Sky Coyote (11 page)

S
O HERE
I
AM
, Mr. Sky Coyote.

I like this role. Trot trot trot on my new feet, leaving strange prints along the creek bed. A seagull floating inland gives a high far-off cry, and I cock my ear most comically. Up the winding canyon, and any real beast meeting me here in the gloom under the oak trees will have the fright of its life. If I wanted to give chase, I wonder how I’d do? The muzzle points, the sharp teeth bare, and they snap and slash. We had to compromise on the tongue so I could still speak, but I’ve practiced panting in the mirror. I’m confident I’ll make a good impression.

Once upon a time, see, the line between men and animals was a lot less clearly drawn. If you were out with your spear thrower on a summer morning in Spain a couple of hundred centuries ago, you might have met with a creature like me and been scared, yes; but not really surprised. Things were more fluid then. Perception wasn’t the same. Mortals have since learned not to see what doesn’t fit into the world pattern they’re most comfortable with, so of course there are no human-headed bulls, no transparent women walking along the surface of rivers, no balls of fire
that hang in the air and scream with human voices. Any time mortals live out in the open, though, it becomes harder for them to shut out the inexplicable stuff, so they have to develop some context for it. That’s why they tell stories about creatures like me, with my teeth and my tail. That’s why they’ll accept me as Sky Coyote come for a visit.

Yeah, I’m pretty game for a guy walking into Chumash territory buck naked except for some prostheses and strategic fur implants. But, hey, I’m a Facilitator! We’re more flexible than the Conservers or the Techs, psychologically, physically, morally. Disguises and intrigues are what we live for. And these really are the very best effects the Company can provide.

Let’s try Angry Coyote. I crouch, and look at those ears go back, back, look at those hackles rise! I snarl, I sidle. Tail down like a broken plume.

Happy Coyote. Mr. Perky! Everything upright and bouncy! Whoops. Maybe too upright and bouncy, but what the hell, maybe the Chumash will think it’s funny. Got to remember my cultural context here. I frisk. I frolic. I try a few yards on all fours and actually do pretty well. Could even run like this if I had to.

Anyway there I was, following the creek back into the hills, miles and miles of getting into character, and suddenly I picked them up about a mile ahead of me and fifty feet up the hillside to my left: mortals. Two males.

When you’re going to impress somebody with your otherworldly godliness, it’s better to try it from high ground. Silhouetted dramatically against the sky, like. Sprinting up the steep slope through the sagebrush or whatever it was, I thought of Warner Brothers ‘toons and giggled. There was a nice outcropping of red rock just out of bowshot from where they’d pass. I got up there and struck an attitude. They were coming steadily nearer; they’d heard me crashing around.

In a moment I saw them, and they were buck naked too, literally, insofar as they both had on these kind of stuffed deer-head hats that Chumash hunters wore for camouflage. Pretty clever, if you’re after deer. I was after
them
.

“Hello, nephews,” I barked.

The little deer heads stopped bobbing forward. They rose slowly, and we beheld each other, I and my two earthbound kin.

“You haven’t caught anything today, I see,” I observed, scratching myself with my hind leg. Sort of.

“It’s Sky Coyote,” one of them observed faintly. I cocked my ear at that.

“Well, of course I am. Why are you so surprised to see me?” They were more than surprised, actually, if the sudden reek of urine from downwind was any indication. I’d overdone it on the otherworldly-god bit, but I sure had made an impression. To keep them from running away, I continued with the conversation: “I’ve got some very important matters to discuss with you boys.”

“Really?” replied the other of them, still trembling.

“Really. Very important. But excuse me a minute, won’t you?” I cocked my leg majestically, hoping to damp down, as it were, their awe. They stared, and then one of them straightened up and pulled off his headgear.

“Oh, for God’s sake, it’s just a man in a coyote hat,” he said in disgust. “Who do you think you are, mister?”

Time for action. I leaped down and landed in front of him. “Who do
you
think I am?” I retorted.

