House Made of Dawn

House Made of Dawn Summary | Chapter 1, The Longhair Summary

July 20

N. Scott Momaday's House Made of Dawn, winner of the 1969 Pulitzer Prize, is the story of Abel, an American Indian, who arrives home after the war to find himself trapped between his traditional upbringing and industrial America.

The novel opens as an old man named Francisco drives his team of roan mares along the river in a canyon. He comes to a stop, steps down and examines a trap he had set some time before. A sparrow had been caught in the small snare trap he had fashioned from one of the reeds. Disappointed, he unties it, lets its dead body float downstream, and then resets the trap.

Back on the wagon road to San Ysidro, Francisco thinks back to the time when, as a young man, he had participated in the race for good hunting and harvests. He had beaten Mariano, widely regarded as the best long-race runner in the region. He crosses the river below the bridge at San Ysidro and comes eventually to a trading post. Just after one o' clock, a bus appears and stops. Abel, the old man's grandson, disembarks, clearly drunk. He collapses against his grandfather, and does not even recognize him. Francisco helps him to the wagon and takes him home.

July 21

Having slept through the day and night, Abel wakes at dawn and makes his way through the town to the top of the nearby hill. There, staring at the silent valley below he remembers a time when, at the age of five, he had accompanied his brother Vidal, their grandfather and the others to the cacique's field. Riding on horseback with Vidal, they had ventured into a narrow box canyon he had never seen before. He became scared and cried. After that, they returned to the others and watched their grandfather dig with a hoe. His mother had come with Francisco in the wagon and later, when the work was finished, they ate the food she had made - oven bread, rabbit stew, cornmeal cakes filled with jam, and coffee. They ate in groups, the cacique and governor and assorted officials sitting nearest the trees in the place of honor.

Abel had not known his father, he was an outsider though and this made him, Vidal and their mother 'foreign.' Francisco looked after the family but Abel could see even then that he was getting old and lame. His mother, he knew, was going to die, though he had often been told it was nothing. He had ridden back in the wagon with her and his grandfather. She died in October.

He remembers an old woman whom they called Nicolás teah-whau. She was a Bahkyush woman and, it was said, a witch. She would beg for whiskey at the side of the road and the first time Abel had seen her she was drunk and screamed an unintelligible curse at him as she appeared out of a cornfield near which he had herded his sheep. He ran away and at the bank of a nearby arroyo, caught his breath. There, he heard the sound of the wind and it filled in him a particular kind of dread that remained with him throughout his days.

He is older, but still a child, in his next memory. He had waited all afternoon outside the house. He heard the old men pray and when his grandfather called him, he went into the room and stood beside his brother's bed. Vidal was dead.

The tide of memories continues: Abel is seventeen and Francisco had nudged him awake before daybreak in order to go hunting. The first animal that crosses his path is a mule doe that he shoots and kills.

Next memory: It was January 1, 1937 and before dawn, in the bitter cold, he set out with Francisco. He had run part of the way beside the horses, flailing his arms and scaring them to a trot. At Sia, they waited for dawn at the house of Juliano Medina. Then, they went to the Middle where some old people - Navajos and Domingos in blankets - had already gathered and begun to sing. There was plenty of excitement and the men fired their rifles into the air and shouted. Later, after some wine, he had slept with one of Medina's daughters on a dune by the river. She had not been enough for him and wanted her again, but she dressed and ran away and laughed at him because he was too drunk to catch her.

Another time, Abel had been walking since daybreak, and by the middle of the morning had come to the rim of the Valle Grande, a great volcanic crater that lay high up on the western slope of the range. The sight always filled him with awe. It is here that he sees two golden eagles in their mating flight. The female carried a rattlesnake in her claws. She let it go and the male swooped down, hitting the snake in the head and cracking its body like a whip. He too, let it go, but the female did not chase it, and instead simply soared away. The male followed and Abel watched until both were out of sight.

The Eagle Watchers Society was an important society and stood apart from the others because it was the principal ceremonial organization of the Bahkyush; a small group of wretched immigrants, who, wracked by disease and persecution at the hands of buffalo hunters and thieves, had come to the town before the middle of the last century. The society was the sixth to go into the kiva at the summer and autumn rain retreats, and after explaining what he had seen to the chief, Patiestewa, it was decided Abel should join them.

The retreat lasted for days, during which time they prayed and made offerings at the holy places they came to. In the lower meadows of the basin of the Valle Grande, the group set about capturing bait: Forming a large circle, they moved slowly inwards, clapping their hands and calling out and picking off the rabbits (using the curved clubs the men carried with them) as they tried to break way. Abel had hit and stunned a jackrabbit buck.

After binding the bait together and placing it in a sack, he gathered grass and cut a number of evergreen boughs. Thus equipped, he waved to the others and set off toward the cliffs alone. Eventually, he came to the eagle-hunt house; a small tower of stone built around a pit, hollow and open at the top. He placed a prayer offering in the nearby shrine and then got into the house. With the boughs, he fashioned a latticework of beams, across which he splayed the grass and laid the rabbits.

