If You Do It to Her (T139) 84 The Adventures of Peter (T6) 86 ROMIN TAN-CHAK 90 The Messengers of Calvary (T140) 90 XUNVASKIS 92 When the Ashes Fell (T120) 94 The Priest and the Bell—The Epidemic and Me (Til4) 95 The Priest and the Bell, When the Bell Was Lifted (T157) 100 The Spook and the Comadre (T122) 101 The War of Saint Rose (T117) 102 The Three Suns (T155) 105 The King and the Ring (T113) 105 The Bird (T116) 107 The Revolution (T112) Ill War, War, War (T154) 113 The Spook and the Girl from Magdalenas (T123) 124 Why the Valley of Naben Chauk Is Flooded (Til9) 126 The Villistas (T121) 129 When the Bell Was Lifted and Three Stupid Indians Won (T115) 132 The Spook and the Chamulan (T124) 135 The Famine (Til8) 137 XUN 7AKOV 141 The Donkey and the Spring (T40) 141 The King and the Ring (T31) 142 How Christ Came to Church (T35) 143 Why Its Cherries Are Sour (T36) 144 The Spook and the Comadre (T23) 145 Bowwow Cave (T39) 145 Why We Have Toothaches (T41) 146 Priest Rock (T30) 147 A Bellyful (T26) 147 Little Spring (T37) 148 A Visit to the Earth Lord (T33) 149 The Dwarfs (T24) 151 When the Sol'diers Were Coming (T25) 151 The Buzzard Man (T42) 152 The Bird (T22) 153 When the Chamulans Marched on the Capital (T28) 153 The Indian King (T34) 154 Saved from the Horned Serpent (T38) 155 The Tree and the Spring (T29) 156 CONTENTS Page The Tree and the Spring (T46) 157 Bellyache (T32) 157 LOL SARATE 159 How Rabbit Won His Hat and Sandals (T90) 159 TONIK NIBAK 164 When Earth Lords Offer Flowers, Beware of Snakes! (T72) 165 The Revolution (T148) 170 He Followed the Sun and Swallowed the Gold (T89) 177 The Charcoal Cruncher(T81) 179 The Spook and the Brother-in-law (T127) 183 The Priest and the Bell (T76) 187 The Spook and the Comadre (T71) 188 The Spooks (T145) 192 Our Lady of the Salt (T83) 196 When I Worked in San Cristobal and the Plane Came (T152) 201 Cinderella (T84) 204 When the Bell Was Lifted (T74) 212 When the Bell Was Lifted (T151) 214 The Poor Woodcutter (T77) 216 The Poor Woodcutter (T144) 222 Stopping a Girl on the Rampage (T75) 227 The Villistas (T149) 231 When the Church Rose and Saint Sebastian Was Saved (T85) 234 When the Church Rose (T147) 237 He Saved a Snake and Won a Wife, Slapped His Wife and Lost His Life (T78) . . . . 238 The Buzzard Man (T69) 246 The Little Bird (T153) 251 The Sweeper of the Path (T79) 253 Elder and Younger Sisters (T80) 254 The Flood (T70) 254 The Flood and the First Settlers (T142) 260 Still Another Spook (T146) 264 The King and the Clever Thief (T143) 268 Fallen Flesh (T73) 275 A Bellyful (T86) 278 A Ring and a Drink (T87) 288 When Saint Christopher Came (T88) 295 Long Hairs (T131) 297 Another Charcoal Cruncher (T82) 301 A Strange Affair in Totolapa (T128) 305 Birth in Totolapa (T129) 311 The Spook and the Saints (T130) 312 CHEPXANTIS 319 The Charcoal Cruncher (T47) 320 MANVEL K'OBYOX 322 Rabbit in the Melon Patch (T49) 323 Adam and Eve (T54) 327 When the Soldiers Were Coming (T56) 328 The Flood (T96) 330 Why There is Soul-Loss (T51) 331 When Christ Was Born (T57) 331 Bellyache (T62) 332 The Charcoal Cruncher (T60) 333 When Our Lord Was Chased (T52) 334 VI SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 Page When Our Lord Was Chased Again (T53) 336 Rabbit Seeks a Brideprice (T50) 336 The Flood (T55) 337 The War of Saint Rose (T65) 338 Lost Sheep (T61) 340 How the Weak Ones Won (T59) 340 The Little Bird (T66) 341 The Buzzard Man (T48) 342 When the Church Rose and the Ashes Fell (T58) 343 The Fiddle (T99) 345 The Flute (T100) 345 Why the Bell Sank (T91) 346 The Spook and the Comadre (T67) 347 The Spook and the Saints (T68) 348 Juan Diego and the Virgin (T103) 350 Armadillo Races Weasel (T101) 350 The King and the Ring (T64) 351 Salt Spring (T63) 354 Long Hair (T95) 355 One Leg (T93) 356 It's Cold in the Crocodile's Belly! (T97) 357 The Birth of Cane Liquor (T98) 357 When the Bell Was Lifted (T102) 358 A Bride for a Liter (T92) 359 REY KOMIS 363 John, Head of Gold (T163) 364 Fallen Flesh (T176) 367 How Rabbit Tricked Coyote (T166) 367 The Adventures of Johnny Fourteen (T170) 370 The Charcoal Cruncher (T175) 372 How Toenails Won a Bride (T174) 373 How Rabbit Lost His Hat and Sandals, How the Weak Ones Won (T167) 377 When Zinacantecs Rode Home on Horseback (T160) 378 The Adventures of Peter (T171) 379 When Our Lord Was Chased (T177) 384 The Three Suns (T162) 387 Journey to Irdivolveres (T172) 388 Long Hair (T158) 391 Rabbit Wins and Rabbit Loses (T169) 392 A Visit to the Underworld (T173) 395 What's Man Like? (T168) 396 The King and the Ring (T165) 397 The Flood (T161) 4Oo The Bear's Son (T164) 401 When the Guatemalans Were Blown Sky-High (T159) 404 POSTSCRIPT 406 APPENDIX 1: Cast of Native Demons and Deities 407 APPENDIX 2: Gazetteer 408 APPENDIX 3: Tale Schedule 411 APPENDIX 4: List of Tales and Tellers 412 LITERATURE CITED 414 MAPS 420 CONTENTS Figures Page Frontispiece: Disguised Aztec merchants in Tzinacantlan (Florentine Codex) 1. Romin Teratol, 1961 15 2. Xun Vaskis, 1971 92 3. Battle of Ixtapa, 24 April 1924 I l l 4. Battle of Zinacantan, 1 May 1924 121 5. Naben Chauk, 1971 127 6. View from Paste7, 1971 156 7. Tonik Nibak, 1961 164 8. Ya7ajvil, 1971 170 9. Chep Xantis and family, 1958 319 10. Manvel K'obyox, 1961 322 11. View towards Muxul Vitz, 1961 352 Maps 1. Central Chiapas 420 2. Zinacantan Township 421 3. Zinacantan Center 422 4. Paste7 423 5. Western approach to Zinacantan Center 424 6. Northwestern Mexico 425 7. South Central Mexico 426 8. Southern Mexico and Guatemala 427 Acknowledgments It seemed a logical decision. I wanted to publish the folktales of Zinacantan in English, true to the words of the storytellers. For this I needed a dictionary. For ten years the tales hosted a lexical creature that consumed my energies, delaying their publication and even gobbling up all the acknowledgments that should have been offered in equal measure in this book of tales. Rather than pass around an empty bowl, I ask all those in Zinacantan, San Cristobal de Las Casas, Mexico City, and points north who know they have enlivened and quickened the journey of this book to return to The Great Tzotzil Dictionary of San Lorenzo Zinacantan for their just desserts. There are, however, a few individuals whose labors and thoughts I was able to reserve for double duty and who deserve special mention. My scribbles were converted to typed pages by Susan Brown, Paula Jones Cardwell, Rosemary Macchiavelli De Rosa, Anne Mason Lewis, Frances Mendez, Jane Norman, and Jessie Standish Shaw. The Tzotzil texts, spattered with corrections, were typed on a "word processor" by Rosalie Fanale, Susan Linn, Diana Lynn, and Frances Mendez. Their persistence and good cheer seemed superhuman. I am indebted to my wife, Miriam Wolfe Laughlin, to Sophia Lotowycz Stoller, and to Lucy Hemmendinger for alerting me to the many incomprehensible and inelegant passages that required rephrasing. Their solutions were adopted with great frequency. A quick glance at the commentaries to the tales will reveal the importance of the contributions of three colleagues who generously provided me with copies of their own unpublished Tzotzil texts—Victoria Reifler Bricker, Gary Gossen, and Robert Wasserstrom. The encouragement and thoughtful suggestions of friends, some of whom listened to readings of the tales or read sections of the manuscript, fortified my spirits and deepened my understanding—Thor Anderson, John Burstein, Munro Edmonson, John and Leslie Haviland, Eva Hunt, Walter "Chip" Morris, Francesco and Philippa Pellizzi, Timothy Rush, William Trousdale, Robert Wasserstrom, and Carter Wilson. W. S. Merwin proved that Tzotzil tales could be transformed into English poems. Four faces of the storytellers and the setting are revealed through the knowing eye of photographer Frank Cancian. The initial fieldwork, the birth of Of Cabbages and Kings, occured under the skillful ministrations of Evon Z. Vogt, who, as director of the Harvard Chiapas Project, exposed many of these folktales, even in their rough translations, to a wide number of students. A few tales first reached the public in Vogt's Zinacantan (1969). "Vogtie's" support has been a bulwark never failing. I am grateful to the National Institute of Mental Health for its aid under grant MH-02100, to the Phillips Fund of the American Philosophical Society, to Francesco Pellizzi, and to the Smithsonian Institution for financial assistance. 7A ti vo7ne 7oy la to 7ox jun bix-7akah sakil viiiik, toj sonso, ko7ol xchi7uk 7uma7, mu la sna7 chk'opoj mu la sna7 chlo7ilaj, mu la sna7 k'op mu la sna7 rason, solel la yech. "K'usi van yes yabtel?" xiik la ti krixchanoetike. Bweno, pero ta k'unk'un ta k'unk'un 7iyich' la chanubtasel 7iyich' la p'ijubtasel ha7 to la 7iyul 7o j-set' xch'ulel. Bweno, pero k'alal yulem xa 7ox la j-set' xch'ulel ja7 to la 7ik'ocholaj ja7 to la 7ivil ech'el. Pero ta la sk'an stak tal j-likuk vun buy ta xal ti kol iyalik ti yajpas-rasontak 7une—ti 7anima mol Manvel K'obyoxe, ti skumpare mol Xun Vaskise, ti mol Xun 7Akove, ti Chep Xantise, ti skumpare Romin Teratole, ti Rey Komise, ti Romin Tan-chake, ti Lol Sarate xchi7uk ti me7tik Tonik Nibak 7une. viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Pero ta la sjak' tal noxtok mi 7il mi pletu van xava7iik ti 7istzak ta vun 7istzak ta tz'ib ti j-p'el cha7-p'el k'u x7elan yo ye yo sti7 7uke, yu7un 7iyal la tal: Mu xu7 jch'aytik, Mu xu7 jtentik, Stalel slikel 7onox, Ma7uk to ta jtamtik ta jlikestik, Likem 7onox ta jtottik ta jme7tik, K'u x7elan ta jk'opon jbatik, Yik'taoj skomtzanoj, Ti ba7i jtottik jme7tike. 7Ak'ik xa pertonal, Yo j-set' yo juteb. Batz'i ja7 no me yech tze7ej Io7ilotik 7ech' 7o ch'ul-k'ak'al chak taje, Yu7 nox bal xka7i jbatik bu 7oy to 7amigo noxtoke. 