Coyote also reminds us of another salient element in Indian philosophy: there is laughter amid tears, and sadness tucked away in a raucous tale. The Sioux medicine man Lame Deer said, “Coyote, Iktome, and all clowns are sacred. They are a necessary part of us. A people who have so much to cry about as Indians do also need their laughter to survive.”
COYOTE, IKTOME, AND THE ROCK
[WHITE RIVER SIOUX]
Coyote was walking with his friend Iktome. Along their path stood Iya, the rock. This was not just any rock; it was special. It had those spidery lines of green moss all over it, the kind that tell a story. Iya had power.
Coyote said: “Why, this is a nice-looking rock. I think it has power.” Coyote took off the thick blanket he was wearing and put it on the rock. “Here, Iya, take this as a present. Take this blanket, friend rock, to keep you from freezing. You must feel cold.”
“Wow, a giveaway!” said Iktome. “You sure are in a giving mood today, friend.”
“Ah, it’s nothing. I’m always giving things away. Iya looks real nice in my blanket.”
“His blanket, now,” said Iktome.
The two friends went on. Pretty soon a cold rain started. The rain turned to hail. The hail turned to slush. Coyote and Iktome took refuge in a cave, which was cold and wet. Iktome was all right; he had his thick buffalo robe. Coyote had only his shirt, and he was shivering. He was freezing. His teeth were chattering.
“Kola, friend of mine,” Coyote said to Iktome, “go back and get me my fine blanket. I need it, and that rock has no use for it. He’s been getting along without a blanket for ages. Hurry; I’m freezing!”
Iktome went back to Iya, saying: “Can I have that blanket back, please?”
The rock said: “No, I like it. What is given is given.”
Iktome returned and told Coyote: “He won’t give it back.”
“That no-good, ungrateful rock!” said Coyote. “Has he paid for the blanket? Has he worked for it? I’ll go get it myself.”
“Friend,” said Iktome, “Tunka, Iya, the rock—there’s a lot of power there! Maybe you should let him keep it.”
“Are you crazy? This is an expensive blanket of many colors and great thickness. I’ll go talk to him.”
Coyote went back and told Iya: “Hey, rock! What’s the meaning of this? What do you need a blanket for? Let me have it back right now!”
“No,” said the rock, “what is given is given.”
“You’re a bad rock! Don’t you care that I’m freezing to death? That I’ll catch a cold?” Coyote jerked the blanket away from Iya and put it on. “So there; that’s the end of it.”
“By no means the end,” said the rock.
Coyote went back to the cave. The rain and hail stopped and the sun came out again, so Coyote and Iktome sat before the cave, sunning them-selives, eating pemmican and fry-bread and wojapi, berry soup. After eating, they took out their pipes and had a smoke.
All of a sudden Iktome said: “What’s that noise?”
“What noise? I don’t hear anything.”
“A crashing, a rumble far off.”
“Yes, friend, I hear it now.”
“Friend Coyote, it’s getting stronger and nearer, like thunder or an earthquake.”
“It is rather strong and loud. I wonder what it can be.”
“I have a pretty good idea, friend,” said Iktome.
Then they saw the great rock. It was Iya, rolling, thundering, crashing upon them.
“Friend, let’s run for it!” cried Iktome; “Iya means to kill us!”
The two ran as fast as they could while the rock rolled after them, coming closer and closer.
“Friend, let’s swim the river. The rock is so heavy, he sure can’t swim!” cried Iktome. So they swam the river, but Iya, the great rock, also swam over the river as if he had been made of wood.
“Friend, into the timber, among the big trees,” cried Coyote. “That big rock surely can’t get through this thick forest.” They ran among the trees, but the huge Iya came rolling along after them, shivering and splintering the big pines to pieces, left and right.
The two came out onto the flats. “Oh! Oh!” cried Iktome, Spider Man. “Friend Coyote, this is really not my quarrel. I just remembered, I have pressing business to attend to. So long!” Iktome rolled himself into a tiny ball and became a spider. He disappeared into a mousehole.