Up close, the whole carefully crafted illusion was undeniable. I watched his face as his reality shifted out from under him, never to settle back in the old way again. I seized his shaking hand and dragged it up to my ear. “Look. Feel. Pull it. Now do you know who I am?”

“My God!” he burst out. “You really are Sky Coyote! I mean—excuse me—”

“Why are you so surprised?” I repeated. “Haven’t you been hearing about me all your life?”

“Well, yes—it’s just that nobody’s ever actually
seen
You. In our village, anyway.”

“I don’t get down to this world much lately. It’s sort of out of the way. Nevertheless, I’m here, because I have big news for your village. I’m here to save you all!”

So they took me to meet the folks.

Their names were Kenemekme and Wixay, and they were upright, fit, and clean-limbed young guys, with nice clear skins. Gleaming white teeth, hair like black silk. Pretty much representative of their race. Kenemekme was tall and nervous. Wixay was sturdier; he kept exclaiming and smacking the earth with his bow as we walked along.

“I just can’t get over this,” he said excitedly. “You’re really here! Sky Coyote, in the flesh! There are so many things I’ve always wanted to ask You.”

“Such as?”

“Well, is it true that You wanted to fix it so we’d never get old and sick by letting us swim in the Lake of Youth, but the Earth Cricket voted You down in the Sky People’s council?”

“It’s true. He said things would be too crowded if men never died.” I nodded emphatically. “And he was right, actually, but you can’t blame me for trying!”

“And is that story true, how you were the referee when Hawk and Turtle had their race, back in the first days of the world?”

“That’s right. And were they grateful for my honest judgment? I don’t think so!”

“But this means it’s
all
true, then, doesn’t it? About the World above This One and the Sky People and everything?”

“Yes, nephew, it’s all true,” I told him solemnly.

“Wow.” He shivered with pleasure.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t You?” Kenemekme studied me as we trudged along. I nodded. He bit his lip.

I didn’t blame him for being uneasy. Mortals occupy a pretty low place in Chumash cosmogony. There’s a principal supreme deity who’s the Sun, usually, and there are a few subordinate deities who keep the universe running smoothly and punish their fellow supernaturals who get out of line. The only celestial big shot who concerns himself with the human race is Sky Coyote. He created men, he meddles in their affairs, he negotiates with the other spirits for good harvests and low mortality rates. Not all-powerful and not especially virtuous, either, but he’s the only friend men have. Just the role for me.

S
O HERE’S THE SEMIGOD OR
tutelary spirit or whatever he is, arriving in the valley of Humashup with two of his mortal nephews.

Humashup was not a big town, but it was a prosperous one. There was a residential district back in the oak forest, three or four broad streets lined with woven houses. Over on the west side was the big municipal sports field and beyond that the sacred enclosure and cemetery, tidily fenced. To the south a long thatched enclosure marked the village meeting house. Down by the creek I saw the communal acorn-processing rocks and, a respectable distance away, the private steam baths. The little open-air shrine I could see was in fine repair, and the altar pole was loaded with offerings. Times were good in Humashup, obviously.

We advanced from the west, through what you might call the industrial complex: a stone yard with stonecutters busily at work, a boatyard with canoemakers busily at work. Until they saw me, of course.

And then, hey, the people came out to look. The workers dropped their tools and stared; the women pounding acorns
stopped in midpound and stared; the boys driving a hoop around the playing field stopped and stared, and the hoop went wobbling away unnoticed.

I waved. “Hello, everybody. It’s Uncle Sky Coyote. Remember me?”

Now, these people were not idiots, and the first conclusion most of them came to was that I was a mortal man in some kind of coyote suit. Thank Dr. Zeus for high-quality grafts, implants, and appliance makeup. I think I’ll just skip over all the times I had to have my tail pulled to prove I was real, likewise the times people said things like I’ve Heard a Lot about You but I Never Actually Thought I’d Meet You. Let’s cut to the big meeting in the council house that night.