7A ti stz'etanoj xchikin chavubil chanav ta patpat naetik mu la xtun, yech'o ti mas la lek xa7i ti vinajuk 7osilajuk ti yes yabtele. Ja7 no la yech xal tal taj yax-tz'ilan sat mol 7uk 7une. Epigraph "I see nobody on the road," said Alice. "I only wish / had such eyes," the King remarked in a fretful tone. "To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance too! Why, it's as much as / can do to see real people, by this light!" "It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards," the Queen remarked. "Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got a moral if only you can find it." "Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves." LEWIS CARROLL When you try to get hold ov a fairy tale in Indian, you hav two principal difficulties. One ov the two iz to get an Indian who can tel a fairy tale. Many Indians, in my experience, cant tel fairy tales. Some Indians hav never heard fairy tales: and thoze that hav, very ofen dont remember what they hav heard. They hav heard some tale, told by an old woman at the fire, perhaps, when they wer half asleep, or told by an old man at a feast, when they wer half drunk: and they remember scraps ov the tale, very likely, and know the tale again when they hear it; but when you ask them themselves to tel the tale, they ar very likely to be floord. That iz the first difficulty. And then comes the other, and more vexatious one. When you do find a man who can tel a tale, you stil cant get the tale down on paper. You cant get down the actual Indian. You cant get down the mans words. You cant get a mans words down in English, without short hand: much less in Indian. Ov course you might remember some ov the mans expressions: and in the end no dout you could put something together that would be intelligible Indian: and might, in fact, be very good Indian:—but it would be your Indian. It might be az good az the real thing. It might be az good az Indians' Indian. But it could not profess to be anything but your Indian. You might az wel, I should supoze, rite the thing in English at once. The Indian ov this little tale iz the real thing. ROBERT BURKITT The Hills and the Corn (1920) Of Cabbages and Kings TALES FROM ZINACANTAN Robert M. Laughlin Introduction BEAUTIFUL SOUP One thing is certain—they don't need my observa- tions nor my renderings. They are sufficient to themselves. Except that we have been taught for years to poke and pry, to discover or doctor philos- ophies, to tape our evidence and paper our conclu- sions, I would have been content, quite selfishly, to have let their voices resound in my ears and their burden be stored in my mind and in my heart, amen. But as I am dutybound to diffuse "new" knowledge I will try in a more generous spirit to alert my listeners to what I think they are about to hear and where they should imagine themselves hearing it. "The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax— Of cabbages and kings— And why the sea is boiling hot— And whether pigs have wings." "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, "Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!" (Carroll, 1962:217) For those who eagerly anticipate a scholarly feast, who expect to be served a glossy menu where each delicacy is presented in an assuringly predetermined order and assigned an elegantly mysterious name a la academe to titillate their appetites and puff their self- conceits, let me assure them that this is no banquet for a Board of Overseers. Instead, at their feet will be placed a bowl of peasant soup. With a stack of Robert M. Laughlin, Curator, Department of Anthropology, National Muse- um of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C. 20560 steaming tortillas, a heaping bowl of salt, and noth- ing more, they must be content to bend over and do honor to their hosts. So accustomed to being pro- vided menus and silverware, it will be frustrating at first, but hopefully the freshness of the experience will add flavor to the humble fare. "Well, what do you call this dish?" "K'opetik, 'words.'" "And that's all?" "7Antivo k'op, vo7ne k'op, or kwento ta 7antivo, 'an- cient words,' "words about the past,' or 'ancient tale.'" "And this dish?" "7Ach' k'op or 7a7yej, 'recent words,' or 'hear- say.' " The names give little hint of the flavor, and your genial host doesn't give a fig what he or you should decide at this moment to call it. The substance and the savor are the proof. It has not been easy for students who, like myself, came to Zinacantan from their colleges expecting incongrously to be served a menu "in the field." Some insisted on being provided such a menu, and together with their native informants devised elabo- rate cartes specifying the ingredients of each course, but I remain convinced that my frustrations were in response to a real situation—Zinacantecs prefer a carte blanche. It may be a consolation that the original meaning of the English word, "tale," is as free as Tzotzil traditional narrative, for it meant quite simply "talk." In English, too, there is a comfortable, relaxed quality to the notion of a story or tale, for the listener may be regaled with a myth, a legend, an historical, explanatory or fanciful account, a fable, a reminis- cence, or even a piece of gossip. I SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 GENESIS A second expectation created in the centers of learning is that the "primitive" world could hardly survive without its foundation of origin myths, and if the student will only search diligently, turning over every stone, he will discover the explanations for everything, an answer for everything. In the beginning who really knows how it was? No Zinacantec can flash a photographic memory of the origins or the outlines of the cosmos. Scraps of knowledge are passsed on to the younger generation, but Zinacantecs are unconcerned about the gaps, the conflicts, the inconsistencies. They know that the world and mankind have both survived multiple creations and destructions, but they do not agree on the number or sequence of these events. The world was once inhabited by jointless men and women unable to bend their knees in humility. There were others so keensighted they could discov- er the gods' treasures hidden in the mountains. There were still others named Adam and Eve who be- trayed their trust and stole the apples of the Lord. And, too, there were the people who ate their babies, calling down upon themselves a rain of boiling water. Some were drowned, some became dwarfs banished to the underworld, some, for their rude replies, grew tails and turned into monkeys. There is felt little need to stratify these earliest inhabitants of the world chronologically except perhaps to note whether they lived before or after the flood. At a later stage in the history of the world animals still talked and men travelled as thunderbolts. Spooks and jaguars were rampant. Saints emerged from their caves to request new homes. While the immoral behavior or miraculous events of distant times are believed to continue today, in distant places the past is not always at the horizon. The familiar mountains and valleys were the sites of the early creations and destructions. As the waters flooded the valley of Zinacantan Center, Noah float- ed his boat "like a railroad car" (T55).1 Christ planted his corn there. The Spaniards rescued St. Sebastian from jaguars' jaws and Lacandon arrows in the forest nearby. No one knows when the next flood will engulf the town in punishment for disobe- dience. But every Zinacantec knows that in the valley of Zinacantan Center protrudes the Belly Button of the World. Just as familiar surroundings 1 In gathering these tales each was assigned a number (preceded by the letter T), conforming roughly to the order of collection. This system is retained herein because many of the tales have been cited since in print. The same method was used in my previous publication, Of Wonders Wild and New: Dreams from Zinacantdn (1976). Dreams are distinguished from tales by the prefix D. have an ancient past, so, too, mysterious characters of the past intrude into the present. Under cover of darkness spooks and saints still roam the earth. Despite the Zinacantecs' lack of compulsion to recall an origin for every aspect of the present world, to an extraordinary degree their tales reveal the Zinacantec musing over his cosmic journey. Man has not developed from monkey, but the monkey (like the dwarf) is a fallen man, atoning for his primeval disrespect for divine authority (T7, T55, T70). Beasts of burden are the helpless victims of man, the animal who walks upright (T3). The dog, once man's companion, has lost both prestige and voice for presuming to confide his mistress' infidelity (T26, T86). Coyote and tiger are not so stupid as to accept human domination with resignation, but even they are no match for woman, who by her "wound" is man's apparent victim, but who by her clever audacity shows hereself a fitting match for man (T3). To be sure, woman is "colder, worse"—unlike