Sky Coyote (21 page)

Whoops of appreciative laughter. A young mother wiped tears from her eyes, giggling, and her nursing baby pulled loose to chortle in empathy and clap his little fat hands. Kaxiwalic watched us all with bright eyes, judging the timing before he resumed:

“All right! On that spiritually uplifting note, I’d like to introduce a powerful ally. He’s one tough customer, but we owe him a lot for driving those herds of seals up on the beach every year. Ladies, gentlemen, sky spirits, let’s give a big welcome to—Killer Whale!”

Blackout again, and when the light rekindled, we looked on a scene of roiling waves, or maybe they were woven tule screens painted green and white and being moved from side to side by unobtrusive, hunkered figures. But you could hear the sea, thanks to the
boom-boom
of the big drums and the rattle and hiss of the small drums and percussion. It set up a counterpoint roll of surging surf that would have put Debussy to shame; we were all swaying in our seats in time to it. A flute came in with a string
of ascending notes that were Killer Whale rising up through the depths, and sure enough he appeared, with a leap that took him clear of the green mats and with a spray of water.

It was Kupiuc, smooth naked, his big humped body painted gleaming black and white. Only around his neck he wore the bony jaws of a real killer whale, and he made the sharp teeth clash with the music. His eyes rolled white as he tossed his head, as he leaped and thrashed to the pounding drumbeats. He was telling us he was a king in his country, a fearsome hunter, that he had wives and power, that he knew how to go where none of us could go: down into green canyons and forests of waving weed, without any fear of storm. He told us, in his dance, about the silver flights of sardine he’d taken, about the runs of red-fleshed salmon, about his wars with Swordfish.

He sported before us in the sheer ebullience of being himself, a fine sea lord, but then his dance took on a menacing quality: he began to wheel and cruise, seeking something. He was on the hunt. Gradually we saw his prey, revealed a little at a time by the waving screens: one sleek brown head, then a second, then a third. Big frightened dog eyes and blunt muzzles. The seal dancers began to sing:

One seal moved to the foreground, the dancer under the headdress floundering like a clumsy thing in panic. Kupiuc danced in place, his body semaphoring triumph. The seal dancer cried:

Here came the second seal, bobbing forward, singing:

Now the third seal, a big seal, joined them:

They cowered down all three, as Kupiuc leaped high. An unseen voice chanted:

And the seals moved in one synchronized leap of agony, straight at a painted mat that was flung up before them, where the stylized figures of men with spears leaned out. Men and seals vanished under the mat as Killer Whale curvetted and jumped his triumph, and the music rose to accompany his gradual return to the sea, through the green mats whose motion was slowing. At last he vanished, with a last jet of spray, and the lights went down.

Beside me, Imarte shivered in ecstasy. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. “I’ve never encountered a society where the businessmen were also the entertainers.”

“Hey, you’re in California, remember?” I grinned at her and reached for a nice fat venison rib.

The lights were coming up again. Coyote came dancing out between the red whale bones, deliberately making his penis bob in time with his steps. When he threw out his hands and stopped, it kept dancing up and down as though it had a life of its own. He pretended to notice and did an elaborate double take. The audience tittered.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing? I stopped dancing,” he admonished it.

“So?” it replied. “You think you’re the only one who feels like dancing now and then?” This guy was some ventriloquist! “Why should the party stop, just because
you
get tired?”

“Because I’m the one in charge around here, that’s why!” shouted Coyote.

“Oh really?” The penis craned up as though it were staring balefully at him. It was a clever puppet, it had to be a puppet, but I was damned if I could see how it worked. “So you’re the big chief, huh?”

“That’s right!” Coyote told it, backing up a little as though he were intimidated, but of course the penis stayed right with him.

“I don’t think so,” it replied.

“You what? You’ve got your nerve!” shouted Coyote. “I’m the one who decides where we go. I’m the one who decides when we wake, when we sleep, when we play. I’m the one …” But his penis was shaking its head.

“Suppose you’re relaxing on a nice warm sandy beach, but I see a pretty girl and decide to go talk to her. Do you think you get to sleep in the sun? Uh-uh.”

“Well, maybe, but—”

“And suppose you’re hungry and digging for roots, but I see a pretty girl. You’re going to go hungry a while longer!”

“Well, that’s happened, but—”

“But nothing!
I’m
the one who calls the shots around here. And from now on, I’m not just hanging around.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah! I’m going to have my own social life. To begin with, I’m not riding around down here anymore, I’m going to perch on top of your head.”

Coyote was aghast. “You can’t do
that!
I’ll look ridiculous!”

“You think I’m not tired of looking ridiculous? Now it’s your
turn. Besides, the brains belong on top! When I see a woman I want to talk to, no more arguments! We’re going right to bed with her. Bear’s wife, for example. Eagle’s wife! We’ll jump in the furs with her right away.”

“We can’t do that!” cried Coyote. “Eagle will kill me! Bear will too!”

“What do I care? Did you ever care what happened to me when you went diving in the cold surf?” The penis shivered dramatically. “If Bear or Eagle beat you up, too bad for you. We’re doing things my way now!”

“We’re not!” Coyote shouted.

“And another thing! I’m tired of being bald! I want a nice toupee of otter fur. The most expensive kind!”

Oh, the people were rolling on the ground, crying with laughter.

“You must be crazy!” Coyote yelled, after a pause to let them quiet down. “Where do you think I’m going to get that kind of money?”

“You just get it, that’s all, or else!” The penis reared threateningly.

“Oh, yeah?” said Coyote furiously, glaring down at it. “Or else what?”

