"Speaking with Names": Language and Landscape

Transcription

"Speaking with Names": Language and Landscape among the Western Apache
Author(s): Keith H. Basso
Source: Cultural Anthropology, Vol. 3, No. 2 (May, 1988), pp. 99-130
Published by: Blackwell Publishing on behalf of the American Anthropological Association
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"Speaking with Names":
Language and Landscape among the
Western Apache
Keith H. Basso
DepartmentofAnthropology
Yale University
Whatwe call the landscapeis generallyconsideredto be something'out there."'But,
while some aspects of the landscapeare clearly external to both our bodies and our
minds, whateach of us actuallyexperiences is selected, shaped, and colored by what
we know.
BarrieGreenbie,Spaces
An unfamiliar landscape, like an unfamiliar language, is always a little
daunting, and when the two are encountered together-as they are, commonly
enough, in those out-of-the-way communities where ethnographers have a tendency to crop up-the combination may be downright unsettling. From the outset,
of course, neither landscape nor language can be ignored. On the contrary, the
shapes and colors and contours of the land, together with the shifting sounds and
cadences of native discourse, thrust themselves upon the newcomer with a force
so vivid and direct as to be virtually inescapable. Yet for all of their sensory immediacy (and there are occasions, as any ethnographer will attest, when the sheer
constancy of it grows to formidable proportions) landscape and discourse seem
resolutely out of reach. Although close at hand and tangible in the extreme, each
in its own way appears remote and inaccessible, anonymous and indistinct, and
somehow, implausibly, a shade less than fully believable. And neither one, as if
determined to accentuate these conflicting impressions, may seem the least bit
interested in having them resolved. Emphatically "there" but conspicuously
lacking in accustomed forms of order and arrangement, landscape and discourse
confound the stranger's efforts to invest them with significance, and this uncommon predicament, which produces nothing if not uncertainty, can be keenly disconcerting.
Surrounded by foreign geographical objects and intractable acts of speech,
even the most practiced ethnographers become diffident and cautious. For the
meanings of objects and acts alike can only be guessed at, and once the guesses
have been recognized for the arbitrary constructions they almost always are, one
senses acutely that one's own experience of things and events "out there" cannot
be used as a reliable guide to the experience of native people (Conklin 1962; Frake
99
100 CULTURALANTHROPOLOGY
1962). In otherwords, one must acknowledgethat local understandingsof external realities are ineluctably fashioned from local cultural materials, and that,
knowing little or nothingof the latter, one's ability to make appropriatesense of
"what is" and "what occurs" in one's environmentis bound to be deficient
(Goodenough1964). For betteror worse, the ethnographersees, landscapeand
speech acts do not interprettheirown significance. Initiallyat least, and typically
for manymonthsto come, this is a taskthatonly membersof the indigenouscommunityare adequatelyequippedto accomplish;and accomplishit they do, day in
and day out, with enviably little difficulty. For where native men and women are
concernedthe externalworld is as it appearsto them to be-naturally, unproblematically,and more or less consistently-and rarelydo they have reason to consider that the coherence it displays is an intricateproductof their own collective
manufacture(Schutz 1967). Culturesrun deep, as the saying goes, and natives
everywheretake their "natives' point of view" very much for granted.
In this way (or somethingroughly like it) the ethnographercomes to appreciate that features of the local landscape, no less than utterancesexchanged in
formsof daily discourse, acquirevalue and significanceby virtueof the ideational
systems with which they are apprehendedand construed. Symbolically constituted, socially transmitted,and individually applied, such systems operate to
place flexible constraintson how the physical environmentcan (and should) be
known, how its occupantscan (and should) be found to act, and how the doings
of both can (and should) be discerned to affect each other (Sahlins 1976). Accordingly, each system delineates a distinctive way of being-in-the-world(Ricoeur 1979), an informallogic for engaging the world and thinkingaboutthe engagement (Geertz 1973), an arrayof conceptualframeworksfor organizingexperience and renderingit intelligible (Goffman 1974). In any community, the
meaningsassigned to geographicalfeaturesand acts of speech will be influenced
by the subjectivedeterminationsof the people who assign them, and these determinations,needless to say, will exhibit variation.But the characterof the meanings-their steadierthemes, their recurrenttonalities, and, above all, their conventionalizedmodes of expression-will bear the stamp of a common cast of
mind. Constructionsof reality thatreflect conceptionsof reality itself, the meanings of landscapesand acts of speech are personalizedmanifestationsof a shared
perspectiveon the humancondition (Shutz 1967).
Mulling over these apparenttruths,the ethnographeris likely to notice that
membersof the local communityinvolve themselveswith theirgeographicallandscape in at least threedistinctways. First, they may simply observethe landscape,
attendingfor reasons of their own to aspects of its appearanceand to sundry
goings-on within it. Second, they may utilize the landscape,engaging in a broad
range of physical activities that, depending on their durationand extent, may
leave portionsof the landscapevisibly modified. Third, native people may communicateaboutthe landscape,formulatingdescriptionsand otherrepresentations
of it thatthey sharein the course of social gatherings.On many occasions, communitymemberscan be observedto alternatefreely amongthese differentmodes
of involvement(they may also, of course, combine them), but it is obvious that
"SPEAKINGWITH NAMES"
101
events in the latter mode-communicative acts of topographicrepresentationwill be most revealing of the conceptual instrumentswith which native people
interprettheir naturalsurroundings.And although such representationsmay be
fashionedfrom a variety of semiotic materials(gestural, pictorial, musical, and
others), it is equally plain that few will be more instructivein this regardthan
those thatare wroughtwith words.
Ordinarytalk, the ethnographersees, provides a readily available window
onto the structureand significance of other peoples' worlds, and so (slowly at
first, by fits and starts, and never withoutprotractedbouts of guessing) he or she
begins to learnto listen. And also to freshly see. Foras nativeconcepts andbeliefs
findexternalpurchaseon specific featuresof the local topography,the entirelandscape seems to acquirea crisp new dimensionthatmoves it more surelyinto view.
Whatearlierappearedas a circularsweep of undifferentiatednaturalarchitecture
now startsto emerge as a precise arrangementof namedsites and localities, each
of which is distinguishedby a set of physical attributesand culturalassociations
that marksit as unique. In native discourse, the local landscapefalls neatly and
repeatedlyintoplaces-and places, as FranzBoas (1934) emphasizedsome years
ago, are social constructionspar excellence.
It is excessive to claim, as George Trager (1968:537) has done, that "the
man
talks about the physical universe is his only way of knowing anything
way
aboutit." Nonetheless, most ethnographerswould agreethatTrager'sclaim contains a substantialamountof truth,and some have suggestedthatthis can be seen
with particularclarity where language and landscapes are concerned (Berdt
1976; Conklin 1957; Evans-Pritchard1949; Malinowski 1920; Sapir 1912). For
wheneverthe membersof a communityspeak about their landscape-whenever
they name it, or classify it, or evaluate it, or move to tell stories about it-they
unthinkinglyrepresentit in ways that are compatiblewith sharedunderstandings
of how, in the fullest sense, they know themselves to occupy it. Which is simply
to note that in conversationalencounters, trivial and otherwise, individualsexchange accounts and observationsof the landscapethat consistently presuppose
(and thereforedepend for both their credibility and appropriatenessupon) mutually held ideas of what the landscapeactually is, why its constituentplaces are
important,and how it may intrudeon the practicalaffairsof its inhabitants.Thus,
if frequentlyby implicationand allusiononly, bits andpieces of a commonworldview are given situatedrelevance and made temporarilyaccessible. In talk about
the landscape, as MartinHeidegger (1977:323) so aptly put it, culturalconceptions of "dwelling together" are naively placed on oblique display.
At the same time, however, and oftenjust as obliquely, personswho engage
in this sort of talk will also exchange messages about aspects of the social encounterin which they are jointly involved, including their framings of the encounteritself (i.e, "what is going on here") andtheirmorallyguided assessments
of the comportmentof fellow participants.Consequently, the possibility arises
that as speakerscommunicateaboutthe landscapeand the kinds of dealings they
have with it, they may also communicateabout themselves as social actors and
the kinds of dealings they are having with one another. Stated more precisely,
statementspertainingto the landscapemay be employed strategicallyto convey
indexical messages about the organizationof face-to-face relationshipsand the
normativefootings on which these relationshipsare currentlybeing negotiated.
Indirectlyperhaps, but tellingly all the same, participantsin verbal encounters
thus put their landscapesto work-interactional work-and how they choose to
go about it may shed interestinglight on mattersother than geography (Basso
1984). For example, when a characterin a short story by Paul Gallico (1954:69)
says to his chronically unfaithful lover, "Go make a nest on Forty-Second
Street," it is altogetherclear that he is drawing upon the culturalmeaning of a
place to communicatesomething importantabout their disturbedand precarious
relationship.
Fromthe standpointof the ethnographer,then, situatedtalk of geographical
landscapesis morethana valuableresourcefor exploringlocal conceptionsof the
materialuniverse. In addition, and surelyjust as basic, this sort of talk may be
useful for interpretingforms of social action that regularlyoccur within it. For
landscapesare always availableto their seasoned inhabitantsin other than material terms. Landscapesare available in symbolic terms as well, and so, chiefly
throughthe manifoldagencies of speech, they can be "detached" fromtheirfixed
spatialmooringsandtransformedinto instrumentsof thoughtand vehicles of purposive behavior. Thus transformed,landscapesand the places that fill them become tools for the imagination,expressivemeansfor accomplishingverbaldeeds,
and also, of course, eminently portable possessions to which individuals can
maintaindeep and abidingattachments,regardlessof where they travel. In these
ways, as N. Scott Momaday(1974) has observed, men and women learn to appropriate their landscapes, to think and act "with" them as well as about and
upon them, and to weave them with spoken words into the very foundationsof
social life.' And in these ways, too, as every ethnographereventually comes to
appreciate,geographicallandscapesare never culturallyvacant. Filled to brimming with past and present significance, the trick is to try to fathom (and here,
really, is where the ethnographicchallenge lies) what it is that a particularlandscape may be called upon to "say," and what, throughthe saying, it may be
called upon to "do."
