The Project Gutenberg eBook of Seven Mohave Myths, by A. L. Kroeber. kne høye støvler
SEVEN MOHAVE MYTHS
A. L. KROEBER
Vol. 11, No. 1
Editors: A. L. Kroeber, E. W. Gifford, R. H. Lowie, R. L. Olson
Volume 11, No. 1, pp. 1-70, frontispiece
Submitted by editors August 17, 1945
Issued August 6, 1948
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS
BERKELEY AND LOS ANGELES
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
KWATNIALKA OR JACK JONES, INTERPRETER
BLUEBIRD, NARRATOR OF CANE STORY
JO NELSON, NARRATOR OF MASTAMHO kruhabrw. timberland bottes en ligneSTORY
[ Pg vii]
The Cane narrative
Song scheme and narrative outline
The Cane song scheme
Movement of the narrative
Handling of the plot
Circumstances and nature of the story
The Nyohaiva tale
The song scheme
Outline of song scheme
The Raven story
Variations in song scheme
Words of songs
The Deer story
Circumstances of the recording
Children's stories: C, D, E
More stories for children: F, G, H
Content of the myth
Quality of the narrative
Main narrative: Mastamho's instituting
Supplement: Thrasher and Mockingbird institute sex life
The lists of manufactured words
Appendix I. Mohave Directional Circuits
Appendix II. Mohave Names
Interpreter and narrators
frontispiece, facing v
[ Pg 1]
SEVEN MOHAVE MYTHS
A. L. KROEBER
This paper is an endeavor to make a beginning
of payment on a scholarly debt long in arrears.
Between 1900 and 1910, I spent considerable time
with the Mohave Indians, both in the vicinity of
Needles and with visitors from there to the University.
Summaries of the data recorded, and some
samples of concrete detail, have been published
in one place or another, most coherently in two
chapters of the Handbook of California Indians
in 1925. But I kept deferring presentation of
the fuller data, in particular of the mythological
narratives, many of which run to unusual
length. The tales offered herewith comprise in
bulk about half of the Mohave narrative material
in my notebooks. This is exclusive of the "Great
Tale" of pseudo-historical moving about and
fighting of clan-like groups, my unfinished recording
of which runs to about the length of the
seven tales presented herewith. 
The fragmentary beginning of one of these
clan or war legends is given in Handbook, pp.
In quality the narratives of the Mohave resemble
not only those of the other Yuman tribes
of the Colorado River, but also, to a considerable
extent, those of the Shoshonean Indians of
southern California. The typical story of the
region is not a relatively rapid narrative of
plot, but a detailed elaboration still further
expanded by the inclusion of a song series. A
myth might be characterized as a web loaded
with a heavy embroidery of songs which carry an
emotional stimulus of their own, and at the same
time endow the plot with a peculiar decorative
quality and charge it with a feeling tone which
renders of secondary importance the sort of consistency
of character, motivation, and action
which we expect in a narrative. This is a paraphrase
of how I expressed myself in regard to
Gabrielino mythology in 1925. It holds probably
even more forcibly for the Mohave. Many of their
tales seem to appeal to them more in the manner
of an ornamental pattern than as a portrayal of
a related sequence of events. Essentially all
Mohave myths are told in an almost ritualized
style. They are not, strictly, rituals; but their
telling and singing largely take the place of
formal rituals in the culture. The songs which
belong to the great majority of narratives can
be sung with equal suitability for a dance at a
festival or victory celebration; for the mere
pleasure of singing; as an expansion of the spoken
tale; or as a "gift" of lamentation for a
dying or dead relative.
The Mohave validate what happens in their lives
by referring it to their dreams. Success in life,
the fortunes of a person or of a career, are believed
to be the result of what one has dreamed.
A Mohave dreams among other things—or perhaps
above other things—of the beginnings of the world
in the far distant past.
He dreams of being present at the creation and
witnessing its events. Thereby he participates in
them and gets certain knowledges: powers for war,
for curing, for success in love or gambling. Such
mystically dreamed powers are what really count in
human life, the Mohave firmly believed. Over most
of native North America the acquisition of power
by dreams or visions of spirits is the basis of
shamanism; and where religion is simple, it is
largely constituted of shamanism. The Yuman tribes,
however, have evolved the special belief that the
visions are not of the spirits of now, but of the
spirits and great gods of the beginning of the
world. This group of tribes in their philosophy
transcend time and project their souls back to the
origin of things. This act they call dreaming. The
basic and most significant dreams are not those of
last night or of one's adolescence, but those which
one had before birth—while still in the mother's
belly, they say. It is these prenatal dreams which
the newly born baby and the child may forget, but
which come back to the growing boy and to the man
when he hears others singing or telling similar
experiences. As they see it, the tribal mythology
is thus first learned by personal participation in
it as an unborn soul. Secondarily, it is strengthened,
clarified, and perhaps adjusted by what one
learns from others. Some old Mohave of my acquaintance
admitted that they "also heard" or learned
their special lore, usually from blood kinsmen, in
addition to dreaming it; but all denied having been
"taught." The distinction may seem verbal to us,
but I am sure that it is not verbal to them.
Now and then a person will admit having learned
a story from others, apparently without any sense
of inferiority therefor. Mostly, however, the old
men claimed to have dreamed what they knew. This
was without any very evident sense of pride about
it—in fact, dreaming was so common that it would
be only what one had dreamed, not the fact of
dreaming, that could give distinction. I am sure
that my informants believed they had dreamed in
[ Pg 2]
the way they said. A people starting out with
preconceptions such as these would not be likely
to be able to explain matters in terms of what
we consider psychological reality. I suspect
that many men, as they grow older and perhaps
begin to sing song series with their kinsmen,
begin also to brood about them in periods of inactivity.
Their minds presumably run on the implications
of the words of the songs, until,
under the spell of the tribal theory, they come
to believe that they have in their own person
seen the events of the far past happen.
At any rate, informants now and then mention
in the midst of their mystical narrative, randomly
and in the most matter-of-fact way, "Then I saw
him doing so and so," or "I was there," or "Then
he said to me."
Those narratives which the Mohave evidently
consider historical, and they are the longest
of all, the Great Tales, come unaccompanied by
singing. The story of the actual first beginnings
of the world seems also to be without songs; and
so is the prolix account of the origins of culture,
of which I give a version herewith under
the title of Mastamho, the culture hero. Matters
of "history" are in the Mohave mind related to
matters of war, and are therefore clean and honorable.
Cosmic origins, however, seem to be felt
as allied to shamanism and doctoring. Now the
doctor can cure, but he can also kill; and there
is consequently some reluctance to sing, or
even to hear, series of doctoring songs, no doubt
because of their associations with illness. The
songs of a good many non-shamanistic narratives
are danced to when there is a festival or gathering.
