Rook & Tooth and Claw

by Graham Masterton

  “I found out about Big Monster, too,” said Titus, putting up his hand. “There’s a web site all about Native American mythology. It said that Big Monster wouldn’t have been killed by the lightning, but another demon had cut off all his hair, which left his head unprotected. The other demon was called … I wrote it down here someplace … Coyote.”

  Jim felt the back of his neck prickle, as if an insect were crawling down it. “Coyote, huh? Did anybody else find out about Coyote?”

  “Hey, I did,” said John Ng. “To me, he was one of the most interesting of all the Native American spirits, because there are spirits just like him in Japan and Vietnam. He was very cunning and tricky, you know? And he really liked human women. He was always chasing after them and trying to get up their skirts. I found this Navajo song that goes: ‘One day walking through a mountain pass, Coyote met a young woman. What have you in your pack, she said. Fish eggs. Can I have some? If you close your eyes and hold up your dress. She did as she was told. Higher, said Coyote and stepped out of his britches. Stand still so I can reach the place. I can’t there is something crawling between my legs. Don’t worry it’s a bee, I’ll get it. The woman dropped her dress. You weren’t fast enough. It stung me.’”

  “Typical male,” put in Beattie. “Even when you’re demons you can’t keep your things to yourselves.”

  Ricky Herman said, “Play another tune, Beattie.” But Jim interrupted and said, “Go on, John. What else did you find out about Coyote?”

  “Well, he was different from all the other spirits because he had power over death. This happened because he loved this one woman so much that he agreed to die for her. The only thing was, he buried his lungs, his heart, his blood and his breath deep in the ground, so that he could dig them up again. He died four times for this woman and each time he came back to life again. So in the end the spirits of the underworld said that he would never have to return.”

  “Presumably, then, he’s still alive today?”

  “If you believe in spirits, I guess he is. But it says in Navajo Legends that he only managed to survive when the white men came by mating with a human woman. Every generation that goes by, he picks the most beautiful Navajo woman that he can find, and gives her a son; and that son is him, too, so that when he dies he’s still alive, if you get what I mean.

  “In the old days he was so frightening to look at that he used to wear a coyote skin on his back to disguise himself, which is why he was nicknamed Coyote. His real Navajo name is First One To Use Words For Force. These days, he looks like any ordinary man, except that he has to wear yellow glasses so that people can’t see that he has yellow eyes like a dog.”

  Jim had a sudden flash of Dog Brother, sitting in his trailer. The feathers, the leather pants, the yellow spectacles. John Three Names had lied to him, because he must have known that he wouldn’t have taken Catherine to see him if he had suspected the truth.

  Dog Brother wasn’t a man at all. Or rather, he was only half human. He hadn’t needed to find a wonder-worker to put a hex on Catherine. He hadn’t needed to call on Coyote. Dog Brother was Coyote.

  Jim suddenly realised that John had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly.

  “Go on, John. I’m listening. You’ve done really well.”

  John said, “Coyote is supposed to choose his wives on their fifteenth birthday. He cuts his hand and he cuts her hand, and they exchange blood.”

  “Doesn’t he know about HIV?” asked Seymour.

  “It’s a legend, for crying out loud,” said Ray. “Legends don’t get sick.”

  “Superman gets sick when he’s exposed to Kryptonite,” Ricky objected.

  “Yeah, but Superman is a comic character, not a legend. Besides, he wouldn’t get HIV because he isn’t gay.”

  “He looks gay.”

  “So do you but I don’t make a class discussion out of it.”

  “That’s enough,” said Jim. “John – you finish telling us what you’ve found out.”

  “Once Coyote’s blood is flowing inside the woman’s veins, he can control her with magic, wherever she goes, even if she tries to run away from him.”

  “What did I tell you?” said Beattie. “Typical domineering male behavior.”

