Leslie Silko - Ceremony

“He didn’t make it though. I was supposed to help him, so he’d make it back. They were counting on him. They were proud of him. I owed them that much. After everything that happened. I owed it to them.” He looked at the old man, but he was staring at the lights down below, following the headlights from the west until they were taillights disappearing in the east. He didn’t seem to be listening.

“There are no limits to this thing,” Betonie said. “When it was set loose, it ranged everywhere, from the mountains and plains to the towns and cities; rivers and oceans never stopped it.” The wind was blowing steadily and the old man’s voice was almost lost in it.

“Emo plays with these teeth — human teeth — and he says the Indians have nothing compared to white people. He talks about their cities and all the machines and food they have. He says the land is no good, and we must go after what they have, and take it from them.” Tayo coughed and tried to clear the tightness from his throat. “Well, I don’t know how to say this but it seems that way. All you have to do is look around. And so I wonder,” he said, feeling the tightness in his throat squeeze out the tears, “I wonder what good Indian ceremonies can do against the sickness which comes from their wars, their bombs, their lies?”

The old man shook his head. “That is the trickery of the witchcraft,” he said. “They want us to believe all evil resides with white people. Then we will look no further to see what is really happening. They want us to separate ourselves from white people, to be ignorant and helpless as we watch our own destruction. But white people are only tools that the witchery manipulates; and I tell you, we can deal with white people, with their machines and their beliefs. We can because we invented white people; it was Indian witchery that made white people in the first place.

Long time ago in the beginning there were no white people in this world there was nothing European. And this world might have gone on like that except for one thing: witchery. This world was already complete even without white people. There was everything including witchery.

Then it happened. These witch people got together. Some came from far far away across oceans across mountains. Some had slanty eyes others had black skin. They all got together for a contest the way people have baseball tournaments nowadays except this was a contest in dark things.

So anyway they all got together witch people from all directions witches from all the Pueblos and all the tribes. They had Navajo witches there, some from Hopi, and a few from Zuni. They were having a witches’ conference, that’s what it was Way up in the lava rock hills north of Cañoncito they got together to fool around in caves with their animal skins. Fox, badger, bobcat, and wolf they circled the fire and on the fourth time they jumped into that animal’s skin.

But this time it wasn’t enough and one of them maybe a Sioux or some Eskimos started showing off. “That wasn’t anything, watch this.”

The contest started like that. Then some of them lifted the lids on their big cooking pots, calling the rest of them over to take a look: dead babies simmering in blood circles of skull cut away all the brains sucked out. Witch medicine to dry and grind into powder for new victims.

Others untied skin bundles of disgusting objects: dark flints, cinders from burned hogans where the dead lay Whorls of skin cut from fingertips sliced from the penis end and clitoris tip.

Finally there was only one who hadn’t shown off charms or powers. The witch stood in the shadows beyond the fire and no one ever knew where this witch came from which tribe or if it was a woman or a man. But the important thing was this witch didn’t show off any dark thunder charcoals or red ant-hill beads. This one just told them to listen: “What I have is a story.”

At first they all laughed but this witch said Okay go ahead laugh if you want to but as I tell the story it will begin to happen.

Set in motion now set in motion by our witchery to work for us.

Caves across the ocean in caves of dark hills white skin people like the belly of a fish covered with hair.

Then they grow away from the earth then they grow away from the sun then they grow away from the plants and animals. They see no life When they look they see only objects. The world is a dead thing for them the trees and rivers are not alive the mountains and stones are not alive. The deer and bear are objects They see no life.

They fear They fear the world. They destroy what they fear. They fear themselves. The wind will blow them across the ocean thousands of them in giant boats swarming like larva out of a crushed ant hill.

They will carry objects which can shoot death faster than the eye can see. They will kill the things they fear all the animals the people will starve.

They will poison the water they will spin the water away and there will be drought the people will starve.

They will fear what they find They will fear the people They kill what they fear.

Entire villages will be wiped out They will slaughter whole tribes.

Corpses for us

Blood for us

Killing killing killing killing.

And those they do not kill will die anyway at the destruction they see at the loss at the loss of the children the loss will destroy the rest.

Stolen rivers and mountains

the stolen land will eat their hearts

and jerk their mouths from the Mother.

The people will starve.

They will bring terrible diseases

the people have never known.

Entire tribes will die out

covered with festered sores

shitting blood

vomiting blood.

Corpses for our work

Set in motion now set in motion by our witchery set in motion to work for us.

They will take this world from ocean to ocean they will turn on each other they will destroy each other Up here in these hills they will find the rocks, rocks with veins of green and yellow and black. They will lay the final pattern with these rocks they will lay it across the world and explode everything.

Set in motion now set in motion To destroy To kill Objects to work for us objects to act for us Performing the witchery for suffering for torment for the still-born the deformed the sterile the dead. Whirling whirling whirling whirling set into motion now set into motion.

So the other witches said

“Okay you win; you take the prize,

but what you said just now—

it isn’t so funny

It doesn’t sound so good.

We are doing okay without it

we can get along without that kind of thing.

Take it back.

Call that story back.”

But the witch just shook its head

at the others in their stinking animal skins, fur and feathers.

It’s already turned loose.

It’s already coming.

It can’t be called back.

They left on horseback before dawn. The old man rode a skinny pinto mare with hip bones and ribs poking against the hide like springs of an old car seat. But she was strong and moved nimbly up the narrow rocky path north of Betonie’s hogan. The old man’s helper rode a black pony, hunching low over its neck with his face in the mane. Maybe he rode like that for warmth, because it was cold in those foothills before dawn; the night air of the high mountains was chilled by the light of the stars and the shadows of the moon. The brown gelding stumbled with Tayo; he reined it in and walked it more slowly. Behind them in the valley, the highway was a faint dark vein through the yellow sand and red rock. He smelled piñon and sage in the wind that blew across the stony backbone of the ridge. They left the red sandstone and the valley and rode into the lava-rock foothills and pine of the Chuska Mountains.