But whereto begin andhow to proceed'?How, in any community,to identify
the conceptualframeworksand verbalpracticeswith which membersappropriate
theirlocal geography?One promisingapproach,I want to suggest, is to attendto
nativeplacenamesand the full varietyof communicativefunctionsservedby acts
of namingin differentsocial contexts. It may be noted in this regardthat placenames, or toponyms, comprise a distinct semantic domain in the lexicons of all
knownlanguages, and that the formalpropertiesof placenamesystems, together
with theirspatialcorrelatesand etymological histories, have long been objects of
anthropologicalinquiry.2But the common activity of placenaming-the actual
use of toponyms in concrete instances of everyday speech-has attractedlittle
attentionfrom linguists or ethnographers.3Less often still has placenamingbeen
investigatedas a universalmeans-and, it could well turnout, a universallyprimarymeans-for appropriatingphysical environments.
103
The reasons for this innocuous piece of scholarly neglect are undoubtedly
several, but the main one arises from a widespreadview of language in which
propernames are assumed to have meaning solely in their capacity to refer and,
as agentsof reference,to enterinto simple and complex predictions(Lyons 1977;
Russell 1940). Many of the limitations imposed by this narrow conception of
meaninghave been exposed and criticizedin recentyears, most ably by linguistic
anthropologistsand philosophers of language who have shown that reference,
thoughunquestionablya vital linguistic function, is but one of many that spoken
utterancescan be made to perform(Donnellan 1972; Hymes 1974; Searle 1958,
1969; Silverstein 1976; Strawson 1959; Tyler 1978). But despite these salutary
developments, and unhappily for students who seek to understandlinguistic
meaningas an emergentpropertyof verbal interaction,the idea persists in many
quartersthat proper names, including toponyms, serve as referentialvehicles
whose only purposeis to denote, or "pick out," objects in the world.4
If a certainmyopia attachesto this position, there is irony as well, for placenames are arguablyamong the most highly charged and richly evocative of all
linguisticsymbols.5Because of theirinseparableconnectionto specific localities,
placenamesmay be used to summonforthan enormousrangeof mentaland emotionalassociations-associations of time and space, of historyand events, of persons and social activities, of oneself and stages in one's life. And in theircapacity
to evoke, in their compact power to muster and consolidate so much of what a
landscapemay be taken to representin both personal and culturalterms, placenames acquirea functionalvalue that easily matches their utility as instruments
of reference.Most notably, as T. S. Eliot (1932) and Seamus Heany (1980) have
remarked,placenamesprovidematerialsfor resonatingellipsis, for speakingand
writing in potent shorthand,for communicatingmuch while saying very little.
Poets and songwritershave long understoodthateconomy of expression may enhance the quality and force of aesthetic discourse, and that placenames stand
ready to be exploited for this purpose. Linguists and anthropologistswould do
well to understandthatin manycommunitiessimilarconsiderationsmay influence
commonformsof spoken interaction,and that, in this arenatoo, placenamesmay
occupy a privileged position. For these and other reasons, an ethnographicapproachto the activity of placenaming seems well worth pursuing. The present
essay, which now takes a sharpethnographicturn, is offered as an illustrationof
where such an approachmay lead, and why, beyond the illuminationof specific
cases, it may also shed light on mattersof general interest.
II
Of old names,old places.
-Edmond Rostand, Cyranode Bergerac
The Western Apache residents of Cibecue, an isolated settlement located
nearthe centerof the FortApache IndianReservationin east-centralArizona, are
not adverseto talkingabouteach other, and some of them-like Lola Machuse-
seem to enjoy it immensely.6"I'm intressin evybody!" Lola will exclaim in her
distinctive variety of English, and everyone in Cibecue knows she speaks the
truth.Just over fifty years old, she is a handsomewoman with large browneyes,
a sharplydefinednose, and splendidlyshapedhandsthatare hardlyever still. The
motherof seven children,she divides her time betweencaringfor the needs of her
family, collecting plantsfor use in herbalmedicines, participatingin ritualactivities, and . . . well, gossiping. Which is, within certain limits, just as it should
be. Middle-agedApache women are expected to keep themselves informedat all
times of whatis going on in theircommunities,and those who have led exemplary
lives, such as Lola Machuse, are also expected to commenton theirfindings.And
comment Lola does-intelligently, incisively, usually sympathetically,and always with an unquenchableenthusiasmfor nuanceanddetailthatcan be as amusing as it is sometimes overwhelming. WesternApache communities, like small
communitieseverywhere, operate largely by word of mouth, and people from
Cibecue have suggested more than once that Lola Machuse is practicallya communityunto herself.
It is a hot afternoonin the middle of July and Lola Machuse is working at
home. Seated in the shade of a large brush-coveredramada, she is mending
clothes in the companyof herhusband,Robert,two Apache women namedEmily
and Louise, and anothervisitor, myself, who has come by to settle a small debt
and get a drinkof water.7The heat of the afternoonis heavy and oppressive, and
thereis little to do but gaze at the landscapethatstretchesout before us: a narrow
valley, bisectedby a shallow streamlined with cottonwoodtrees, which rises abruptlyto embracea brokenseries of red sandstonebluffs, and, beyond the bluffs,
a flat expanse of grassy plain ending in the distance at the base of a low range of
mountains.Fearsomein the blazing sun, the countryaroundCibecue lies motionless andinert,thinly shroudedin patchesof light bluish haze. Nothing stirsexcept
for Clifford, the Machuse's ancient yellow dog, who shifts his position in the
dust, groansfitfully, and snaps at the passing of a fly. Silence.
The silence is brokenby Louise, who reaches into her oversized pursefor a
can of Pepsi-Cola,jerks it open with a loud snap, and begins to speak in the Cibecue dialect of Western Apache. She speaks softly, haltingly, and with long
pauses to accentuatethe seriousness of what she is saying. Late last night, she
reports, sickness assailed her younger brother. Painful cramps gnawed at his
stomach.Numbnesscreptup his legs and into his thighs. He vomittedthreetimes
in rapidsuccession. He looked extremelypale. In the morning,just before dawn,
he was drivento the hospital at Whiteriver.The people who had gatheredat his
campwere worriedand frightenedand talkedaboutwhat happened.One of them,
Louise's cousin, recalledthatseveral monthsago, when her brotherwas working
on a cattle roundupneara place namedtsibiyi'itin("trail extends into a grove of
stick-liketrees"), he had inadvertentlysteppedon a snakeskinthatlay wedged in
a crevice between some rocks. Anothermemberof the roundupcrew, who witnessed the incident, cautionedthe young man that contact with snakes is always
dangerousand urgedhim to immediatelyseek the services of a "snake medicine
person" (tt'iish diiyin). But Louise's youngerbrotherhadonly smiled, remarking
tersely thathe was not alarmedand that no harmwould befall him.
105
Louise, who is plainly worried and upset by these events, pauses and sips
fromher drink. After a minuteor so, having regainedher composure, she begins
to speak again. But Lola Machuse quietly interruptsher. Emily and Robertwill
speak as well. What follows is a recordof their discourse, togetherwith English
translationsof the utterances.8
Louise:
Lola:
shidizhe ...
("My youngerbrother. .")
tse hadigaiyeyu 'dgodzaa. ("It happenedat line of white rocks extends
upwardandout,at thisveryplace!")
[Pause:30-45 seconds]
Emily:
ha'aa. tuzhi' yahigaiye yu'dgodzaa. ("Yes. It happenedat whiteness
Lola:
da'anii. k'is deeschii'naaditineyi'cigodzaa. ("Truly. It happeneda trail
spreadsoutdescendingto water,at thisveryplace!")
[Pause:30-45 seconds]
extendsacrossa longredridgewithaldertrees,atthisveryplace!")
Louise:
Robert:
[laughssoftly]
gozhoodoleed("Pleasantness
andgoodnesswill be forthcoming.")
Lola:
gozhoo doled ("Pleasantnessand goodness will be forthcoming.")
Louise:
shidizhebini'eshidne gdshe?("Myyoungerbrotheris foolish,isn'the,
dog?")
Following this brief exchange, talk ceases underthe brush-coveredramada,
andeveryone retreatsinto the privacyof their own thoughts. Louise drinksagain
from her can of Pepsi-Cola and passes it on to Emily. Lola Machuse returnsto
her sewing, while Robertstudies a horse in a nearbycorral. Only Clifford, who
has launcheda feverish attackon an itch below his ear, seems unaffectedby what
has been said. Silence once again.
But what has been said? To what set of personaland social ends? And why
in such a clipped and cryptic fashion? If these questions create problems for us
(and that they do, I think, can be assumed), it is because we are dealing with a
spate of conversationwhose organizationeludes us, a strip of Western Apache
verbaldoings whose animatingaims and purposesseem obscure. But why? The
problemis not thatthe literalmeaningsof utterancescomprisingthe conversation
are in any way difficult to grasp. On the contrary,anyone with a passing knowledge of WesternApache grammarcould attest that each of the utterances,taken
as a sentence type, is well-formed in all respects, and that each presentsone or
more simple claims whose positive truth-valueno Apache would presumeto dispute. It is not, then, on the surfaceof the utterances-or, as some linguists might
preferto say, at the level of their propositionalcontent-where our interpretive
difficultieslie.