Each story has its appropriate dance step,
as it has its characteristically recognizable
songs, and its prescribed rattle, struck basket,
palm slap, resonating pot, or other accompanying
beat. There are even one or two kinds of singings,
notably Pleiades, for which I could never learn
that there was a narrative and the two songs of
which are simply sung over and over again for the
dancers. The non-shamanistic song series are
"given away" or "destroyed" (tšupilyk) at the death
of a relative. If he dies gradually, they are sung
during his last one or two days and nights. If he
dies suddenly, they are sung from then until his
cremation. This is considered equivalent to the
destruction of property for the dead. But, as the
Mohave say, after a time a man forgets his grief
and begins to sing his songs again.
The songs accompanying any narrative seem to
run from about a hundred to about four hundred.
All the songs of any one series are variations on
a basic theme, which most Mohave can recognize
and name on hearing. Most of the variations presumably
are improvised according to a pattern
style. It seems impossible that hundreds of minute
variations should be kept separately fixed in memory.
An informant's listing of the localities or
stages of his story at which he sings is usually
fairly consistent from one listing to another.
But the number of songs that he says he sings at
each stage varies considerably more. Obviously, if
his recollection is uncertain whether he sings
three or four songs at a particular point, he is
unlikely to carry precise minor variations of his
melody fixed in his memory.
For convenient reference, I have followed the
plan of putting into a single paragraph each section
of a story which a narrator told as a unit
until he said that here he sang so many songs about
the episode. Informants fell of themselves into the
habit of thus punctuating the narrative by mentioning
the song numbers. These paragraphs I have then
numbered consecutively for convenience in reference
to episodes; and a list of captions corresponding
to the paragraphs has usually been added to serve
as an outline of the song scheme and guide to the
Most of the tales take a night to tell, or a
night and part of the morning, or up to two nights,
according to the narrators. If anything, they
underestimate the time required, in my experience.
It seems doubtful that they would keep an audience
through periods as long as this; and I have the
impression that many of them had never told their
whole myth continuously through from beginning to
end. They also found it difficult to make clear
what sort of occasions prompted the telling. Theoretically,
when it is not a matter of a dance or
a funeral, a man both narrates and sings, telling
an episode and then singing the songs that refer
to it, until his audience drops off or falls asleep.
It remains to characterize the tales themselves
and their style.
If the narratives are long, they almost inevitably
show minor inconsistencies. The narrator may
say that a thing is done four times, and then proceed
to narrate six variations of it. Contradictions
of plot may occur through lapses of memory
or shifts of the narrator's interest. Sometimes it
is difficult to decide whether this has happened,
or whether the interpreter or recorder misunderstood.
This holds for a number of discrepancies in
the first tale, that of Cane, which are noted in
detail in the discussion and footnotes. Such inconsistencies
proved difficult to clear up with informants:
explanations had a way of introducing new
discrepancies. On the other hand, most narrators
keep pretty successfully to the main thread of
their plot and proceed in its development in a
rather prolix, step-by-step, orderly manner.
Major inconsistencies are due to shifts in participation
or identification of the narrator and
hearer with the characters. He who seems to have
been the hero, turns evil without warning and our
sympathies are enlisted for a new personage. This
is a quality which is also notable in southern
California Shoshonean myth narratives. I suspect
that the Mohave feel less need than we of participating
with their personages, both the story and
its setting being so formalized and stylized.
Where fighting is involved, motivation becomes
particularly elusive. The main thing seems to be
that there should be war and the happenings that
go with war. Hence, in place of a definite sense
[ Pg 3]
of identification of the teller or hearer with
one or the other of the personages, there is
often a sense of foreboding or of the inevitability
of what will happen. This is not confined
to the tales which professedly deal with war,
but recurs in the Cane myth, and, with reference
to death instead of war, in that of Deer. In the
latter, the identification is particularly obscure.
Jaguar and Mountain Lion create a pair of
Deer in order to kill them for the benefit of
the future Walapai. But a full three-quarters of
the story tells about the Deer, their thoughts
and feelings; so that it is difficult not to
feel them as what we would call the "heroes" of
the plot. If so, they are unquestionably tragic
The tales are given their great length less
by fundamental complications of plot than by
expansion of detail. The most common expansion
is geographical. There are long travels. If no
events occur on the journey, many places are
nevertheless enumerated, and the traveler's
feelings or thoughts at each point, or what he
sees growing or living there, are expatiated on.
The Mohave evidently derive a satisfaction from
these mental journeys with their visual recalls
In Raven the physical movement of the whole
story exists only in the mind. How people will
travel and fight is told and sung of, but in the
tale itself the entire journey is that from the
rear to the front of the house in which the two
fledgling heroes grow.
Another method of expansion is more stylistic.
What is going to happen is discussed first, and
then it is told over again as a happening. There
are arguments between personages on whether to
do this or that; whether to understand an event
in one way or in another; or as to what is going
to happen later.
Most of the tales are given some tie-up with
Ha'avulypo in Eldorado Canyon and the first god
Matavilya and his death there; or with Mastamho
who succeeded him and his Avikwame which we call
Dead or Newberry Mountain—both north of Mohave
valley. These tie-ups seem to be for placement
reference: they indicate that the events occurred
in the beginning of time. Sometimes an incident
of the creation serves as the introduction of a
tale; or it may be only alluded to. The heroes or
personages are preponderantly boys, sometimes even
miraculously precocious babies. Then overnight
they may have grown up sufficiently to get married.
These irrationalities or surrealisms of time should
not be disconcerting when one remembers that to the
Mohave the whole basis of knowledge of myth is due
to a projection from the present into the era of
first beginnings—is the result of the utter obliteration
of time on the mythological and spiritual
level. Even the culture hero Mastamho is sometimes
described as merely a boy; so are the future
tribes whom he is instructing; at times the informant
refers to himself as a watching and listening
boy. There is an evident feeling that the eras
dealt with are those when everything in the world
was fresh and young and formative.
I have put the Cane tale first because it has
more plot and less of mere prolixity, geographical
or otherwise, than the others. Next follow three
stories that to the Mohave are concerned with war:
Vinimulye-pātše, Nyohaiva, and Raven. After that
comes the story of Deer, with animal actors; and
then some fragments on Coyote, without songs and
perhaps unorthodox, secured from a woman. Women are
not precluded from dreaming, but on the whole the
Mohave seem to have no great interest in women's
dreams. The last is another tale unaccompanied by
songs, the long one of Mastamho, which is essentially
an account of the origin of human and tribal
[ Pg 4]
The story of Cane, Ahta, more properly Ahta-'amalya'e,
Long Cane, was told me on three days
between April 24 and 27, 1904, with one day of
intermission, by a middle-aged man named Tšiyêre-k-avasūk,
or "Bluebird," who said he had dreamed
the tale, beginning at Avikwame. I neglected to
write down personal or biographical details about
him, and dare not trust my memory at this interval.
This story has more plot interest than the
majority of those which the Mohave profess to
dream and sing to. It might be described as a
tale of adventures on an almost epic scale, and
it does not systematically account for the origin
or institution of anything, although a bit of
cosmogony drifts in toward the end.
The version recorded was told carefully and
accurately. There are a number of internal discrepancies,
especially as regards relationship
of the characters and topography, which are considered
in a section following the story itself;
but the plot is well constructed and maintained.