St. Lawrence, she has no beard (T114)! The early inhabitants of the world were few, but they were stronger, cleverer, healthier, and wealth- ier than the people of today (Tl, T2, T17, T33, T34, T51, T56, T58, T64, T67, T74, T89, T91, T95, T102, T104, T110, T i l l , T113-T115, T131, T150, T151, T157, T158, T160, T169). Yet they were disobedient, evil—and so brought punishment on themselves (T55, T70, T96). Now "some have lice, and some are well-off" (T114). The gods made a bargain; now soul-loss takes one of every two (T51). In tale after tale the Zinacantec wrestles with the problem of his fall from grace. "Where does the responsibility lie?" he asks. His answer is contradic- tory, as many-angled, as the historical facts warrant. "It is the Ladino [non-Indian], the wenching priest, who brought divine punishment upon our town. But, too, the negligence of the elders—or was it the shamans, or even the entire town which shares the guilt?" he asks (T76, T91, T114). His conclusion: "Only Our Lord [knows]. As for us, we don't know. We only know that we eat" (T86). TIMELESS TALES, SACRED SCRAPS If Zinacantec tales relate, no matter how sketch- ily, the beginnings of the world and subsequent misfortunes and threats to the social order, it might be assumed that these narratives would be a vital source for the ethnohistorian, just as Aztec legends under the scrutiny of Jimenez Moreno have solved archeological mysteries in the Valley of Mexico. Unfortunately their usefulness to the modern histori- an is seriously impaired by their philosophy. Their INTRODUCTION memory remembers forwards; a later event is de- scribed in terms of a former one. The legendary acts and actors often do not pass by one after the other, but rather they appear motionless on a revolving stage. Time and place lose their relevance. And so, identical scenes appear in wars with Guatemala, Tabasco, and Chiapa. We are left with a handful of names that later have proved to be archeological sites testifying to the extent of trade between Zinacantan and Ixtapa in the post-classic era. We are reminded constantly of the former wealth of the town, and the employment of its citizens in foreign wars. We see the Zinacantecs not so much as simple corn farmers, but rather as the proud merchants admired by Fray Antonio de Re- mesal in the sixteenth century. But these are meagre gleanings, a jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing. In Zinacantan, as among the Popoluca of Vera- cruz, "The historical past is a flat projection without depth or perspective" (Foster, 1945a: 189). As in neighboring Chenalho, "The past is all on one plane, without levels or strata; and yet, different epochs are implied when reference is made to the presence or absence of certain things, and it is obvious that certain events preceded others" (Guiteras-Holmes, 1961:309). The shallow image of Zinacantan's histo- ry is shown by an informant's acceptance of two centuries as a not unreasonable antiquity for the primeval deluge! Even so, there is rough agreement among the townspeople as to the relative age of important legendary events. Lack of historical depth is the logical result of a philosophy of time where, "There is no firm line drawn between traditional narrative and today's re- ality. That which occurs today is proof of what happened in the past, and what happened in the past can be repeated at any moment" (Guiteras-Holmes, 1961:310). Dramatic proof for the validity of interpreting the Zinacantecs' view of history in this light was offered to me one evening by Romin Teratol when he was describing an historical event—the Mexican Revolu- tion. With sparkling eyes, he told how a dancing pine was conjured up by the town fathers to lure the army of Obregon off the path. Romin's mother, who had witnessed the Revolution, was scandalized at his ignorance and assured him that the incident of the dancing pine dated from early times, but for Romin there was no incongruity—the Revolution had be- come a myth. Just as the Zinacantec's knowledge of his past is barely suggestive of the former grandeur of his town and betrays a total ignorance of the glories of the Mayan civilization, so, the student searches with growing frustration for a comprehensive Mayan cos- mology. Although it is true that under the stimulus of a steady job as an anthropologist's Man Friday a Zinacantec can discuss religious belief at length, normally one hears either scraps of information with no story line, or else narratives of dramatic encoun- ters with saints or spooks, demons or deities. While the personification of natural forces and the human characterization of supernatural beings gives an im- mediacy to religious belief, these narratives provide only isolated views of the religious system. Ritual activity is almost constant in Zinacantan, but myths specifically establishing the precedent, the authority for these activities, are not common. Just as La Farge and Byers discovered among the Jacal- tec in the Cuchumatanes Mountains of northwestern Guatemala, the cord between myth and ritual is exceedingly slack. Explanations for the "whys" of a ritual are difficult to elicit, not primarily because of reticence, but rather because of ignorance or of the inclination to give a standard explanation for all ritual. Only after many vain efforts did I finally discover one person who could relate a tale which gave partial elucidation of Zinacantan's chief dra- matic ritual, the Fiesta of St. Sebastian. The origin of certain waterholes (but by no means all of the most important ones), the origin of two churches (but not that of the patron saint), the origin of the names of a few of the sacred caves—these, combined with sto- ries of punishments meted out to individuals who failed in their ritual obligation, complete my list. It is not possible to know whether the many gaps in the traditional knowledge are signs of cultural decay, or whether for many centuries the simple explanation, "This is the way our fathers and mothers have done from the beginning" has been sufficiently satisfying. Certainly the contemporary Zinacantec is not dis- concerted in the least by his inability to answer all our questions. To say that the tales reveal the Zinacantec musing over his legendary journey, reminding himself of the supernatural dangers that persist even today, does not mean that he is staggering under the burden of the past, cowering from fear of the present. In fact, the past is borne very lightly, almost cavalierly. During most of his waking hours the ordinary man, caught up in the innumerable petty affairs of daily life, gives little thought to the supernatural world. The symbolic sources of myths and dreams un- doubtedly flow from a common reservoir into both projective media. The influence of mythology upon dream creation was revealed to me when Romin Teratol, after transcribing myth texts for me, had two dreams several nights later which correspond closely to elements in those very myths. Although SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 he himself made no connection between the two media, there was no question of their interrelation. The reverse movement, dream influencing myth, is easy to demonstrate, for dreams are the source of much religious innovation. If, for instance, a man dreams repeatedly of an encounter with a venerable man who requests a shrine, the town authorities will be notified and, after consultation with the communi- ty, a cross will be erected. This event will, in turn, become part of history, commemorated in myth. The very flatness of history permits an old man to reminisce about his life in the same manner that he would tell stories about the gods. Even gossip about the deviations of one's neighbors is a fitting subject for discourse, for "today's gossip may be tomorrow's traditional narrative" (Gossen, pers. comm.). BEING WHAT IT WOULD SEEM TO BE Since the past is viewed as a moral lesson for the future, the folktales provide an entertaining moral history. No sharp division is made between the "truth" and simple entertainment, either in content or in the context of story-telling. Just as Stith Thompson found in North America that myths, legends, and tales are one (Thompson, 1955: 484-485), so, in Zinacantan the traditional European classification has no relation to reality. The unity of intent of the oral literature of Zinacantan contrasts sharply with previous interpretations of Mexican folktales. Robert Redfield and Alfonso Villa Rojas believed they could discern in Chan Kom the tradi- tional European categories (Redfield and Villa Rojas, 1934:328). Margaret Redfield, studying the Yucatec of Dzitas, and Ruth Giddings, studying the Yaqui of Sonora, discovered a distinction between stories designed for moral instruction and those that served as pure entertainment (Redfield, 1937:4-6; Giddings, 1959:12). Perhaps Zinacantan is more con- servative, because it appears that less credence is given now by the younger generation to the stories learned from Ladinos while sharing roadwork. In a few years it may be possible to state that Zinacantecs have an idle art form distinct from traditional narra- tive. But to say that folktales are the "truth" does not mean that everyone is uniformly in agreement. Though each storyteller may swear that his or her tale is the authentic version, there is lively discussion and