Coyote ran on and on, the big rock thundering close at his heels. Then Iya, the big rock, rolled right over Coyote, flattening him out altogether.
Iya took the blanket and rolled back to his own place, saying: “So there!”
A wasichu rancher riding along saw Coyote lying there all flattened out. “What a nice rug!” said the rancher, picking Coyote up, and he took the rug home.
The rancher put Coyote right in front of his fireplace. Whenever Coyote is killed, he can make himself come to life again, but it took him the whole night to puff himself up into his usual shape. In the morning the rancher’s wife told her husband: “I just saw your rug running away.”
Friends, hear this: always be generous in heart. If you have something to give, give it forever.
—Told by Jenny Leading Cloud in White River, Rosebud Indian Reservation, South Dakota, 1967.
Recorded by Richard Erdoes.
WHAT’S THIS? MY BALLS
FOR YOUR DINNER?
[WHITE RIVER SIOUX]
Iktome, the wicked Spider Man, and Shunk-Manitou, Coyote, are two no-good loafers. They lie, they steal, they are greedy, they are always after women. Maybe because they are so very much alike, they are friends, except when they try to trick each other.
One day Iktome invited Coyote for dinner at his lodge. Ikto told his wife: “Old Woman, here are two fine, big buffalo livers for my friend Coyote and myself. Fry them up nicely, the way I like them. And get some timpsila, some wild turnips, on the side, and afterwards serve us up some wojapi, some berry soup. Use chokecherries for that. Coyote always likes something sweet after his meal.”
“Is that all?” asked Iktome’s wife.
“I guess so; I can’t think of anything else.”
“There’s no third liver for me?” the wife inquired.
“You can have what’s left after my friend Coyote and I have eaten,” said Iktome. “Well, I’ll go out for a while; maybe I can shoot a fine, plump duck too. Coyote always stuffs himself, so one liver may not be enough for him. But watch this good friend of mine; don’t let him stick his hands under your robe. He likes to do that. Well, I go now. Have everything ready for us; Coyote never likes to wait.”
Iktome left and his old woman got busy cooking. “I know who’s always stuffing himself,” she thought. “I know whose hands are always busy feeling under some girl’s robe. I know who can’t wait—it’s that no-good husband of mine.”
The fried livers smelled so wonderful that the wife said to herself: “Those greedy, stingy, overbearing men! I know them; they’ll feast on these fine livers, and a few turnips will be all they leave for me. They have no consideration for a poor woman. Oh, that liver here looks so good, smells so good; I know it tastes good. Maybe I’ll try a little piece, just a tiny one. They won’t notice.”
So the wife tasted a bit of the liver, and then another bit, and then another, and in no time at all that liver was gone. “I might as well eat the other one too,” the wife said to herself, and she did.
“What will I do now?” she thought. “When Iktome finds out, he’ll surely beat me. But it was worth it!”
Just then Coyote arrived. He had dressed himself up in a fine beaded outfit with fringed sleeves. “Where is my good friend Iktome?” he asked. “What’s he up to? Probably nothing good.”
“How are you, friend?” said the woman, “My husband, Iktome, is out taking care of some business. He’ll be back soon. Sit down; be comfortable.”
“Out on business—you don’t say!” remarked Coyote, quickly sticking his hand under the woman’s robe and between her legs.
“Ikt
ome told me you’d try to do that. He told me not to let you.”
“Oh, Iktome and I are such good friends,” said Coyote, “we share everything.” He joked, he chucked the woman under the chin, he tickled her under the arms, and pretty soon he was all the way in her; way, way up inside her.
“It feels good,” said the woman, “but be quick about it. Iktome could be back any time now.”
“You think he’d mind, seeing we are such good friends?”
“I’m sure he would. You’d better stop now.”
“Well, all right. It smells very good here, but I see no meat cooking, just some timpsila. Meat is what I like.”
“And meat is what you’ll get. One sees this is the first time that you’ve come here for dinner; otherwise you’d know what you’ll get. We always serve a guest the same thing. Everybody likes it.”
“Is it really good?”