Abel began to sing and call out and shortly thereafter, the pair of eagles appeared. The male swooped first to flush the rabbits, and the female followed. When she had touched down upon the trap, Abel pulled her downwards with all his strength, capturing her. At dusk, he rejoined the party. San Juanito had also caught an eagle but his was old and poor by comparison; they fixed a prayer plume to its leg and set it free. That night, while the others ate, Abel went to look at the bird, bound and helpless in the sack. The sight filled him with shame and disgust. He reached in and suffocated the bird.

His final memory before leaving was that of his grandfather crying. Francisco had not, had not wanted to, understood Abel's decision and he was away in the fields when Abel left on the bus. Abel had never been in a motor vehicle before and sat by the window. He remembered, too late, to look back in the direction of the fields.

A war memory: Abel awoke on the side of a wooded hill. He could not be sure how long he had slept. Hours? Days? All around him were strewn the bodies and limbs of men. Then, the sound of an approaching machine, a tank, reaches his ears. It bears down on him, but at the last moment passes him by, unaware of his presence.

Back in the present, Abel watches as a car approaches from the north. It makes its way through the town and towards the mission. He had not eaten for two days. He stands up and after an interminable wait makes his way down the hill.

For Father Olguin, the day had begun as usual in the mission. It is a feast of martyrs and he dresses in the scarlet chasuble while outside the people shuffle in the pews. Francisco kneels before the glass panel that opened onto the chapel altar and in the corner, the small boy, Bonifacío, is putting on a faded red cassock. At the Father's behest, he runs out to light the candles. Hearing the car come to a stop, Father Olguin watches through the window as a dark-haired young woman gets out and walks into the church. He goes out to the altar.

When the service is concluded, she introduces herself to him as Mrs. Martin St. John. She and her husband, a doctor, live in Los Angeles but she has come to the area for a time and is staying at the Benevides house at Los Ojos. She asks the Father for his help in finding someone to cut wood for her.

By now, Abel has returned to his grandfather's house, but Francisco is not there. They have not spoken since Abel's return. Restless, he leaves in the afternoon and walks along the river until eventually coming to the foothills at the base of the red mesa. Here he sits down and for a moment feels content; he is home.

July 24

On Tuesday, Abel comes to the Benevides house to cut the wood for Angela St. John. For this, he is paid three dollars. Angela watches him work and is amazed by how fully he gives himself into it. It becomes clear that she is pregnant. Later in the day, she goes outside and sits upon the stone steps of the porch while watching Abel work. When he is done, she tries to elicit a response, a reaction, anything, in him, but he will not be provoked. He says he will return on Friday or Saturday to finish the job and that she can pay him then.

Gathering an armful of wood, she takes it into the house and places it in the fireplace. In the evening, Father Olguin comes to the house to invite her to the feast of Santiago taking place the following day. He wants to linger, but it is clear she does not want to talk and so he leaves. When he is gone, she thinks of Abel and the corn dance she had seen at Conchiti. The people dancing and Abel, it seemed to her, could see beyond everything, but Abel, she was sure, could not see into her impenetrable world and because of this she could stand up to him.

July 25

The legend of Santiago according to Father Olguin:

Disguised as a peon, Santiago rode southward into Mexico. There, he stopped at the house of an old, impoverished couple who, in spite of their poverty, were kind and gracious. They gave him cold water and killed the only rooster they had and cooked it for him. That night, they gave him their bed and slept on the cold ground and when morning came, he told them who he was, gave them his blessing and continued on his way.

After riding for many days, he came to the royal city where the king had ordered celebrations and dangerous gladiatorial games to be played. These he entered and won, and as his prize was allowed to choose and marry one of the king's daughters. The king was not pleased that his daughter be married to a lowly peon and so ordered the company of guards who were to escort Santiago safely home, to kill him once they were outside the city gates.

By a miracle, Santiago had brought forth from his mouth the rooster, alive, who warned him of the king's plan and gave him a spur from its right leg. When they attacked, Santiago slew the soldiers with a magic sword. At the end of the journey, Santiago sacrificed his horse and from its blood issued a great herd of horses, enough for the Pueblo people. Therefore, he also tore apart the rooster with his bare hands and from its blood and feathers rose cultivated plants and domestic animals for the Pueblo people.

It is late afternoon, two or three hours before sundown, when Father Olguin accompanies Angela through town as they walk towards the Middle. The Middle is an ancient place, roughly a hundred yards long and forty wide. In the center, equidistant from all the walls is a freshly dug hole, eight inches in diameter. The people of the town had begun to gather along the walls of the houses, while others stood on the rooftops that were, in places, two and three stories high. There, too, a drummer stood, slowly beating his drum. Presently, the riders come into the Middle in groups of three and four. Abel is among them.

When they had all assembled, a town official brought out and buried in the hole up to its neck, a large rooster. Then, one at a time, the riders would bear down on the rooster and try to snatch it up. Many of the riders fell, and similarly, Abel's showing was poor. The last of the riders, a white man, pulled the rooster from the ground with consummate ease. Angela is thrilled at the sight, but when he draws near, she can see that he is an albino.

