Eskimo Folk-Tales — Tales 33-38

THE SOUL THAT LIVED IN THE BODIES OF ALL BEASTS

There was a man whose name was Avôvang.

And of him it is said that nothing could wound him.

And he lived at Kangerdlugssuaq.

At that time of the year when it is good to be out, and the days do not close with dark night, and all is nearing the great summer, Avôvang's brother stood one day on the ice near the breathing hole of a seal.

And as he stood there, a sledge came dashing up, and as it reached him, the man who was in it said: "There will come many sledges to kill your brother."

The brother now ran into the house to tell what he had heard.

And then he ran up a steep rocky slope and hid away.

The sledges drove up before the house, and Avôvang went out to meet them, but he took with him the skin of a dog's neck, which had been used to wrap him in when he was a child.

And when then the men fell upon him, he simply placed that piece of skin on the ground and stood on it, and all his enemies could not wound him with their weapons, though they stabbed again and again.

At last he spoke, and said mockingly: "All my body is now like a piece of knotty wood, with the scars of the wounds you gave me, and yet you could not bring about my death."

And as they could not wound him with their stabbing, they dragged him up to the top of a high cliff, thinking to cast him down.

But each time they caught hold of him to cast him down, he changed himself into another man who was not their enemy.

And at last they were forced to drive away, without having done what they wished.

It is also told of Avôvang, that he once desired to travel to the south, and to the people who lived in the south, to buy wood.

This men were wont to do in the old days, but now it is no longer so.

And so they set off, many sledges together, going southward to buy wood.

And having done what they wished, they set out for home.

On the way, they had made a halt to look for the breathing holes of seal, and while the men had been thus employed, the women had gone on.

Avôvang had taken a wife on that journey, from among the people of the south.

And while the men stood there looking for seal holes, all of them felt a great desire to possess Avôvang's wife, and therefore they tried to kill him.

Qautaq stabbed him in the eyes, and the others caught hold of him and sent him sliding down through a breathing hole into the sea.

When his wife saw this, she was angry, and taking the wood which they had brought from the south, she broke it all into small pieces.

So angry was she at thus being made a widow.

Then she went home, after having spoiled the men's wood.

But the sledges drove on.

Suddenly a great seal came up ahead of them, right in their way, where the ice was thin and slippery.

And the sledges drove straight at it, but many fell through and were drowned at that hunting.

And a little after, they again saw something in their way.

It was a fox, and they set off in chase, but driving at furious speed up a mountain of screw-ice, they were dashed down and killed.

Only two men escaped, and they made their way onward and told what had come to the rest.

And it was the soul of Avôvang, whom nothing could wound, that had changed, first into a seal and then into a fox, and thus brought about the death of his enemies.

And afterwards he made up his mind to let himself be born in the shape of every beast on earth, that he might one day tell his fellow-men the manner of their life.

At one time he was a dog, and lived on meat which he stole from the houses.

When he was pressed for food, he would carefully watch the men about the houses, and eat anything they threw away.

But Avôvang soon tired of being a dog, on account of the many beatings which fell to his lot in that life.

And so he made up his mind to become a reindeer.

At first he found it far from easy, for he could not keep pace with the other reindeer when they ran.

"How do you stretch your hind legs at a gallop?"

he asked one day.

"Kick out towards the farthest edge of the sky," they answered.

And he did so, and then he was able to keep pace with them.

But at first he did not know what he should eat, and therefore he asked the others.

"Eat moss and lichen," they said.

And he soon grew fat, with thick suet on his back.

But one day the herd was attacked by a wolf, and all the reindeer dashed out into the sea, and there they met some kayaks in their flight, and one of the men killed Avôvang.

He cut him up, and laid the meat in a cairn of stones.

And there he lay, and when the winter came, he longed for the men to come and bring him home.

And glad was he one day to hear the stones rattling down, and when they commenced to eat him, and cracked the bones with pieces of rock to get at the marrow, Avôvang escaped and changed himself into a wolf.