By way of answer the penis squirted a stream of water into his face. The audience roared. “Aaargh!” Coyote shook his head wildly, wiping his eyes. He took a swing at the penis, which dodged out of the way.

“Ha ha ha! See how
you
like a faceful of that stuff!” the penis told him. Coyote swung at it again, and it dodged the other way. Back and forth, back and forth it dodged as he tried to hit it. “Missed me, missed me!” it jeered.

At last Coyote mimed
I’ll fix HIM
to the audience. He brought both fists up together in the air over his head, clasped them
together as though he were gripping a sledgehammer handle, and brought them down on his penis with all his might. BOOM, went the drums, and the flutes screamed once. Coyote froze, his face a mask of astonishment.

For a minute there was absolute silence, except for the audience, who were leaning and clutching at one another in their howling merriment. Coyote remained standing perfectly still, and then he began to blink very fast. Flutter flutter, went his eyelids, though nothing else moved. Then his toes curled.

The drums began a roll, building steadily to a crescendo, and at their height Coyote leaped backward, falling down and spinning wildly on his back. “YIPE YIPE YIPE! I’ve killed him, I’ve killed him, oh, help, somebody!”

“What’s the matter? What’s all the noise about?” A figure came running out between the whale bones. It was Sawlawlan, but judging from his little fur hat and the black paint on his hands and around his eyes, he was supposed to be Raccoon.

“I’ve, uh, injured myself,” groaned Coyote.

“Oh, my goodness, how terrible!” Raccoon threw up his little black hands in dismay. “What did you do?”

“Well … I was asleep behind a rock on the beach, and my penis is so long, it was lying out along the sand, and some men came along and thought it was a redwood tree washed up. They tried to split it into planks, and now it’s dead!” Coyote told him.

“Poor Coyote! It certainly looks dead.” Gingerly Raccoon reached down and lifted it by the tip. He let go, and it flopped lifelessly. Coyote howled.

“Don’t worry, Coyote! I’ll get help. Everyone, call with me!” Raccoon implored us. “Call out like this: Help! Help! Coyote’s penis won’t stand up!”

“COYOTE’S PENIS WON’T STAND UP!” we all yelled. Coyote looked indignant.

“That’s right! All together now! Coyote needs help to get his penis up!”

“COYOTE NEEDS HELP TO GET HIS PENIS UP!” shouted the reverend elders, and the fathers and mothers, and the bright-eyed children.

“Hey!” Coyote protested. “Don’t tell people that. Call for help some other way. Tell them—I broke my fishing spear.”

“If you say so. Help! Help! Coyote broke his fishing spear!”

“What’s that?” Through the whalebone door came Kupiuc, still all black and white but with feather ornaments now, and a beaked mask instead of teeth.

“Oh, Cormorant, I’m so glad you’re here!” cried Raccoon. “Coyote hurt his—”

“My fishing spear,” said Coyote.

“His fishing spear?” Cormorant cocked his head and looked at Coyote out of one eye. “I didn’t know you were a fisherman, Coyote.”

“Of course I am! I’m a famous and clever fisherman, only I’ve broken my spear and I can’t fish just now!” snapped Coyote.

“You look like you’ve hurt your penis, too,” said Cormorant, moving his neck snakily, considering Coyote from another angle.

“Nonsense! Nothing wrong with it at all!”

“But—but—” Raccoon pulled at his ears in bewilderment.

“If you have got a spare fishing spear you could lend me, I’d be much obliged,” Coyote continued, gritting his teeth.

“Certainly. Here you go.” Cormorant held out a spear, and Coyote took it. “Going to go fishing now, are you?”

“Of course, of course, as soon as I’ve rested a little. Don’t let me detain you! Please go on and do whatever you were going to do. Bye-bye.”

Cormorant shrugged and left.

Raccoon wrung his hands. “Coyote, are you crazy? What are you going to do with a fishing spear?”

“Here! Tie it to my penis!” Coyote snarled. “Maybe this will help make it stiff again. Ow! Be careful! Not so tight!”

“I’m doing my best!” fretted Raccoon.

“There! See if it will stand up now,” Coyote demanded. Raccoon held it up again, but it fell over with a dismal flop, accented by a falling run of notes on the flute. Fresh gales of mirth from the audience.

“It’s not working, Coyote,” cried Raccoon. “Whatever shall we do?”

“What’s all the noise?” came a wobbly falsetto, and out minced big Nutku in drag. He had a long gray wig of fiber cord and a deerhide cloak painted with a pattern of datura plants, big leaves and white trumpet flowers as fine as on a Georgia O’Keefe calendar. There were white flowers wound into his braids, too, and tucked behind his ears.

“Oh, Moonflower, we’re so glad you’re here,” said Raccoon. “Coyote’s hurt his—”

“Good heavens, Coyote!” exclaimed Moonflower. “Why on earth do you have a fishing spear tied to your penis? You’ll never get a woman to sit on it like that!”

“That’s not my penis,” grated Coyote. “That’s uh, my baby!”

“Your baby!” Moonflower whooped with shrill laughter. “Old woman as I am, I thought I’d seen everything! Your baby, eh? Why does the poor little one-eyed thing have a fishing spear tied to him?”

“He has curvature of the spine,” replied Coyote with an attempt at dignity. “I don’t have a cradle board for him, so I tied him to a fishing spear.”

“No cradle board?” said Moonflower. “It so happens I have a spare cradle board here, one my grandson outgrew.” She produced
one from under her robe. “This will fix his little back!”

“Er, thank you, Moonflower, but, you know—I think what he really needs is a dose of your special medicine.” Coyote looked beguiling. “That wonderful elixir you serve, the one that kills pain and brings visions? Just leave some with me, and I’ll administer it.”