“It’s more than good. It’s lila washtay, very good.” Coyote smacked his lips, his mouth watering. “I can’t wait. What is it? Tell me!”
“Why, your itka, your susu, your eggs, your balls, your big hairy balls! We always have the balls of our guests for dinner.”
“Oh my! This must be a joke, a very bad joke.”
“It’s no joke at all. And I’d better cut them off right now with my big skinning knife, because it’s getting late. Ikto gets mad when I don’t have his food ready—he’ll beat me. And there I was, fooling around with you instead of doing my cooking. I’ll do it right now; drop your breechcloth. You won’t feel a thing, I do this so fast. I have practice.”
The woman came after Coyote with the knife in her hand.
“Wait a bit,” said Coyote. “Before you do this, let me go out and make some water. I’ll be right back,” and saying this, he ran out of the lodge. But he didn’t come back. He ran and ran as fast as his feet would carry him.
Just then Iktome came back without any ducks; he had caught nothing. He saw Coyote running away and asked, “Old Woman, what’s the matter with that crazy friend of mine? Why is he running off like that?”
“Your good friend is very greedy. He doesn’t have the sharing spirit,” his wife told Iktome. “Never invite him again. He has no manners. He doesn’t know how to behave. He saw those two fine buffalo livers, which I cooked just as you like them, and didn’t want to share them with you. He grabbed both and made off with them. Some friend!”
Iktome rushed out of the lodge in a frenzy, running after Coyote as fast as he could, shouting: “Coyote! Kola! Friend! Leave me at least one! Leave one for me! For your old friend Iktome!”
Coyote didn’t stop. He ran even faster than Ikto. Running, running, he looked back over his shoulder and shouted: “Cousin, if you catch me, you can have both of them!”
—Told by one of the Left Handed Bull family in White River, Rosebud Indian Reservation, and recorded by Richard Erdoes.
COYOTE AND WASICHU
[BRULE SIOUX]
There was a white man who was such a sharp trader that nobody ever got the better of him. Or so people said, until one day a man told this wasichu: “There’s somebody who can outcheat you anytime, anywhere.”
“That’s not possible,” said the wasichu. “I’ve had a trading post for many years, and I’ve cheated all the Indians around here.”
“Even so, Coyote can beat you in any deal.”
“Let’s see whether he can. Where is Coyote?”
“Over there, that tricky-looking guy.”
“Okay, all right, I’ll try him.”
The wasichu trader went over to Coyote. “Hey, let’s see you outsmart me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Coyote, “I’d like to help you out, but I can’t do it without my cheating medicine.”
“Cheating medicine, hah! Go get it.”
“I live miles from here and I’m on foot. But if you’d lend me your fast horse?”
“Well, all right, you can borrow it. Go on home and get your cheating medicine!”
“Well, friend, I’m a poor rider. Your horse is afraid of me, and I’m afraid of him. Lend me your clothes; then your horse will think that I am you.”
Well, all right. Here are my clothes; now you can ride him. Go get that medicine. I’m sure I can beat it!”
So Coyote rode off with the wasichu’s fast horse and his fine clothes, while the wasichu stood there bare-assed.
—Told at Grass Mountain, Rosebud Indian Reservation, South Dakota, 1974.
[NEZ PERCÉ]
Once, before there were any people in the world, the different animals and trees lived and moved about and talked together just like human beings. The pine trees had the secret of fire and guarded it jealously, so that no matter how cold it was, they alone could warm themselves. At length an unusually cold winter came, and all the animals were in danger of freezing to death. But all their attempts to discover the pines’ secret were in vain, until Beaver at last hit upon a plan.
At a certain place on Grande Ronde River in Idaho, the pines were about to hold a great council. They had built a large fire to warm themselves after bathing in the icy water, and sentinels were posted to prevent intruders from stealing their fire secret. But Beaver had hidden under the bank near the fire before the sentries had taken their places, and when a live coal rolled down the bank, he seized it, hid it in his breast, and ran away as fast as he could.