The song scheme is also given after the tale.
The songs are accompanied with a double beat of
a stick struck against the bottom of a Chemehuevi
bowl-shaped basket. Cane is not danced to.
The Cane type of plot recurs in another kind
of Mohave singing called Satukhôta, of which
only a brief outline was obtained. The singer of
Satukhôta beats time by striking his palm against
THE CANE NARRATIVE
A. Kamaiavêta Killed at Avikwame
1a. All the people at Avikwame had gone out of
the house and had sent for (the great snake in the
ocean to the south) Kamaiavêta.  They thought it
was he who had killed Matavilya and they wanted to
kill him. No one knew this to be so but all believed
it. Then when he came they killed him, and
his body lay stretched over the earth. When he was
dead, I  took a piece from his tail, the rattle
nearest the body. I took it for good luck. Several
tribes dream about this killing: the Yuma, the
Maricopa, the Kamia, the Walapai, the Halchidhoma,
and others down to the mouth of the river. 
"Sky-rattlesnake-great." Also Kumaiavête or
The narrator believes that he has seen and
heard what he is relating.
The Kamaiavête incident seems to be mentioned
only for the purpose of fixing the time and place
of the beginning of the story. The myth properly
begins at this point. Most Mohave song-myths begin
with an allusion to the death of Matavilya,
of which the Kamaiavête story is an after-incident.
B. Two Brothers Go Off
1b. Now there were two brothers there. They
stood east of the house and told of it. They did
not speak, but sang. They sang of its posts, the
rafters, the sand heaped around and over it, and
the other parts. (4 songs.)
2. Their names were Pukehane, the older, and
Tšitšuvare, the younger.  They went north a short
distance, where there was a little gravelly place
and thorny cactus. The ground-squirrel, hum'ire,
lived there. When the two brothers came, it ran
away, crying like a boy. It had never seen them
before. They stood there and sang about it. (3
Both names refer to cane. Hipūke is the "end
of the root" or butt. Hipūke-hane is probably the
full form. Tšitšu-vāre is said to refer to the
points of the cane. In the text, ū and ā have been
rendered u and a in these two names.
3. Then they went north again a very little
distance.  There they saw a rat, hamalyk. They did
not kill it, but looked at it and sang about it.
"About 50 yards," not far enough to necessitate
a new name for the place.
4. Now it was sundown. They struck their fire-flints, 
made a fire, and sat by it. They did not
eat anything all night. In the morning they were
hungry. One thought that they should kill the rat
and eat it. His brother said: "That is good." So
they killed the rat and ate it. They stayed there
that day, thinking. The next day, in the morning,
Pukehane, the older brother, said: "We have no
place to live." Tšitšuvare said: "Yes, that is true.
Where can we get wood to build a house?" Now Pukehane
was intelligent; he was born thus. Therefore
he made sticks out of his saliva.  Thus in one day
they built a round house. At night they went into
it. (3 songs.)
Like wheat, cloth, etc., a Spanish absorption
integrated into the culture.
Hika, his saliva, important element in magic
5. Now it was three days.  In the morning they
hunted rats. When they killed a rat, they hung it
by its head under their belts. Pukehane said: "I
do not think this is good." Then he took  two net-sacks, 
and they put the rats into them and carried
them on their backs. At sunset they came back
to the house. Now two men lived at Avikwame, Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše, 
their father's older brother, and
[ Pg 5]
Nume-peta.  Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše said: "I will live
with my younger brother's sons (ivitk). I will
not live with this man (Nume-peta) who is not my
relative." And he came and lived with them. So
they were three. In the morning, the two boys
went hunting rats again. As the rats were shot,
they squeaked. The boys stood and listened and
laughed. (1 song.)
One day since leaving Avikwame they had spent
in thinking, a second in building the house, this
is the third.
Created by magic out of nothing, by reaching out.
Mayu, carrying-sacks of net-work such as the
Paiute and Chemehuevi use.
Hatpa. Pima; aqwaθ-, yellow. The second part
of the name is not certain.
Or Numê-t-veta. Nume is the wildcat; nume-ta,
6. When they came back, Pukehane said, "Some
tribes after a time will do like this: let me
see how far you can shoot." They bet their arrows.
The elder shot far. The younger did not shoot far
and lost, lost all his arrows. The quiver was
empty and he tied it around his waist. He said,
"I will bet the rats that I killed." Then he lost
all his rats. They came home and he had no arrows
and no rats, only his bow. Their father's older
brother saw them. He said, "Why do you not do
right? This is wrong. Do not do it any more. That
is not what I came here for. I came in order that
when you go hunting you bring them here and I eat."
7a. Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše said, "We are three men
here. I see you two do not sleep but sit and wake.
If three men live in a house everything is ready
for them when they come home to it. But there is
no woman here and that is why there is no wood
and water. If you get a woman she will cook."
The boys said, "Yes, we will do that." That night
Pukehane stretched his hand to the southeast toward
the Maricopa and got corn in it. He got much
and laid it in the corner of the house. Then he
stretched his hand out northeast, toward the
Kohoaldja Paiute, and took wheat.  Now they had
two kinds of food.
Cf. note 6 .
C. The Brothers Get Wives
7b. In the morning the two boys went west.
There was a man who had a daughter Tšese'ilye; 
her they wanted to get. As they went west they
saw a bird hanging in a tree in a cage of red and
white woven cloth. [13a] The bird was hwetše-hwetše. 
"Look, that girl has a bird," they said. (1 song.)
My notes, after a correction, say that she
was Tšese'ilye's daughter; but the correction may
be in error, since later the woman is said to
have been Tšese'ilye, daughter of Sun. Cf.
notes 35 , 38 , 52 ,
54 , 58 , 60 ,
63 , 68 , 75 ,
78 , 83 ,
87 on the confused relationships and names of
A yellow bird.
8. When they reached the house, Pukehane did
not take the bird with his hand, but caused the
cage ( sic —the bird?) to be outside the door. The
bird was singing: the woman was inside; she came
out, saw it in front of the door, and said: "What
sort of people are you who have come? That bird
belongs to me; do you not know that? It watches
everything I have when I go out to gather seeds."
The two boys stood and laughed, the older east of
the door, the younger west of it.  The woman went
back into the house, put on a (pretty) dress, and
beads around her neck. She took a white peeled
willow stick, qara'asap, to sweep the dress under
her thighs so as not to crumple it when she sat
down.  Tied to the top of her dress she had two
bags of paint (kômkuvī), one black, one red. When
she came to the two boys standing outside the door
she did not go to the older, she went to the
younger: she liked Tšitšuvare. Pukehane said, "She
is mine." His younger brother said, "No, if she
were yours she would come to you." The older said,
"She is mine." The woman said nothing. The older
embraced her. The younger said, "Do not embrace
her. She belongs to me." He embraced her too and
they both held her and pulled. Pukehane became
tired. He stood aside. "You are the better; take
her," he said. So now they had one woman: Tšitšuvare
had her. (1 song.)