What is puzzling about this snippet of Western Apache talk is that we are
unableto account for the ways in which its constituentutterancesare relatedto
each other. Put more exactly, we lack the knowledge requiredto establish se-
quentialrelationsamong the utterances,the unstatedpremises and assumptions
thatorderthe utterances,just as they occur, into a piece of meaningfuldiscourse.
It is by no means evident, for example, how Lola Machuse's statement("It happened at line of white rocks extends upwardand out, at this very place!") should
be relatedto Louise's narrativeabout her ailing brother.Neither is it clear how
Emily's assertion ("Yes. It happened at whiteness spreads out descending to
water, at this very place!") should be interpretedas a responseto the narrativeor
to Lola's statement.What are we to make of Lola's response to Emily ("Truly.
It happenedat trail extends across a long red ridge with alder trees, at this very
place!"), and why should it be, as things are coming to a close, that Louise sees
fit to addressthe Machuse'sdog? Ourpuzzlementpersiststhroughout,causing us
to experiencethe text of the conversationas fragmentedand disjointed, as oddly
unmotivated,as failing to come together as a whole. In short, we are unable to
place a constructionon the text thatinvests it with coherence, and so, in the end,
we cannot know with any certaintywhat the conversationitself may have been
about. Lola Machuse and her companionshave surely accomplishedsomething
with theirtalk. But what?
The episode at Cibecueexemplifies a venerablepracticewith which Western
Apache speakersexploit the evocative power of placenamesto comment on the
moralconductof persons who are absent from the scene. Called "speaking with
names" (yatti'bee' zhi), this verbalroutinealso allows those who engage in it to
registerclaims abouttheir own moral worth, aspects of their social relationships
with otherpeople on hand, anda particularway of attendingto the local landscape
thatis avowed to producea beneficialform of heightenedself-awareness.And as
if this were not enough, much of what gets said and done is attributedto unseen
"ancestors"(nohwiza'ye)who arepromptedby the voices of conversationalparticipantsto communicatein a collective voice that no one actually hears. All in
all, "speakingwith names" is a rathersubtle and subterraneanaffair.
To reach an understandingof this practiceand the sources of its coherence
for WesternApache people, I shall assume thatspokendiscourseis a cooperative
activity in which individuals seek, within the bounds of negotiated social proprieties, to accomplish a range of purposes. I shall also assume that participants
in many kinds of discourse use language to explore with each other the significance of past and potentialevents, drawingfrom these examinationscertainconsequencesfor their past and futureactions. Finally, I shall assume that speakers
pursuesuch objectives by producingutterancesthat are intendedto performseveral speech acts simultaneously,and that hearers,makingdexteroususe of relevant bodies of culturalknowledge, react and respondto them at differentlevels
of abstraction.Spokendiscourse, then, is morethana chainof situatedutterances.
Rather,as Labov and Fanshel (1977:26-28) have shown, discourseconsists in a
developing matrixof utterancesand actions, bound togetherby a web of shared
understandingspertinentto both, which serves as an expandingcontext for interpretingthe meaningsof utterancesand actions alike. More a matterof linguistic
function than linguistic form, coherence in discourse is achieved when participants put their utterancesto interlockingforms of mutually recognizable work
107
(Becker 1982; Labov and Fanshel 1977:65-81; Pike 1978). More a matterof implicit doings than explicit sayings, coherence is what participantshear (though
generallythey fail to notice hearingit) when their work is going well.
At Lola Machuse's somnolent camp, where the work of discourse went off
withouta hitch, coherencewas never in question. Neitherwas the smooth implementationof a WesternApachetechniquefor appropriatingthe naturallandscape,
a distinctiveculturalframeworkfor interpretingthe landscapeand turningit by
meansof speech to specific social ends. Never in question, that is, to anyone but
myself-a superfluous,slightly stupefied, and keenly perplexedoutsider. What
the devil did Lola Machuseand those otherApaches imaginethemselves to be up
to as they sat aroundswapping placenames?How were they making sense, and
what sort of sense were they making? What mannerof thinking informedtheir
utterancesand the actions their utterancesperformed?What, in short, was the
cultureof theirdiscourse?
III
Inorderto understand
whatanotherpersonis saying,you mustassumeit is trueand
try to imagine what it could be true of.
-George Miller, TheImaginationof Reality
If the discourse at Lola Machuse's camp is to be usefully understood,if we
are to graspits coherence and appreciatethe structureof its interactionaldesign,
steps must be takento enter the conceptualworld of the WesternApache people
who producedit. Needless to say, we cannot recover their experience of their
discourse as it actually occurred, what the phenomenologist Merleau-Ponty
(1969:89) called the "inner experience of language-spoken-now." But we can
explore, perforceretrospectivelyand thereforein reconstructiveterms, what participantsin the encountertook their discourse to be about, why they saw fit to
contributeto it as they did, and how they interpretedthe utterancesand actions
thatcomprisedit. In addition, and certainlyjust as important,we can explore the
culturallybased assumptionsand beliefs thatmade these interpretationspossible,
the "linguistic ideology" with which people from Cibecue rationalizefor themselves and explain to others what spoken words are capable of doing when used
in certainways.9 In short, we can constructan ethnographicaccountof the speech
event itself, an interpretationof Apache interpretationsthat relates the event to
the body of thoughtthatmade its occurrencemeaningfuland to the particularsocial circumstancesthat made its meaningunique.
All such undertakingsprofitfromthe guidanceof experiencednative instructors, and no one living at Cibecue is more capable or willing in this regardthan
Lola Machuseherself. So let us begin, as in fact I did shortlyafterthe episode at
her camp took place, by consideringher own account of what transpiredas the
women dranktheir Pepsi and Clifford snappedat flies.
We gave thatwoman [i.e., Louise] picturesto work on in her mind. We didn't speak
too muchto her. We didn'tholdherdown.Thatway she couldtravelin hermind.
108 CULTURAL
ANTHROPOLOGY
She could add on to them [i.e., the pictures]easily. We gave her clear pictureswith
placenames.So her mind went to those places, standingin frontof them as our ancestors did long ago. That way she could see what happenedthere long ago. She could
hearstories in her mind, perhapshear our ancestorsspeaking. She could reknow the
wisdomof our ancestors.We call it speakingwith names. Placenamesareall we need
for that, speaking with names. We just fix them up. That woman was too sad. She
was worriedtoo much abouther youngerbrother.So we triedto makeher feel better.
We tried to make her think good thoughts. That woman's youngerbrotheracted stupidly. He was stupidand careless. He failed to show respect. No good! We said nothing criticalabouthim to her. We talkedaroundit. Those placenamesare strong!After
a while, I gave her a funny story. She didn't get mad. She was feeling better. She
laughed. Then she had enough, I guess. She spoke to the dog about her younger
brother,criticizinghim, so we knew we had helped her out.'0
Lola Machuse recorded this statement two days after the speech event at her
camp took place, and four days later, having discussed her account with all parties
involved, I determined to treat it as a guide for subsequent research. Everyone to
whom I presented Lola's account agreed that it was encompassing and astute; it
touched, they said, on everything that was essential for getting a proper sense of
what "speaking with names" might be used to accomplish. But they also agreed
that it was rather too highly condensed, a bare bones sort of interpretation (certainly adequate for persons already familiar with the practice, but understandably
opaque to a neophyte such as myself) which could profit from explication and
fleshing out. Never one to be outdone, Lola Machuse agreed instantly with the
agreers, saying she was well aware of the problem, thank you very much, and had
understood all along that further instruction would be necessary. Sometimes talk
is complicated, she admonished, and one must move slowly to get to the bottom
of it. So with all of us scrambling to agree with Lola, and with Lola herself firmly
in charge, the fleshing out process began. Our work took longer than I expected,
but now, with much of it done, Lola Machuse's original account seems better to
me than ever; it provides, as one of my older Apache consultants told me it would,
a "straight path to knowing." And so I have used Lola's interpretation here, partitioned into convenient segments, as a model, a path of a different kind, for organizing and presenting my own.
Wegave thatwomanpictures to workon in her mind. Wedidn'tspeaktoo muchto her.
Wedidn't hold her down. Thatway she could travel in her mind. She could add on to
themeasily.
Western Apache conceptions of language and thought are cast in pervasively
visual terms. Every occasion of "speaking" (yatti') provides tangible evidence
of "thinking" (natsikees), and thinking, which Apaches describe as an intermittent and variably intense activity, occurs in the form of "pictures" (be'elzaahl)
that persons "see" (yo'ii) in their "minds" (biini'). Prompted by a desire to "display thinking" (nil'finatsikees), speaking involves the use of language to "depict" ('e'ele') and "carry" (yo'ddi) these mental images to the members of an
audience, such that they, on "hearing" (yidits'ag) and "holding" (yota') the
speaker's words, can "view" (yinel'ii') facsimiles of the images in their own
109
minds. Thinking, as the Apache conceive of it, consists in picturingto oneself
and attendingprivatelyto the pictures. Speakingconsists in depicting one's picturesfor otherpeople, who arethus invitedto picturethese depictionsandrespond
to them with depictions of picturesof their own. Discourse, or "conversation"
('ilch'i' yddaach'ilti'), consists in a runningexchange of depicted pictures and
pictureddepictions, a reciprocalrepresentationand visualizationof the ongoing
thoughtsof participatingspeakers.
But mattersare not really so neat and tidy. According to consultantsfrom
Cibecue, the depictions offered by Western Apache speakersare invariablyincomplete. Even the most gifted and proficientspeakerscontrive to leave things
out, and small children,who have not yet learnedto indulgein such contrivances,
leave out many things. Consequently, Apache hearers must always "add on"
('indgoda'aah)to depictionsmade availableto them in conversation,augmenting
andsupplementingthese spoken images with images they fashionfor themselves.
