Naomi Gonzales

Coyote

The hot, dry wind swirled through the sand and dirt and the sun warmed all that it touched. Cactus raised their arms to the sky in silent praise, at the same time offering the sanctuary of shade. A ridge of mountains guarded the desert; red fingers fiercely gripped red stone as a testament to their unwavering rule and longevity. The heat baptized the desert, making the ground shimmer and dance.

Through the wavering rays, a form appeared. The coyote stood still, ears perked and nose searching the air. After a moment, it loped in the direction of the mountains and stopped at an outcropping of rocks. The result of a rockslide, the reddish boulders lay about in disarray but the coyote searched for a specific stone. He stopped in the midst of the boulders—in front of one that was flat enough for him to leap onto and sit atop, his tawny tail curled slightly around his large paws.

To many, the desert seemed barren. But the coyote knew better; he had seen generations of human life move through his lands and when the humans were gone, the smaller beasts thrived. Recently, however, the coyote had seen fewer and fewer humans wandering among the red rocks and the ones he had seen were pale and soft; they bore no resemblance to the men who ran like his brethren. Things were changing, everyone could sense it—the ravens noticed it first, and slowly they all caught on but they did not fear. There was nothing to fear—time would pass, generations would give way to new generations, but the desert and its makers would remain.

The coyote waited.

* * *

            About a mile south, a human couple walked towards the mountains. The man walked confidently and with purpose, the sand and dirt crunched under his sandals and he shouldered a leather knapsack. His walk was not hurried but he seemed intent on getting to his destination. The woman--his wife--walked with less enthusiasm. Her wide face was creased with worry and her fingers ran through her loose black hair nervously.

            “I don’t understand why we have to do this,” the woman said, a hint of anger evident in her voice. “It’s preposterous to think this will even work.”

            The man grabbed her hand without stopping his brisk walk; the rich brown of their skins met and became indistinguishable from one another. “We have to try. It’s all that’s left.”

            Her face softened and she struggled to match his pace, her white Nikes flashing against the red dirt. “I know. I just don’t think it’ll work. No good can come of it. He’s unreliable.”

            At this, the man stopped short. “Why would you say such things! And in His lands! You would do well to apologize.”

            “Apologize?” She scoffed, her momentary softness gone as she tore her hand from his and stopped. “Apologize to whom? To a god who may not even exist? To a myth? A legend? A character from stories of a culture that has all but been forgotten?”

            “Leah,” he pleaded. “You’ll make Him angry.”

            “Leah! We don’t even have Shoshone names anymore, and you still cling to a fairy tale. We need science; we need medicine—that’s where we’ll find our answer. Not out here in the desert. It’s as barren as we are.” Leah laughed harshly.

            Her husband said nothing.

            “Since you’re so set on this whole thing, you go. I’ll just sit right here and wait.” She looked around for something to sit on, and realizing there was nothing, she crossed her arms and stood. 

            Without saying a word, her husband continued walking toward the red ridges, this time with less enthusiasm. Leah watched him go and, despite her defiance, her face was marked with concern.

            The man walked toward the mountain, his walk less confident than before but still maintaining its purposeful stride. Nearing the stern fingers, he removed his knapsack and held it carefully in his hands. He could see the scattered boulders and stones and could make out a shape sitting atop a large boulder. His pulse quickened, and even though the sun still blazed hotly, he felt a slight chill.

            He moved closer and closer. The shape did not move. Finally, after what seemed a lifetime of crossing the desert, he reached the seated form. The coyote stared at him evenly—wild, honey colored eyes boring into human, dark ones.

            For a moment, all that could be heard was the slight rustle of the wind through the dirt. And then—

            “What is your name?”

            The coyote did not open its mouth to speak, but the man heard the question. The ancient voice sounded through his body and reverberated in his bones, the vibrations forming words. The man struggled not to show his surprise and the growing fear in the pit of his belly. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and spoke resoundingly.

            “Caleb.”

            “Caleb.” The coyote repeated the name, and Caleb felt the difference. “Are you not of the Shoshone tribe, wanderer of the desert? You smell like the humans of long ago, like those who lived peacefully with my brothers. And yet your name is foreign to my tongue.”

            Caleb’s brown skin blushed red in shame. “My people have abandoned the old ways. We’ve been taught to forget our ancestors. The Shoshone language has been lost.”