The door was sohlyêpe, woven of willow inner-bark.
A piece of coquetry or swank, rather surprising
in a culture so meager in its material aspects.
9. They started to go home from there: Pukehane
wanted to. They had far to go, too far for one day.
So they slept in the desert where no one lived.
Tšitšuvare made a bed. Pukehane said, "My brother,
when you marry, both of us sleep with the woman. 
That is what you said." Tšitšuvare had not said
that: Pukehane only wished it; and Tšitšuvare did
not let him. Then in the morning Pukehane said,
"Let us go, my sister-in-law."  (1 song.)
"You at the vagina, I at the anus." While the
younger slept with her, the older sat up, had an
erection, tried to clamp it under his thigh and
sit on it, could not.
Hunyīk. The term denotes any female affinal
of a man (except his wife's sister) irrespective
of generation, and all male or female affinals of
a woman (except her sister's husband).
10. They started. At noon, when they came to the
house, the woman was ashamed, because it was the
first time she was married. Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše said,
"I want to see my younger brother's daughter-in-law."
She did not look up: she had long hair—down
to her hips—behind which she hid her face.
The old man took her by the hand, led her inside,
and took her around the house. He wanted her to
grind corn. Now the three men felt glad, when they
saw her grinding corn. They looked to see how she
worked; all of them smiled. "See how beautiful she
looks," they said. She was clean and wore beads
around her neck and on her ears and wrists, and a
dress of willow bark, and was painted. (1 song.)
11a. In the morning she was going to make mush
of the corn she had ground. The two brothers were
still in the house. The old man was outside: he
wanted to help her cook. He poured the corn into
the pot and she stirred it and put in salt. 
[ Pg 6]
When there was enough, she boiled it, gave some
to the old man, put some in a dish for the two
boys, and took it inside to them. Then the three
ate together; the old man sat outside. When the
sun set they built a fire in the house near the
door. When it was dark the house was warm and
they stayed there. The two brothers did not say
anything. Their father's older brother spoke
again. He said, "This is one woman. If you get
another, it will be well. Go east and take Sun's
daughter." That is what the old man said.
An informal domestic scene, such as could
still be seen forty years ago. The cooking is in
front of the house: the ground corn is boiled;
the old man stands by and assists; eating is in
or outdoors, men and women together or apart.
11b. In the morning the two boys went east.
When the sun was halfway up they heard a cock 
making a loud noise, telling the time. (2 songs.)
Kwaluyauve. Cf. the flint, wheat, cloth, etc.
The cage, however, is native: all the river tribes
kept bird pets in stick cages. In 86 , however,
the woman's bird is a masohwat.
12a. Very soon, after four or five steps,
they saw a cage hanging, Sun's daughter's cage,
with red and blue cloth tied to it for ornament:
it was hanging high. The two boys came to it,
took the cock out of his cage, and put him by
the door. He crowed and the woman heard him.
She said, "What sort of men are you? Do you not
know anything? That cock belongs to me. He takes
care of me and stays with me always. You have
spoiled him." She went back into the house, put
on her dress and her beads, and came out. Tšitšuvare
embraced her. His older brother said,
"She belongs to me." "No, she is not yours. She
is mine," said the younger. "No, she is mine,"
said the older. The older was unable to hold
her. "Well, she is yours," he said. Now the
younger had two wives.
12b. They started to go. The woman looked back
and saw her house. She said, "I thought my house
was (already) far away, but it is only a little
distance." She stopped and urinated. "Wait and
stand, while I tell of my home." She meant that
now she was going with them and would live with
them and would not go to her house any more.
(2 songs, about her house.)
13. They went on again. Now all the stars
had been made,  but the two boys were wise, had
dreamed, and knew all. They said, "We will tell
about the stars; of mountain sheep (Orion), and
of Hatša (the Pleiades)." (2 songs, about the
The creation is recent in all these tales.
Night comes on as they travel, apparently; but
they arrive in the afternoon!
14. In the afternoon they came home. The (new)
woman sat down outside at the southeast corner
of the house. She was ashamed, and did not go
indoors with them. She had long hair, down to
her thighs; she did not say anything. The old
man was ready for her to grind: he had a metate
prepared inside. Now he came out, took her hand,
and led her indoors. Then she ground corn. As
she ground, blood flowed on her thigh. They said,
"Look at her, she is menstruating: the blood
makes a streak on her thigh."  (1 song.)
More Mohave—both the fact of the mention
when nothing hinges on it, and the fact that the
woman goes on preparing food for them.
15. Now there were two women to work, and it
did not take them long to grind enough for mush.
One of them built a fire and put a pot on it;
the old man came out to help them. When the water
boiled, the old man poured the corn into it and
one of the women stirred. She put in salt and
tasted it; there was not enough, and she put in
more until it was good. Now she gave the old man
some. She put some in a large dish and took it
in to the two boys. They ate together, the two
women and the two boys. At night they all lay
down indoors. The old man thought, "It is not
right: one of them has two wives. They are two
brothers but one has no wife." He said, "You are
two brothers, but the older has no wife. He must
have a wife too. In the morning go north and get
one for yourself also. Kukho-metinya's  daughter
is the one that I want you to find." In the morning
the two boys went north. Then Kukho(-metinya) [24a]
met them, flying in the air. They said, "The bird
is intelligent: he flies to meet us." (2 songs.)
Kukho is the yellowhammer or red-shafted
flicker. Kukho-metinya is the girl's father and
flies to meet the young man; and the girl keeps
a kukho in a cage.
16. When they came there, there was a bird in
a cage. It was a kukho. [24b] They took it out with
their hands and set it by the door. The woman was
inside, heard it, came out, and saw the bird. She
said, "Where are you two from? You are foolish. Do
you know that that is my bird in the cage? Why do
you take it out?" They stood and laughed. She went
inside again, put on her dress and her beads, and
came out. She went to the older one and he embraced
her. The younger wanted to come to her also, and
said, "She is mine." But Pukehane said, "No, she is
not yours, she is mine." Then Tšitšuvare said, "Well,
she is yours." He let him have her, because he had
two already. Then they started home. (1 song.)
17a. When they came to the house the old man
took her by the hand, led her inside, and wanted
her to grind corn. Now there were three women
grinding and it did not take long. The old man
helped them cook. They gave him some, and the
three women and the two brothers ate together. The
sun set, it became dark, they built a fire in the
house. The two brothers did not speak: the old man
was thinking again. He said, "Now you two brothers
each have a wife." Pukehane had his bed in the
southeast corner of the house; Tšitšuvare, at the
southwest; the old man lay in the center of the
house. He said, "Tšitšuvare, you have two wives;
Pukehane, you have only one. I think it will be
best for you to get another. If you each have two
it will be well. If one of you has two and the
other only one, it will not be right. I want you
to go south to get one. Get Tankusahwire's 
daughter." That is what he said that night.
This is again a bird.
[ Pg 7]
17b. In the morning they went south. They saw
a hotokoro bird in a cage. The cage was woven of
red and blue string. They had not come there yet:
as they were going they saw it. (1 song.)