This process-the picturing,or viewing, of other people's verbal depictions-is
commonly likened by Apaches to adding stones to a partiallyfinished wall (or
laying bricksupon the foundationof a house) because it is understoodto involve
a "piling up" (kik'iyitt'ih)of new materialsonto like materialsalreadyin place.
It is also said to resemble the roundingup of livestock: the "bringingtogether"
(dalahdzhi'ch'indiit)of cattle or horses from widely scatteredlocations to a central place where other animals have been previously gathered.These metaphors
all point to the same general idea, which is that depictions provided by Apache
speakersare treatedby Apache hearersas bases on which to build, as projectsto
complete, as invitationsto exercise the imagination.
The Western Apache regardspoken conversationas a form of "voluntary
cooperation"(tich'i' 'odaach'idii) in which all participants,having presumably
come together in the spirit of good will, are entitled to displays of "respect"
(yiti#sih).Accordingly, wheneverpeople speak in cordialand affable tones, considerationsof "kindness and politeness" (bit goch'oba') come centrally into
play. Such considerationsmay influence Apache speech in a multitudeof ways,
but none is more basic than the courtesy speakers display by refrainingfrom
"speaking too much" (taago yatlti'). Although the effects of this injunctionare
most clearly evident in the spare verbal style employed by experiencedApache
storytellers,people from Cibecue insist thatall forms of narrationstandto benefit
from its application.And the reasons, they explain, are simple enough.
A person who speaks too much-someone who describes too busily, who
suppliestoo many details, who repeatsand qualifies too many times-presumes
withoutwarranton the rightof hearersto build freely andcreativelyon the speaker's own depictions. With too many words, such a speaker acts to "smother"
(bikd' nyintkaad)his or her audience by seeming to say, arrogantlyand coercively, "I demandthat you see everythingthat happened,how it happened, and
why it happened,exactly as I do." In other words, persons who speak too much
insult the imaginativecapabilitiesof otherpeople, "blocking their thinking," as
one of my consultantsput it in English, and "holding down their minds." So
WesternApache narratorsconsistentlytake a very differenttack, implyingby the
economicalmannerof theirspeech, "I will depictjust enough for you to see what
happened,how it happened,and perhapswhy it happened.Add on to these depictions however you see fit." Apache hearersconsider this properly modest,
properlypolite, andjust the way it should be. An effective narrator,people from
Cibecue report, never speaks too much. An effective narrator,they say, takes
steps to "open up thinking," therebyencouraginghis or her listenersto "travel
in theirminds."'
Wegave her clear pictures withplacenames. So her mindwentto thoseplaces, standing infront of themas our ancestors did long ago. That way she could see what happened there long ago. She could hear stories in her mind,perhaps hear our ancestors
speaking.She could reknowthe wisdomof our ancestors.
Nothingis consideredmorebasic to the effective telling of a WesternApache
"story" or "narrative"(nagodi') than identifyingthe geographicallocations at
which events in the story unfold. For unless Apache listeners are able to picture
a physicalsettingfor narratedevents (unless, as one of my consultantssaid, "your
mind can travel to the place and really see it"), the events themselves will be
difficultto imagine. This is because events in the narrativewill seem to "happen
nowhere" (dohwaa 'agodzaa da), and such an idea, Apaches assert, is both preposterousand disquieting. Placeless events are an impossibility;everythingthat
happensmust happensomewhere. The location of an event is an integralaspect
of the event itself, and thereforeidentifying the event's location is essential to
properlydepicting-and effectively picturing-the event's occurrence.For these
reasons, people from Cibecue explain, placeless stories simply do not get told.
Instead,to borrowa useful phrasefromthe linguistHarryHoijer(1973), all Western Apache narrativesare "spatially anchored"to points upon the land with precise depictionsof specific locations. And what these depictionsare accomplished
with-what the primaryspatialanchorsof Apache narrativesalmost always turn
out to be-are "placenames" (ni'bizhi'; literally, "land names").
The great majorityof WesternApache placenamescurrentlyin use are believed to have been created long ago by the "ancestors" (nohwiza'ye')of the
Apache people. The ancestors, who had to travel constantly in search of food,
coveredvast amountsof territoryand needed to be able to rememberand discuss
many differentlocations. 2 This was facilitatedby the invention of hundredsof
descriptiveplacenamesthat were intendedto depict their referentsin close and
exact detail.13 In this importantundertaking,as in manyothers, the ancestorswere
successful. Today, as undoubtedlyfor centuries before, Apaches observe with
evident satisfactionthat the mental pictures evoked by placenames are "accurate" (da'diyee) and "correct" (ddbik'eh). Again and again, people from Cibecue report,ancestralplacenamesbringgraphicallyto mind the locations they depict.14
Some appreciationof the descriptive precision of Western Apache placenamescan be gained by matchingnames with photographsof theirreferents.By
way of illustration,consider the three names listed below, which have been seg-
"SPEAKING
WITHNAMES" 111
mented into their gross morphological constituents and whose referents are shown
in Figures 1-3.
1. t'iis bit'dh ti 'olii: t'iis ("cottonwood tree") + bitt'dh("below it"; "underneath
it") + ttu("water") + o- ("inward") + 1N'("it flows").
Gloss: "Water flows inwardunderneatha cottonwoodtree."
2. tsgigai dah sidil: tse ("rock"; "stone") + itgai ("white") + dah ("above
groundlevel") + sidil ("three or more form a compactcluster").
Gloss: "White rocks lie above in a compact cluster."
3. tse bikd' ttiyahilif': tse ("rock"; "stone") + bikd' ("on top of it"; a flattishobject) + tti ("water") + ya- ("downward") + -hi- ("linear succession of regularly repeatedmovements") + -lif' ("it flows").
Gloss: "Water flows down on top of a regularsuccession of flat rocks."
As shown by the photographs, Western Apache placenames provide more
than precise depictions of the sites to which the names may be used to refer. In
addition, placenames implicitly identify positions for viewing these locations: optimal vantage points, so to speak, from which the sites can be observed, clearly
and unmistakably, just as their names depict them. To picture a site from its name,
then, requires that one imagine it as if standing or sitting at a particular spot, and
it is to these privileged positions, Apaches say, that the images evoked by placenames cause them to travel in their minds.
Wherever the optimal vantage point for a named site may be located-east
of the site or west, above it or below, near it or at some distance away-the van-
Figure 1
t'iis biti'dh tu 'olii' ("Water flows inward underneath a cottonwood tree").
Figure 2
Tse tigai dah sidil ("White rocks lie above in a compact cluster").
tage point is described as being "in front of" (bddnyu)the site; and it is here,
centuriesago, that ancestors of the Western Apache are believed to have stood
when they gave the site its name. Accordingly, consultantsfrom Cibecue explain
thatin positioningpeople's mindsto look "forward"(bidddh)into space, a placename also positions their minds to look "backward" (t'aazhi') into time. For as
personsimagine themselves standingin frontof a named site, they may imagine
thatthey are standingin their "ancestors' tracks" (nohwiza'yebike'e), and from
this psychological perspective, which is sometimes describedas an intense form
of "daydreaming"(bit 'onaagodah), traditionalaccountsof ancestralevents associated with the site are said to be recalled with singular clarity and force. In
otherwords, by evoking detailedpicturesof places, togetherwith specific vantage
points from which to picture picturing them, placenames acquire a capacity to
evoke stories and images of the people who knew the places first. When placenamesare used by Apache speakersin certainways, mentalpicturesof the ancestors come instantlyand vividly alive.
The capacity of Western Apache placenames to situate people's minds in
historicaltime and space is clearly apparentwhen names are used to anchortraditional narratives-'myths" (godiyihgo nagoldi'e), "sagas" (nt''eego nagoldi'), and "historicaltales" (' dgodzaahinagoldi'e)-which presentdepictions
of "ancestrallife" (nohwiza'ye zhineego) and, in so doing, illustrateaspects of
"ancestral wisdom" (nohwiza'ye bi kigoya'i[).15 But the evocative power of
placenamesis most dramaticallydisplayed when a name is used to substitutefor
113
Figure3
Tsebiki' ti yahili' ("Waterflowsdownon top of a regularsuccessionof flatrocks").
the narrativeit anchors, "standing up alone" ('o'dd), as Apaches say, to symbolize the narrativeas well as the wisdom it contains. On such occasions, consultantsfrom Cibecue report,a single placenamemay accomplish the communicative work of an entire saga or historicaltale; and sometimes, dependingon the
immediatesocial circumstances,it may accomplish even more. For when placenames are employed in this isolated and autonomous fashion-when, in other
words, Apache people practice "speaking with names"-their actions are interpreted as a recommendationto recall ancestralwisdom and apply it directly to
mattersof pressing personalconcern. And in emotionally charged contexts like
these, my consultantsmaintain,"ancestralvoices" (nohwiza'yebizhii)may seem
to speakdirectlyto the individualsinvolved.16
We call it speaking with names. Placenames are all we needfor that, speaking with
names. Wejustfix themup. Thatwomanwas too sad. She was worriedtoo muchabout
heryounger brother.Wetried to makeherfeel better. Wetried to makeher thinkgood
thoughts.