disputation. If the sum of folk narratives constitutes a "manual of information" (Williams Garcia, 1972:126-128), what reality does a single tale have? I had thought originally that, "Behind the story which a man tells lies the original whole, a sort of Platonic ideal of the story, from which he draws according to the empha- sis of his immediate interest, his memory, his learning and his gifts. . . . We seem not to have fixed tales, but an enormous reservoir of mythical and legendary material . . ." (La Farge, 1947:48). After poring through texts collected in Zinacantan by other stu- dents in recent years I am more impressed than ever by the depth of the reservoir, but the "Platonic ideal" of a story appears ever more elusive, chimeric. "Pure" tales are as rare as "pure" cultures. In his initial contribution to the study of myth Levi-Strauss recognized the futility of searching for the "true" or the "earlier" version: "There is no single 'true' version of which all the others are but copies or distortions. Every version belongs to the myth" (Levi-Strauss, 1963:218). But to a degree that far exceeded my expectations and that would inveigle even the shiftiest structuralist, not only may a Zinacantec tale change shape drastically from teller to teller, but the same narrator on separate occasions may switch the protagonists around, rearrange the plot, and reverse the moral! A raconteur never repeats a tale verbatim; fluidity of vocabulary is characteristic. Nevertheless, certain key events usually follow each other in regular order. Zinacantec narrators, like the Mixe and Popo- luca, emphasize that they are merely repeating the ancient words handed down by their parents, grand- parents, and, rarely, great-grandparents (Miller, 1956:189: Foster, 1945a: 190). Innovations are fre- quent, but they are never acknowledged (unless, of course, the narrator is recounting personal experi- ence). A tale speaks time-honored truths; conscious alterations are deemed lies. I had hoped that there would be a way of defining tales linguistically. While a great many tales are introduced with the phrase 7A ti vo7ne, "Once . . .," often this opening is omitted. A second diagnostic feature for all but reminiscences might be the use of the particle, la, a cue which signals that the action has been apprehended indirectly; but a raconteur like Xun Vaskis, who estimates highly his place in histo- ry, will not hesitate to drop this cue so as to give the impression that he has personally viewed events from time immemorial. The presence or absence of dialogue is also not significant. Just as neither the beginning nor the middle of a tale is distinctive, so the conclusion may be marked by a concise yech laj 7o k'op, "so the word is ended," or by a mere trailing off of thought. In one case a narrative evolved from a lengthy account of the origin of a saint's home to a description of the annual fiesta dedicated to that saint, with not the slightest pause to signal a change. While many tales show a well-defined structure, INTRODUCTION others that were also elicited by my request for 7antivo k'op seem to be rambling observations with no necessary beginning or end, or else statements too brief to seem to qualify as a story. For the sake of convenience, the word of the storyteller, that what he has spoken is "a tale," has been trustfully accept- ed. Clearly, the nature of Zinacantec tales implies that "no collection, however extensive, can claim to be complete" (Gossen, 1974:82). WHERE, WHY, WHO, AND WHEN After years of studying the Zinacantecs in their homes, in their fields, in bars, at court, and at market, listening to hour upon hour of conversation, gossip, joking banter, talk of prices and fiestas, sickness and success, the outsider, who feels that at least he has become a knowledgeable quasi-member of the com- munity, is confronted with a mystery: only rarely has he been present at the spontaneous telling of a tale from the past. Furthermore, the ability to tell a tale well is not, unlike in neighboring Chenalho, the basis for great admiration. There are, it is true, individuals whose narrative talents are recognized and appreciated, but the real source of their prestige lies elsewhere. Often when tales were told in the company of family members, the raconteur seemed to become a soliloquist, the features of his audience betraying only inexpressible detachment. Indeed, there sometimes seemed to be a conscious effort to cut him off or to deflect the monologue after an almost predictable period of time, as if it were improper for one individual to capitalize on the conversation. A factor contributing to the scarcity of public narration is the staggering consumption of alcohol in every public situation. But perhaps an even more restrictive force is the avoidance of verbal display unless supported by ritual or political position. Storytellers have no such support. My own interest in the talk of the past was viewed with tolerant amusement, though the expenditure it obviously entailed both in cash and in time seemed to Zinacantecs utterly mad! Nevertheless, there is a degree of justification for this collection. First, an admittedly intuitive observa- tion; under almost no other circumstances did I see such an open display of enjoyment as that which enlivened the facial and gestural expression of a storyteller in action. A telling indication of the importance of traditional narrative to the people of Zinacantan was the sudden mushrooming of rumors, more than a decade ago, reporting my publication in Tuxtla Gutierrez, the state capital, of a book of tales. This had arroused anxiety, I was told, because folk- tales are considered a part of the town's treasure; their publication in a distant place was tantamount to a pillage of community treasure and ipso facto, of communal luck. Yet only once did a storyteller refuse my request for tales. Certainly there are few Zinacantecs who, when asked, are unable to oblige with a personal version of one of the many well-known narratives of the past. Many isolated bits of information concerning world- view, etc., drawn from one individual would fre- quently be tied together in the narratives of another. On several occasions the raconteur would explicitly state that he had been told a certain tale "so he would not grow up to be lazy like the buzzard man," and so forth. Explanations for the severe winds and rains that had recently lashed the town actually duplicated tales previously recorded by me. The contribution of Lol Sarate, in his early teens, to this collection demonstrates that verbal skill in telling tales is learned at an early age. Who, then, are the storytellers and when do they expound? As in Chenalho, older men are considered the most gifted raconteurs. One informant (male) scoffed, "Do you think words would remain in women's heads?" My one female contributor disa- greed, "Women know as well as men, but only the clever ones like me. The others 'hm7 and 'ha,' in one ear and out the other." Narrators introducing a tale were just as likely to attribute it to their mother as their father. This suggests that the assertion of story- telling being primarily a man's prerogative is merely a reflection of native belief in the superiority of masculine endeavor. As in Chamula, "the time is right [for telling a tale] when the information is relevant" (Gossen, 1974:81). Unlike in Tenejapa, they are not usually told on public occasions for entertainment (Stross, 1973:96), but they are told at wakes. They are told to children around the hearth of an evening. Among men they serve to while away the time after a hard day's work in the tropical lowlands or on the roads. They may be exchanged between a host and his guest for entertainment and the exchange of information. With so many opportunities for taletelling, the anthropolo- gist can only shake his head and wonder where he was when the ancient words were repeated. The language of Zinacantec tales is, as in Mixe folk literature, "an exact replica of that of everyday life" (Miller, 1956:243). THE LANGUAGE IN NUMBERS For those whose appreciation of literature is in- creased by encyclopedic computations, Tzotzil, the language of the 12,000 Zinacantecs, is spoken in SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 nineteen townships in the state of Chiapas. With a total of over 120,000 speakers it ranks sixth in impor- tance in the Mayan language family. Of the native languages of Mexico, Tzotil has the seventh highest number of speakers. Until recently, aside from their ability to carry out the most elementary commercial transactions with Ladinos (non-Indians), more than half the men and an overwhelming majority of the women were unable to converse in Spanish. Even today, except for anthropologists' assistants, few Zinacantecs write in their own language. Although many Spanish words have been incor- porated into Tzotzil there is no poverty of native expression. Many of the Spanish loans, particularly nouns and particles, are used with great frequency, and have supplanted earlier Tzotzil vocabulary, but fewer than 1,000 of the 30,000 entries in The Great Tzotzil Dictionary of San Lorenzo Zinacantdn are derived from Spanish. THE SPOKEN WORD So different from English is the style of Tzotzil discourse that the translator who wishes to provide a convincing and faithful reenactment is forced to