18a. When they arrived, they took the bird in
their hand, set it at the door, it walked about
there. The woman heard it and came out. She said,
"That bird is mine. It takes care of me. It lives
with me always. You know why you have done that!"
It was as if she were angry. She was not angry
but she said that. She went back into the house
to put on her dress. She put it on, and beads on
her neck and ears and wrists. Tšitšuvare, the
younger, saw her come out but did not go to her.
He let his older brother embrace her. He said
nothing. He thought, "It is well." Then they went
back north. They came home the same day. The
three women were grinding corn. The new one did
not go inside: she was ashamed and sat outside.
The old man took her in. He gave her a metate
and the four of them ground. When they had finished
they made mush: the old man helped them:
he wanted to taste if there was enough salt.
He said, "If there is not enough, put in more.
If it is right, set it off the fire." Then they
gave him some. They put more in a large dish and
took it inside. All the women and the two young
men ate together. At sunset they built a fire
inside. Two women went to the east side of the
house, two to the west. The two men were lying
in the corners shading their eyes with their
hands (δokōuk). The old man lay in the center of
the house. He got up, thought, and said, "There
is another thing good to have: it is cane. When
you play on it the sound goes as far as the sky
and everyone can hear it." He said that in the
D. Quarrel over Cane: Elder Kills Younger
18b. In the morning the two brothers went west,
far west. There were no clouds but there was
lightning and it thundered. Tšitšuvare said, "Do
you hear that? I think that is dangerous." Pukehane
said, "Well, I do not care. Perhaps it will
go well, perhaps it will go wrong. We will go
anyway: it does not matter where we die. We do
not know. Do not mind: if we both die in this land
it will be well." (1 song.)
19. They went on west. They climbed up a mesa. 
They stood and looked down. Then they saw cane.
Tšitšuvare was glad to get it. Pukehane said, "Do
not go yet! Wait! Good ones do not grow everywhere:
they grow in only one place. Wait until we tell
about them. I will tell about the roots (butts?),
the large roots that they have." The younger brother
stood and listened to what the older one said
about the cane roots. (1 song.)
River terrace of gravel.
20. They went down to the cane. There was a
cane to the east: Pukehane put his hand on it.
There was a cane at the west: his younger brother
put his hand on that. The younger one said, "I do
not want the top." He cut the top off and gave it
to his older brother: he wanted the bottom part
where it is large. Pukehane said, "A little boy
like you takes a little piece from the top." Tšitšuvare
said, "Don't you know when there are two
brothers the younger wants the most of everything?
I want the large one, you take the top." Pukehane
said, "Very well. It is good." Tšitšuvare said,
"If you had not given me the bottom but had left
me the top, I should have cried, because the
younger always wants most and if he does not get
it he cries. You thought I would cry. Well, my
brother, I feel happy." Tšitšuvare wanted to break
the cane with his hands. Pukehane said, "Wait!
You are able to break it with your hands, but do
not do so. We have both dreamed well. We have no
knife here but I can get a knife to cut it with."
21. He did not make a knife. He put his hand
out to the west and had a knife in it. The younger
asked, "How many joints shall we cut?" "Three,"
said Pukehane. (2 songs.)
22. Then Pukehane cut the cane at the butt. He
was holding the top end, his younger brother the
bottom end, but Pukehane wanted that. Tšitšuvare
said, "No, you said you would let me have it!"
"No," the elder said. They did not break it: both
of them held on. Tšitšuvare did not want the top;
Pukehane wanted to take it all: but his younger
brother held fast, and he could not take it away
from him. Pukehane was larger and knocked his
little brother down, but Tšitšuvare held on: he
did not let go, he held tight. Then Pukehane put
his foot on his brother's belly: still he held on:
He nearly died, but he kept his hold. When Pukehane
saw that his younger brother was nearly killed, he
stopped. He took hold of him and made him stand up.
"Well, my younger brother, I will let you have it,"
he said. The older was a doctor: he had dreamed.
He thought, "Well, I will let him have it, and
after a while I will kill him." Tšitšuvare said,
"How must we use them, long or short?" Pukehane
told him, "The Yuma make them long, of four or five
joints, with a hole right through them. We do not
do that: we use three joints." (2 songs.)
23. Then they went back and came home. They laid
the cane on the ground. They told how they had
brought it. (1 song.)
24. When the two boys sat down, the women had
wheat bread  ready and gave it to them. They began
to eat outside. The old man came out from the house
and saw the two boys about to eat the bread. They
had not swallowed it yet: their mouths were full.
The old man said, "Did I not tell you that that was
dangerous? I said not to eat anything with salt in
it  until you have washed yourselves." They spat
it out. When it was nearly sunset they built a fire
and all went into the house. That night the younger
one became sick: he had the nightmare and talked to
[ Pg 8]
himself.  Before it became day, Pukehane started
to go outdoors. He could make people go to sleep
with θavôθapanye. He held it in his hand and
struck a house post. So they all went to sleep:
his younger brother too. Then Pukehane went outside,
took the cane, and decorated it with his
saliva.  In the morning he said, "Younger
brother, why do you not get up? Do not sleep: a
common man is always doing that. You are likely
to get sick. Get up and help me." The younger
sat up. Pukehane had already finished painting
his cane. Tšitšuvare came out and wanted to
paint his. He did paint it: but when he held it
out to look at, there was no paint on it: it
looked dark (unpainted) to him. He said, "I
thought I had painted it well. I think I shall
die." He threw the cane away to the north, went
indoors, and lay down. Then Pukehane sent for
people to come for his brother who was about to
die; he sent for Nume-peta at Avikwame. When a
man will die they send word of it about and begin
to sing. (1 song.)
Moδīlya, baked in the hot sand.
Salt is one of the most frequent Mohave taboos.
Nyaveδītš itšôuk, ghost ill. The victim is
in pain, like crazy, thinks he is talking with
someone, keeps on talking.
Instead of marking it with fire. It is not
clear whether the paint consisted of his saliva,
or whether he used spittle to moisten his pigment.
25. The two brothers had birds in cages. The
younger had five kinds: pariθi (shrike), sakwaθa'ālya
(magpie), aθikwa (woodpecker), atšyôra,
θinyêre (sparrowhawk). Pukehane took one of them,
peeled the skin off its head, and let it go. One
he skinned on the back, one on the belly, one
over the ribs, and one under the eyes. He threw
the pieces of skin away, and let the birds loose.
They flew up and fell down again. The sick man
said, "I think I shall die: I never saw that
before: my birds look different." (1 song.)
26. When the sun was halfway up, Nume-peta
arrived with his people. They crowded around the
sick man and began to cry. Nume-peta said, "After
awhile, people will always do that; they will
burn them too. Now, two men go get wood: get
timahutši."  (1 song.)
It grows in the mountains; the interpreter
did not know it.
27. Pukehane had made his younger brother
sick. Therefore he did not stay by him but by
Nume-peta. Tšitšuvare said, "Move me a little
so that I can tell of all my bones before I die."
