Coyote Tales

This story is something different from my usual. It’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a long time now. My mother grew up on the Navajo Reservation. No, she's not Navajo. My grandfather worked at the boarding schools. He loved the culture and instilled that love into my mother. She, in turn, passed it onto me. When I got into writing, I always promised myself that I would write some of their myths in my own style and give them as a gift to my mother. I've finally gotten my writing to a point where I really feel like I can do justice to the great stories in Navajo folklore.

I decided to start with a Coyote story. Mostly because they were the first ones I ever heard. I plan on writing more. I’m having a few issues with it, but overall I think I’m fairly pleased.

I tried to use language a little differently than I usually do. I wanted to make it sound more like a folklore might. Audience wise I would see it as an older children’s book, does the language work for that?

I tried to make the references to the different constellations clear. Can you tell which ones are mentioned or does it need more?

I mention a few other characters found in Navajo folklore, Beaver, Wolf and Rabbit. Is Coyote’s relationship with each of these characters clear in the lines it is touched on? Or do I need to add to it? Or is it not necessary at all?

I think that’s all. Any other grammatical problems, general questions, thoughts. I want to hear what you like and what you didn’t.

Coyote and the Stars

The sky was dark and the moon hung low in the sky over the desert landscape. The few trees were bare now, the world was entering winter, and a few patches of snow clung to the ground under the under the scarce blades of grass.

Coyote trotted along the path, his ears perked and tail high. The chill in the air didn’t bother him and the breeze brought a familiar scent floating to his nose. He stopped in his tracks, and turned his head toward the smell to take a deep whiff. Beaver. He’d seen head nor tail of Beaver since the last time they’d played tricks. And the thought that he may have caught the scent of Beaver’s den made his blood race. It was, after all, his turn to make Beaver look a fool. Coyote turned his nose to the ground and followed the trail.

Lost in Beaver’s scent, he traveled off the path and deep into the desert. He moved around a few bushes and was nearly stabbed by a low growing cactus, but never veered far enough to lose the odor of his friendly foe. Soon he’d lost track of all else, lost in the aroma.

“Yá’át’ééh, Mą’ii,” a soft voice said.

The hair on Coyote’s shoulders stood on end and he dug his heels into the ground. He lifted his head, a few clumps of red mud clinging to the end of his wet nose. His tense body relaxed when his eyes fell on the raven haired woman seated on a finely woven blanket. Her kind face was illuminated by lights sparkling on the blanket.

“Hey, First Woman,” he said, padding forward. “How’s it going?”

First Woman frowned at him slightly. “You always speak so strangely, Trickster,” she said in an even tone.

“Sorry,” Coyote grumbled. “Yá’át’ééh, First Woman.” She gave him the same smile she always wore around him. Humoring and placating. “So how is it going?”

“Quite well,” she said. She gestured to the thousands of sparkling lights spread out before her on the blanket. “I call them stars.”

Coyote moved forward further and took a seat next to her. He watched the tiny lights twinkle before her moved forward, nudging a few with his nose. He pulled back sharply, a paw covering his nose. “I don’t like’em. They burn.”

First laughed lightly. “I should have warned you. You have to touch them carefully.”

“So what’re these stars for?” Coyote asked, nudging them more carefully now.

The woman sitting there eyed him carefully for a moment, then considered the question before she responded. “To guide me people. To give them hope.” She pointed to a group of stars in the rough shape of a spoon, the handle of which lead the eye generally northward. “These show the way to find this star,” she gestured to one particularly bright star, “it points to the north. It can guide a lost man home to his family.”

Coyote nodded and watching for a few moments as First Woman placed each star carefully into the sky. He cleared his throat. “Can I help?”

The woman seemed surprised, but nodded, a genuine smile gracing her lips. “Of course, Mą’ii.“

Carefully, not wanting to be burned again, Coyote took one of these stars and placed it in the sky. He took great care and created a crooked line of stars in the sky. First Woman frowned at him when he bared his teeth in a proud grin.

“What?“ he said, indignantly. "It’s a snake.“

She shook her head and continued silently in her work. Coyote shrugged and began work on a hunter just above the horizon. First Woman nodded proudly when he’d finished this shape, and Coyote was pleased.

They worked in silence for a long while, which for Coyote was a feat in of itself. When Coyote had finished the shape of two dogs chasing a hare, First Woman laughed, trying to hide it behind her hand.

“What?“ he groaned, trying to see what she found so funny. “It’s me! And big brother, Wolf. We’re chasing Rabbit. Going to catch him this time.“

“The stars can’t be moved now, Trickster, you’ll never catch Rabbit here,“ she said, still stifling laughter.

Growling in frustration Coyote stood and grabbed the blanket’s edge and pulled. Startled First Woman stood quickly, stepping off the blanket. With a fierce movement of his head coyote shook the blanket and the thousands of stars still left to be placed went flying. They found a place and stayed there, shining next to the moon in the sky.

