Saynday tales are popular legends of the Kiowa nation featuring the trickster figure Saynday who, like other Native American tricksters, sometimes appears as a hero, sometimes as a villain, and other times as a clownish buffoon. Two of the best-known Saynday tales are How Saynday Got the Sun and Saynday and Smallpox: The White Man's Gift.
In these two tales, Saynday is the hero, bringing light to the whole world in the first story and, in the second, redirecting Death away from the Kiowa, his people, and toward the Pawnee, their enemy.
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The following are taken from Saynday's People: The Kiowa Indians and the Stories They Told by Alice Marriott and from American Indian Mythology by Alice Marriott and Carol K. Rachlin.
How Saynday Got the Sun
Saynday was coming along, and all the world was black as midnight. There was no sun on this side of the world and all the people were in darkness. The sun belonged to the people on the other side, and they always kept it near them, close by, so that nobody could take it from them.
As Saynday was coming along, he met some of the animals. They were Fox and Deer and Magpie. They were all sitting together by a prairie dog hole, talking about these things.
"What's the matter?" said Saynday.
"We don't like this world," said Fox.
"And what's wrong with the world?" said Saynday.
"We don't like all this dark," replied Deer.
"Now, what is wrong with the darkness?" asked Saynday.
"It won't let things live and grow and be happy," said Magpie.
"Well, I guess we'd better do something about it, then," said Saynday.
So, the four of them sat by the prairie dog hole, and they thought and thought and thought. They were so quiet that the prairie dog stuck his head up and, when he saw them, he stayed still and joined in the thinking.
"There is a sun," said Saynday at last.
"Where is it?" asked Fox.
"It is on the other side of the world," said Saynday.
"What's it doing over there?" asked Deer.
"The people who have got it won't let it go," answered Saynday.
"What good is it to us, then?" asked Magpie.
"Not any," said Saynday. "I guess we'd better do something about it."
So, they sat, and they thought, and they sat, and they thought some more. Then none of them moved at all.
Then Saynday said, "We could go and borrow that sun."
"It wouldn't really be stealing," said Fox.
"We don't want to keep it for always," said Saynday.
"We'd give it back to them sometimes," said Deer.
"Then things could live and grow on their side of the world," said Magpie.
"But they'd live and grow on this side, too," replied Saynday.
Then Saynday got busy, because he'd finished his thinking. He could begin to do things now.
"How far can you run?" he asked Fox.
"A long, long way," said Fox.
"How far can you run?" he asked Deer.
"A short, long way," said Deer.
"How far can you run?" he asked Magpie.
"A long, short way," said Magpie.
"I can't run very far, myself," said Saynday, "So I guess I'll have to take it last."
Then he lined them all up and told them what to do. Fox was to go to the village on the other side of the earth and make friends with the people who lived there. That was the first thing to do, and the hardest. So, Fox got ready and started out.
Fox traveled a long, long way, feeling his way along in the dark. Then there was a tiny rim of light on the edge of the world, like the sun coming up in the wintertime. He traveled towards the rim of light, and it got brighter and brighter, until it was a big, blazing light and it filled all the sky ahead of him. Then he was up on a hill, and down below him was the village of the people with the sun. Fox sat down on the hilltop and watched them while he made up his mind what to do.
The people were playing a game with the sun. They were lined up on two sides, and each side had four spears. They would roll the sun along the ground, like a big ball, and take turns throwing the spears at it. The side that hit the most times won. One side was way ahead, the other side was losing badly.
Fox went down the hill into the village and lay on the ground with his nose on his paws and watched them play. They rolled the sun again, and the side that was ahead won more points, and the side that was behind lost again. So Fox said, quietly, just so the captain of the losing side could hear him, "Good luck to the losers."
Nobody paid any attention, except the captain, and he just turned his head for a minute. Then they rolled the sun again and, this time, the losing side won. The captain came over and said to Fox, "Thank you for wishing us well."
"Good luck to your winning," said Fox and, this time, the losing side won again.
Then they had some excitement. The side that had been winning before wanted to send Fox away, but the side that was losing wanted to keep him there. They fought and bickered and argued, but Fox's side was the strongest and, in the end, he stayed.
Fox stayed and stayed and stayed and stayed in that village. He stayed until he knew it better than his own home. He stayed until he knew the names of all the people, and what they did, and where they lived. He stayed until he found out who had the sun when they weren't playing and until he knew all the men who watched it. He stayed until he knew the rules of the game they played, and even played himself. All this time, he was making a plan.