28. The two men got wood. When they brought it,
Pukehane and Nume-peta were thinking what they
wanted to be in the future: they wanted to teach
the Chemehuevi, Yavapai, Walapai how to do. The
sick man was not dead yet. Then they took his
rib out to use for a skin-dressing tool. They
took his kneecap for a shinny ball. They took
his shinbone, cut off each end, and used it to
juggle up and catch on the back of the hand. 
They took these bones out of his body and so
killed him. Then they went to Avikwame, Pukehane
taking his own two wives with him.  Tšitšuvare's
wives and Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše stayed, stood, cried,
and sang. When it was dark the old man took a
knife and cut the two women's long hair, and his
own. One of the women was pregnant. (1 song.)
"The Walapai and other tribes play much with
bones like this."—But, like the Mohave, not with
human bones, except in myth or fancy.
They did not burn the body.
E. Birth of the Hero
29. They cried all night. In the morning—they
had not thrown their food away, and had corn and
beans—they ate. Then Sun's daughter went back to
her home; the other woman (Tšese'ilye) and the old
man were still in the house. In the afternoon the
woman said, "I am going to have a child. I have a
pain on each side of my belly." Then the old man
said, "Yes, that is the way." At night the child
had not been born yet, but it sang. They heard it
talking and singing inside. They said, "He is
singing. We hear it." (1 song.)
30. The old man said, "That sort of a boy will
be somebody; he will be a shaman. When he is a man,
he will make me be like a young man again. I am
glad." Then the boy said from inside, "Too many
people are passing by the house. I am going to make
rain so that no one will come by while I am being
born: I want no one to know or hear or see it. I
do not want people to know when I emerge." (1 song.)
31. The woman could not sit still from her pain.
She crawled around into the corner of the house,
and outdoors. Then the boy said, "Sit still. I want
to emerge." He did not know where to come out, at
the mouth or anus or ribs. He said, "Sit still.
Keep your legs still, so that I can come out; do
not move them!" The woman said, "Old man, do you
hear what the boy in me says?" The old man said,
"That sort of a boy is wise. He will be a shaman."
When it became day the boy came out. They made
hot sand to lay him on and covered him with hot
sand up to his neck. (1 song.)
32. The night the boy was born it rained. (Far
in the north) Nume-peta thought, "I believe that
child has been born and has made the rain. If one
of you goes there today, you will see the child."
A man went: he saw the child sitting in the door.
Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše asked him, "What do you want?"
The man said, "Nume-peta sent me to see this child."
Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše said, "Yes, it was born this morning."
So the man went back and told Nume-peta.
Nume-peta said, "Did I not know it? The child is
wise and will be a doctor. It made rain so that
no one would know it was being born; but I knew it,
for I am a doctor too." Then Nume-peta took his
people and Pukehane, and they all came to see the
child. They said, "We will look at it. If it is
a boy, we will kill him, because he will be a doctor
and will kill us; when he is grown he will make
us sick. But if it is a girl, we will not kill her.
It will be well: she will work and get water. A
girl will do that, but a boy will not do that: he
will kill us." Now they all stood at the door
[ Pg 9]
looking at the child. Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše hid the
child's penis, drawing it back to the anus. Then
they all said, "No, it is not a boy, it is a
girl. If it were a boy we would kill it, but it
is a girl." So they all went back. (1 song.)
33. Then the woman suckled the child and sang.
They had made them think that the child was a
girl. It was a boy but they would not let them
know it. (1 song.)
F. Shinny Game with Father's Foes
34. The child grew fast. In four, five, six
days it smiled and laughed. In a year it was as
high as that (gesture), and walked around and
played. Now Nume-peta and Pukehane came again
with all their people. They played shinny with
the dead man's kneecap. Then the child, dressed
as a girl, went out to watch, not knowing those
bones. Some of them gave him a bone to make a
doll of, for he wore a dress and looked like a
girl. Every day he went to play where these
people played, and at sunset came back to his
house. So it was three nights: the next night it
would be four. Then his mother told him, "That
doll, the bone you play with, is from your father.
Your father traveled to be married. And he
traveled to get cane, he and his older brother.
The younger was wise: he was superior to the
older; but the older was a great doctor. He made
his younger brother sicken and die. That bone is
from your father, and so is the bone they play
shinny with." (2 songs.)
35. Then the apparent little girl said, "I
did not know that. If I had known that it was
the bone of my kin I should not have played with
it." So he said and cried. He cried all night
and never suckled. In the morning when the sun
was up he went under the shade; he was tired from
crying, lay down and slept a little. Then he
dreamed. The insect θonoθakwe'atai  sat on his
lip while he slept and said, "All of them play
with those bones. They think it is amusing but
it is a bad thing. They are not the bones of an
animal. If they were animal bones it would be
well, but they are your father's bones." When
the boy dreamed that he sat up. He went back
into the house. That night he wanted to send his
mother home: he did not want her to live there
any longer.  He told her, "Go west.  These
people here are my relatives but they do not
treat me right. They said they would kill me. I
will stay here. The old man, my (father's) uncle,
will stay here too. He is wise: he saved me or I
should have been dead long ago. I want him to stay:
he can beg around the houses and get something to
eat and water to drink. He can live in that way and
be well; but I want you to go west." The woman took
a little round dish  and put glowing coals into
it. So she lit her way, to know where to go.  Then
she went off westward, traveling by that light. When
she was gone the boy thought about her. He thought,
"Why have I sent my mother away like a bird? A
bird's nest is on the desert; it sleeps on the desert,
where no one lives." Then he was sorry for her
and cried. (2 songs.)
An insect that lives in trees, does not fly,
and looks like haltôθa.
"Tšese'ilye was her name"—her father's, ante.
About this confusion, see note 58 . Another confusion
is that in 29 it is Sun's daughter (wife no.
2) who goes away and Tšese'ilye who gives birth
to the hero, as confirmed by his now sending her
home west; whereas in 82b , 86 , 87 , he travels east
to rejoin his mother, and in 90 her father is Sun.
Where she had come from, if she is Tšese'ilye
(or Tšese'ilye's daughter) and not Sun's daughter.
Kwaθki-mareko, almost as deep as a pot.
Travel by firebrand is a Yuman habit. Rio de
los Tizones was the first European name given the
36. That night when there were only the two of
them there, the boy told the old man, "I am going
to leave you. You stay here. Listen to what I will
do." He thought he would do something to the people
that played with his father's bones, but he did not
yet know what. Then the old man Hatpa-'aqwaoθtše said,
"It is well. You will die somewhere and I will cry
for you here. That will be all. I can live. I am
not very old yet. I can go about begging for food.
I will come to people's houses and they will give
me something to eat, for they will know me and that
I am poor and hungry. I shall live like that staying
on here." Then in the morning they all came
there to play ball again. They had short shinny
sticks, nearly straight, not long and curved. 