And now he lived as a wolf, but here as before he found that he could not keep up with his comrades at a run.

And they ate all the food, so that he got none.

"Kick up towards the sky," they told him.

And then at once he was able to overtake all the reindeer, and thus get food.

And later he became a walrus, but found himself unable to dive down to the bottom; all he could do was to swim straight ahead through the water.

"Take off as if from the middle of the sky; that is what we do when we dive to the bottom," said the others.

And so he swung his hindquarters up to the sky, and down he went to the bottom.

And his comrades taught him what to eat; mussels and little white stones.

Once also he was a raven.

"The ravens never lack food," he said, "but they often feel cold about the feet."

Thus he lived the life of every beast on earth.

And at last he became a seal again.

And there he would lie under the ice, watching the men who came to catch him.

And being a great wizard, he was able to hide himself away under the nail of a man's big toe.

But one day there came a man out hunting who had cut off the nail of his big toe.

And that man harpooned him.

Then they hauled him up on the ice and took him home.

Inside the house, they began cutting him up, and when the man cast the mittens to his wife, Avôvang went with them, and crept into the body of the woman.

And after a time he was born again, and became once more a man.

PAPIK, WHO KILLED HIS WIFE'S BROTHER

There was once a man whose name was Papik, and it was his custom to go out hunting with his wife's brother, whose name was Ailaq.

But whenever those two went out hunting together, it was always Ailaq who came home with seal in tow, while Papik returned empty-handed.

And day by day his envy grew.

Then one day it happened that Ailaq did not return at all.

And Papik was silent at his home-coming.

At last, late in the evening, that old woman who was Ailaq's mother began to speak.

"You have killed Ailaq."

"No, I did not kill him," answered Papik.

Then the old woman rose up and cried: "You killed him, and said no word.

The day shall yet come when I will eat you alive, for you killed Ailaq, you and no other."

And now the old woman made ready to die, for it was as a ghost she thought to avenge her son.

She took her bearskin coverlet over her, and went and sat down on the shore, close to the water, and let the tide come up and cover her.

For a long time after this, Papik did not go out hunting at all, so greatly did he fear the old woman's threat.

But at last he ceased to think of the matter, and began to go out hunting as before.

One day two men stood out on the ice by the breathing holes.

Papik had chosen his place a little farther off, and stood there alone.

And then it came.

They heard the snow creaking, with the sound of a cry, and the sound moved towards Papik, and a fog came down over the ice.

And soon they heard shouts as of one in a fury, and the screaming of one in fear; the monster had fallen upon Papik, to devour him.

And now they fled in towards land, swerving wide to keep away from what was happening there.

On their way, they met sledges with hunters setting out; they threw down their gear, and urged the others to return to their own place at once, lest they also should be slain by fear.

When they reached their village, all gathered together in one house.

But soon they heard the monster coming nearer over the ice, and then all hurried to the entrance, and crowding together, grew yet more greatly stricken with fear.

And pressing thus against each other, they struggled so hard that one fatherless boy was thrust aside and fell into a tub full of blood.

When he got up, the blood poured from his clothes, and wherever they went, the snow was marked with blood.

"Now we are already made food for that monster," they cried, "since that wretched boy marks out the way with a trail of blood."

"Let us kill him, then," said one.

But the others took pity on him, and let him live.

And now the evil spirit came in sight out on the ice; they could see the tips of its ears over the hummocks as it crept along.

When it came up to the houses, not a dog barked, and none dared try to surround it, for it was not a real bear.

But at last an old woman began crying to the dogs: "See, there is your cousin--bark at him!"

And now the dogs were loosed from the magic that bound them, and when the men saw this, they too dashed forward, and harpooned that thing.

But when they came to cut up the bear, they knew its skin for the old woman's coverlet, and its bones were human bones.

And now the sledges drove out to find the gear they had left behind, and they saw that everything was torn to pieces.