            “I see. And yet you are here. You sought me out, that much is apparent by my presence. You have not forgotten Coyote.”

            Caleb felt a wave of relief wash over him; so this really was Coyote, the trickster god of his people. The Utah sun hadn’t been playing with his mind.

            “You have found me Caleb of the Shoshone tribe. What else do you seek?” Coyote’s voice resounded through Caleb.

            Caleb took a moment to think. Coyote was a maker, a very old god and most certainly not one to be trifled with. He’s also a friend to man, thought Caleb. If the myths are true, why else would He steal fire? But still…a god is a god. And Coyote is a trickster.

            Coyote’s tail twitched almost imperceptibly but Caleb’s keen eye noticed. He knew that he was running out of time. The longer he took, the smaller his window of opportunity would get and the chance of Coyote disappearing altogether would grow. If he didn’t do something now, he would lose his nerve.

            He quickly opened his knapsack and pulled out a package wrapped in butcher paper. Caleb locked eyes with Coyote and slowly, reverently, walked over to the where the god sat. He unwrapped the bundle to reveal a large skinned rabbit, washed clean. He laid the meat and butcher paper in front of Coyote. After a moment, he reached into the pack and carefully removed another package, unwrapped it, and laid the second skinned rabbit down next to the first.

            “Coyote, Creator of man, please accept my offering.”

            From atop the boulder, Coyote peered down at his gift. The black nostrils of his nose widened as he took in the scent. For a moment, he said nothing, nor moved. Then his wild eyes met Caleb’s.

            “Your offering is accepted. You may ask of me one thing. Make your request wisely.”

            Leah’s scoffs played through Caleb’s mind and his resolve weakened. He inhaled deeply and forced every uncertainty and hint of fear out of his conscious. Caleb wanted to give Coyote no reason to trick him.

            “I want a child. My wife and I are barren. All we want is a child.”  Caleb tried his best to keep his voice strong and unwavering, but even his own ears could detect a slight hint of desperation. He knew that Coyote heard it too, and his heart thudded loudly.

            Sure enough, the canid’s eyes sparkled like crystalline honey and his maw spread into a grin. “Of course, Caleb. Of course I will give you a child.” Coyote leaned forward and breathed onto the human’s head.

            Caleb felt the world around him lose shape and substance, and then everything went black.

* * *

            The desert floated back into focus. The man came to, one sense at a time. He felt the sand rub against his skin and the dry wind carried the faint scent of desert juniper. His mouth was dry and his tongue tasted like cotton. He heard a small scratching noise and something that sounded like a whimper. Slowly, his eyes opened against the bright sun; for a moment, he was blind. Everything was white but as he blinked, he began to make out the dark shapes around him: boulders, mountain, cactus. He sat up, having forgotten how he ended up in that position. Caleb caught sight of the empty butcher paper at the base of a boulder, about half a foot from where he sat, and suddenly everything rushed back. He glanced around frantically, but he was alone. The grief and disappointment overwhelmed him.

            Caleb buried his face into his arms, embarrassed by his boyish eagerness. Leah was right, he was nothing more than a fool. Leah. How would he explain to Leah what had happened? He had no idea how long he had been away from her; surely she had worried and then became angry, as her mercurial temper was prone to do. He hadn’t wanted to turn to medicine, to science, to solve their problem. He wanted to return to the ways of his people, of their people. He had hoped that Coyote would be the answer. He didn’t want to accept that he was wrong, but the fact remained as obvious as the sun.

            Caleb sighed resignedly and dusted his palms off on his legs. As he stood to go, he heard a whimper. The first whimper had been lost in the daze of his effort to return to consciousness but, like his encounter with Coyote, it returned to his memory. He stood still, waiting to hear it again.

            There. Louder. More insistent.

            He quietly crept towards the direction of the plea. And then he saw it; a small tawny colored ball of fur, no bigger than his two hands. His pulse quickened. Surely, surely he was mistaken.

            “Hey there,” Caleb whispered.

            The small shape moved, and a face appeared amid the downy fluff. Two amber eyes stared at him from behind a small black nose.

            Caleb was at a loss. Coyote had tricked him. He has asked for a child and Coyote had given him one: a coyote pup. The trick was suddenly so obvious that he was surprised he didn’t see it coming.       

            What to do… Caleb thought, watching the pup try to stand unsteadily. There was nothing he could do, he decided. He had to take the pup. Leaving it to fend for itself in the desert would be unthinkable, and would probably incur Coyote’s wrath. Yes, he thought. It’s best I just take it with me. Although I don’t know what I’ll tell Leah.