"Speaking with names" is consideredappropriateundercertainconditions
only, andthese conditions, which Apachesdescribeas socially "taut" (ndoh)and
"heavy" (ndaaz), tend to occur infrequently.Consequently, as people from Cibecue are quick to point out, placenamesare usually put to othercommunicative
ends. Most of the time, in the recurrentsituations supplied by everyday life,
placenamesare called upon to performsimple verbal chores: to indicate where
one is going, for example, or to announcewhere one has been; to make plans for
a forthcominghunt, or to pinpointthe latest happeningsgleaned from local gossip. When placenames are used for ordinarypurposes such as these, Apache
speakerstypicallyproducethe names in shortenedor contractedforms. Thus, the
namet'iis bittah tu'oll'' ("water flows inwardunderneatha cottonwoodtree") is
commonly heard as t'iis tl'dh 'oldi' or t'iis tu 'oli', the name tse bikd' tu yahilii
("waterflows down on top of a regularsuccession of flatrocks") as tse kd' yahili(
or tse tuyahili', and so forth. In markedcontrastto these abbreviatedrenderings,
placenamesintendedto evoke mentalpicturesof the past are invariablyspokenin
full and are embellished, or "fixed up" (ndyidle), with an optional suffix that
impartsan emphaticforce roughlyequivalentto English "righthere!" or "at this
very place!" Accordingly, the placenamet'iis bitt'dh ti old' is producedin traditional narratives as t'iis bitt'ah tu 'oline, the name tse bikd' tu yahili'" as tse bikd'
tuyahiline, etc. Althoughthe optionalsuffix may be employed for purposesother
thanhelping to summon ancestralimages and voices, my consultantsagree that
this is one of its primaryfunctions. And at no time is that function more readily
apparentas when Apache men and women, bent upon "speaking with names,"
dispensewith narrativescompletely and use placenames,fully encliticized, in the
expressionX 'dgodzaayu ("It happenedat X, at this very place!").17
This expressionis normallyreservedfor social situationsin which speaking
of absentpartiesto personsclosely connectedto them mustbe accomplishedwith
delicacy and tact. More specifically, the expression is used when ancestralwisdom seems applicableto difficultiesarisingfrom seriouserrorsin someone else's
judgment,but when voicing one's thoughtson the matter-or, as one of my consultantssaid, "making wisdom too plain"-might be takenas evidence of moral
conceit, critical disapproval,and a lack of sympatheticunderstanding.Instead,
and ever so deftly, "speaking with names" enables those who engage in it to
acknowledgea regrettablecircumstancewithout explicitly judging it, to exhibit
solicitudewithoutopenly proclaimingit, andto offer advice withoutappearingto
do so.
But "speaking with names" accomplishes more than this. A traditional
Apachenarrativeencapsulatedin its own spatialanchor, the expressionX 'agodzaa yu is also a call to memory and imagination. Simultaneously,it is a call to
personsburdenedby worryanddespairto take remedialactionon behalf of themselves. "Travel in your mind," the expression urges those to whom it is addressed. "Travel in your mind to a point from which to view the place whose
name has just been spoken. Imagine standing there, as if in the tracks of your
ancestors,and recall stories of events thatoccurredat thatplace long ago. Picture
these events in your mind and appreciate, as if the ancestors themselves were
speaking,the wisdom the stories contain. Bring this wisdom to bearon your own
disturbingsituation.Allow the past to informyour understandingof the present.
You will feel betterif you do."
And WesternApachepeople reportthatsometimesthey do feel better. Having pictureddistantplaces and dwelled on distantevents, their worries may become less plaguing and acute: less "sharp" (ts'ik'ii), less "rigid" (ntt'iz), less
115
"noisy" (gonch'add) in their minds. Feelings of anxiety and emotional turbulence may give way to welcome sensationsof "smoothness" (dilkooh), of "softness" (dedi'ile), of growing inner "quiet" (doo hwaa gonch'aad da). And when
this actuallyhappens-when ancestralwisdom works to give beneficial perspective and fresh recognition that trying times can be dealt with successfully and
eventually overcome-persons thus heartenedmay announce that relationships
characterizedby "pleasantnessand goodness" (gozhoo) have been restoredbetween themselves and their surroundings.A psychological balance has been reestablished,an optimisticoutlook borneof strengthenedconfidenceand rejuvenated hope, and people may also announce that a "sickness" (nezgai) has been
"healed" (ndbilziih). "Bad thinking" (ncho'go natsikees) has been replaced by
"good thinking" (nzhoogo natsikees), and at least for a while the exigencies of
life can be met with replenishedequanimity.
IV
No matterwhatelse humanbeingsmaybe communicating
about,or maythinkthey
arecommunicating
aboutthemselves,about
about,theyarealwayscommunicating
oneanother,andabouttheimmediate
contextof communication.
-Robert Pittinger,CharlesHockett,JohnDanahy,TheFirstFiveMinutes
The foregoing account of aspects of Western Apache placename ideology
supplies the basic conceptual frameworkwith which to interpretthe conversationalencounterat Lola Machuse'scamp in Cibecue. But becausethe accounthas
been formulatedas Apache people themselves insist upon doing-that is, in abstractnormativeterms-it fails to elucidate what the practiceof "speaking with
names" servedto accomplishon thatparticularoccasion. In otherwords, we have
yet to identify the social actions that participantsin the encounterused their utterancesto perform,and thus, necessarily, we have yet to graspthe coherence of
theirtalk. So let us be aboutit. Having fashionedan accountof the culturallogic
on which "speakingwith names" is understoodto operate,attentionmay now be
directedto a functionalinterpretationof how, and with what sortsof interpersonal
consequences,this mode of discoursewas actuallyput to work. Once again, Lola
Machuse.
Thatwomen'syounger brotheracted stupidly.He was stupidand careless. He failed
to show respect.No good! Wesaid nothingcritical abouthimto her. Wetalkedaround
it.
The social gatheringat Lola Machuse's camp was uncomfortablefor everyone involved, but especially for Louise. Troubledby herbrother'ssuddenillness,
she was troubledeven more by his apparentlack of common sense. Having come
into contact with the snakeskinnear the roundupcamp, he should have gone directly to a ritual specialist for assistance in dealing with his contaminatedstate.
That he failed to do so was disturbingenough, but that he treatedthe incident in
such a cavalierfashion was more disturbingstill. Plainly, he was guilty of a grave
116 CULTURAL
ANTHROPOLOGY
lapse in judgment,and now, as surelyhe could have anticipated,he was suffering
the painfulconsequences. Why had the young man acted so irresponsibly?In addition to being upset, Louise was bewilderedand perplexed.
Louise's chronicleof her brother'smisfortunecreatedan opportunityfor all
on handto commenton his conduct. But because her accountportrayedhim in a
distinctlyunfavorablelight, it also presentedhim as a targetfor easy criticism. If
criticismwere to be forthcoming,it could only serve to embarrassLouise, for she
would have no alternativebut to try to defend her brother'sactions-and this
wouldbe awkwardanddifficultat best. Yet refusingto defendhim could be taken
to mean that she was preparedto condemn him entirely, and condemningone's
relatives,especially in the presenceof nonrelatives,is a conspicuousviolation of
kinshiployalties thatWesternApaches rarelysee fit to excuse. 8
Forthese reasons, Louise's candidstatementplaced her companionsin a delicatedilemma. On the one hand, no one could assertthatLouise's brotherhad not
acted wrongly without casting serious doubt on his or her own good judgment.
On the otherhand, no one could openly censurethe young man withoutaddingto
Louise's discomfort, therebydisplaying a lack of consideratenessfor her aggravatedfeelings anda lack of concernfor the circumstancesthathadproducedthem.
How, then, to respond?How to speakthe truth-or somethingthatcould be heard
as not denying the truth-without exacerbatingan alreadysensitive situation?
Thoseplacenames really helped us out! We gave her pictures withplacenames. That
way she startedfeeling better. Thoseplacenames are strong!
Afterfinishingher account,Louise paused, took a long drinkfromher PepsiCola, and startedto speak again of her beleagueredbrother.But Lola Machuse
intervenedat this point, saying softly but firmly, "tse hadigaiyeyu 'dgodzaa'
("It happenedat line of white rocks extendsupwardandout, at this very place!").
Lola's utterancewas intendedto evoke a historicaltale for Louise to picture in
her mind, but it was also designed to change the topic of talk and set the conversationon a new anddifferentcourse. Insteadof Louise's brother,whom Lola was
showing she had no desire to criticize, attentionwas shiftedto Louise herself and
her troubledreactions to her brother'sunfortunatepredicament.Instead of disapproval,Lola Machusewas exhibiting sympathyand concern.
As latertold by herself, the historicaltale thatLola Machusewished to evoke
is the following. 9
It happened
at lineof whiterocksextendsupwardandout.
Hergrandmother
sent
Longago, a girl livedalonewithhermaternalgrandmother.
heroutregularlyto collectfirewood.Shewentto a placeabovehercamp.Shecould
get therequicklyby climbingup througha rockycanyon.Manysnakeslivedthere.
So hergrandmother
toldheralwaysto go anotherway.
Thegirlwentto collectfirewood.Thedaywashot.Thenthegirlbecamethirsty.Then
shethought,"Thiswoodis heavy.I don'twantto carryit toofar."Thenshestarted
to walk down the rocky canyon. There were loose rocks where she walked. Then she
slippedandfell down. The firewoodshe was carryingscatteredeverywhere!Then she
"SPEAKING
WITHNAMES" 117
startedto pick it up. A snake bit her hand! Then she got scared. "My grandmother
knew this would happento me," she thought.
Then the girl returnedto where she was living with her grandmother.Her arm and
hand became badly swollen. Then they worked over her [i.e., performeda curing
ceremony]. Later, the girl went to her grandmother."My life is still my own," she
said. Then her grandmothertalkedto her again. Now she knew how to live right.
It happenedat line of white rocks extends upwardand out.