  Jim walked slowly and thoughtfully to the back of the class. “You’ve done very well. That’s all very interesting research. I wonder, though – even though Coyote was apparently exempt from death – did anyone find out if it was possible to get rid of him? Banish him, maybe, to a place where he couldn’t escape? Or rob him of some of his magical strength, the way that he cut Big Monster’s hair and robbed him of his?”

  “Navajo Legends says that in the old days, wonder-workers used to call Coyote with a whistle, and they would make bargains with him to defeat any opposing tribes. It says here, ‘In 1837 a Navajo wonder-worker whistled up Coyote and agreed to give him five virgins in exchange for invincible strength against the Hopi. The next day the Navajo attacked the village of Oraibi, which had a claim to being the oldest continuously populated community in America, and they wiped out almost everybody living there.’”

  He ran his finger down the page, and then he said, “It looks like the only way to deal with Coyote would be to have him killed by one of his fellow-spirits … and men dig up his heart before he could, and hide it where he could never find it.”

  Beattie said, “Mr Rook? I found out about a woman who turned herself into one of those big furry animals that live in the forest.” Beattie suffered from anomia, which meant that she had difficulty in remembering what things were called.

  “You’re talking about the Bear Maiden,” said John. “She was the one that Coyote was really in love with.”

  Jim said, “I don’t think we need to discuss Navajo legends any more for today. After this week I’m all Navajoed out. But next week I’d like you all to write a modern-day story based on an old Native American myth. Bring it up to date, so to speak.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Beattie. “Just when we get to women demons we have to stop.”

  The students gathered up their books and papers and noisily left the class. Jim went back to his desk and looked through his schedule for the rest of the mouth. He was still bent over it when Mark and Sharon came up to him. Both of them looked serious.

  “Hi, you two. I think I know what you’re going to say.”

  Sharon said, “What’s the story, Mr Rook? Did Ms Randall really have an asthma attack, like you told us back in Arizona, or is she still on the reservation, looking for old maps? Or is it neither?”

  “I owe you both an apology,” said Jim. “You know how I usually feel about telling the truth. But back there in Window Rock I didn’t want to upset you more than I had to.”

  “What happened?” asked Mark. “Ms Randall’s OK, isn’t she?”

  “I’m going to have to ask you guys to keep this to yourselves, for the same reason I kept it from you. This business with Catherine isn’t finished yet, and unless I have freedom of movement I’m not going to be able to help her.

  He paused, and then he said, “Ms Randall was involved in an accident. I’m afraid she was killed.”

  “She’s dead?” said Sharon, shocked.

  “What kind of an accident?” asked Mark.

  Jim gave them a small, helpless shrug. “It was something to do with Catherine, but right now I can’t really explain it. As soon as I can, though, you’ll get the whole story. I promise.”

  “But you told everybody that she was still back in Arizona – even Dr Ehrlichman.”

  “I know, and when the time comes, I’m going to have to apologize to them, too.”

  “Jeez,” said Mark. “I just can’t believe that she’s dead. I can still see her face.”

  Jim laid a hand on his shoulder. “Believe me, Mark, so can I.”

  Jim was packing up at the end of the day when Dr Ehrlichman came into his classroom. “I’m glad you had an interesting trip, Jim. I have to admit that I wasn’t sure about
your ethnic adventures to start with. I didn’t really see their relevance to remedial English studies. But I’ve heard some approving noises from the board of education, and I gather that your test results have been improving.”

  “Communication is communication,” said Jim. “I just believe that if everybody in my class can understand each other’s background, and what makes them think the way they do, then they’re going to be much better at explaining their own background, and their own ideas.”

  “Well, that’s good. That’s very good. It seems like The Los Angeles Times may even be interested in running a piece about it.”

  “I think my students could do without that sort of publicity,” said Jim. “Between these four walls they don’t mind admitting their shortcomings, but they don’t want the whole world to be told that they’re slow.”

  “A story like that would do the college good, you know … especially after last week’s tragedy.”

  “Well, we’ll see. I’ll think about it over the weekend.”

