Trick-or-Treat the Aztec Way
Children all over are counting down to October 31 with bursting eagerness.
Nothing is as heartening as the sight of kids living out their fantasies on the evening of Halloween. When they ring your doorbell, just remember that they waited agonizingly long before they could trick-or-treat you, so don’t shut your lights and withdraw from it all.
Those would be your neighborhood kids. They’d have a chant or a story to tell you, giggling as happy children do. They shout out happily who they are in their costumes. You can then chat some more or give them some treats and see them off to the next house.
All done, back to your TV. Except that some of the children’s joy would have rubbed off on you.
And just like us, the Aztecs also had their trick-or-treat day.
Tlaloc, the Aztec God of Rain
Instead of October, it was in June, and the point was to assure the god of rain, Tlaloc, of their full dependence on his bounty. On that night, still months away from the harvest, the Aztecs gave freely of sweet beans and maize porridge that they loved. In fact they gave away so much that unless good rains came, they were certain to face difficulties.
Why did they behave so generously? The story is interesting.
It all began innocently enough a few days before trick-or-treating, when a group of merry priests went, singing and dancing, to the lake to collect some reeds.
Now those weren’t just any priests. They were the offering priests, those who showered gods with gifts, paying the acknowledged price for being allowed to live on this earth.
As soon as the priests gathered enough reeds, the nature of their mission changed, and they were merry no longer. On their way back, they were ordained to punish anyone naive enough to be in their path. And punish they did, with relish.
In the same manner as gods could administer punishment arbitrarily, say by striking someone with lightning—so did the mob of priests dole out their own discipline, at random.
No trick-or-treating routine when they showed up. Upon first sight, the passerby would drop everything he was carrying and flee, whether he was a commoner carrying a bunch of maize ears to his children, or a nobleman taking a wealth of tributes to Montezuma himself.
If the poor passerby refused to give his treat, priests responded—you guess it, with a trick. Here are the Aztecs, speaking for themselves:
“The priests threw them flat on the ground, they stepped on each of them, they kicked them, they leapt upon each of them, they beat the ground with each of them, they scattered them like so many ropes, they made them cry out, they beat them repeatedly, they beat the skin off of them, they straightened their backs.” (Florentine Codex)
No idle threat, that of the mob of priests.
More about the priests’ immunity in a subsequent post. Now, let’s move to the night when all the townsfolk played the trick-or-treat game.
That night, there would be no groups of happy, giggling kids roaming the neighborhoods, no iconic costumes, no mock witches on brooms. Instead, bands of young warriors patrolled the streets, accompanied by “pleasure ladies”—prostitutes, in other words.
Can you visualize the scene?
Say you were just coming out of your door which, of course, had no lock on it. In fact, there would have been no door to speak of (the Aztecs used no more than an animal skin to drape their entrance). Facing you would be a mob-like, unruly gang of youngsters armed with daggers and swords, holding jars on one arm and half-naked “ladies of the night” on the other.
As you stepped out into the open, you were greeted with a jingle: “I’ll sing you a song, my friend, and when I do… when I do, give me a little of your porridge. Because if you don’t, I’ll break a hole into your house.”
The Aztec Porridge Dance
They were prancing about to a special porridge dance, making it clear that what they wanted was your food in their jars. Their faces would be hidden behind a thick layer of paint—with large circles drawn around their eyes. And despite the prohibition to drink alcohol until one became a useless old man, some of them reeked of booze.
Once again, there was nothing idle about the threat. The trick was real and specific: give the good neighborhood boys what they wanted or watch them rip your house apart to the merry jeering of their whores.
It was really not much of a choice. You just shared some of your food with the lads. Anyone would, and everyone did. You’d stuff their jars as fast as you could, with an eye on their daggers.
That wasn’t really the issue. The issue was that as soon as the first gang left, another mob came around, and then another. In fact, they kept coming around until morning.
So, next time your bell rings on Halloween night, count your blessings, my friend, and give those kids some of your time and candy.
Because if you don’t, I’ll send some priests down your path, reed-carrying priests on their way back from the lake!
Just trickin’.
Trick-or-Treat the Aztec Way is a post from: Adventure and Learning
