Kukwes

Deep in the trees a partridge seemed to be drumming, that low thudding beat a cock-partridge makes when it beats its wings against a hollow log. Some boys out hunting turned toward the sound, the way boys will, walking closer and closer to whatever was making it. There was no bird. The noise came from a giant slapping its huge open palms against its own chest, patient as a man at a fishing hole, waiting for the small footsteps to come within reach. This was a Kukwes, and it had carried off children before.

The Mi’kmaq of the eastern woodlands kept more than one kind of giant in their stories, and the Kukwes sat somewhere in the middle of the family. Its name is a small word for an enormous thing, a diminutive of Kuku, the great giant, so that Kukwes means something close to “little giant.” The joke lives in the scale. Kuku, more often written Gougou, was said to rise taller than the tallest pines, a hundred and fifty feet or more, tall enough that Samuel de Champlain heard of her in 1603 as a monster haunting an island near the Baie des Chaleurs, where she scooped paddlers out of their canoes. Against that measure a Kukwes is almost modest. It reaches only twenty or thirty feet, which is still tall enough to pluck a grown man off the ground like a rabbit and drop a fistful of children into a pack.

What the Kukwes lacks in the truly monstrous height of its elder it makes up in appetite. It is a cannibal, plain and simple, hair from crown to heel, matted and coarse, so that the old tellers reached for the nearest thing they knew and called it gorilla-like. Some give it the head of a bear. It is greedy, it is strong past reckoning, and it moves through the forest with the confidence of something that has never had reason to be afraid. That confidence is the crack in it.

There is a story, set down from a Mi’kmaq teller in the nineteenth century, that shows exactly how the thing worked and how it failed. A Kukwes drummed up a party of small boys with its false partridge call and seized them. It meant to kill them the quick way, by dashing their heads against a stone, but in its haste it mistook an anthill for a rock and only stunned them, all but one, who died. Satisfied, it packed the children into a great birchbark vessel, strapped the load to its back, and set off for home. The boys came around inside the dark of the pack. One of them had a knife. They waited until they heard branches scraping and rattling against the bark overhead, using the noise for cover, and cut a hole in the bottom, and slipped out one by one to run for the village. The giant was so vast and so strong that it never felt the weight change on its shoulders.

At home a second Kukwes was waiting, and the two of them set the one dead boy on a stick before the fire and sat down to watch him cook. They did not get their meal. The boys who escaped had raised the alarm, and the men of the village came fast and quiet through the trees. An arrow took the first giant in the side, and it stirred and grumbled about a stitch. Another followed, and another, so silent and so swift that neither monster understood what was happening. The first slumped over as though drowsing off before supper, and its companion mocked it for falling asleep, and then the pains reached him too, and he fell dead beside his friend. The teller offered the tale as proof that the giants were as stupid as they were mighty, no different in that from the dull-witted giants that Jack cut down in European fireside tales.

Its powers are the blunt powers of size. It can carry off several people at once and barely notice the load, imitate the sounds of game well enough to bait a hunting party, and crush a skull against stone when it aims true. Its strength is the kind stories reach for superlatives to describe. But every gift it has is paired with the same flaw. It is slow-minded to the point of comedy, unable to tell an anthill from a boulder or an emptying sack from a full one. It can be tricked, escaped, and killed by ordinary people with ordinary weapons, provided they keep their heads. A creature that can lift a man like a hare can still be outthought by the children in his lunch.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is a Kukwes in Mi’kmaq folklore?

The Kukwes is a man-eating giant from the folklore of the Mi’kmaq people of Atlantic Canada. It is a greedy, hairy cannibal ogre, usually described as twenty to thirty feet tall, that hunts people for food and serves as a cautionary figure in traditional stories.

What does the name Kukwes mean?

The name Kukwes is a diminutive of Kuku, the word for a great giant, so it means roughly “little giant.” The label is relative: Kuku, more often written Gougou, was said to tower over the tallest pines, while a Kukwes stands a comparatively small twenty to thirty feet.

How does a Kukwes catch its victims?

A Kukwes lures people by imitating the drumming of a cock-partridge, slapping its huge palms against its chest to mimic the sound and draw hunters or children close. Once it seizes its victims it packs them into a large birchbark vessel and carries them home on its back to be roasted and eaten.

How can a Kukwes be defeated?

A Kukwes is defeated through cunning rather than strength, because it is enormously powerful but extremely stupid. In one Mi’kmaq tale, captured boys cut a hole in the giant’s birchbark pack and escape one by one without it noticing, then villagers kill the giant and its companion with a volley of silent arrows.

How is the Kukwes related to the giant Gougou?

The Kukwes is a smaller relative of Kuku, the great giant usually spelled Gougou. Gougou is a colossal, often female giant said to stand taller than the highest trees, famous from Samuel de Champlain’s 1603 account of a monster near the Baie des Chaleurs, whereas the Kukwes is her more numerous, man-sized-threat counterpart in the forests.

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