  “We’re going to see you tomorrow afternoon, I hope?”

  “What for?”

  “The game against Azusa tomorrow. Ben Thunkus thinks we have a better-than-even chance of winning.”

  “You’re still going to play? After what happened to Martin?”

  Dr Ehrlichman dry-washed his hands with a particularly unpleasant squeak. “I talked to his parents. They’re all for it. I talked to the team. They all want to play this game as a tribute to everything that Martin did for them.”

  “OK … if that’s the way they feel.”

  “It is, Jim. It is. And it’s the way I feel, too. This college has had a very shaky semester, very shaky. I’d like to see us back on track again. Remember the West Grove motto – ‘Achievement Through Enjoyment.’”

  “I think the student version is ‘Getting It All By Having A Ball,’” said Jim.

  Dr Ehrlichman said, “I didn’t know that, and I wish I didn’t know it now.”

  “I’ll see you at the game,” Jim told him.

  Chapter Nine

  Early that evening he drove over to see Henry Black Eagle. A pretty young Hispanic woman was standing on his doorstep, busily polishing his brass doorplate.

  “Mr Black Eagle at home?” asked Jim.

  “No, senor. But you can find him at the Cafe del Rey.”

  “You seen him today?”

  “Sure. He wasn’t working today. He said they were shooting around him.”

  “What kind of mood was he in? Can you tell me that?”

  “Que?”

  “Well, was he happy, cheerful, humming songs? Or was he sad and depressed?”

  “He was very itchy.”

  “He was itchy? You mean like scratching himself all the time?”

  “No, no, itchy like he was waiting for something. Every time the telephone rings he goes voom! to answer it.”

  “Voom,” Jim repeated, thoughtfully. “OK, that’s helpful. Thank you.”

  He climbed back into his car and drove toward the ocean. It was an hour before sunset and the streets were striped with marmalade light. He turned into Admiralty Way and drove toward the marina with the warm sea air blowing in his hair. If he hadn’t been so worried it would have been a perfect evening.

  He found Henry Black Eagle sitting at the cafe’s dining bar, where singles can look out over the yachts jostling at anchor in the marina and eat in peace. He was halfway through a steak and a fennel salad, with a large glass of red wine. Jim approached him from behind and slipped onto the empty stool next to him.

  “How’s the steak, Mr Black Eagle? Bloody enough for your taste? Or do you prefer something more like a burnt offering?”

  Henry Black Eagle jerked back, his eyes wide with shock.

  “Oh, excuse me,” said Jim, “did I surprise you?”

  “What are you doing here?” asked Henry Black Eagle. Then he looked around the busy cafe as if he were searching for somebody. “Where’s Catherine?”

  “You want to know what I’m doing here?” Jim told him. “I’m here to settle a score, that’s what I’m doing here. As for Catherine – well, mission accomplished, for the most part. I managed to get her to Fort Defiance trailer park and hand her over to her prospective husband, which was exactly what you wanted me to do, wasn’t it? The only trouble was, it all got a little messy.”

  “Messy? What are you talking about?”

  “Hasn’t your friend John Three Names called you and told you? Well, I’m not totally surprised. Right now, John Three Names looks like that steak probably looks like, inside of your stomach.”

  “John Three Names is dead?”

  “That’s right. And so is Susan Randall, who came with me to help look after your daughter.”

  “How about your students?”

  “Oh, thanks for your consideration. They’re fit and well, no thanks to you, or to the Changing Bear Maiden, or to First One To Use Words For Force.”

  “Listen,” said Henry Black Eagle, pushing his plate away. “I didn’t have any choice. If I hadn’t sent Catherine back to Coyote, she would have gone on killing. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Sending Catherine back to Coyote was one thing. But you sacrificed the life of a completely innocent woman and you were quite prepared to sacrifice the lives of two completely innocent young people, just to get your sons out of jail.”

  “That wasn’t the only reason, Mr Rook. Coyote knew how much you cared for that woman, and he knew what those students meant to you. He wanted to show you that if you ever set yourself against him, or tried to take Catherine away from him, you would be as good as dead.”

