Raven Stops the Gossip

A long time ago, a very, very long time ago, clams had feet. They could walk everywhere — just like everybody else. And they were kind of nosy and extremely curious. They were especially interested in humans. You’d be getting home from work and the clams, they’d be watching while you told your family about your day. You’d be brushing your teeth and if you looked down, a clam or two would be standing there, waiting to see what  you’d do next. You’d head out to the supermarket, and a clam would be riding along in your shopping basket, keeping a detailed mental catalog of what you were buying. You’d go out for dinner with some friends, and right in the booth behind you? Clams. Watching. Observing.

This would be bad enough, but the clams, a long time ago, were also terrible gossips. They’d all get together when the people were sleeping and they retell everything they’d seen. Even worse, if what you were up to wasn’t interesting enough, they’d just make stuff up. “Oh, she bought nothing but cheese! Like, 400 pounds of it!” “Oh, he stuffed his pockets with pens and sticky notes and even stole all the staplers before leaving the office!” “You would not believe what she said about the neighbors! The way they treat their old parents!” And all kinds of other nonsense. Clams. They were nosy gossips a long time ago and you had to watch what you got up to because some clam was probably watching and word was going to get out. They’d get on Twitter and Facebook and update their blogs and your secrets, they were everywhere.

One day, Raven was off in the woods and he was up to no good. I don’t know what he was doing, whether he was downloading illegal DVDs from China and selling them, or pretending he qualified for unemployment when he’d been fired instead of laid off or writing spam to all his friends telling them that if they’d just give him lots of detailed personal information, they’d share the recovered wealth of a displaced Nigerian prince or doing some kind of Harry Lime badness. Whatever it was, it was bad, really bad, and when Raven was done, he looked down and uh-oh, right there at his feet was a clam, watching him.

Raven turned to the little clam and begged him, pleaded with him, not to tell. He was worried. It was going to get out, clams could not keep their mouths shut for anything. But the clam, because he was a little bit scared of Raven, agreed– he’d keep quiet, he wouldn’t say a word, Raven’s secret was safe.

Well, you know what happened. That little clam couldn’t keep his promise and word got out that Raven had been up to no good. First all the clams knew, because it’s what they did, they told each other everything, and then, every one knew, rocks and trees and humans too. Raven heard about it and he was pretty mad.

Raven spread his big black wings and gathered up all the clams and flew down to the beach. He’d drop a clam on the sand and then — STOMP!– he’d stomp the clam into the sand with his big Raven feet. Over and over — STOMP — with his big Raven feet until all the clams were buried in the sand. “You’re stuck now, clams!” he said, “and every time you open your mouths, they’ll fill with sand and salt water! That’ll keep you from gossiping!”

But even though they couldn’t go anywhere, the clams couldn’t stop gossiping, still. If you walk on the beach, you’ll see little sprays of water coming out of the sand. That’s the clams making up stories about what they’ve seen and clearing their mouths so they can gossip, gossip, gossip.

With respect and apologies to Roger Fernandez, S’Kallam tribe story teller: “My teachers, they said you had to hear a story eight times before you retell it. But for this one, I think once is enough. Go retell this story.” In case it’s not perfectly clear, this is my retold version, somewhat changed from Mr. Fernandez’s original version. I hope this is what he had in mind.

And thanks to the Duwamish Tribe for sharing stories at their Fry Bread fundraiser. The Duwamish Indians are fighting for recognition, still. With their food in your belly, it’s impossible to pretend they don’t exist.