I had the seat of honor, on a boulder near the fire. Everyone else sat on mats on the floor, and the place was packed, more than packed; through every crevice and slot in the tule wall I could see a pair of eyes gleaming, from all those who weren’t important enough to sit inside.

As soon as everyone had gotten comfortable, Sepawit, the chief, stood and cleared his throat. He was a thin man approaching middle age, with an intelligent face. Like most of the other men, he wore nothing but a belt and some shell-bead money, but his hair was long and arranged in an elaborate chignon with beautifully carved wooden pins.

“Well. Well, folks, I guess our distinguished visitor doesn’t need much of an introduction to you all—” Scattered nervous giggles at that. I laughed, too, tongue lolling and fangs bright, to show I appreciated the situation and to show off some of my head’s effects. “And though it’s certainly been a long time since He’s visited us, I’d say we’re unanimous in extending a heartfelt welcome to Sky Coyote from the people and fraternal organizations of Humashup!”

There were polite nods and mutters of assent. The chief went on. “Uncle Sky Coyote, I’d like to introduce Nutku, spokesman for the Canoemakers’ Union. Nutku is also First Functionary of the Humashup Lodge of the Brotherhood of the Kantap.”

Nutku rose to his knees so I could see him. Powerful arms on this fellow, and he wore more strings of shell money than Sepawit did, and had a bearskin cloak over his shoulders too. His hair was done up with mother-of-pearl pins. I scanned him and detected mild arteriosclerosis, a touch of hypertension: he dined on lots of fatty red meat and made executive decisions. Introduced first, too. Important guy.

“And this is Sawlawlan, spokesman for the United Workers in Steatite.” Another one wearing lots of money, with big hair and a sea-otter cape. “And Kupiuc, spokesman for the Intertribal Trade Council and Second Functionary of the Humashup Lodge. And this is Kaxiwalic, one of our most successful independent entrepreneurs.”

“Pleased to meet all of you,” I said, all benevolence. I had my audience pegged, now: here were the upper classes, wearing a certain hard and confident look, a can-do look, you might say, and across their chests the rolls of shell money rippled and clicked like backgammon counters. The nobodies were at the back of the room, with open, vulnerable faces like nobodies everywhere. I could play to this audience. I’d played to their like for more centuries than I remembered.

I got to my feet. My shadow loomed up behind me on the dome of the hall, unsteady in the firelight.

“It’s good to be back in Humashup, children,” I said, “though it’s true I haven’t been to see you in a few generations. But it’s a long journey from here to the World Above, let me tell you, and I’m a busy god. I only found the time to come down now because I have very important news.

“Now, you all know”—I held out my strange hands to them—”how we play a game up there, the Sun and I, at midwinter every year. We gamble. We outguess each other, He and I. And you all know what the stakes are.

“Yes, I can see you do. It’s your
lives
He wants, the Sun, because He’s always hungry. All that burning, burning up in the sky, and how does He do it? He feeds on men. Your lives light the sky, heat the earth, and the only one who can keep Him from taking you all is me. If I didn’t gamble with him to save some of you every year, you wouldn’t be here now to listen to me, any of you. This fine hall would be dark and cold, and you’d all be in the cemetery out there.

“But don’t worry: I’m a good gambler and I win often. When I do, the Sun can’t take any of you but the old sick people. Better than that: He has to pay me in good things, acorns and fish, deer and geese in plenty, which I send down to you. I win you rainy seasons to make the hills green. I win you calm weather at sea and big runs of salmon. All these things come from me, because I’m your uncle and I look out for you.

“You know all this. And this is how things have always been, every year. But not anymore!”

Eyes widened at this, and there was some muttering. The mortals smelled afraid. I went on: “Last month was midwinter, and I went to the corner of the sky where I gamble with the Sun. And He was there, all right, and there were the dice ready for the cast, but I saw something else too: the Sun had a talisman around His neck on a piece of cord, and it looked like a canoe, only a
big
canoe with the wings of a white bird.”