As Lola Machuse had reason to suspect, Louise knew this story well. She
had heard it many times and on several occasions had performed it for her own
children. Consequently, Louise reported later, her mind traveled instantly to a
spot from which to view the place named tse hadigai ("line of white rocks extends
upward and out"), and images of the girl carrying firewood-and, most vividly
of all, of the girl's scrambling attempts to retrieve it after she lost her footingappeared just as quickly. As a lengthy silence descended on the Machuse camp at
Cibecue, Louise's thoughts moved along these lines.
A badthing happenedat thatplace. Very bad! I saw thatgirl. She was impulsive. She
forgot to be careful. She ceased showing respect. She was like my younger brother.
She ceased thinkingproperly, so something bad happenedto her. She became very
scaredbut recoveredfrom it. She almost died but held onto her own life.
Lola Machuse's evocative comment had a calming effect on everyone sitting
beneath the ramada at her home. Her statement relieved Louise of any need to
publicly defend her brother's conduct, and, at the same time, charted a conversational path that others could easily follow. Acknowledging the felicity of that
path, and taking steps to pursue it, Emily produced a similar statement of her
own-' 'Ha'aa. Ttzhi' yahigaiye yut 'dgodzaa." (" Yes. It happened at whiteness
once again Louise
spreads out descending to water, at this very place!")-and
was urged to travel in her mind and picture a historical tale.
Emily's version of this tale, which she said has been slightly abridged, is as
follows.
It happenedat whiteness spreadsout descending to water.
Long ago, a boy went to huntdeer. He rode on horseback.Prettysoon he saw one [a
deer], standingon the side of a canyon. Then he went closer and shot it. He killed it.
Then the deer rolled all the way down to the bottomof the canyon.
Then the boy went down there. It was a buck, fat and muscular.Then he butchered
it. The meatwas heavy, so he had to carryit up in pieces. He hada hardtime reaching
the top of the canyon with each piece.
Now it was gettingdark.One hindquarterwas still laying at the bottomof the canyon.
"I have enough meat already," he thought. So he left the hindquarterwhere it was
lying. He left it there.
Then he packedhis horse and startedto ride home. Then the boy got dizzy andnearly
fell off his horse. Then his nose twitched incontrollably,like Deer's nose does. Then
pain shot up behindhis eyes. Then he became scared.
118 CULTURAL
ANTHROPOLOGY
Now he went back to the canyon. It was darkwhen he got there. He walked down to
wherethe hindquarterwas lying-but it was gone! Then he returnedto his horse. He
rode fast to where he was living with his relatives.
The boy was sick for a long time. The people prayedfor him on four separateoccasions. He got betterslowly.
Some time after that, when the boy had grown to manhood, he always had bad luck
in hunting.No deer would presentthemselves to him. He said to his children:"Look
at me now. I failed to be carefulwhen I was a boy and now I have a hardtime getting
meatfor you to eat."
It happenedat whiteness spreadsout descendingto water.
The actions performed by Emily's utterance were readily apparent to Louise.
Emily, like Lola Machuse before her, was attempting to distract Louise with constructive thoughts and comfort her with expressions of support. But Louise was
not intimately familiar with the story of the boy and the deer, and though her mind
went swiftly to a point near tuzhi' yahigai ("whiteness spreads out descending to
water"), she had difficulty picturing all the events in the story. She did, however,
have one vivid image-of the pain-ridden boy struggling to stay astride his
horse-and this was sufficient to remind her of her brother. In addition, Louise
said later, she could hear the boy, now an adult, as he spoke to his children about
his fateful mistake.
It was like I could hearsome old man talking. He was talkingto his children. "I was
impatient,so I left behind good meat from that deer. Then I became very sick and
very scared. I failed to show respect." Even so, that boy lived on and grew up and
had children. He learnedto think right, so he talked to his childrenabout it. Maybe
my brotherwill learnto improvehis thinkinglike that.
The historical tale evoked by Emily is similar in several respects to the tale
evoked by Lola Machuse, and, at this point in the proceedings, Louise probably
sensed that a definite pattern was starting to form. In both of the stories, young
people are depicted as irresponsible and disrespectful, but for reasons having
solely to do with their innocence and naivete. In both stories, they suffer lifeillness and intense fright-from which they
threatening consequences-serious
learn to avoid carelessness and impatience in the future. Finally, and most important of all, they regain their health and continue living, presumably for many
years. Thus the unstated message for Louise, which is also a prominent aspect of
Western Apache ancestral wisdom, was a distinctly positive one; in effect, "Take
heart. These things will happen. Young people make foolish and dangerous mistakes, but they usually profit from them and the mistakes are seldom fatal. Be
optimistic. There is reason to believe your brother will recover."
Aftera while, I gave her afunny story. She didn'tget mad. She wasfeeling better. She
laughed. Then she had enough, I guess. She talked to that dog about her younger
brother,criticizinghim, so we knewwe had helped her out.
119
Following another lengthy silence inside the brush-coveredramada, Lola
Machuse acted to affirm and consolidate the tacit messages communicatedthus
far with a placenameintendedto evoke a thirdhistoricaltale with similaritiesto
the previoustwo. But with this utterance-' 'Da'ani. K'is deeschii' naaditineyu
'dgodzaa."'("Truly. It happenedat trailextends acrossa long redridgewith alder
trees, at this very place!")-Lola took a moderatesocial risk. Although it deals
with serious matters,the story Lola was thinkingof presentsa humorousaspect,
andone of her purposesin evoking it was to lightenLouise's spirits(andeveryone
else's) by strikinga note of reservedgood cheer. The risk Lola ran was that her
action would be perceived as intemperate,perhapseven playful, and thus inappropriateto the solemnity of Louise's circumstances.
This is the historicaltale, as narratedby herself, that Lola Machuse had in
mind.
It happenedat trailextends across a long red ridge with aldertrees.
A boy and a girl were newly married.He didn't know that he should stay away from
her when her grandmothercame to visit, [i.e., when she was having her menstrual
period].Then he triedto botherher. "Don't! I'm no good for that," she said. He was
impatient.Then he tried to botherher again. Then she gave in.
Then the boy got sick, they say. It was hardfor him to sit down. Then his penis became badly swollen. Pissing was painful for him, too. He walked aroundclutching
his crotch. He was deeply embarrassedin frontof his wife and her relatives. Then he
got scared. "I wonder if I will be this way forever," he thought.
Then someone talkedto him, saying "Don't botheryour wife when her grandmother
comes to visit. Stay away from her." Then thatperson gave the boy some medicine,
saying "Drink this. It will make you well. Then you can stop being embarrassed.
Then you can stop walking aroundclutching your crotch!" That is all.
It happenedat trailextends across a long red ridge with aldertrees.
Fortunately,Lola Machuse's lightheartedgamble did not misfire. Louise's
mind traveledto a vantage point from which to picture k'is deeschii' naaditine
("trail extends across a long red ridge with alder trees"), viewed the crestfallen
lad with his hand where it should never be seen in public, and returnedfrom the
journeywith Louise mildly amused. Afterwards,Louise made these comments.
Everyoneknows thatstory. My mind went there. It's funny to see thatboy in the story
holdingonto himself. He shouldhave left his wife alone. He was impulsive. He didn't
think right. Then he got scared. Then he was made well again with medicine ....
I've heardthatstory often, but it's always funny to see thatboy holdingonto himself,
so shy and embarrassed.
At the Machuse camp in Cibecue, Louise expressed her amusement by
laughingsoftly. This was an auspicioussign! Though sorely worriedstill, Louise
had been moved to levity and everyone could tell that her spirits had briefly improved. Here was evidence that the unspoken messages conveyed by Lola Machuse andEmily-messages of sympathy,consolation, andencouragement-had
been beneficiallyreceived. Here was an indicationthatancestralwisdom was providing Louise with a measureof comfort and hope. Seizing the moment, Robert
Machuseacted to make elements of these messages explicit, compressingtheir
dominantthrustinto one succinct statement. "Gozhoo doleed" ("Pleasantness
andgoodness will be forthcoming"), said Robertwith quiet conviction. And momentslater,endorsinghis sentimentsandaddingconvictionof herown, Lola Machuse repeatedthe same phrase: "Gozhoo doleed" ("Pleasantnessand goodness
will be forthcoming").
Touchedby this friendlydisplay of goodwill, and well awarethat some sort
of acknowledgmentof it would soon be in order, Louise respondedby taking a
deft and self-effacing step. In the form of a mock questionaddressedto Clifford,
the Machuses'dog, she gently criticizedher own brother:"Shidizhebini'eshidne
g6she?" ("My younger brotheris foolish, isn't he, dog?"). This utteranceaccomplishedseveralactionssimultaneously.First,by drawingattentionaway from
herself, Louise gave notice that furtherevocations of traditionalnarrativescould
be politely dispensedwith; in effect, "You have all done enough." Also, by directingher question to one who could not answer it, Louise indicatedthat additionaldiscussionof her brotherand his difficultieswould serve no useful purpose;
in effect, "Let the matterrest. There is nothingmore to say." Finally, and most
adroitlyof all, by voicing the thoughtthathad been on everyone's mind from the
beginning-that Louise's brotherhad indeed acted foolishly-she contrived to
thankthemfor theirtact in not havingvoiced it; in effect, "This is the discrediting
truthabout my relative. I know it and I know that you know it. You were polite
and thoughtfulto refrainfrom expressing it."
As could have been predicted, Clifford did not respond to Louise's bogus
query. Neitherdid anyone else. The speech event was over. A few minuteslater,
LouiseandEmily rose to theirfeet, complainedto each otherabouta suddenplentitude of flies, and set off together in search of a cold can of Pepsi-Cola. Lola
Machuseresumedher sewing and RobertMachuse went to waterhis horse. The
day was beginningto cool, andthe landscapebeyondCibecue, its ruggedcontours
softenednow by patches of lengtheningshadow, looked somewhatmore hospitable thanbefore.