abandon his original intentions. Rather than mutilat- ing the Tzotzil to fit colloquial English, I have chosen to create a hybrid language that aspires to preserve Tzotzil style with intelligibility in English. Hopefully the strangeness, the unnatural quality will, after a few pages, become muted by familiarity. Tzotzil has much in common with its Guatemalan relative, Quiche. In both languages the sentence "leans forward . . . . In something of the sense that German saves verbs for a final triumphant closure to a thought, Quiche saves nouns. There are markers to show that the noun is coming. Its number, for example, may be revealed early, and other attributes may be thrown in along the way, all contributing to the forward movement toward the person or object who would be in English the antecedent!" (Edmon- son, 1971:xii). To compound the translator's prob- lems, subjects and objects may become as invisible as the Cheshire cat. Thus in the Tzotzil word smaj we know that the subject is he, she, or it, the root is hit, the object is he, she, or it. The precise identity of the beater and the beaten is understood (but not always by the perplexed translator). Furthermore, if the plural marker -ik is added to produce smajik not only do we remain in the dark as to whom the subject and the object are, but we do not even know whether there are many agressors and one victim, one agres- sor with many victims, or many agressors and many victims. Worse yet, once it is understood by the Tzotzil exactly who is in the plural they feel no compunction about dropping off the plural marker so that the translator discovers that a crowd has shrunk to one with no apparent explanation! To say of Tzotzil, as Munro Edmonson did of Quiche, that the language is "telegraphically terse" (Edmonson, loc. cit.) seems an understatement. In addition, smooth transitions are foreign to Zinacantec narra- tive style, where changes of scene are performed with bewildering abruptness—here, now, there, next—with no need felt for explanations. I must share the same scholar's opinion of this language when he remarks that it is, "by English standards, excessively fond of passive construc- tions." (Edmonson, loc. cit). This is still another device to keep the smile in view without revealing the cat. To continue the translator's crabbed commentary, both Quiche and Tzotzil dialogue are frequently introduced and concluded with the word, "said." As Edmonson observes, this usage corresponds closely to the English "quote . . . unquote" (Edmonson, loc. cit.)—except for its unrelieved frequency. This same Tzotzil verb, xi for "said," with he, she, or it understood to be the subject, can mean variously "said," "demanded," "exclaimed," "asked," "re- plied," and so forth. I have taken the liberty at times to infer which English word best fits the situation rather than mindlessly repeating "said." As a warning to the English-speaking translator and readers who are tempted to compare favorably the logic of their own language to that of Tzotzil let me present the following: When two groups of people address each other we feel compelled in English to pluralize the subject of the verb—"they said." The Tzotzil are more logical in their sparse- ness, for it is obvious that not all are speaking at once, but rather one individual, representing his group, is addressing the others. Dialogue is, as might be guessed by now, consid- ered extremely important, to the extent that conver- sations are laced with " 'Ah!' he said." Simple quotations within quotations have been italicized to save the single quotation sign for quotes within quotes within quotes. Equally characteristic of Tzotzil narrative is repet- itiveness. Simple repetition of words or whole phrases for emphasis is used to a degree that may become ludicrous or crashingly boring in English. For the Tzotzil these repetitions are comfortable words. They provide security in moments of stress. It is at these very moments that the speaker turns formal, and the reader discovers the principle of repetition elaborated in a variety of ways. The idea may be restated in different terms without adhering to the same syntax: Tzotz xa 7ip 7un, mu xa bu lek INTRODUCTION 7un, "He was very sick now. He wasn't at all well now." (This is termed "nonparallel repetition" by Gossen, 1974:76.) Or the syntax may be repeated with the substitution of one or two synonymous or analogous words: K'usi la ti jmule, tottik? K'usi la ti jkolo7e, tottik?, "What do they say is my crime, sir? What do they say is my evil, sir?" And, Ja 7 larestiko taj yixime, ja7 larestiko taj xchenek'e, "That corn of his is your witness. Those beans of his are your witness" ("parallel repetition," Gossen, 1974:77). This use of "key words" to create semantic cou- plets whose content is usually metaphoric is equally characteristic of Aztec, Otomi, Quiche, and Yucatec Maya poetry (Bricker, 1974:368), and of Tzotzil prayers, songs, and court speech. When they are spoken with any consistency I have scanned these couplets as poetry, otherwise I have let the meaning and punctuation reveal the form. Perhaps to allow the storyteller time to collect his thoughts his speech may be larded with k'u x7elan U7e, "like this," yech chak taje, "like that," yech chalike, "as we say," and a variety of other words such as 7un and che7e that are best left untranslated. As further protection for the speaker, his state- ments are accompanied by countless qualifiers: k'ajo- mal, nox, solel, all meaning "just" or "only," and nan, "probably," kik, "I guess," ka7tik, "maybe," la, "they say," yilel and ya7el, "it seems." These, too, I have not translated in every instance. But, if the speaker is guarded in his remarks, he is also exclamatory, terminating his statements with a7a, bi, ta j-moj, "certainly!", "indeed!", or "for sure!" These interjections may be combined with the qualifier to produce such a bewildering sentence as, "Maybe he died for sure!" In attempting to recreate the "speech event" I have followed certain narrative conventions. The words, 7ora, "now," va7i 7un, "you see," bwe'no, "well," and a number of others seem to signal a change of subject corresponding to the start of a new paragraph. Rather than translating these expressions I have simply begun a new paragraph. Often the end of a paragraph is marked by an interjection such as Ji7!, "Yes!", or Mm 71 "Hm!" I have also shifted paragraphs when the speaker changed. To simplify the matching of the Tzotzil text with the English translation I have made the English paragraphing conform to the Tzotzil even though this occasionally causes confusion. I had thought that my translations were sensitive to the notion that oral narrative is dramatic poetry, or at least dramatic and poetic, but I find I was overly bound to literary conventions and did not represent as fully as I would have liked the pauses and quality of loudness of the storyteller's voice (see Tedlock, 1972), but it is wishful thinking to suppose that the mellow tone of Tzotzil, with its tumbling riffs and breaks, its cooing, nasal uplifts, and staccato downbeats could resonate through these pages just as it came from the storytellers' mouths. Personal stylistic differences are the rule, but there is an essential unity of style—an economy of expres- sion that leaves many details to be filled in by the audience. Consequently, I have been obliged to sac- rifice style by inserting brief parenthetical remarks or identifications of the characters so that the stories may be readily followed with some understanding. Title to the tales are my own invention. To facili- tate comparison, tales with similar plot bear the same title. Zinacantec plots fit into at least five recognizable categories: (1) events are presented in episodic se- ries—this form appears to be Spanish in origin; (2) a problem is gradually introduced and wrestled with (possibly producing new problems) until the final climax is reached; (3) similar to (2), except that the initial problem is stated at the very outset; (4) like any of the above, but followed by an anticlimactic relaxation of tension; (5) similar to (2), (3), or (4), but flashbacks are inserted within the progressive tempo- ral development (this does not include the common insertion of afterthoughts). ANTECEDENTS AND CONSEQUENCE I have maintained that there is no Platonic ideal for Zinacantec tales, that they are characterized by their flexibility, that their plots may change radically from one telling to the next. This poses a real problem in trying to answer the legitimate questions: "What are the outside influences on Zinacantec oral literature and where does that literature fit into Middle American oral traditions?" The standard folkloristic comparison of tale elements or motifs is one of the most tangible means of acquiring the necessary perspective. Local gossip and reminis- cences, though considered by Zinacantecs to be "tales" are of little aid, but the narratives which appear to have preserved incidents of some antiquity may provide some clues if we are willing for the moment to believe the sea is boiling hot and dare to ask whether pigs have wings. It is difficult to comment with any confidence on the origin of elements, because at times a whole tale may be a useful unit for comparison and at other times a single phrase; there are no satisfactory rules for achieving the