And when they found Papik, he was cut about in every part.

Eyes, nose and mouth and ears were hacked away, and the scalp torn from his head.

Thus that old woman took vengeance for the killing of her son Ailaq.

And so it was our fathers used to tell: when any man killed his fellow without good cause, a monster would come and strike him dead with fear, and leave no part whole in all his body.

The people of old times thought it an ill thing for men to kill each other.

This story I heard from the men who came to us from the far side of the great sea.

PÂTUSSORSSUAQ, WHO KILLED HIS UNCLE

There lived a woman at Kûgkat, and she was very beautiful, and Alátaq was he who had her to wife.

And at the same place lived Pâtussorssuaq, and Alátaq was his uncle.

He also had a wife, but was yet fonder of his uncle's wife than of his own.

But one day in the spring, Alátaq was going out on a long hunting journey, and made up his mind to take his wife with him.

They were standing at the edge of the ice, ready to start, when Pâtussorssuaq came down to them.

"Are you going away?"

he asked.

"Yes, both of us," answered Alátaq.

But when Pâtussorssuaq heard thus, he fell upon his uncle and killed him at once, for he could not bear to see the woman go away.

When Pâtussorssuaq's wife saw this, she snatched up her needle and sewing ring, and fled away, following the shadow of the tent, over the hills to the place where her parents lived.

She had not even time to put on her skin stockings, and therefore her feet grew sore with treading the hills.

On her way up inland she saw people running about with their hoods loose on their heads, as is the manner of the inland folk, but she had no dealings with them, for they fled away.

Then, coming near at last to her own place, she saw an old man, and running up, she found it was her father, who was out in search of birds.

And the two went gladly back to his tent.

Now when Pâtussorssuaq had killed his uncle, he at once went up to his own tent, thinking to kill his own wife, for he was already weary of her.

But she had fled away.

Inside the tent sat a boy, and Pâtussorssuaq fell upon him, crying: "Where is she?

Where is she gone?"

"I have seen nothing, for I was asleep," cried the boy, speaking falsely because of his great fear.

And so Pâtussorssuaq was forced to desist from seeking out his wife.

And now he went down and took Alátaq's wife and lived with her.

But after a little time, she died.

And thus he had but little joy of the woman he had won by misdeed.

And he himself was soon to suffer in another way.

At the beginning of the summer, many people were gathered at Natsivilik, and among them was Pâtussorssuaq.

One day a strange thing happened to him, while he was out hunting: a fox snapped at the fringe of his coat, and he, thinking it to be but a common fox, struck out at it, but did not hit.

And afterwards it was revealed that this was the soul of dead Alátaq, playing with him a little before killing him outright.

For Alátaq's amulet was a fox.

And a little time after, he was bitten to death by the ghost of Alátaq, coming upon him in the shape of a bear.

His daughter, who was outside at that time, heard the cries, and went in to tell of what she had heard, but just as she came into the house, behold, she had quite forgotten all that she wished to say.

And this was because that vengeful spirit had by magic means called down forgetfulness upon her.

Afterwards she remembered it, but then it was too late.

They found Pâtussorssuaq torn to pieces, torn limb from limb; he had tried to defend himself with great pieces of ice, as they could see, but all in vain.

Thus punishment falls upon the man who kills.

THE MEN WHO CHANGED WIVES

There were once two men, Talîlarssuaq and Navssârssuaq, and they changed wives.

Talîlarssuaq was a mischievous fellow, who was given to frightening people.

One evening, sitting in the house with the other's wife, whom he had borrowed, he thrust his knife suddenly through the skins of the bench.

Then the woman ran away to her husband and said: "Go in and kill Talîlarssuaq; he is playing very dangerous tricks."

Then Navssârssuaq rose up without a word, and put on his best clothes, and took his knife, and went out.

He went straight up to Talîlarssuaq, who was now lying on the bench talking to himself, and pulled him out on the floor and stabbed him.