V
must
its basiccommunications
A societyto existatall mustbe incessantlyreenacted;
be repeatedly
resaid.
-Edward Shils,Tradition
The possibilities of humanlanguage are variously conceived and variously
understood.Everyculture,whetherliterateor not, includesbeliefs abouthow language works and what it is capable of accomplishing. Similarly, every culture
containsbeliefs aboutthe kinds of social contexts in which these capabilitiesmay
be realizedmost effectively. That such beliefs are presentin contemporaryWestern Apache culture should now be obvious, and that they may operate in direct
121
and telling ways to influencepatternsof verbal interactionshould likewise be apparent.Moreover,it shouldnow be possible to appreciatehow aspectsof Western
Apache linguistic ideology contributeto perceptionsof coherence in one form of
Apachediscourse, and also why, when contextualconditionsare right, that same
ideology may invest the briefestof utteranceswith amplemeaningand substantial
expressive force.
The episode at Lola Machuse's camp suggests thatwhile coherencein Western Apache discourse can be usefully describedas a productof interlockingutterances and actions, the expressive force of Apache discourse-what people
fromCibecue call its "strength" (nalwod)-may be viewed as a productof multiple interlockingsat different levels of abstraction.Put more exactly, it is my
impressionthatthose utterancesthatperformthe broadestrangeof mutuallycompatible actions at once are those that Apaches experience as having the greatest
communicativeimpact. In other words, the expressive force of an Apache utterance seems to be roughly proportionateto the numberof separatebut complementaryfunctionsit accomplishessimultaneously,or, as Alton Becker(1982) has
intimated,to the numberof distinguishablesubject mattersit successfully communicates"about."
The WesternApache practiceof "speaking with names" manifestsjust this
sort of functionalrange and versatility. Thus, as we have seen, an utterancesuch
as tse hadigaiyeyu 'dgodzaa ("It happenedat line of white rocks extends upward
and out, at this very place!") may be understoodto accomplishall of the following actions:(1) producea mentalimage of a particulargeographicallocation; (2)
evoke priortexts, such as historicaltales and sagas; (3) affirmthe value and validity of traditionalmoralprecepts(i.e., ancestralwisdom);(4) displaytactfuland
courteousattentionto aspects of both positive and negative face; (5) convey sentimentsof charitableconcern and personalsupport;(6) offer practicaladvice for
dealingwith disturbingpersonalcircumstances(i.e., apply ancestralwisdom);(7)
transformdistressing thoughts caused by excessive worry into more agreeable
ones markedby optimism and hopefulness;(8) heal woundedspirits.
This is a substantialamount for any spoken utteranceto be capable of accomplishing, and what provides for the capability-what the forceful activity of
"speaking with names" always communicatesmost basically "about"-is the
culturalimportanceof named locations within the Western Apache landscape.
Namedplaces have long been symbols of mythic significancefor the Apachepeople, and placenames-symbols that designate these symbols-supply Apache
speakerswith a readymeansfor appropriatingthatsignificanceand turningit with
briskefficiencyto specializedsocial ends. By virtueof theirrole as spatialanchors
in traditionalApache narratives,placenamescan be made to representthe narratives themselves, summarizingthem, as it were, and condensing into compact
form their essential moral truths. As a result, narrativesand truthsalike can be
swiftly "activated," foregrounded,and broughtinto focused awarenessthrough
the use of placenamesalone. And so it happens,on those occasions when Apache
people see fit to speak with placenames, that a vital part of their tribal heritage
seems to speak to them as well. For on such occasions, as we have seen, partici-
122 CULTURAL
ANTHROPOLOGY
pants may be moved and instructedby voices other than their own. In addition,
personsto whom placenamesare addressedmay be affected by the voice of their
ancestors, a voice that communicates in compelling silence with an inherent
weight describedby MikhailBakhtinas the "authoritativeword":
Theauthoritative
worddemandsthatwe acknowledge
it, thatwe makeit ourown;it
of anypowerit mighthaveto persuadeus interally;we
bindsus, quiteindependent
wordis located
encounterit withits authorityalreadyfusedon it. Theauthoritative
in a distancedzone,organicallyconnectedwitha pastthatis felt to be hierarchically
inthepast.Itis a priordiscourse ...
wasalreadyacknowledged
higher.Itsauthority
It is given(it sounds)in loftyspheres,notthoseof familiarcontact.Its languageis a
special(as it were,hieratic)language.[Bakhtin1981:342]
When WesternApache placenames are called upon to serve as vehicles of
ancestralauthority,the wisdom thus impartedis not so loftily given as to inhibit
its utilizationin the mundanespheres of everyday life. On the contrary,as the
episode at the Machusecamp illustratesclearly, such knowledge exists to be applied, to be thought about and acted upon, to be incorporated(the more so the
better,Lola Machusewould have us understand)into the smallest corers of personal and social experience. And insofar as this kind of incorporationoccursinsofaras places and placenamesprovideApachepeople with symbolic reference
pointsfor the moralimaginationand its practicalbearingon the actualitiesof their
lives-the landscapein which the people dwell can be said to dwell in them. For
the constructionsApachesimpose upon theirlandscapehave been fashionedfrom
the same cultural materials as constructionsthey impose upon themselves as
membersof society. Both give expression to the same set of values, standards,
and ideals; both are manifestationsof the same distinctive charterfor being-inthe-world.Inhabitantsof their landscape,the WesternApache are thus inhabited
by it as well, and, in the timeless depthof thatabidingreciprocity,the people and
theirlandscapeare virtuallyas one.20
This reciprocal relationship-a relationship in which individuals invest
themselvesin the landscapewhile incorporatingits meaningsinto theirown most
fundamentalexperience-is the ultimatesource of the rich sententiouspotential
and functionalversatilityof WesternApache placenames. For when placenames
are used in the mannerexemplified by Lola Machuse and her friends, the landscape is appropriatedin pointedly social terms and the authoritativeword of
Apachetribaltraditionis broughtsquarelyto bearon mattersof importunatesocial
concern. Concomitantly,persons in distress are remindedof what they already
know but sometimes forget-that ancestralwisdom is a powerfulally in times of
adversity, and that reflectingupon it, as countless generationsof Apaches have
learned,can produceexpandedawareness,feelings of relief, anda fortifiedability
to cope. And because helping people to cope is regardedby Apaches as a gesture
of compassion, the use of placenamesfor this purposeserves as well to communicate solicitude, reassurance,and personal solidarity. The primaryreason that
"speakingwith names" can accomplishso much-the reasonits expressiveforce
is sometimes felt to be so "strong" (nalwod)-is that it facilitates reverberating
123
acts of kindness and caring. And the effects of kindness and caring, especially
when spiritsare in need of healing, can be very strongindeed.
As must now be apparent,the ethnographicaccount presentedin this essay
has been shapedby a "pragmatic" view of spoken communicationthat rests on
the premisethatlanguagesconsist in sharedeconomies of grammaticalresources
with which languageusers act to get things done.21The resourcesof a language,
togetherwith the varietiesof action facilitatedby their use, acquiremeaningand
force from the socioculturalcontexts in which they are embedded, and therefore,
as every linguist knows, the discourse of any speech community will exhibit a
fundamentalcharacter-a genius, a spirit, an underlyingpersonality-which is
very much its own. Over a period of years, I have become convinced that one of
the distinctive characteristicsof Western Apache discourse is a predilectionfor
performinga maximumof socially relevantactions with a minimumof linguistic
means. Accordingly, I have been drawnto investigate instancesof talk, like the
one involving Lola and RobertMachuse, in which a few spoken words are made
to accomplishlarge amountsof communicativework.22For it is just on such occasions, I believe, that elements of Apache culture and society fuse most completely with elements of grammarand the situatedaims of individuals, such that
very shortutterances,like polished crystalsrefractinglight, can be seen to contain
them all. On these occasions, the WesternApache languageis exploited to something nearits full expressive potential, and even Apaches themselves, struckmomentarilyby the power of their discourse, may come away impressed.
Such powerful moments may not be commonplace in Western Apache
speech communities,but they are certainlycommon enough-and when they occur, as on that hot and dusty day at Cibecue, robust worlds of meaning come
vibrantlyalive. Conveying these worlds, capturingwith words both the richness
of their content and the fullness of their spirit, requiresan exacting effort at linguistic andculturaltranslationthatcan never be wholly successful. The problem,
of course, is that verbally mediatedrealities are so densely texturedand incorrigibly dynamic, and that one's own locutions for representingthem-for drawing
the reader,as JamesFernandez(1983:327) has urged, into "the very centerof the
complex flow of communicativeexperience and activity"-fail to do justice to
the numeroussubtleties involved. Unavoidably, delicate proportionsare altered
and disturbed,intricatemomentumshalted and betrayed;and however much one
explicates there is always more (or so one is temptedto suppose) that might usefully be done. Despite these persisting uncertainties,however, enough can be
learnedand understood-and, I would hope, effectively conveyed as well-so
that we, like the Apaches of Cibecue, may come away from certain kinds of
speechevents instructedand impressed.And sometimesroundlymoved. Following its moreaccentuatedmoments, momentsshapedby graciousnessandthe resonatingechoes of a fully present past, the minimalistgenius of Western Apache
discourse leaves us silent in its wake-traveling in our minds, listening for the
ancestors,and studyingthe landscapewith a new and differenteye. On the pictorialwings of placenamesimaginationssoar.
