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Authors: Vicki Lane
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still about, ‘I mean to stay here in the mountains with you but to do that I’ll have to leave you to be buried by these others. If I get away, I vow I’ll come back when it’s safe and sing over your grave.’
“And with that, he picked up the babe and strapped her to his back. She stirred and whimpered but didn’t wake, just drooped her head down heavy on John Goingsnake’s shoulder. All round, folks was sleeping hard, wore outwith the walking they’d done. Even the soldiers who was meant to be keeping guard was setting down, dozing by their campfires. Then, quiet as a hunting cat, John Goingsnake creeps to the water’s edge and steps out onto a rock. The moon is making a path for him across the water and he hears a singing in his head as he steps to the second rock and then the third.”
Raven Mockers
Transcript of interview with Mary Thorn, traditional Cherokee. At Big Cove on the Qualla Boundary, 1947. Interviewer: C. L. Knight; translator: R. J. Driver .
C.K .: What about the Raven Mockers? What are they?
M.T .: They’re the worst kind of witch there is. Most folks don’t like to talk about them.
C.K .: How can you tell if someone’s a Raven Mocker?
M.T .: No good way—they can be man or woman. One thing is, they look old because they have so many lives on top of their own. They come around when someone is sick and torment him till he dies.
C.K .: Why do they do this?
M.T .: They eat the hearts of the people they’ve killed. That’s what keeps them alive—however many days or months or years that person would have lived if the Raven Mocker hadn’t killed them, that’s added to the Raven Mocker’s life.
C.K .: Is there any way of stopping these witches?
M.T .: Well, when they come in a house to a sickbed, they’re mostly invisible. They could be setting on the sick person’s chest and doing all manner of awful things and the others in the room would just think the sick person was having trouble breathing. There are some Cherokee Doctors who know spells to stop the Raven Mockers.
C.K .: I heard the Raven Mockers can fly.
M.T .: Oh, yes, they can have big wings and when they fly at night, there are sparks flying out behind them and a wild howling like a big wind.…
Chapter 11
The Story of John Goingsnake (continued)
Dark Holler, 1931
(Least)
G ranny stops in the middle of the story and looks to the sky where the light is starting to fade. “Least, honey,” she says, “reckon it’s time for you to do the milking? I thought I heard ol Poll bawling just now.”
Granny Beck always likes to do me this way but I know she is just funning. “Granny Beck,” I say, “you can’t leave poor John Goingsnake and his little baby in the middle of that river. You got to finish the story—there’s plenty of time yet—please, Granny!”
I go over to Granny and put my arms around her. “We got to get them safe, so that baby can grow up and learn about the Cherokee Magic, ain’t that so? Besides, I got three more poppies to finish.” I lay my cheek next to hers and wait.
She hugs me tight. “All right, honey, we’ll finish up the story afore you do your milking.”
I go back to my chair and Granny opens and closes her fingers a few times, then takes her rug machine and goes back to punching in the black strips. She picks up the story and now it is almost like she is remembering something that happened to her—not just a story someone told her.
“Well now, John Goingsnake, he stood there in the middle of that broad river, wondering what to do. He could see rocks like stepping-stones to the other side but betwixt him and the next rock there was a stretch of deep rushing water. He studied the distance and knew it was too far to make a leap for. ‘No telling,’ thinks he, ‘how deep the water is here in the middle where it runs all the year. Strong as it’s running through this narrow channel, I fear was I to try to cross, the child and me could be swept away. Though,’ says John
“And with that, he picked up the babe and strapped her to his back. She stirred and whimpered but didn’t wake, just drooped her head down heavy on John Goingsnake’s shoulder. All round, folks was sleeping hard, wore outwith the walking they’d done. Even the soldiers who was meant to be keeping guard was setting down, dozing by their campfires. Then, quiet as a hunting cat, John Goingsnake creeps to the water’s edge and steps out onto a rock. The moon is making a path for him across the water and he hears a singing in his head as he steps to the second rock and then the third.”
Raven Mockers
Transcript of interview with Mary Thorn, traditional Cherokee. At Big Cove on the Qualla Boundary, 1947. Interviewer: C. L. Knight; translator: R. J. Driver .
C.K .: What about the Raven Mockers? What are they?
M.T .: They’re the worst kind of witch there is. Most folks don’t like to talk about them.
C.K .: How can you tell if someone’s a Raven Mocker?
M.T .: No good way—they can be man or woman. One thing is, they look old because they have so many lives on top of their own. They come around when someone is sick and torment him till he dies.
C.K .: Why do they do this?
M.T .: They eat the hearts of the people they’ve killed. That’s what keeps them alive—however many days or months or years that person would have lived if the Raven Mocker hadn’t killed them, that’s added to the Raven Mocker’s life.
C.K .: Is there any way of stopping these witches?
M.T .: Well, when they come in a house to a sickbed, they’re mostly invisible. They could be setting on the sick person’s chest and doing all manner of awful things and the others in the room would just think the sick person was having trouble breathing. There are some Cherokee Doctors who know spells to stop the Raven Mockers.
C.K .: I heard the Raven Mockers can fly.
M.T .: Oh, yes, they can have big wings and when they fly at night, there are sparks flying out behind them and a wild howling like a big wind.…
Chapter 11
The Story of John Goingsnake (continued)
Dark Holler, 1931
(Least)
G ranny stops in the middle of the story and looks to the sky where the light is starting to fade. “Least, honey,” she says, “reckon it’s time for you to do the milking? I thought I heard ol Poll bawling just now.”
Granny Beck always likes to do me this way but I know she is just funning. “Granny Beck,” I say, “you can’t leave poor John Goingsnake and his little baby in the middle of that river. You got to finish the story—there’s plenty of time yet—please, Granny!”
I go over to Granny and put my arms around her. “We got to get them safe, so that baby can grow up and learn about the Cherokee Magic, ain’t that so? Besides, I got three more poppies to finish.” I lay my cheek next to hers and wait.
She hugs me tight. “All right, honey, we’ll finish up the story afore you do your milking.”
I go back to my chair and Granny opens and closes her fingers a few times, then takes her rug machine and goes back to punching in the black strips. She picks up the story and now it is almost like she is remembering something that happened to her—not just a story someone told her.
“Well now, John Goingsnake, he stood there in the middle of that broad river, wondering what to do. He could see rocks like stepping-stones to the other side but betwixt him and the next rock there was a stretch of deep rushing water. He studied the distance and knew it was too far to make a leap for. ‘No telling,’ thinks he, ‘how deep the water is here in the middle where it runs all the year. Strong as it’s running through this narrow channel, I fear was I to try to cross, the child and me could be swept away. Though,’ says John
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