When the boy saw them, he went outdoors, took earth
and rubbed it on himself, so that no one would see
him, or know him; for he wanted to take away their
ball. So he turned himself into a halye'anekītše
lizard.  Now they played. They came near him: he
was lying by the side of the playing field: no one
knew it. Now they played toward the south and back
again, four times, and one side won. Then the boy
seized the ball: no one saw him take it: no one
knew he had it. He went back to his house. Now he
wanted to throw it, but did not throw it yet: he
wanted to know in which direction to throw it. 
First he wanted to throw it north, but did not.
Then he was going to throw it south, then west,
then east. He kept it in his hand and stood there.
Of bone? The ordinary Mohave shinny stick is
a yard long and definitely bent at the end.
The tip of its tail is blue: cf. note 95 .
Typical hesitation of Mohave narrative.
37. When he had told (kanavk) of the far heavens
(amaiyêitše) four times, still holding the ball, he
struck the ball with a stick and it flew west like
a meteor (kwayū). It fell in the mountains and
broke them and killed the people who lived on them:
it killed them all. The boy stood and heard. He
thought, "No one is there now: they are all killed!"
Nume-peta and Pukehane said, "That boy! I knew he
would do it: he has killed all those people. He
will kill us too. You shall see: he will do that."
[ Pg 10]
The boy did not hear them, but he knew (what they
said). He was glad and laughed and shouted and
ran. He ran north to Avi-kwutapārva: There he
stood. (2 songs.)
G. Journey South to Sea
38. When he stood there at the river he thought
how to cross it. He said, "I thought I was a man
who knew everything, who had dreamed well." Then
he piled up sand, four heaps, so high. He began,
at the nearer end, to level them with his foot.
Then the river was full of sand all the way
across, enough to walk on. So he crossed and
stood on the other side, the east side of the
river. He thought which way to go, whether east
or south. Then he thought, "Well, I will follow
this trail south." (1 song.)
39. He went downriver to Iδô-kuva'ire,  did
not stop there, but went on to Ahtšye-'iksāmta
and Qara'êrve. There it was sunset and he slept
in the thick willows and cottonwoods by the river
bank: it was a good place to sleep, with much
brush. Many birds were in the trees: early in the
morning they all awoke and made much noise. Then
he could not sleep well: he tried to but could
not. So he sat up and listened to the birds calling.
Tinyama-hwarehware  was sitting on a tree
singing loudly. When a boy sleeps somewhere alone
he is lonesome and afraid; so this boy was afraid
and could not sleep. Then he said to the birds
and the insects, "You make too much noise. I cannot
sleep. Be quiet!" So they were quiet and he
slept again. (2 songs.)
Iδo-kuva'ire is upstream from Fort Mohave.
An insect "like a butterfly," with wings and
a long belly.
40. After he had slept he got up and went
south. Then he came to the hill Selye'aya-kumītše. 
East of Fort Mohave.
41. He went on south to an overflow lagoon,
Hanyo-kumasθeve.  From there he went south a
little distance to where the ahtšye grass was
high. There a rattlesnake stuck up its head and
shook its rattle noisily. When he saw the snake
he was frightened: he had never seen one before.
He nearly died from fear: he stood unable to
move. (2 songs.)
A little east of where the wagon road (of
1904) crosses the irrigating canal.
42. Then he made the rattlesnake lie still
without shaking its tail, making no sound, and
not biting. He kicked it and threw it with his
feet, four or five times. Then he picked it up,
and used it for a belt, and put it around his
neck and into his mouth. So he played with it,
and the rattlesnake died and he threw it away.
He said, "I am not afraid of you. If you were dangerous
to me you would bite and kill me, but you are
not dangerous and so it is you will not bite me." 
He left the snake lying there, and went south,
to Amai-nye-qotarse, did not stop there, and
went on south to Kamahnūlye. Two men were hunting
there. When they killed a deer they did not cook
it but ate it raw: He saw their red mouths and
was afraid of them. He saw that they were wildcats
(nume). (5 songs.)
An unusually direct reaction on the wish-fulfillment
43. The two wildcats went off east and he went
on south. He came to Aha-kuminye. A horsefly
(hoane) lived there at the edge of the mesa in a
cavity. It came to him, lit on his back and
shoulders, and flew off again. Then the boy
thought, "It is intelligent like a man. It knows
something. When it sees me it comes to meet me."
44. The horsefly flew away and did not come
back. Then the boy said, "That is not a man. If
it were a man he would come back to talk to me. I
will go on." Then he went on south to Hotūrveve.
There were astake trees there on the mesa: there
he saw that a hummingbird (nyenyene) had its nest.
45. He went on south to Sampulya-kwuvare. There
he told the name of that place. (1 song.)
46. He went on south to Atšqāqa. There he followed
the (Sacramento) wash up eastward, away from
the river. The day was bright and there were no
clouds. Then he told about clouds, for he wanted
the air fresh and the day cooler because it was
too hot to walk. He did not stop but kept on going
talking of that. (1 song.)
47. As he went on, soon there were clouds all
over the sky. He came to Hanyikoitš-kwamve,
crossed the wash, and went southward toward the
mountain Akokehumī. Then he came to Avi-ahnalya
(Gourd Mountain). (1 song.)
48. He went on south but not very far. He had
not yet come to Avi-a'īsa ("screw-mesquite mountain"),
but stood and told of his going there.
49. He went on south and reached Akokehumī.
There he saw a spring: a single screw mesquite
grew there. He said, "I think this is my food: I
will eat it. There is water here too; so I shall
be alive. I was lucky to find this spring and this
tree." He stood by the tree and sang. (5 songs.)
50. Then he pulled the mesquite-screws off the
tree and ate them. When he had eaten, he drank,
and went on. He went south to Ahwaṭa-kwimātše. 
There used to be people who danced there, who had
turned to stone. At first they were men, but now
they were many rocks standing up; and the boy saw
that. (2 songs.)
North of Bill Williams Fork; also now called
51. He stood there awhile, then went on south.
He came to Amaṭa-kuhultoṭve. There there grew wild
grapes (ahtoṭa) on the ground: they were ripe and
he picked them and held them in his hand and
played with them. He did not eat them. (2 songs.)
52. He threw them away and went on south. He
came to Hakutšyepa, Bill Williams Fork: he followed
that creek up east. Then he met a badger (mahwa).
[ Pg 11]
It smiled when it met him. He did not try to
catch it and the badger ran off. He paid no attention,
but followed the creek up east. He went on
and on and came to Aha-ly-motāṭe. There were sand
and mountains and caves there, and he told about
them. (1 song.)
53. He stayed there awhile and played. Then he
followed a trail south and came to Avi-su'ukwilye,
a sandhill. There he stood on a mesa. Ohūtšye,
coyote-grass, grew there. He saw a jack rabbit
eating that. He thought, "Its body does not look
like a man's, but it feels when it gets hungry,
and it eats. I thought it knew nothing, but it
does know something: it knows that that is good
to eat." (1 song.)
54. Then he followed along the sand ridge,
keeping on it, going south. Far away he saw high
mountains: they looked as if they were near, but
they were far. They were called Avi-melyehwêke:
he was going there: he arrived when it was nearly
sunset. (3 songs.)
