"It is the custom at Jemez that, on the feast days, all of the houses are open to guests; anyone might enter and be welcome - and eat his fill - whether he has been formally invited or not; nonetheless it is a considerable honor to be invited especially, and so it was with us; we were treated royally. The house was immaculate, the earthen floors swept clean as a bone, with everything in its place. A little, long-fingered fire burned evenly in the corner fireplace of the front room. Almost at once we were ushered into the kitchen, where there was a large table laden with food, around which there sat four or five guests, all from out of town, according to their dress, all congenial to us, and shy. Places were made straight away for us, and we were bidden to eat. The food, which was kept hot and unendingly replenished before us, was quite wonderful to see, to smell, and to taste. There were three principal dishes, traditional in the pueblos, stews of rich and distinctive flavor. The first of these was a mild corn stew, that which is called posole, made with dried corn (something like hominy), pork bones, and a small amount of chili; the soup of this stew is thin and delicious, and it is among the dishes that I like best in the world. There is no Christmas but that I crave this spicy , smoking Indian posole. The second was a thicker of chili and beef, brick red in color and decidedly hotter to the taste. And the third was made also of chili and beef and was essentially a deep red chili paste, con carne, that burned the mouth and caused perspiration to rise from all the pores of the brow. When I first ate of this dish my whole being cried out for water - I should have given anything for even a spoonful of cold water - but there was none, rather there was only coffee, and it was so hot that it scalded my tongue. Thus did I learn once and for all to eat at the Jemez feasts in the Jemez style, to take bread and dip it into the fiery food and to taste of it delicately, with deliberation and particular respect. I believe that the good, substantial sotobalough exists to this very purpose; the moist, sweet, hard-crusted, soft-centered and porous bread is a sop than which there is none better. In addition there was on the table a great variety of canned fruits, breads and biscochitos, pies and cakes. Mrs. Toya baked excellent apple pies. We were admonished again and again to "eat good", and that we did. But later, when we went outside again, we were invited to feast in another home, then another, and another, and it seemed that in the interest of diplomacy we could not refuse. In the years at Jemez we were required to negotiate many times an apparent hunger, to exercise fine discretions and deceits. And in this much there was salvation, at least propriety and reprieve. In one of the homes there was a wedding that day. Mary Fragua, the daughter of our housekeeper, Avelina, and a singularly beautiful girl, was married to a young, good-looking man of the pueblo. An old Spanish man of Cañon appeared there in a rumpled black suit and made a sweet, squeaking music on his little violin. Mary wore the tradicional manta and white leggings, and she was tall and slender for a pueblo girl, and her deep eyes were dark and dancing and her face was round and radiant, and there grew up in me an admiration for her that was strung between love and lust, and I was full of benevolence and misery."
Scott Momaday em The Names.
um estranho mas elucidativo preâmbulo.
por mim, e tal como Erdrich, vejo-o com esforço, esforçado.
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