The context of the figurines in a child burial . . . has relevance for the question of the use of these intriguing objects.
- Stephen C. Jett,Utah Archaeology 1991, page 29
Suddenly I find myself in a dark place. It is night. There are stars overhead.
As my eyes become accustomed to the darkness, I realize that I am in a narrow canyon. There are cliffs on either side, rising 50 feet or so. The half-moon's light reflects the silhouettes of cottonwoods and sagebrush. It is very quiet. In the darkness I conjure up images of wild animals, and it is easy to feel lonely and anxious.
I sense that I am hundreds of miles from the nearest civilization. If the truth were known, I am not only several hundred miles, but also several hundred years from anything familiar. In 2,000 years, this narrow side canyon will be best described as "near the Colorado border."
There is the slight scent of smoke. Looking up the canyon, I see flickering firelight from what has to be a small fire reflecting off the canyon walls. Making my way quietly up through the draw, I begin to hear a faint sound - a human sound, but very haunting, like someone crying or wailing.
There is a campfire, tucked against an overhand of cliff. From behind a bush, I am close enough to look directly over the shoulder of an old man, a native, who wears only a brief loincloth of deerskin. He is crouched forward, taking in both the warmth and light of the fire.
Across from him, a younger man looks forward into the flames as if in a trance. I see his face. It is full of sadness. By his side lies a bundle that he cradles under one arm. Beyond the bundle, a woman lies prone, her arms over the bundle, gently caressing its surface. She weeps quietly.
I see that the old man is fashioning something in his hands, all the while chanting or wailing, his voice rising and lowering as he works, rhythmically rocking from side to side.
Watching closely, I realize that he is working with a couple of green willow strips, peeling them back, splitting them here and there with a blunt flint point and wrapping the split ends around themselves.
One thick end is bent back and wrapped several times with a thinner strip, which is then tucked under. Another end is bent like the first and the process repeated.
He holds it up to the light, to study its shape, and as he does, I realize that it is the image of a four-legged animal - a deer or antelope, maybe. It is about 4 inches long and 3 inches high.
A few more wraps and tucks and it is complete.
Still wailing, he gestures across the fire to the younger man, who, stirred, looks up. The old man reaches over the fire with the small deer image and hands it to him.
The younger man takes it, looks at it briefly and a thin smile crosses his mouth for a moment. Then he looks up at the old man. There are tears in his eyes.
He turns to the bundle by his side and opens a fold of it. As he does, I see the lifeless arm of a small child of maybe 3 or 4 years. He tucks the willow deer between the folds of hide and re-wraps the bundle.
Behind him, flickering firelight dances over the face of the cliff, evoking images of fleeting spirits that can almost be seen - bright, young, lively spirits lost in the mysterious regions between life and death.
It is as if some remnant of a child were lingering to tempt them into believing she were still there, scurrying from tree trunk to tree trunk, playing games in the shadows.
In the firelight, they mourn the fading passage of her laughter.