55. There he slept. It was (Western) Yavapai
country. In the morning he did not want to go
farther south. He turned northward and came to
Avi-hupo. (2 songs.)
56. From there he went on north to near the
river, to Selye'aya-'ita.  There he stood, wanting
to cross the river to the western side, to Kuvukwīlye.
There are two Selye'aya-'ita. This is the
farther one, well south of Mohave territory.
57. Then he did as he had done before. He made
four piles of sand and leveled them into one ridge
with his feet and made the river dry enough so
that he could walk across, and came to the west
side of the river. Now he was at Kuvukwīlye. He
said, "I can stand here and tell the names of
the mountains." (3 songs.)
58. He turned south again and came to Aha-kumiθe
where is a spring. He thought no one had seen it
before. "I found this. No one knew of it." People
had seen the spring, but he thought not. (1 song.)
59. He went south to Amaṭa-hiya, "earth-mouth."
There there was a hole or crack in the ground, red
like blood. He saw it and thought, "How did this
come to be?" He walked around it looking in, and
stooped over it. (1 song.)
60. He went and came to Tôske. There he stood
and told the name of that place.  (1 song.)
He is near Yuma land now.
61. Going south again he came to a low mesa,
to a place called Yelak-īmi, "goosefoot." (1 song.)
62. Going on he came near the Yuma country.
He stood on the mesa, looked down on the ground
for planting, and saw much cane. He thought, "How
did the cane come to be here? I did not think it
grew here. I will go down to see it." (2 songs.)
63. He went down to where the cane grew, broke
off a piece as long as a flute, and played with
it. He came (abreast of) Enpeθo'auve, the Cocopa
Mountains, south of Yuma. He kept along the edge
of the river, going fast, running, walking, and
keeping on. (1 song.)
64. He went on until he came to the sea (the
Gulf of California). The waves were high. When
they came up on the land and went back, there were
holes and some of the water did not run back, but
stayed in the holes and made ponds. A crane (nyāqwe)
was there. He said, "That is an eagle (aspā): it
surely looks just like an eagle." (3 songs.)
65. The bird flew off eastward. He said, "That
bird is afraid of me: it flew away." He walked
along the sea to the east. As the waves came and
went they left shells there: hanye, ahtšīlye, aha-nye-amokye,
tamāθe, ahāspane, and two other kinds
used by doctors.  He knew that these shells were
good to wear. No one had told him, but he knew.
He took them in his hand and played with them.
For which reason the narrator did not like
to name them. Perhaps they are used in poisoning.
Hanye are small clamshells cut into shape of a
frog (hanye) and worn as a gorget.
66. Then he threw the shells away and kept going
east. He looked back to the west and saw ducks,
heard them making a noise. He thought, "What are
those? They have feathers. They are like persons,
but they are ducks." There was a large flock of
them on the sea, close together. (2 songs.)
67. He went on east. Where a little lagoon
came out of the sea, there was a hatômpa'auve. 
He lived in that lagoon. The boy saw him fishing
and was afraid. He thought, "I will tell about
him. Then I will go on." (2 songs.)
Be My Lover
La Bouche Buy this song
La da da dee da da da da...
Be my lover, want to be me lover
Looking back on all the time we spent together
You oughta know by now
If you want to be my lover, want to be my lover
Go ahead and take your time, boy you gotta feel secure
Before I make you mine, baby, you have to be sure
You want to be my lover
Want to be my lover, want to be my lover
La da da dee da da da da
La da da dee da da da da
A ha ye heyee, want to be my lover
I hear what you say, I see what you do
I know everything I need to know about you
And I want you to know that it's telling me
You want to be my lover
La da da dee da da da da
A ha ye heyee, want to be my lover
Be my lover, be my lover
I know you want to be my lover
I know you want to be mine
La da da dee da da da da...
A ha ye heyee, want to be my lover...
I must confess
Girl, yes, I want to be your lover
Take a chance, my love is like no other
On the dance floor getting down
Hold tight, I'll never let you down
My love is definitely the key
Like Boyz II Men I'm on bended knee
Loving you, not like your brother, aw yeah
I want to be your lover
Written by: MELANIE THORNTON, DONALD MCCRAY, GERD SARAF
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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Be My Lover
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Pulsatilla for women
By Dr. Vikas Sharma MD 331 Comments
HOMOEOPATHY acknowledges certain groupings of bodymind symptom patterns that a person has and which correspond with the sensitivity of a particular medicine. It takes into account information about the person’s body type, temperament, disposition, and behavioural tendencies to determine the appropriate medicine. Remedies, as homoeopaths realise, step forth as personalities. These become creatures of temperaments, have likes and dislikes, cravings and aversions and sensitiveness to human interaction. The medicines speak out their terror, real or imaginary – their strange obsessions, etc. Here is an account of pulsatilla (an important homoeopathic medicine) describing its own medicinal virtues and the characteristics of the patient. Of course, the words are of this writer.
Commonly called the windflower, I was ignored for millions of years in the pastures of Europe before my master Samuel Hahnemann brought out the best in me. I call him my master because it was only he who first realised my immense medicinal power. I am Pulsatilla, a homoeopathic medicine.
If ever there was a medicine that would cater to the most sensitive lady around, I would be the one. I am most often a remedy for women who are submissive and clinging in nature and also whom their surroundings and people they happen to be with at that time very easily influence. There is nothing positive or assertive about her, and the last person who sees, or advises her, is the one whose opinion she accepts. Her moods are a big problem for her. She can be on the verge of ecstatic frenzy one moment and well in the doldrums the second moment. With lots of decision-making problems, she lives up to my plant name windflower, as it is changeable like the wind.
She can weep very easily. Laughter and tears are both very near the surface with my patient, and are apt to succeed each other. She is very tenderhearted and her feelings are very easily hurt, she is inclined to be fretful and too full of care. If she has no trouble of her own, she is ready to condole and weep with any of her friends who may be afflicted. But she craves and needs sympathy in her troubles from someone, even when she knows that the recital of her real or fancied wrongs and the receipt of the sympathy that she longs for, will make her cry. When she is blue she will tell you that she feels as if a good cry would make her feel better. It will. She longs for fresh air. Closed and tight places suffocate her.
I am best suited for her gynaecological disorders. She is very irritable and days and weeks before and after her periods arrive, at times there are hardly any days in a month when she is back to her normal self. And those acne, headaches and agonising pains in her abdomen, legs and back during her period days are more than she can tolerate, PMS (premenstrual syndrome,) I believe that is what doctors call it.
Just to name a few conditions that I as a medicine am able to treat are depression, chronic gastric disturbance, migraines, acute and chronic colds and rheumatism. I Pulsatilla, work wonders in the hands of those who strictly follow my Master Hahnemann’s regimen.
I require to be studies well enough to be used effectively. Please do not use me without competent advice. Look for my Master’s true disciple – one who has studies Hahnemann and his teachings well.
Fill the Comment Form below -You can write about your problem To Dr. Sharma and receive a reply on How Homeopathy can help in treating your illness.
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