Me and Big Al
Ended up not going to the feast. Woke up exhausted and putzed around in the morning. Mostly talked on the phone to Suhani and Andrea, whining over my lack of motivation as I still have a lengthy to do list and putzing doesn't accomplish much. The week must've been harder than I thought because after breakfast and a few phone calls I found myself suddenly overwhelmingly exhausted and slept again from noon until two in the afternoon. I woke with a bad case of cabin fever, grabbed my wallet, sunglasses and keys and head to my car. I drove to the heart of the pueblo, where the Old Mission is and The Middle Place where the dancing and praying happen. On the main road there are also stores, jewelry shops with turquoise, opal, silver things. I walked around and glanced in the shops, passing a place called Chu-Chu pizza and people selling fruits and hand-woven baskets on the streets. 
There were ominous rain clouds in the distance. I bought a cherry slushee and started the long walk back to where my car was when I ran into a man who was selling fetishes (carved animals). His name is Big Al and we talked and walked for some time. By the time we arrived at the car the rain clouds appeared to be heading for Gallup, not Zuni, so I took him up on an offer to come meet his mother.
We walked through the old town, past the Mission and more modern pueblos with ancient foundations that, I've read at least, were already centuries old when Coronado came exploring in the 1500's. There was a trickle of a river and a bridge we crossed and we came upon his house. His mother was a sweet woman, sitting in the living room listening to the radio and staring into space. She couldn't remember the names of her grandkids but was proud to show me all their pictures. Big Al picked me some grapes from a vine he grows. They were delicious Concord grapes, small but exactly the kind I love and almost never get to eat. Grape vines tore up through the living room floor making it nearly impossible to open the door to that room. I met his brother. We looked at old eight-tracks (Saturday Night Fever among others) and records (John Denver, other albums that were considerably older than I was). The winds then really picked up and some sandstorms began to whip over this part of the reservation. We started walking back to the road, where my car was, and heard the singing and drumming. The Kachina and Mudheads were dancing again. Big Al held my grapes while I climbed onto a pueblo roof and looked down upon the dancers. They were beautiful, dancing together, praying, singing. Wearing masks, feathers, body paint. Then I head back to the car, bid farewell to Big Al (who was happy as he just sold a fetish for $20 to a couple of white tourists). He taught me some Zuni, which I can't spell, but I learned “see you later” among other useful phrases.
When I got back a wall of black drifted over the reservation and the sky opened up. The rains were so hard I had to close the windows as the winds were blowing the water in. I was told to take the rain and wash it over my face as a blessing. I was so sandy from the earlier dry winds it felt great to stand in the rain and wash the dirt off.
There were ominous rain clouds in the distance. I bought a cherry slushee and started the long walk back to where my car was when I ran into a man who was selling fetishes (carved animals). His name is Big Al and we talked and walked for some time. By the time we arrived at the car the rain clouds appeared to be heading for Gallup, not Zuni, so I took him up on an offer to come meet his mother. We walked through the old town, past the Mission and more modern pueblos with ancient foundations that, I've read at least, were already centuries old when Coronado came exploring in the 1500's. There was a trickle of a river and a bridge we crossed and we came upon his house. His mother was a sweet woman, sitting in the living room listening to the radio and staring into space. She couldn't remember the names of her grandkids but was proud to show me all their pictures. Big Al picked me some grapes from a vine he grows. They were delicious Concord grapes, small but exactly the kind I love and almost never get to eat. Grape vines tore up through the living room floor making it nearly impossible to open the door to that room. I met his brother. We looked at old eight-tracks (Saturday Night Fever among others) and records (John Denver, other albums that were considerably older than I was). The winds then really picked up and some sandstorms began to whip over this part of the reservation. We started walking back to the road, where my car was, and heard the singing and drumming. The Kachina and Mudheads were dancing again. Big Al held my grapes while I climbed onto a pueblo roof and looked down upon the dancers. They were beautiful, dancing together, praying, singing. Wearing masks, feathers, body paint. Then I head back to the car, bid farewell to Big Al (who was happy as he just sold a fetish for $20 to a couple of white tourists). He taught me some Zuni, which I can't spell, but I learned “see you later” among other useful phrases.
When I got back a wall of black drifted over the reservation and the sky opened up. The rains were so hard I had to close the windows as the winds were blowing the water in. I was told to take the rain and wash it over my face as a blessing. I was so sandy from the earlier dry winds it felt great to stand in the rain and wash the dirt off.
Labels: Zuni
posted by Beta at 12:18 PM
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