delicate balance between meaning- ful generalization and meaningful uniqueness. Fur- thermore, the published collections of tales from Middle America are so few that they represent mere 8 SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 pinpoints on the map. With such scanty knowledge even the most adroit detective work cannot follow out the leads satisfactorily. It is tempting to conclude that motifs are tailored to fit the realities of Zinacantec life.2 Surely there must be a selection process whereby inappropriate foreign elements are rejected, and yet a surprising number seem to have been tolerated, thus giving comparative efforts a better chance of success. Laying aside the problems of universal motifs, and before indulging in comfortable generalizations, two discoveries in the course of my research should serve as warning flags: A tale with undoubted Euro- pean influence (T3) had one scene that was absent from any of the collections I had reviewed and, moreover, it seemed so typical of Zinacantec imagi- nation that I concluded it must be a local innovation. But this product of Zinacantec genius, I learned entirely by chance, had been forecast almost literally by none other than Francois Rabelais in his Second Book of Pantagruel (Rabelais, 1951:199-200). Later in the course of study, a legend that told how Christ punished a farmer's disrespect by turning his crop to stone (T52, T177) was found to be widely distributed throughout Middle Amnerica, yet absent in large collections of texts from Spain, Cuba, and Puerto Rico. The logical conclusion would be that this was a special "Indian" adaptation of Biblical lore to fit Middle American ideas. Alas, Oskar Dahnhardt un- covered a thirteenth-century Latin manuscript of this very tale (Dahnhardt 1912, 2:95-107). He dis- covered that the legend was brought to Europe from the Near East by the crusaders! What is the extent of Spanish influence upon Zinacantec narrative tradition? Boas concluded that "The Spanish American folklore as well as that of the American Negroes is derived largely from Span- ish sources" (Boas, 1912:247). If one were to be overly scrupulous, European elements could indeed be found in nearly every tale. Magical adventures, picaresque heroes, Christian homilies, and animal tales are the stuff of Spanish oral literature that the Zinacantecs have had four and a quarter centuries to transform. Nobody presented with two collections of tales, one from Zinacantan, the other from Spain, could confuse the two. The ravishing prin- cess, the true bride lost in enchanted sleep in the depths of a glass mountain, rescued by a lovesick and repentant suitor who, with the aid of a golden bird, vanquishes the giants guarding her door—this is not a Zinacantec tale. Only a vague echo reverberates through the oral literature of Zinacantan; orphans 2The image of Zinacantec courtship and marriage as reflected in the mythic mirror can be seen in Laughlin, 1963. rewarded with magic tokens that are lost and re- trieved by faithful animals (Til, T31, T165), Cinder- ella (T84), magic flights (T18, T53), the bear's son (T164), and the Castle of Going and Not Returning (T172). Several versions of the Spanish picaresque have been adopted nearly intact, but significantly the picaroon is an Indian, his hapless victim a Ladino (T6, T107, T109, T170, T171). Some Zinacantec folk interpretations of biblical events or of the lives of the saints vary little from their European equivalents (T52, T54, T57); others show a profound assimilation with pre-Columbian beliefs (T8, T35, T53, T88, T103, T177). Traditional Spanish Catholic hostility to the Jews was adopted by the Zinacantecs who conceive of them only as the persecutors and, indeed, murderers of Christ. Zinacantecs' fear of Negroes derives in part from Spanish political rather than religious motives. What could better suit the conquistadors' desires to ensure that no alliance be made between fugitive Black slaves and the native Indian population than horren- dous tales of Black cannibalism and supersexuality? The animal tales, among them tarbaby and the duping of coyote or tiger by the little rabbit (T20, T21, T49, T50, T90, T166), contain very few ele- ments not found either in Cuba, Puerto Rico, or Spain. The diversity and relative lack of stability of the linked episodes comprising the animal tales, which Foster found to be typical of Mexican ver- sions (Foster, 1945b), pertains also to these tales. The Zinacantec tarbaby stories contain eight of the twelve episodes reported from Mexico (Foster, 1945b:230). Most puzzling of all are the witch tales (T12, T47, T60, T73, T82, T175, T176). Though they form no part of Espinosa's voluminous collection of Spanish tales (Espinosa, 1967), in Cuba and Puerto Rico there occur disturbingly similar descriptions of nec- rophagous women who, after removing their heads or skins, are done in by the application of a slippery or stinging salve (Hansen, 1957: tale types 748H, 749B; Mason, 1926, 5:304-308, 322-323, 346-350). If these tales originated in Europe they have under- gone a change in Middle America with a new emphasis either upon (1) the efforts of a husband to be rid of his wife, or (2) concern with a confusion of sexual identity. Spanish folklore, while not deficient in fantasy, is stamped with realism. The "Never Never Land" of the Grimms' tales is not so prominent as the humor- ous, pessimistic anecdotes of everyday life. The hand of justice strikes Everyman in the dusty street. This realism is evident in Zinacantec tales where even the most fanciful events are described in down-to-earth INTRODUCTION terms, where the deities and demons speak the same familiar phrases of anyone's next door neighbor. Pessimistic humor is a commonly shared trait, but while the Spanish stories delight in the absurd scrapes and misperceptions of fools of a thousand varieties (particularly priests), the Zinacantec does not bear fools or priests lightly. Usually the foolish victim is an outsider: a tiger, a spook, or a Ladino. Here the vagaries of priests, their amorous adven- tures, are the subject not of humor, but outrage. The depth of moral concern of Spanish oral litera- ture is equalled in Zinacantec tales, but in Zina- cantan it is expressed with somberness; righteousness vindictively triumphant, or injustice unhappily en- dured. It is doubtful whether realism, pessimistic humor, or moral concern can be transported intact from one shore of the ocean to the other. While particular elements, even phrases, may flourish unchanged with almost magical powers of survival, the tone of an oral literature as a whole is dependent upon cultural conditions. Though there is no way to ascertain if the oral traditions of Zinacantan were as somber before the Spanish Conquest, there are surely good historical grounds for Spanish-intro- duced pessimism in Zinacantan! After perusing the substantial collections of folk- tales recorded by Wheeler and Robe in central Mexico, where Spanish influence is very evident, the Zinacantec oral traditions seem peculiarly autoch- thonous. An intuitive judgment of the number of tales with pronounced European qualities would not raise the estimate above 20% of the total collection. Clearly, though European influence is strong, it is far from predominant. There appear to be few elements shared with the cultures of northern and central Mexico (Cora, Hui- chol, Tarascan, Aztec, etc.), but motifs that at first were assumed by me to be uniquely Mayan (some with an ascertainable time depth of over four centur- ies) can be found far to the north of Chiapas. Not only motifs, but even dialogues, despite their transla- tion from a variety of unrelated languages, exhibit astonishing similarity. Suggested here is the early existence and current perpetuation of an extensive culture area that embraces not only Guatemala, Chiapas, and Yucatan, but also the southern half of Veracruz and the entire state of Oaxaca! (The cor- respondence in plot and dialogue between the Yaqui and Zinacantec buzzard-man myths may be the re- sult of Yaqui repatriation in the nineteenth century.) Prominent traits in the traditional narratives of this vast culture area are tales of long-haired devils, thunderbolt spirits who singly, or accompanied by whirlwind, hawk, or other aerial naguals, defend the town from enemy attack. Versions of horned ser- pent, tales of the flood and of multiple creations and destructions agree in many particulars. An inter- esting parallel occurs in native descriptions of the creation of the church of St. Sebastian in Zinacantan, of a Mixe pre-Columbian plaza, and of Chichen Itza. Common motifs demonstrably adapted to post- Conquest life are the arrival of a mysterious person (a saint) who begs the people to build him (or her) a home, and the loss of the church bell either by robbery or through carelessness of the town elders. Zinacantec familiarity with motifs present far to the north and to the south are added evidence for extensive commercial activity in both directions in the past. Until recent times a colony of Zapotecs existed in Chiapa de Corzo at the foot of the high- lands, and even today Zinacantecs trade occasionally as far north as Juchitan, though they rarely journey south of Comitan. In the Mayan area, a reading of the Guatemalan epics reveals surprisingly few correspondences with Zinacantec material. The