            He reached for the pup and ignored its whimpers and wriggles of protest. He contemplated putting it in the knapsack, but thought better of it. Holding the pup with one hand, he slung the empty bag over his shoulder and then held the pup in the crook of his arm, supporting it with the other hand. It stopped whimpering and snuggled into him, its small black nose peeking over his arm. He stroked the downy fur with his forefinger, starting from the tip of the tiny black nose and up between the amber eyes. To his surprise, he felt a small nudge coming from the pup. Somehow this comforted him, and he felt a little better.

            The walk back to Leah seemed shorter.  She stood beneath an enormous cactus, taking refuge in the shade but scowling at the landscape around her. She caught sight of him.

            “Finally! You’ve been gone for hours.” Beneath her scowl, Caleb noticed the relief that flooded her voice. It disappeared almost immediately as Leah smiled sarcastically, “And with no child, I see. I guess Coyote had more important things to do.”

            “Leah--”

            “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I just want to go home.” She started moving the direction they came when he stopped her.

            “Leah. I met Him.”

            She stopped and turned slowly. “What?”

            “Coyote. I met Him.” Caleb swallowed nervously. “Leah,” he hesitated. “Leah, He tricked me.”

            She laughed but quickly stopped when she saw his face. “Wait, you’re serious?” For the first time Leah noticed that he held something in his arms. “What is that?”

            “A child.” Caleb held out his hands, showing her the coyote pup.

            “A coyote? Really Caleb? That’s the best you could do? That’s great, but I want a human child. Not a dog. What the hell are we supposed to do with that?” She was angry and her brown skin tinged red.

            Caleb, for all his courage, could not meet her eyes. Her anger blazed too strongly, it was almost tangible against his skin.

            “We keep it.” He replied simply. “I know it’s not what you want but we have to keep it. It was a gift. We should be grateful for what Coyote gave us; I’m sure it means something. To have patience, maybe.” Caleb felt helpless, and shamed. The pup began to wriggle again so he set it on the ground.

            “Well that’s fantastic,” Leah began sarcastically. “I’m so glad we hiked all the way out here so some ancient deity could give us a puppy that’s symbolic of patience. I’m really glad we did this, it was nice.”

            The silence between the two echoed through the desert. As Leah seethed, the dry wind picked up and stirred the pup’s fur. The woman sat on her haunches and looked at the pup who had given up walking and was now making pitiful whining sounds, sitting in the same position as the woman. Leah’s angry dark eyes looked into the innocent amber of the pup’s.

            “Caleb,” Leah’s voice had cooled. “Caleb, I really just want to go home.”

            “I really wanted this to work. I believed it would work.”

            “I know.” Leah stood and reached for his hand. “I wanted it to work too.”

            Throughout their time in the desert, Caleb could feel Leah’s pessimism and anger weighing him down. As she grasped his hand, however, he felt her sadness and her hope as fiercely as his own.

            The human couple stood together, hand-in-hand, and the vast desert painted red by the setting sun stretched out around them. Leah reached down to pick up the coyote pup but her hand froze halfway. Caleb looked at his wife, and followed her stare.

            The coyote pup was changing. Before the couple’s eyes, its fur receded everywhere except its crown, exposing pale skin. The joints in its forelegs shifted slightly, and its paws elongated and split into fingers, the sharp nails flattened into translucent keratin. The joint in the hind legs also shifted, the paws lengthened into small feet with small toes. The bushy tail disappeared, and the body grew into the torso of a toddler. The face flattened, forming a human nose and the skull rounded. The ears were the last to change; pointed and wide they shrunk and moved against the skull, the intricate curves wound their way until completed.

            Caleb and Leah were no longer staring at a coyote pup; they were staring at a little girl, no more than a year, curled into a fetal position on the sand.

            Hesitantly, Leah reached out to her. She gingerly touched the girl’s shoulder, and then caressed her short sandy colored hair. The girl stirred and Leah drew her hand back.

            “Caleb…” Leah whispered, stunned, eyes wide.

            Caleb, too, was shocked, but it felt right. It felt like Coyote’s work.

            “Pick her up.” He told his wife.

            Without being told twice, Leah scooped up the baby and held her close.

            The girl’s eyes opened.

            They were still amber.