“Mą’ii,“ First Woman scolded. She started to say something else, but stopped herself, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose, calming herself for a moment. Coyote sat back down, pressing his ears against his head, and turning his face away from First Woman.

“Sorry,“ he said quietly.

First Woman looked up at the sky and her anger seemed to fade. “It’s alright, Coyote, my friend,“ she said and gestured for him to look as well. “It’s beautiful.“

Starting a blog

I realized tonight that I have a blog started on nearly every community available to me. But I never post to any of them. I have decided to remedy this. I think it will make me feel better if I do something regularly every day. And seeing as how this is the first day of 2010, it seems like a good time to start. It will be a New Year's Resolution.

This decision was brought about by Julie & Julia. So far it is a wonderful movie. I haven't finished it yet because there was a power glitch and I had to start all over. I'm certainly not patient enough to start all over, so instead I've put it on fast forward. It's going much quicker than I expected it to, so that's encouraging. I also plan on watching Night at the Museum 2, or something equally mindless, ON DEMAND tonight. My brother and I watched 9 last night. It was really good. Although I was hoping for an ending that was just happy, not so bittersweet.

Anyway, in the movie this rather depressed woman starts a blog, and it seems to make her feel better. Of course her's has, or had I suppose, more purpose than mine, but I think it's still worth a try.

In high school I did ballet every day and ate very little. I weighed 100 lbs. sopping wet. Now, five years and more than one emotional roller coaster later, I weigh 193.8 lbs. So my main New Year's Resolution is to lose weight. I guess that's the Resolution half the world is making today, so I guess I'll just add my name to that list of people. I now have a calendar with ballet dancers on it and my hope is that looking at the calendar with the beautiful dancers of the Austin Ballet will inspire me to really work at it. Every day I weigh myself I'm going to write it down on there. It works in my head, I guess we'll have to wait and see how well it will work in actuality.

My third Resolution is to write without shame and without hesitation. And the same goes for posting on this blog. Even if I offend someone (which seems unlikely considering the number of people reading this and the more substantial number of those not reading it) (I really hope that I don't offend anyone though) I'm not going to apologize.

So, those are my resolutions. I think that those, along with continued regularity with my Zoloft should lead to a happy year overall.

And to encourage myself I'm going to post the short story I'm going to take to the first day of my writing class next semester. It needs a lot of revision, but I think it's actually pretty good.

(Also, I know on LiveJournal, there's way to post a block like this that you can click on to read or not read anyone know how to do that?)

Mama Joan

I stood at the counter staring down into my drink. Try as I might I couldn’t identify the color. It was sort of yellow, but not really. It was sort of orange, but not really. I swirled the liquid in the glass and sighed. Mama Joan would have known what color it was without even having to think about it. I poured the drink down the drain and left the glass in the sink.

I turned around and leaned against the bar, watching the crowd of people who had assembled. They were all family, or at least that’s how they’d been introduced. There was only a handful I recognized and even fewer whose names I knew. A few people had been all but forced out onto the porch in the backyard. We filled the house to overflowing.

I never liked coming over here. Even when I was a kid coming to play with Terry. Uncle Lon went into fits if we tracked even the littlest bit of dirt inside his house. I never could figure out how he managed to keep it so pristine with white walls, white carpets, and even white upholstery. There were never any pictures on the wall.

The night of the wake, though, it appeared that the kids had talked him into hanging Mama Joan’s paintings on the walls. A large landscape hung over the fireplace, catching the light from the glow. A self portrait hung in the entryway. Another landscape hung over the bar.

Uncle Lon didn’t seem to mind people tracking dirt in during the wake. It seemed like a good thing, until I realized why. Uncle Lon was in the center of an ever growing group surrounding the island in the kitchen. They were passing out tequila shots like candy.

“Fifth round!” I heard Lon shout. They all threw their heads back and downed the liquor. Who did tequila shots at a wake?

The people who had a fully stocked bar in their living room.

I scanned that group for Dad. I was relieved when he wasn’t there. Finally I saw him sitting alone in the living room. Even though it was seventy degrees outside, he insisted on making a fire. Joan liked it, he said. He still sat next to the hearth staring at the flames solemnly. I pushed through the strangers and pretended I didn’t hear their obligatory questions about the kids and Tim. I took a seat on the carpet next to Dad’s knee. He smiled down at me, his eyes were tearing up. I rested my chin on his knee and watched the fire crackle.

There was a small group gathered around the over-sized television nearby. Someone had made a DVD with pictures of Mama Joan on it. They were laughing and talking about the time she and her friends went skinny dipping. Back in high school. Apparently Dad had taken the pictures. For no other reason than to provide photographic proof when he tattled on his big sister to Grandma. I glanced up at my father. He wasn’t paying any attention.