One day, they had a big game. It was to decide the champions for that year. Fox was playing on the side he had wished luck to in the beginning. Everyone else rolled the sun first because they had all been playing first, before he came. Then it was Fox's turn to roll. He took the sun in his paws the way they'd taught him and bent over as if he were going to send it along the ground. But, instead of rolling it, he got a good start on his running, and he ran off with the sun.
For the first minute, the people were so surprised they didn't know what to do. Then they were mad, and they started running after Fox. But Fox was a fast runner and could run a long, long way. That was why Saynday had put him first. He ran and ran and, at last, he caught up to Deer.
Deer didn't even look at the sun. He grabbed it from Fox and started running with it himself. He ran and ran and, just when he was about to give out, he caught up with Magpie.
The sun village people were so far behind now that they couldn't even be seen, but Magpie didn't take any chances. He started running with that sun, going as fast and as far as he could go. And, just when his breath was gone, he came up to Saynday and handed the sun to him.
The sun people were so far behind now that Saynday didn't even bother to run. He just walked along with the sun over his shoulder like a huge sack of meat. He walked along so easy that the others all caught up to him. When they were back at their old prairie dog hole, they all sat down to rest.
"Well, now we have the sun," said Saynday.
"Now we have light," said Fox.
"Now we can see what we're doing and where we're going," said Saynday.
"Now we can travel around," said Deer.
"Now plants will come up out of the ground and grow," said Saynday.
"Now there will be trees to live in," said Magpie.
"I guess we brought light to our world," said Saynday.
But the trouble was, there was too much light. It had been dark all the time before, and now it was light all the time. People could travel around all right, but they got tired, because it was light and so they were traveling all the time. The plants and the trees could grow, but they never stopped growing. Magpie and his wife went to bed in a tree ten feet off the ground and woke up in twenty-foot tree. It was all very annoying.
Finally, the three friends went to go see Saynday, who was sitting on the ground in front of his lodge, admiring the sun shining on the ground in front of him.
"What's the matter?" he said.
"There is too much light," said Fox.
"We don't want so much," added Deer.
"We don't need this much," said Magpie.
"What can we do?" asked Saynday.
"Try putting the sun somewhere else, I guess," said Fox.
"That is a good idea," said Saynday.
He put the sun in the lodge – but it shone right through the walls.
"Put it up off the ground," said Deer.
"All right," said Saynday, and he balanced it on top of the tip-top of the lodge.
Poof! Whoosh! It burned the whole lodge down.
"Well, then, throw it away," said Magpie.
"All right," said Saynday, "I don't want the old thing."
And he threw it straight up in the sky – and there it hung.
"That's a good place for it, actually," said Fox.
"It's far away enough not to burn things," said Saynday.
"It's got plenty of room to move around," said Deer.
"It can travel from one side of the world to the other," said Saynday.
"Now things can grow a little at a time," declared Magpie.
"And now all the people on both sides of the world can share the light evenly," said Saynday.
And that's the way it was, and that's the way it still is, to this day.
Saynday and Smallpox: The White Man's Gift
Saynday was coming along and, as he came, he saw that all his world had changed. Where the buffalo herds used to graze, he saw white-faced cattle. The Washita River, which once ran bankful with clear water, was soggy with red mud. There were no deer or antelope in the brush or skittering across the high plains. No white tipis rose proudly against the blue sky; settlers' soddies [sod houses] dented the hillsides and the creek banks.
Remove AdsAdvertisement'My time has come,' Saynday thought to himself. 'The world I lived in is dead. Soon, the Kiowa people will be fenced like the white man's cattle, and they cannot break out of the fences because the barbed wire will tear their flesh. I can't help my people any longer by staying with them. My time has come – and I will have to go away from the changed world.'
Off across the prairie, Saynday saw a dark spot coming toward him from the east, moving very slowly.
'That's strange, too,' Saynday thought to himself. 'The East is the place of birth and of new life. The things that come from the East come quickly; they come dancing and alive. This thing comes as slowly as death to an old man. I wonder what it is?'
Almost absent-mindedly, Saynday started walking eastward. As he went, the spot grew larger and, after a while, Saynday saw that it was a man on a horse.
The horse was black, but it had been powdered to roan with the red dust that the plows had stirred up when they slashed open the plains. Red dust spotted the man's clothing – a black suit and a high hat, like a missionary's. Red dust blurred his features, but behind the dust, Saynday could see that the man's face was pitted with terrible scars.
The stranger drew rein and sat looking at Saynday. The black roan horse lifted one sore hoof and drooped its head as if it were too weary to carry its burden any farther.