Notes
Acknowledgments.This essay has benefittedfrom the good graces of a numberof friends
and colleagues. Thanksgo first, as always, to my WesternApache consultantsfrom the
communityat Cibecue, including Lola and Robert Machuse, Nick Thompson, Nashley
Tessay, Morley Cromwell, Frances and Sarah DeHose, Calvert and Darlene Tessay,
CharlesHenry (now deceased), Jack Case, Alvin Quay, and Imogene Quay. For fruitful
discussions, helpful correspondence,and otherexpressionsof interestwhile the essay was
beingwritten,I am gratefulto Alton Becker, HaroldConklin, Vine Deloria, Jr., Bill Douglas, JosephErrington,CharlesFrake,PhilipGreenfeld,WilliamKelly, Sir EdmundLeach,
Floyd Lounsbury,Ray McDermott, Scott Momaday, HaroldScheffler, John Searle, and
Michael Silverstein. The penultimateversion of my paper was presentedat a multidisciplinary conference on "Discourse in SocioculturalContext" held at the University of
Texas at Austin in April of 1987; on thatoccasion I received valuablecommentsand criticism from Aaron Cicourel, Susan Ervin-Tripp,Steven Feld, John Haviland, and Joel
Sherzer.Othersuggestions for improvement,for which I am equally grateful, come later
from RichardBauman, LarryEvers, William Hanks, Dell Hymes, George Marcus, Stephen Tyler, Anthony Woodbury, and Peter Whitely. Above all, I am indebtedto Gayle
Potter-Basso,partnerin fieldwork as in everything else, whose steady encouragement,
gracefulacumen, and sheer good sense helped immeasurablyin moving things along. The
linguistic and ethnographicresearchon which the essay is based was financedby grants
fromthe NationalScience Foundationand the Wenner-GrenFoundationfor Anthropological Research;I am pleased to thankthese institutionsfor their support.Needless to say, I
am alone responsiblefor the contentsof the essay, and thus for any andall flaws anderrors
it may be found to contain.
'Compatibleviews on environmentalappropriationare expressed in Deloria (1975) and
Silko (1986).
2Abriefdiscussionof the historyof placenameresearchin Americananthropologymay be
found in Basso (1983).
3Schegloff(1972) demonstratesnicely why placenaming, together with other conversational methods of "formulatingplace," warrantsclose investigationby studentsof language concernedwith the organizationof everydaytalk.
4Silverstein(1976, 1979) argues that a preoccupationwith the "semantico-referential"
functionof language has providedthe basis for a uniquely biased Westernlinguistic ideology in which otherfunctions, expecially indexical ones, are accordedsecondaryimportance. In this regard,the views expressedin Tyler (1978, 1984) are also highly instructive.
5See, for example, recent ethnographicstudies by Feld (1982), Rosaldo (1980), and
Schieffelin (1979), all of which attest to the symbolic importanceof placenamesin nonWestern cultural contexts. Other reports, similarly illustrative, include Berndt (1976),
Cruikshnak(1983), Munn (1973), and Takaki(1984).
6A shortethnographyof the WesternApache communityat Cibecue, completed in 1968
and now increasinglyout of date, is presentedin Basso (1970).
7"Emily" and "Louise" are pseudonyms;Lola Machuse, RobertMachuse, and Clifford
are not.
"SPEAKING
WITHNAMES" 125
8Thisverbalexchangewas not recordedon tape. I am satisfied,however, as arethe Apache
personswho participatedin the exchange, that the text given here is essentially accurate.
Whatis missing, of course, is informationpertainingto prosodicphenomena,but none of
the participantscould recall anythingin this regardthatthey consideredout of the ordinary.
Lola Machuseoffered the following generalizaton:"When we talk like that [i.e., "speaking with names"] we just talk soft and slow, so thatpeople know to listen real good."
9I follow here Silverstein's (1979:195) definitionof linguistic ideologies as "any sets of
beliefs aboutlanguage as a rationalizationor justificationof perceived language structure
anduse." For an informativediscussion of some of the perceptualandcognitive limits that
may be inherentin linguistic ideologies, see Silverstein (1981).
'?Thisstatementby Lola Machusewas deliveredin WesternApache;it was translatedinto
Englishby Lola Machuse, RobertMachuse, Nashley Tessay, and myself.
"Refrainingfrom speakingtoo muchhas pleasing aestheticconsequencesthatApachepeople from Cibecue value and appreciate. It produces a lean narrativestyle, concise and
somewhatstark,which is notablyfree of cursoryembellishments-a kindof narrativeminimalism in which less is held to be more. But it is a narrativestyle with definite moral
underpinnings.Refrainingfromspeakingtoo muchresultsin effective depictions, andthis,
Apaches say, is all to the good. But economical speech also shows respect for the ample
picturingabilities of otherpeople, and this is betterstill.
'2Fora descriptionof WesternApacheterritoryin prereservationtimes [i.e., priorto 1872],
togetherwith a discussion of Apache seasonal movements, see Goodwin (1942).
'3Severalhundredplacenames in currentuse among Apache people at Cibecue, accompaniedby morphologicalanalyses and semanticglosses in English, are presentedin Basso
et al. (n.d.); a more detailed investigationof morphologicalprocesses, focused primarily
on the pictorialattributesof Apache placenames, is found in Basso et al. (n.d.).
'4Thepictorialcharacterof WesternApache placenamesis frequentlyremarkedupon when
Apache people are asked to compare their own placenames with familiarplacenames in
English. On such occasions, English names-such as Globe, Show Low, McNary, Phoenix, and other-are regularlyfound deficient for "not showing what those places look
like" or for "not letting you see those places in your mind." Alternatively, Western
Apacheplacenames-such as gizh yaa'itin ("trail leads down througha gap between two
hills"), ch'ildiiye cho sikaad ("cluster of big walnut trees stands bushing out"), and tiuzhi'yaahichii("redness spreadsout extending down to water")-are consistently praised
for "makingyou see those places like they really are" or for "puttingthose places in your
mind so you can see them afteryou go away." One Apache from Cibecue put the difference succinctly:"The white man's names [are] no good. They don't give picturesto your
mind." And a local wit said this: "Apaches don't need Polaroids. We've got good
names!"
'5Thedistinguishingfeatures of these three traditionalnarrativegenres as articulatedby
WesternApachepeople themselves are discussed in Basso (1984).
'6WesternApaches readily acknowledge that "speaking with names" is possible only
among personswho shareknowledge of the same traditionalnarratives;otherwise, placenames would evoke stories for hearersthat are differentfrom those intendedby speakers.
But this, it seems, is rarelya problemamong older people. Most adultsliving in Cibecue
126 CULTURAL
ANTHROPOLOGY
maintainthatthey are familiarwith the same corpusof narratives,and while any narrative
is understoodto have severalversions (anddifferentstorytellersdifferentways of performing them), thereis little confusion as to where events in the narrativeare believed to have
takenplace. Consequently,the placename(or names) that anchora narrativecan function
reliablyto evoke comparableimages of ancestralevents and correspondingappreciations
of ancestralwisdom. YoungerApache people, I was told, are ignorantof bothplacenames
and traditionalnarrativesin increasingnumbers,so that for some of them "speaking with
names" has become difficult or impossible. Although the instance of "speaking with
names" discussed in the present essay features women conversing with women, I have
been assured by consultantsfrom Cibecue that the use of this verbal practice has never
been, and is not today, restrictedto female interlocutors.Apache men, I was informed,
employ the practice when speaking to men, and persons of opposite sex may employ it
when speakingto each other.
'7Sapir'sdescriptionof Algonkianwords as "tiny imagist poems" applies nicely to WesternApacheplacenames,and thereis little doubtin my mind thatthe practiceof "speaking
with names" exhibits poetic qualities. I have not pursuedthis line of thoughtin this essay
becauseI remainuncertainas to what Apache conceptionsof "poetic speech" might be.
Thatsuch conceptionsexist is certain, as evidenced by my consultants'observationsthat
most forms of talk can be more or less "beautiful" (dinzhone). But I was also informed
thatjudgmentsconcerningbeautyin speech cannotbe madein the abstract,suggestingthat
featuresof social context may inform such judgmentsas much as (and perhaps,in some
cases, even more than)attributesof grammaticalform and phonetic shape. For useful discussions of the poetic dimensions of speech in relationto discoursegenerallyand to a recasting of the Sapir-Whorfhypothesis in particular,see Friedrich(1986) and Sherzer
(1987).
'8Louise,who is distantlyrelatedto Emily, is not relatedto Lola Machuseor RobertMachuse.
'9Thetexts of the three historicaltales presentedin this essay were originallyrecordedin
WesternApache;they were subsequentlytranslatedinto Englishby Lola Machuse, Robert
Machuse, Nashley Tessay, Morley Cromwell, Nick Thompson, Imogene Quay, and myself.
20Abrief but informativediscussion of the moralcontoursof Native Americanlandscapes
is found in Deloria (1975).
2'Thisview of language and its suitability for an ethnographicapproachto the study of
discoursehas been most fully articulatedby Hymes (e.g., 1974). Forextendedapplications
of this approach,togetherwith useful theoreticaldiscussion, see Sherzer(1983) and Bauman (1984). Hymes's more recent work (e.g., 1981), is also illustrativein this regard,as
aretreatmentsby Bauman(1986), Feld (1982), andFriedrich(1986). Tyler (1978) presents
a sweeping philosophical critique of formalism in moder linguistic theory, and, on
groundssomewhatdifferentthanHymes, arguespersuasivelyfor a more sensitive andsensible approachto the study of languageuse in its culturaland social contexts.
22Someother manifestationsof the predilectionfor "mini-maxing" in Western Apache
discourseare describedand discussed in Basso (1969, 1976, 1984).
127
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"Speaking with Names": Language and Landscape

Transcription

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