“It’s strange not to hear her voice,” he said, hesitating before each word. It was the first thing he said since people started arriving. “Her laugh was always the loudest.”

“That’s because she laughed like a seal, Dad,” I said. He chuckled. At least it was half of a chuckle. It might have been half a sob.

“Be nice,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. He looked into the flames and wiped at his tears. He wouldn’t have wanted me to see. I pretended not to look. I forced my gaze away from the fireplace. I noticed a painting of a woman hanging on the opposite wall. I’d have to get a better look later.

“It’s true.” I licked my lips, wishing I’d kept my drink. “I love that laugh.” Loved, I corrected to myself.

Sitting next to the fire now I was melting, but Dad was right. Mama Joan loved to have a good fire going. Though she’d wait until winter, usually.

I stood up suddenly. “I’m going to get some water, you want some?” He nodded absently, looking back into the fire.

I pushed through the crowd again and as I made my way to the garage I glanced into the guest room. All the kids sat on the floor playing some sort of card game I didn’t recognize. Jim, my baby brother, sat amongst them trying to be one of them. He was twenty-two, but he managed to look quite comfortable in the group of pre-teens. He ruffled Kyle’s hair and Kyle beamed up at his “Uncajim”.

I continued down the hall, trailing my fingers over an oil painting of Mama Joan’s first home. I opened the door to garage and stepped into the cool air. Apparently they’d run out of room and filled ice chests full of drinks and left them outside. I checked the first one and found nothing but rum. Mama Joan loved rum. Everyone brought a bottle. The second one had even more alcohol, ranging from Corona to home-stilled gin in a mason jar. Including an open bottle of chocolate beer that smelled like vomit. I moved onto the third ice chest. Bingo. I grabbed a bottle of water and closed the lid. There was another ice chest full of caffeinated beverages. I looked at the door leading back into the main part of the house. There were so many people in there, I didn’t care to go back inside.

The garage door was open and for that I was thankful. I made my way down the driveway and sat on the curb. I looked back up at my cousins’ house and opened the water. The exterior of the house did not match the inside. The walls were covered in green siding. The shingles on the roof were a darker shade of the same color. It looked just like the other houses on the street. Homeowner’s Association, probably.

I heard footsteps behind me and groaned inwardly, laying my head on my arms. “I didn’t get to say hi to you when you got here, Lisa.” It had to be Penny. No one else cared when I came and went. She wasn’t even technically related. I turned around and smiled at her as she took a seat on the cement. “How are you?”

“I’m ok, I guess.” I took another drink of the water. “And what about you?”

“We’re good,” she said. She always said that. We’re good. It answered all the questions about her and her kids in two words. I never said it right. People always kept asking questions. “How’s Kyle?”

“He wants to change his name to Rain,” I said, and did not elaborate any further. At eight-years-old, my youngest decided to become one with nature. And in nature they don’t take baths. And in nature they kill their food themselves. Like the lizard he brought home and insisted I fry it up for dinner. I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Just a phase, I kept telling myself. Just a phase. Just. A. Phase.

Some bird was hooting in the trees behind me. I glanced up into the trees and squinted, trying to find the shape of a bird. Finally a large owl swooped down over the street and into a tree on the other side. A cat darted out from under a car near the tree and ran down the street. I wondered how the Homeowner’s Association would feel about killer owls and stray cats.

“How about Jade? She still dancing?” I asked Penny, turning my attention back to my cousin. There wasn’t even blood relation and I still liked her more than most of the rest.

“No, no. She’s into cheerleading now,” Penny replied, a proud smile lighting up her face.

Why couldn’t I have normal kids? “That’s great.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Amy’s trying to get me to buy her the Complete Works of William Shakespeare for her birthday. Unabridged.”

“How old is she? Ten?” Penny asked, her eyebrows shooting up.

“Eleven.” I shook my head. Mama Joan would have been so proud of her. I could feel the tears in my chest again. “Did you know Terry’s pregnant? She and Brian are so excited.”

“I know. They already have names. Vanessa for a girl and Robert for a boy.” Penny’s face seemed to darken. She was having the same thought I was.

“Mama Joan will never get to know Vanessa or Robert. And they’ll never get to know her.” I bit back my tears, but Penny didn’t hide her tears. She just let them roll down her cheeks. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and stood up. “I told Dad I’d take him some water. He’s gotta be melting next to that fire.”

“He was starting in the tequila shooters when I came outside.”

Great. He hadn’t had a drink in four months. He’d been doing so well. “Thanks, Penny. Make sure you come over to the house tomorrow and say goodbye before you leave.”

“I will,” she replied as she reached up and squeezed my hand.

I made my way back over to the ice chests and grabbed another bottle of water. I took a deep breath before I started back inside.