"You might at least have waited till I had dressed," said Talîlarssuaq.

But Navssârssuaq hauled him out through the passage way, cast him on the rubbish heap and went his way, saying nothing.

On the way he met his wife.

"Are you not going to murder me, too?"

she asked.

"No," he answered in a deep voice.

"For Pualúna is not yet grown big enough to be without you."

Pualúna was their youngest son.

But some time after that deed he began to perceive that he was haunted by a spirit.

"There is some invisible thing which now and again catches hold of me," he said to his comrades.

And that was the avenging spirit, watching him.

But about this time, many in the place fell sick.

And among them was Navssârssuaq.

The sickness killed him, and thus the avenging spirit was not able to tear him in pieces.

ARTUK, WHO DID ALL FORBIDDEN THINGS

A man whose name was Artuk had buried his wife, but refused to remain aloof from doings which those who have been busied with the dead are forbidden to share.

He said he did not hold by such old customs.

Some of his fellow-villagers were at work cutting up frozen meat for food.

After watching them for a while as they worked at the meat with their knives, he took a stone axe and hacked at the meat, saying: "That is the way to cut up meat."

And this he did although it was forbidden.

And on the same day he went out on to the ice and took off his inner coat to shake it, and this he did although it was forbidden.

Also he went up on to an iceberg and drank water which the sun had melted there, knowing well that this was likewise forbidden.

And all these things he did in scorn of that which his fellows believed.

For he said it was all lies.

But one day when he was starting out with his sledge, fear came upon him, and he dared not go alone.

And as his son would not go with him willingly, he took him, and bound him to the uprights of the sledge, and carried him so.

He never returned alive.

Late in the evening, his daughter heard in the air the mocking laughter of two spirits.

And she knew at once that they were laughing so that she might know how her father had been punished for his ill-doing.

On the following day, many sledges went out to search for Artuk.

And they found him, far out on the ice, torn to pieces, as is the way with those whom the spirits have punished for refusing to observe the customs of their forefathers.

And the son, who was bound to the sledge, had not been touched, but he had died of fright.

THE THUNDER SPIRITS

Two sisters, men say, were playing together, and their father could not bear to hear the noise they made, for he had but few children, and was thus not wont to hear any kind of noise.

At last he began to scold them, and told them to go farther away with their playing.

When the girls grew up, and began to understand things, they desired to run away on account of their father's scolding.

And at last they set out, taking with them only a little dogskin, and a piece of boot skin, and a fire stone.

They went up into a high mountain to build themselves a house there.

Their father and mother made search for them in vain, for the girls kept hiding themselves; they had grown to be true mountain dwellers, keeping far from the places of men.

Only the reindeer hunters saw them now and again, but the girls always refused to go back to their kin.

And when at last the time came when they must die of hunger, they turned into evil spirits, and became thunder.

When they shake their dried boot skin, then the gales come up, the south-westerly gales.

And great fire is seen in the heavens whenever they strike their fire stone, and the rain pours down whenever they shed tears.

Their father held many spirit callings, hoping to make them return.

But this he ceased to do when he found that they were dead.

But men say that after those girls had become spirits, they returned to the places of men, frightening many to death.

They came first of all to their father and mother, because of the trouble they had made.

The only one they did not kill was a woman bearing a child on her back.

And they let her live, that she might tell how terrible they were.

And tales are now told of how terrible they were.

When the thunder spirits come, even the earth itself is stricken with terror.

And stones, even those which lie on level ground, and not on any slope at all, roll in fear towards men.

Thus the thunder comes with the south-westerly gales; there is a noise and crackling in the air, as of dry skins shaken, and the sky glows from time to time with the fire from their firestone.

Great rocks, and everything which stands up high in the air, begin to glow.

When this happens, men use to take out a red dog, and cut its ear until the blood comes, and then lead the beast round about the house, letting the blood drip everywhere, for then the house will not take fire.

A red dog was the only thing they feared, those girls who were turned to thunder.