theme of a god either transformed into an animal or slain while perched in a tree, gorging on fruit or honey; the use of bathing girls to tempt an enemy army to destruction; stiff- legged forebears; wasps and bees as tools of war; thunderbolt defenders; Blood Girl—these are mea- ger gleanings. Their meagerness is matched by the lack of elegant verse in Zinacantec oral literature. There is no question that the ancient Guatemalan epics were polished by an aristocracy highly trained in poetic oration, while the Zinacantec tales are the rough products of merchants and hoers of the earth. Contemporary Mayan folktales manifest in quanti- ty of elements, though frequently not in exact repli- cation, only a slightly closer relationship to Zinacantan than do non-Mayan tales. There is but one motif whose distribution appears to be limited to Guatemala and Chiapas; the origin of corn—brought to man by a raven which steals it from a cave. It seems that Zinacantan owes little more to its Mayan neighbors to the south and east than to its non-Mayan neighbors to the north and west. Clues to the antiquity of folktale elements found uniquely in Chiapas are practically nonexistent. There are suggestive remarks by Bishop Nunez de la Vega in the seventeenth century regarding Spooks, and the god, Votan, who may perhaps survive be- hind the mask of St. Sebastian (Ordonez y Aguiar, 1907:14). There is a scene from one tale (T35) that may recall a nativistic religious revival in 1708 described by Francisco Ximenez 1931:262-264). There are accounts of the "War of the Castes" of 1868-71. But there seem to be no other historical 10 SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 happenings prior to the twentieth century that can be identified with any security. Contemporary Tzeltal folktales vary slightly from the Tzotzil versions. It seems reasonable to assume that most Zinacantec tales could be matched by an equivalent in any of the surrounding communities. Only Gossen's impressive collection of tales from Chamula is large enough to make deductions about the nature of oral tradition in the neighboring Tzot- zil towns. Even here the differences may be more the result of Gossen's special interest in Mayan cosmol- ogy than differences between the two traditions. Apparently, the Chamulans have a far deeper con- cern for, and retention of origin myths. Unlike the Zinacantecs, they stress the discontinuity between the ancient past and the present. They assess the past in far more negative terms than their neighbors, the Zinacantecs. Almost never does a Zinacantec figure in a tale from Chamula, while in Zinacantec tales Chamulans are often the dupes or more especially the pathetic victims of the legendary events. There appears to be an extraordinary scarcity of European influence in Chamulan tales. All these discrepancies are suggestive of differing historical conditions in the two communities. Per- haps the far wider dispersal of Chamulan hamlets, the large total population, and therefore lesser chance to participate in the ritual activities of the center, encouraged the elaboration of a philosophical system in which origin tales are accorded special prominence. Unlike the Zinacantecs, the Chamulans were never the lords of the highlands. Their past was dedicated primarily to the raising of corn, not to commercial activity. They were and still are, today, wage laborers for Zinacantecs. Their contact with Ladinos is far more tinged with servility.than the Zinacantecs', who have relied for years on shrewd diplomacy to seal favorable business deals, land rentals in the lowlands, etc., with Ladinos. Zinacan- tecs may, then, as merchants rather than mere peons, have had greater access to Ladino taletelling. With the advance of scholarship the number of motifs peculiar to the Chiapas highlands has dwin- dled dramatically. Spreading terror through all the Indian towns, the Spook seems to be unique to this region. The Charcoal Cruncher, that I had long thought to be endemic to Chiapas, has, under various disguises, been traced to British Honduras and El Salvador. Perhaps the one motif unique to Zina- cantan is the saga of the boy who went from rags to riches, became the king of Zinacantan, and was escorted to Mexico City amidst great fanfare, never to return—a hapless betrayer, preserved by the be- trayed (Til, T34, T64, Tl 13, T165). MYSTERY There is not a single monument today to testify to the glory that was Zinacantan. Throughout the Early Classic (300-700 A.D.) and Late Classic (700-1000 A.D.) periods "the central Chiapas plateau remained an isolated and backward region not directly influenced by any of the major Meso- american centers" (Adams, 1961:348), except for the increased militarization of Late Classic times, that "appears not to have been an isolated or delayed phenomenon, but fully to have kept pace with wider trends" (Adams, 1961:347). During the post-Classic period Zinacantan main- tained impressive local control over the trade of precious feathers, salt, and amber. If indeed an Aztec garrison was stationed in Zinacantan from 1498-1521, as Herrera reports (Blom, 1959:26), it was apparently established after years of unsuccess- ful and costly efforts. Intertribal hostility here, as in the Valley of Mexico, assured speedy Spanish conquest. In 1524 Zinacantan capitulated without a hint of resistance to a handful of Spaniards, doubtless believing that the town would profit by the defeat of their enemies, the Chiapanecs, and the Chamulans. Zinacantecs served the Spanish forces as porters and warriors in subsequent expeditions in the highlands and in the Lacandon jungle. Then, as now, the "Men of the Bat" astonished the Ladinos by their haughty mien. Shortly after the Conquest, Zinacantan still "had an infinite number of idols; they worshipped the sun and made sacrifices to it, and to the full rivers, to the springs, to the trees of heavy foliage, and to the high hills they gave incense and gifts" (Ximenez, 1929:360). The first Dominican monastery in Chia- pas, founded in Zinacantan by followers of Fray Bartolome de Las Casas served as a refuge for the friars, and as a center of missionary activity from 1544-1546. Despite their attempts to make good Christians of the Zinacantecs, two years later the friars collected enough idols to supply a huge bonfire in the plaza. In 1572 Zinacantan continued to be the Indian "capital" of the highlands. At this time a native government was instated by the Spaniards; its form was surely influenced by the pre-Conquest pattern whereby those of best lineage became lords, and their sons, priests. For three centuries Zinacantecs endured a fate as bitter as that of any Indian segment of Mexico. The native towns of highland Chiapas were quickly ap- portioned out to individual Spaniards under a system known as the encomienda. Both tribute—products of INTRODUCTION 11 the land, or cloth—and labor were owed to the lord, though the natives still theoretically owned the land. So exhorbitant were the tributes of cacao exacted from the Indian communities that not only Bishop Las Casas, but the chiefs of Zinacantan, too, sent pleas directly to King Philip II, who responded to their eloquence by lowering these tributes through- out Mexico and Central America. After the abolition of the encomienda in 1720 the Indians saw their rights continually diminished, while their communal lands were gobbled up by the Ladinos. Reform laws were consistently ignored or twisted to the advantage of the wealthy. Until the early nineteenth century Zinacantecs engaged in extensive trade, carrying cacao and cof- fee from Guatemala to Tabasco, and tobacco to the Pacific slopes. But tropical diseases and dispossession of goods by the Ladinos severely curtailed their traditional occupation. Economic exploitation by landowners, political officials, even priests, was the order of the day. (See Marina Arreola, 1961.) When the misery of the Indian communities became insupportable the gods descended from the skies to aid the oppressed. In the first years of the eighteenth centry, when an insatiably greedy bishop was demanding ever higher tithes, a hermit appeared in a hollow tree in Zinacantan and built a chapel for the Virgin. Another Virgin was discovered in a corn field in Santa Marta, a cross fell from "heaven" in Cancuc. Native leaders donned priestly robes, held Mass, and exhorted the worshippers to murder the oppressors. By the year 1712 the "Tzeltal Rebellion" had spread to thirty-two towns. Urgent pleas for military assistance were sent to the Captain General of Guatemala and the Major General of Tabasco. Meanwhile an army of 4000 rebels had assembled in Huistan, ready to march on San Cristobal. In a surprise attack, the forces of San Cristobal sent the Indians running, only to learn that three Spaniards had been jailed in Zinacantan and that the town was prepared, together with the San Feliperos on one side of the valley and the Tzeltals on the other, to fall upon the Ladino capital. On August 27, 1712 this plan was aborted by the bravery of a single friar, who rode posthaste to Zinacantan, where he ad- dressed the multitude in these words: My children, you know that this morning I arrived in Ciudad Real [San Cristobal]. I found it in an uproar, the alarm being sounded because there were false rumors that you had risen in rebellion against God and