  “Then he wasn’t going to kill me?”

  “It depends on your definition of death, Mr Rook. He would have killed everybody that you love and destroyed everything that you cherish. That’s his way.”

  “But what for? What the hell have I ever done to him?”

  “You’re a white man, Mr Rook. That alone would be quite enough. But more than that, he knows that you have the gift of sight. He would have sensed it from the moment you first came near Catherine. His blood runs in her veins, remember.”

  “And?”

  Henry Black Eagle lowered his eyes for a moment and then looked up again and gave Jim a narrow, piercing look. “And he’s just a little bit afraid of you, that’s what.”

  “What can I possibly do to him, when he’s got the kind of magic that can turn your daughter into a beast like the Changing Bear Maiden?”

  “He remembers what the white men did to all of the other spirits, Mr Rook. He’s alone now, the last spirit who can actually walk on the earth. Maybe ‘afraid’ is an exaggeration, but he’s certainly wary of you. He thinks you must be in contact with the white man’s spirits, and he doesn’t want to risk offending a demon who might be stronger than him.”

  Jim looked at Henry Black Eagle for a while and didn’t know whether to feel disgusted or sympathetic. In the end, he said, “What are you going to do now?”

  “What can I do? You’ve found me out, and I can’t even begin to tell you how ashamed I am, how guilty I feel. I will have the death of your woman on my mind for the rest of my life; and the deaths of my sons, too, if the courts find them guilty. If I had known when my wife was dying that this was what would happen if I made a bargain with Coyote, then I would have preferred to have done nothing, and let her die.”

  “I may have found you out, but there’s nothing I can do about it,” said Jim. “You haven’t broken any laws, have you, except the laws of common humanity.”

  “My head is bowed,” said Henry Black Eagle.

  “Well, maybe you can unbow it by helping me to get your daughter back. I think we owe her that much, don’t we?”

  “It’s impossible. Coyote will only transform her into the Changing Bear Maiden again and again, and each time it happens to her, the beast grows larger and the transformation lasts longer. In the end, she will be a beast for ever, and she will have to roam the reser
vations every night looking for men to kill. Can you imagine what a nightmare that would be? And every fresh killing would be on my conscience, too.

  “If we leave her alone, Mr Rook, Coyote will take the curse off her and treat her well. She will be treated with great respect by everybody on the reservation. She will lead a much better life than most Navajo women.”

  “Mr Black Eagle, that’s not the life she wants to lead. We owe it to her to get her away from him.”

  “It’s impossible,” Henry Black Eagle repeated. “And who knows what revenge Coyote would take?”

  “God almighty,” said Jim, “no wonder the Indians lost the West.”

  “Mr Rook – if I knew how to get my daughter back – if I thought that there was a way to make some kind of amends for what I’ve done—”

  “There is. You can arrange for you and me to fly back out to the reservation tomorrow and we can beard this Coyote character in his den.”

  “To do what? You don’t have any idea how powerful he is.”

  “The legend says that you can keep him under control by having him killed by another spirit and then taking his heart and hiding it from him. You must know some wonder-workers who could conjure up another spirit, surely.”

  “Grey Cloud does. But even if you could find a wonder-worker who was prepared to do it, you wouldn’t find another spirit that would kill Coyote for nothing. Spirits always demand a payment.”

  “Then maybe a human could kill him. Maybe we could kill him.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Rook, we wouldn’t stand a chance in hell. Nobody challenges Coyote unless they’re dead drunk or tired of living.”

  “I can find a way, I’m sure of it.”

  Henry Black Eagle lifted his hand to call for the check. After he had paid, he said, “Okay, Mr Rook, I’ll arrange two flights tomorrow afternoon. If I can’t stop you from going, then the least I can do is go with you. Maybe if the Changing Bear Maiden kills both of us, the police will let Paul and Grey Cloud go free.”