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others that were also elicited by my request for
7antivo k'op seem to be rambling observations with
no necessary beginning or end, or else statements too
brief to seem to qualify as a story. For the sake of
convenience, the word of the storyteller, that what
he has spoken is "a tale," has been trustfully accepted.
Clearly, the nature of Zinacantec tales implies
that "no collection, however extensive, can claim to
be complete" (Gossen, 1974:82).
WHERE, WHY, WHO, AND WHEN
After years of studying the Zinacantecs in their
homes, in their fields, in bars, at court, and at market,
listening to hour upon hour of conversation, gossip,
joking banter, talk of prices and fiestas, sickness and
success, the outsider, who feels that at least he has
become a knowledgeable quasi-member of the community,
is confronted with a mystery: only rarely
has he been present at the spontaneous telling of a
tale from the past. Furthermore, the ability to tell a
tale well is not, unlike in neighboring Chenalho, the
basis for great admiration. There are, it is true,
individuals whose narrative talents are recognized
and appreciated, but the real source of their prestige
lies elsewhere. Often when tales were told in the
company of family members, the raconteur seemed
to become a soliloquist, the features of his audience
betraying only inexpressible detachment. Indeed,
there sometimes seemed to be a conscious effort to
cut him off or to deflect the monologue after an
almost predictable period of time, as if it were
improper for one individual to capitalize on the
conversation.
A factor contributing to the scarcity of public
narration is the staggering consumption of alcohol in
every public situation. But perhaps an even more
restrictive force is the avoidance of verbal display
unless supported by ritual or political position.
Storytellers have no such support.
My own interest in the talk of the past was viewed
with tolerant amusement, though the expenditure it
obviously entailed both in cash and in time seemed to
Zinacantecs utterly mad!
Nevertheless, there is a degree of justification for
this collection. First, an admittedly intuitive observation;
under almost no other circumstances did I see
such an open display of enjoyment as that which
enlivened the facial and gestural expression of a
storyteller in action. A telling indication of the
importance of traditional narrative to the people of
Zinacantan was the sudden mushrooming of rumors,
more than a decade ago, reporting my publication in
Tuxtla Gutierrez, the state capital, of a book of tales.
This had arroused anxiety, I was told, because folk-
INTRODUCTION
tales are considered a part of the town's treasure;
their publication in a distant place was tantamount to
a pillage of community treasure and ipso facto, of
communal luck. Yet only once did a storyteller
refuse my request for tales.
Certainly there are few Zinacantecs who, when
asked, are unable to oblige with a personal version of
one of the many well-known narratives of the past.
Many isolated bits of information concerning worldview,
etc., drawn from one individual would frequently
be tied together in the narratives of another.
On several occasions the raconteur would explicitly
state that he had been told a certain tale "so he
would not grow up to be lazy like the buzzard man,"
and so forth. Explanations for the severe winds and
rains that had recently lashed the town actually
duplicated tales previously recorded by me. The
contribution of Lol Sarate, in his early teens, to this
collection demonstrates that verbal skill in telling
tales is learned at an early age.
Who, then, are the storytellers and when do they
expound? As in Chenalho, older men are considered
the most gifted raconteurs. One informant (male)
scoffed, "Do you think words would remain in
women's heads?" My one female contributor disagreed,
"Women know as well as men, but only the
clever ones like me. The others 'hm 7 and 'ha,' in one
ear and out the other." Narrators introducing a tale
were just as likely to attribute it to their mother as
their father. This suggests that the assertion of storytelling
being primarily a man's prerogative is merely
a reflection of native belief in the superiority of
masculine endeavor.
As in Chamula, "the time is right [for telling a tale]
when the information is relevant" (Gossen, 1974:81).
Unlike in Tenejapa, they are not usually told on
public occasions for entertainment (Stross, 1973:96),
but they are told at wakes. They are told to children
around the hearth of an evening. Among men they
serve to while away the time after a hard day's work
in the tropical lowlands or on the roads. They may
be exchanged between a host and his guest for
entertainment and the exchange of information. With
so many opportunities for taletelling, the anthropologist
can only shake his head and wonder where he
was when the ancient words were repeated.
The language of Zinacantec tales is, as in Mixe
folk literature, "an exact replica of that of everyday
life" (Miller, 1956:243).
THE LANGUAGE IN NUMBERS
For those whose appreciation of literature is increased
by encyclopedic computations, Tzotzil, the
language of the 12,000 Zinacantecs, is spoken in