The pines immediately raised a hue and cry and started after him. Whenever he was hard pressed, Beaver darted from side to side to dodge his pursuers, and when he had a good start, he kept a straight course. The Grande Ronde River preserves the direction Beaver took in his flight, and this is why it is tortuous in some parts of its course and straight in others.
After running for a long time, the pines grew tired. So most of them halted in a body on the river banks, where they remain in great numbers to this day, forming a growth so dense that hunters can hardly get through. A few pines kept chasing Beaver, but they finally gave out one after another, and they remain scattered at intervals along the banks of the river in the places where they stopped.
There was one cedar running in the forefront of the pines, and although he despaired of capturing Beaver, he said to the few trees who were still in the chase, “We can’t catch him, but I’ll go to the top of the hill yonder and see how far ahead he is.” So he ran to the top of the hill and saw Beaver just diving into Big Snake River where the Grande Ronde enters it. Further pursuit was out of the question. The cedar stood and watched Beaver dart across Big Snake River and give fire to some willows on the opposite bank, and recross farther on and give fire to the birches, and so on to several other kinds of trees. Since then, all who have wanted fire have got it from these particular trees, because they have fire in them and give it up readily when their wood is rubbed together in the ancient way.
Cedar still stands alone on the top of the hill where he stopped, near the junction of Grande Ronde and Big Snake rivers. He is very old, so old that his top is dead, but he still stands as a testament to the story’s truth. That the chase was a very long one is shown by the fact that there are no cedars within a hundred miles upstream from him. The old people point him out to the children as they pass by. “See,” they say, “here is old Cedar standing in the very spot where he stopped chasing Beaver.”
—Based on an account in the
Journal of American Folk-Lore, 1890.
In a Jicarilla Apache version of this story, it is Fox who tricks the fireflies out of their fire secret. Arriving from the sky, flying on the hack of a wild goose, Fox makes the first drum ever. Beating it, he teaches the fireflies how to dance. Their watchfulness relaxes as they sway to the rhythm of the drum, and they dance themselves into a trance. Fox steals their fire by putting glowing embers in his bushy tail, and with his tail burning like a torch, he brings fire to the human beings.
THE RAVEN
[ATHAPASCAN]
Among a number of Athapascan-speaking tribes of the Northwest Coast and Alaskan tribes, Raven is not onl
y a powerful supernatural creator, but also a trickster.
There once lived an old couple who wished to see their only daughter married to a rich man. When anyone arrived at their camp, the old man sent his son down to the landing to count the bone beads on the stranger’s clothing, so that he could be received according to his rank.
One day the boy came running in saying that a man had come who would make a good brother-in-law, for he had a number of fine beads. The mother went down to the riverbank and saw a richly dressed stranger whom she also thought would make a suitable husband. She noticed that the shore was wet and muddy, so she got some bark and tore it into strips for the stranger to walk upon. She invited him to enter their tipi and seated him next to the girl.
The visitor pointed to a dog that was tied in the corner of the lodge and said, “I can’t eat while that animal is in here.” Thinking that only a very great personage would be so particular, the woman took the dog out into the forest and killed it. The next morning as she went for wood, she noticed that the earth around the dog’s body was marked with bird tracks and that its eyes had been picked out. She returned to camp and insisted that all the people take off their moccasins and show their feet, because she had heard that Raven could deceive people by appearing in human form. The stranger, who was indeed Raven, took his moccasins off and slipped them on again so quickly that his scaly bird feet were not noticed.
The girl had agreed to marry Raven, and he demanded that she leave with him at once, before he could be found out. Promising that they would return in a few days, he took his bride down to his canoe.
As soon as the couple set off down the river, it began to rain. Raven was seated in front of the woman, who noticed that the rain was washing something white off his back. This made her suspicious, and she resolved to escape. Reaching forward, she succeeded in tying the tail of Raven’s coat to a crossbar of the canoe. Then she asked to be set ashore for a minute, saying that she would come right back. Her husband told her not to go far, but she started to run for home as soon as she was out of sight among the trees.
AMERICAN INDIAN MYTHS AND LEGENDS Page 40