With the rooster in hand, he rides in amongst the other riders, who wait; wary of whom he will choose. Suddenly, he flails and strikes Abel with the rooster, again and again. He continues until the bird is dead; its neck broken, the flesh torn open and its blood and entrails splashed about.

That night, at a few minutes past eleven, and after having warmed a pot of coffee, Father Olguin reads the journal he had found in the parish records shortly after his arrival. The journal, written by Fray Nicolás and dated from late November 1874, speaks of, among other things, the death of a woman called Tomacita Fragua. He also speaks of an albino child, baptized as Juan Reyes, born to Manuelita and Diego Fragua.

In the journal, Father Olguin finds, tucked neatly between the pages, an accompanying letter he had read once or twice before. He notices, for the first time, how the writing had changed. Here, in the letter, the writing seems hurried, scribbled. In it, Nicolás accuses Francisco of being evil and of wanting to do him harm. It would seem that Nicolás had been, at the time, slowly losing his sanity.

July 28

Abel is walking into the canyon, thinking all the while about how his return to town has been a failure. Since his arrival, he had tried to speak to his grandfather, "had tried to pray, to sing, to enter into the old rhythm of the tongue," but he has thus far been unable to. Still, as makes his way to the Benevides house, he observes, feels, the land around him and feels almost at peace.

Angela had sat downstairs and waited for him to come, but when he arrives, she does not go outside immediately, and instead simply listens to him chopping the wood. Later, she locks the house and goes to the bathhouse where she soaks in a tub of steaming mineral water drawn for her by the attendant. After that, the attendant wraps her in light cotton blankets and she dozes.

Returning to the house, she finds Abel sitting on the front stoop, his work completed. He follows her inside and she gives him coffee. She tries to toy with him, but he offers no sign of interest. At last, she asks if he thinks she is beautiful. He says no. She then asks if he would like to make love to her. He says yes. She leads him upstairs and they sleep together.

Meanwhile, Francisco is working in the field of corn, as he had been most of the day, when he thinks he hears something, though he is not sure what. He is too old to be afraid, he thinks, and blesses the corn before shuffling out of the cornfield. All the while, a pair of eyes is watching him.

August 1

On this, the first day of August, a caravan of Dîné passes through the town, having arrived from the south on the old road to San Ysidro. It causes a stir; fewer men are in the fields than usual, women chatter excitedly and the children stand at the fences, cheer, and chide. Later that day, Father Olguin thinks of Angela, which he could now do without the modicum of excitement she had at first incited within him. He imagines that she envies him and this pleases him. By the afternoon, a strange exuberance had taken hold of him as he drives out of the town into the canyon toward the Benevides house.

She is slightly startled to see him, but he does not notice this. He comes inside and makes himself comfortable. He speaks officiously of the town, of damnation and deliverance and she listens politely, more intent on listening to the rain and thunder than to him. Soon however, he falls silent and notices her behind him. Clearly, she has not really been listening. She apologizes for having offended him, laughing. He is mortified. Afterward, driving back through the town he is repulsed by the people and the children he sees. Presently, he slams the vehicles to a stop, having almost crashed into a wagon with an infant inside.

Alone in the house, Angela revels in the thunderstorm. It seems to wash away all her fears.

Meanwhile, adorned in his leggings and white ceremonial trousers, Francisco shuffles his way to the Middle where the feast had already begun. The smells and odors of the day are pleasant, and he wishes for one of the pale blue stones the Dîné possess; if he had had anything of value he would have liked to barter for such a stone. In the Middle, a shrine for Porcingula, Our Lady of the Angels, had been raised at the center of the north side, adjacent to the kiva, which was a small green enclosure, its framework fashioned from wood and wire and covered with boughs of cedar and pine. He thinks of the events that will take place here the next day.

Francisco climbs up the ladder and raises himself up and over the wall of the kiva. He, along with the other holy men, emerges at dusk just as the rain begins to fall. They go to the house, from which the little horse came out and began to dance. It looked like the black Arabian of the Moors, and inside the framework over which a spotted hide was stretched taut and smooth, the dancer writhed and moved to the beat of the drum. The medicine men blessed the horse and then the 'bull,' followed by clowns, came into the Middle.

Later that night, at Paco's, Abel and the albino were drinking and talking. A handful of Navajos remained, but they were silent and sullen and one had passed out in his own vomit. Later still, the two men leave and walk out and midway between the river and the road, the albino makes as if to embrace Abel, who draws a knife and stabs him. The albino draws Abel closer, who then thrusts with the knife again, this time into the groin and then, in his terrified state, slashes at the albino's arms. Abel then kneels beside him, removed the albino's little black glasses and stays for a long time looking down at him.

August 2

For the first time in his life, Francisco is away from the dance. He is working in the cornfields and can hear the distant sound of the drums and the people singing; and in his mind's eye could see how they danced. Twice (the first time while riding out to the fields in the wagon), he says 'Abelito.' Having only just gotten Abel back, Francisco is left alone once more.