against the King, and since I love you as my own children, I prevented them from coming to destroy you until I had come and seen what had happened. But the rumors and reports that were spread are false, for you, together with the Spaniards, were the ancient conquerors and you have always been loyal vassals of the King, Our Lord. (Ximenez, 1931, 3:293). Praising the townspeople for having imprisoned the Spaniards, the friar upbraided the captives and, to their immense relief, led them off "to jail" in San Cristobal. Buoyed by the friar's success, the Spanish officials returned to Zinacantan and hung four of the rebel leaders, though the principal leader, having departed to confer with the Tzeltals, escaped. Rein- forcements soon arrived from Guatemala and Tabasco. The rebellion was brutually crushed. Its leaders were hung, their heads displayed on stakes before the church doors, their bodies quartered and exhibited at the entrances to the towns. For over one hundred and fifty years the memory of this ruinous defeat kept the Indians quiet, but once again, in 1867, there were new stirrings. "Talking stones" dropped from heaven and were picked up by a Chamulan girl. A cult, including saints, priests, and native Masses soon developed. A meddling Spanish priest was slaughtered. On Good Friday, 1868, "so the Indians should have one of their own to worship, of the same soul and blood" (Pineda, 1888:76-77), a Chamulan boy was nailed to a cross. "We do not know (or will ignore) what the new jews did with the body and blood of the martyr of savagery, although it is not improbable that they drank the blood" (Pineda, ibid.). A year later, aided by a Ladino revolutionary, the Tzotzil Indians of Chamula and several other towns (but not Zina- cantan) began their genocidal "War of the Castes." Over a hundred Ladino ranchers were murdered, including wives and babies. An army of perhaps 5000 Indians poured down the mountain slopes into the outskirts of San Cristobal. After nearly overcom- ing the defenders they mysteriously withdrew, leav- ing only a memory that even today chills the people of San Cristobal. The misery of hereditary debt, forced labor, and tribute was further aggravated at the close of the nineteenth century by the invention of the enganche, or "hook" system. A Ladino representative of the coffee fincas would set up a booth in the plaza. On a table, before him were stacked piles of gold. Lured by promises of wealth, the Indians would flock to the stall and speedily be signed up as contract laborers, but almost inevitably they would become prisoners of debt, constrained to spend many years in the unhealthy lowlands until one day the individual might escape and run back to the hills. As late as 1910 the plight of the Chiapas peons was "probably the worst of all in the nation" (Cosio Villegas, 1956, 4:227), The land reform policy inaugurated by the Revolution in that year did not reach Zinacantan until the early 1940's. Even then land records show that it benefitted the wealthier 12 SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO ANTHROPOLOGY NUMBER 23 Indian families of the community (Wasserstrom, pers. comm.). From the fall of Porfirio Diaz in 1910 to the defeat of General Pineda in 1924 the Zinacantecs endured a period of armed encounters when neither their lives nor their possessions were secure. Conditions have changed rather dramatically in the past twenty-five years. The Departamento de Asuntos Indigenas came to the aid of Indians in legal disputes that could not be settled at the township level. Since 1950 the Instituto Nacional Indigenista has built roads, schools, clinics, and stores in the Chiapas highlands. In 1972 the Programa de Desar- rollo Socio-economico de los Altos de Chiapas was inaugurated to provide new legal, administrative, and economic recourses for the Indian population. The paternalistic attitude of Ladinos has been shaken by Indian competition. Though exploitation has not ended, and though it is too soon to expect Ladinos to exchange their condescending view of Indian culture for one of respect, the Indian communities are beginning to experience a new optimism. In folklore the Ladino has been accorded a place consonant with his historic role. One aspect of the Earth Lord is modeled after the fabulously rich Ladino landowner who offers great treasures in exchange for contract labor. Otherwise the Ladino, almost without exception, is an evil character, whether layman or priest—"the spawn of an Indian woman and a white dog." Running through the folktales is an ever-recurring refrain: "Once the town had wealth, now it is penniless; if what had happened had not happened, we would be on top, the Ladino face up." It is not surprising to find that in the oral literature of Zinacantan personal relations, whether between man and god, between stranger and Zinacantec, among fellow townsmen, or between family mem- bers, are shaded with distrust. In addition, few mythic antagonists are ever reformed; they are gen- erally rejected and destroyed. A frequently unpre- dictable universe, whose evil manifestations are easier to batter down than to set right, may have been the creation not of Zinacantecs alone, but of Zinacantecs laboring under the domination of Ladinos. With renewed prosperity, a new ebullience may spill over into the folk traditions. In 1958, when Zinacantecs first told me their tales, the hamlets of Zinacantan were separated by gleam- ing forests of oak and pine. Wisps of smoke rose from the tall, black pyramids of thatch nestled in the green corn fields. Men ran down muddy trails, urging on their convoy of mules, or strode jauntily along the highway, weaving a coil of palm fiber for a new hat. Their Mayan profiles slanted obliquely under straw platters spilling yards of pink and purple ribbons. Brief white shorts set off their brown mus- cular thighs as they paraded at the head of their flock of womenfolk. The women, bowed under bristling bundles of firewood, drew shawls across their faces as the cars raced past. Now the forests ringing the hamlets are mostly knee-high stumps. Low tile roofs cover the adobe or brick rectangles. Trucks, few mules, carry corn. Store-bought sombreros and long pants far out- number beribboned platters and white shorts. Most boys walk bareheaded. Those who can, wear watch- es on their wrists and carry radios in their plastic shoulderbags. Girls stare boldly and may even smile. But the electricity is still dim, meals are still cooked on wood fires, dogs still bark and roosters still crow through the night, men still lead the way, mist swirls still past the ragged limestone cliffs, and the thunderbolt crashes, shaking the mountains to their foundations. The profile is still Mayan.3 TALETELLING The hesitant teasing out of tales began in my front yard in Zinacantan. Here, Romin Teratol, speaking Tzotzil slowly and barely above a whisper, recited tale after tale to my clumsy pencil. After my skill had become more adequate I worked with Xun 7Akov and then approached one of the elder mem- bers of the community. Although eager to supply myths, Manvel K'obyox was incapable of repeating verbatim. His lamentable scantiness of tooth also frustrated my most conscientious efforts at transcrip- tion. It was then decided to shift from pencil to tape recorder and from Zinacantan to San Cristobal where we would be free from neighbors' intruding ears. After each session the recording was tran- scribed in rough approximation, to be polished sub- sequently with Romin Teratol's help. The storytellers' toils were accompanied by idle chitchat, bowls of beans, and, when appropriate, bottles of cane liquor or beer, so that their stories would reflect, as they should, hours of leisurely companionship. I had hoped that tales might be elicited without payment of a fee, but Zinacantecs value their time highly. I did not want them to feel exploited. The choice of narrator was limited by the trials of establishing close relations; no Zinacantec acquaint- ance would agree to serve as liaison to individuals who seemed to me particulary knowledgeable. Con- familiar with Of Wonders Wild and New: Dreams From Zinacantan will recall this scenery (Laughlin, 1976:1). INTRODUCTION 13 sequently, the most insignificant and unpremeditated actions—the one-time sharing of a drink, the giving of a ride—proved to be the determinants of the final list of contributors. The raconteurs form a statisti- cally unsatisfactory sample of the community: one woman, eight men, ranging in age from early teens to at least mid-eighties. Six of the storytellers are from Jtek-lum (Zinacantan Center), two from the hamlet of Paste7, and one from the hamlet of Naben Chauk. It is regrettable that only one woman's words are represented. Nevertheless, the raconteurs, by their personalities, life experiences, and narrative style demonstrate the real diversity of the creators of an oral literature. A number of tales (T132-136, T153) include gos- sip that, if published in Tzotzil, might prove em- barrassing to the storyteller. These are presented here only in English. Linguistic Notes In order to make the Tzotzil texts more accessible to the Tzotzil themselves, and hopefully to stimulate Mexican government literacy programs in their own language, I have abandoned the esoteric letters used in The Great Tzotzil Dictionary of San Lorenzo Zina- cantdn; ?,