"Who are you?" the stranger asked.
"I'm Saynday. I'm the Kiowa's Old Uncle Saynday. I'm the one who's always coming along."
"I never heard of you," the stranger said. "And I never heard of the Kiowas. Who are they?"
"The Kiowas are my people," Saynday said and, even in that hard time, he stood up proudly, like a man. "Who are you?"
"I'm Smallpox," the man answered.
"And I never heard of you," said Saynday. "Where do you come from and what do you do and why are you here?"
"I come from far away, across the Eastern Ocean," Smallpox answered. "I am one with the white men – they are my people as the Kiowas are yours. Sometimes I travel ahead of them and sometimes I lurk behind. But I am always their companion, and you will find me in their camps and in their houses."
"What do you do?" Saynday repeated.
"I bring death," Smallpox replied. "My breath causes children to wither like young plants in spring snow. I bring destruction. No matter how beautiful a woman is, once she has looked at me, she becomes as ugly as death. And to men I bring not death alone, but the destruction of their children and the blighting of their wives. The strongest warriors go down before me. No people who have looked on me will ever be the same." And he chuckled low and hideously. With his raised forearm, Smallpox pushed the dust off his face, and Saynday saw the scars that disfigured it.
For a moment, Saynday shut his eyes against the sight, and then he opened them again. "Does that happen to all the people you visit?" he inquired.
"Every one of them," said Smallpox. "It will happen to your Kiowa people, too. Where do they live? Take me to them and then I will spare you, although you have seen my face. If you do not lead me to your people, I will breathe on you and you will die, no matter whose Old Uncle you are." And, although he did not breathe on Saynday, Saynday smelled the reek of death that surrounded him.
"My Kiowa people are few and poor already," Saynday said, thinking fast as he talked. "They aren't worth your time and trouble."
"I have time and I don't have to take any trouble," Smallpox told him. "Even one person whom I blot out, I can count."
"Oh," said Saynday. "Some of your ways are like the Kiowa, then. You count the enemies that you touch."
"I have no enemies," said Smallpox. "Man, woman, or child – humanity is all alike to me. I was brought here to kill. But, yes, I count those I destroy. White men always count: cattle, sheep, chickens, children, the living, and the dead. You say the Kiowas do the same thing?"
"Only the enemies they touch," Saynday insisted. "They never count living people – men are not cattle; any more than women and children are."
"Then how do you know the Kiowa are so few and poor?" Smallpox demanded.
"Oh, anybody can see that for himself," Saynday said. "You can look at a Kiowa camp and tell how small it is. We're not like the Pawnee. They have great houses, half underground, in big villages by the rivers, and every house is full of people."
"I like that," Smallpox observed. "I can do my best work when people are crowded together."
"Then you'd like the Pawnee," Saynday assured him. "They're the ones that almost wiped out the Kiowa; that's why we are so few and so poor. Now we run away, whenever we see a stranger coming, because he might be a Pawnee."
"I suppose the Pawnee never run away," Smallpox sneered.
"They couldn't if they wanted to," Saynday replied. "The Pawnee are rich. They have piles of robes; they have lots of cooking pots and plenty of bedding – they keep all kinds of things in those underground houses of theirs. The Pawnee can't run away and leave all their wealth."
"Where did you say they live?" Smallpox asked, thoughtfully.
"Oh, over there," Saynday said, jerking his chin to the north.
"And they are rich, and live in houses, with piles of robes to creep into and hide?"
"That's the Pawnee," Saynday said, jauntily. He began to feel better. The deathly smell was not so strong now.
"I think I'll go and visit the Pawnee first," Smallpox remarked. "Later on, perhaps, I can get back to the Kiowa."
"You do that," directed Saynday. "Go and visit the Pawnee and, when you grow tired there from all the work you have to do, come back and visit my poor people. They'll do all they can for you."
"Good," said Smallpox. He picked up his reins and jerked his weary horse awake. "Tell your people, when I come, to be ready for me. Tell them to put out all their fires. Fire is the only thing in the whole world that I am afraid of. It's the only thing in God's world that can destroy me."
Saynday watched Smallpox and his death horse traveling north, away from the Kiowa. Then he took out his flint and steel and set fire to the spindly prairie grass at his feet. The winds came and picked up the fire and carried it to make a ring of safety around the Kiowa camps.
"Perhaps I can still be some good to my people after all," Saynday said to himself, feeling better.
And that's the way it was, and that's the way it is, to this good day.
