The Indians of the Southwest

The Indians of the Southwest

The Indians living in the Southwest were different than their cousins in other parts of the country. They had no hands. The Indians lost their hands in the Great Adobe Hut Building Contest, sponsored by the Area Merchants.

"First prize in the annual adobe hut building contest goes to Chief Redface and his tribe. They win a year's supply of Chunky Candy Bars and a box of Twist-O-Flex Watchbands by Spidel. Now come over here and let the judges cut your hands off. We have some tourists here from Michigan and Iowa really hot for some curios!"

A couple of the Indians sneak off behind the teepees and chew a few mescal buttons. They change their clothes. They dress like cavalry officers with long mustaches and big guts. Then they walk back to the festivities patting their bellies in contentment and chewing on tooth picks.

"What's the occasion for such merriment," said one of the disguised Indians to Mr. Fremont of Fremont Shoe Store.

"Oh, well, Sargeant, these Indians here won the hut contest and now, well, we're cutting their hands off for these here tourists all the way from Iowa and Michigan." The tourists nod and wave, as if from a long distance off, the women wearing loose dresses shake in the wind like epilepsy & the men in cheap Bermuda shorts their shanks are parched white and smoke dark cigars with colored bands.

"You folks from the midwest, uh?"

"Yes, officer, that's about the size of it," says a turkey throated man in a baseball cap. 'We've come to see the Indians from the Southwest perform their rituals and to take (home a few souvenirs for the mantle above the fireplace. We got a great mantle I built in the forties...."

The two Indians went back to the teepee and ate a few more mescal-buttons. They took off their cavalry uniforms and dressed up like lesbians. Then they walked around to the tent and confronted the tourists.

"What's going on around here," Mr. Fremont of Fremont Shoe Stores wanted to know. "We're lesbians from the Southwest and thought maybe these people would like to watch us make it up in that old Indian cave on the hill."

"Well, well, I mean it isn't on the itinerary, I mean, well, you'll have to ask them what they think about it." The tourists have a brief discussion, ask their Greyhound bus driver what he thinks they should do. Finally they decide they should watch, so they follow the lesbians up the hill to the cave.

Up the hill they marched under the hot Southwestern sky. Inside the dark cave the Slimey Iguana Man waited. His forked tongue flickered in and out of his mouth and he could see the tourists with cameras around their necks & postcards clutched in their hands. This was his hour, what he liked so well about the Southwest. He sighed his cool musty cave breath and the forked tongue darted out forebodingly.

Bill Hutton's History of America was published by the Coach House Press, Toronto/Detroit. Copyright ©1968 by Bill Hutton.