“When they came to the Hogan of Gila Monster, Coyote called out, ‘Gila Monster, it is your cousin Coyote, come talk to me.’ Gila Monster’s voice came from inside the Hogan, ‘Why do I want to talk to Coyote who put my teeth in upside down? Go away, Coyote, I do not wish to see you.’ This was very rude, but Coyote really wanted Gila Monster’s tobacco. ‘Gila Monster how is your ugly son? Is he married yet?’ Coyote knew this would make Gila Monster angry. ‘Go away, Coyote, I do not wish to see you.’ Coyote smiled at his friends. Speaking very loud so Gila Monster was sure to hear, ‘Ah well Rabbit, ah well Crow, I wanted to talk with my cousin Gila Monster. Who else but he can understand having a child you cannot get married off? I thought maybe he could help me with my lazy middle daughter. But I see that he wants to be left alone, come let us go back to my Hogan.’ With that he waited. Soon Gila Monster crawled out of his Hogan, ‘What is this you say about your daughter?’”
“‘Ah, see, my cousin Gila Monster knows his duty after all. He will help me with my problem.’ The three animals settled down outside the door. They did not want to be invited into Gila Monster’s house because his wife was a terrible housekeeper. The Hogan always smelled and was dark and musty. “Gila Monster my middle daughter is very pretty. But she is a lazy girl. She knows nothing of women’s work.’ Coyote sighed, ‘She burns every meal she cooks. Her blankets fall apart while she weaves them. All she wants to do is play with her beads; she is not much of a woman at all. What should I do?’”
“Gila Monster thought for a time. He did not trust Coyote who had put his teeth in upside down, but his wife was very angry that they could not find a mate for his son. She nagged him day and night about it. ‘My son is not married. The girls do not like him because he is fat and lazy and slow. But maybe we could marry them and solve both our problems.’ Coyote acted like he was surprised by Gila Monster. ‘Do you think so? What would be the bride price? She is very pretty even if she does burn dinner. Maybe three sheep, would that be fair?’”
“This was bad news for Gila Monster, for not only was his son ugly, but his family was poor. ‘I have no sheep.’ Coyote pondered this for a moment. ‘What about a horse?’ Gila Monster sighed, ‘My horse died this winter.’ Again Coyote thought, ‘A truck? Corn Pollen? Some beads?’ Each time Gila Monster said he had none of those things. Then Coyote asked ‘Do you have tobacco?’ for that was what he truly wanted. ‘I have some tobacco.’ Gila Monster said. ‘But only three cigarettes.’ Coyote thought some more. ‘Well, cousin Gila Monster, that is a very small price. But because I joked you and put your teeth in upside down and I feel bad about that, your son can marry my daughter for three cigarettes. But I have so many daughters and you have none. I have no room for your son in my Hogan so my daughter can live with you.’ And so they agreed.”
“Coyote went back to his Hogan. His son was still playing with his sister’s beads on the south side of the Hogan. Coyote grabbed the blouse and skirt of his eldest daughter. ‘You are not much of a son and you are nothing of a daughter, but finally I have some use for you. Put on your sister’s clothes. You will marry Gila Monster’s son and I will get three cigarettes.’ His son was very angry, ‘I do not want to marry Gila Monster’s son. He is fat and lazy and slow. Their Hogan is filthy. And I am not a woman to be married off, marry one of my sisters instead.’ Coyote laughed. ‘You are no woman and you are less of a man, put on your sister’s clothes and marry Gila Monster’s son or I will tell everyone you have no family.’”
“This was very hard for Coyote’s son. He did not want people to think him a witch. He put on his sister’s clothes and walked behind his father to Gila Monster’s house. Coyote called, ‘Cousin, come out, I have brought your son’s wife.’ When Gila Monster came out he saw that Coyote’s son was a pretty girl indeed. He thought it was a very good bargain he had made even if she couldn’t clean and burned dinner and her blankets came undone while she wove them and was not much of a woman at all. He took Coyote’s son into their Hogan and gave Coyote the three cigarettes. Coyote went back to his Hogan and he and Rabbit and Crow smoked the tobacco. The next morning Coyote heard Gila Monster calling. ‘Coyote come out, I am angry at you.’”
“Coyote went to the door. ‘Why are you angry, cousin?’ Gila Monster hissed at him. ‘Your daughter is nádleehí and not a woman at all. You have tricked me; my son does not want a man for his wife.’ Coyote laughed. ‘Did I not say my daughter was not much of a woman at all? Foolish Gila Monster, did you think a real woman would be married for only three cigarettes? If it bothers your son that his wife has a dick, cut it off.” True nearly choked on the word Seth used for penis. It was one of the nastiest ways to say it in Navajo… never said in polite company and almost never said in impolite company. “‘The nádleehí is no longer my problem, he’s yours.’ With that Coyote went back into his Hogan and Gila Monster had to tell his son he was stuck with a man for his wife.”
He coughed and spat in the dust. “Two-spirited my ass,” Seth had finished.
“And just what is that story supposed to teach people?” Dillihay’d missed the point. “Coyote stories always have a teaching point… of course Coyote would abuse something sacred that way, he’s Coyote.”
True chewed on his nails. Coyote did what the people could not do themselves. Sometimes it was funny. Most times it was not. Some people never saw anything but the joke in the stories. “The point is, never trust Coyote. He always lies. Just when you think you know who Coyote is, you find he is your father or your cousin.” Those people were never meant to understand.
“Look, bro, I gotta go.” Seth tossed down the remaining coffee as he stood. “Got to check in with the Parole Board.” After a glare for the woman, like the kind True figured prisoners learned to throw at guards, Seth smirked, “Don’t let her bug you. She won’t be around long, so you won’t have to worry. I’ll be back out sometime this week to check in, okay?” Seth shrugged the last word. True shrugged in response. Long good-byes weren’t part of their upbringing.
As his cousin clambered into the truck, Dillihay snorted. “Well, I guess he lost his manners in prison, forgot what it-”
True cut her off mid-sentence. “I have work.” It was about the rudest thing a Navajo would do, interrupt someone. “I've got to make sure no one’s messed with any of the outlying sites.”
Deliberately he made himself relax as he walked away, stepping over a downed yucca bloom in his path. There were several potential dig sites that they’d cataloged. There wouldn’t be time to excavate this year or probably the next. Archeology was excavation by inches. All of them needed to be checked up on from time to time… he had to make sure looters hadn’t found them. Mutters and mumbles found their way past his lips most of the day.
~~~~~
Several times he stumbled upon Snake at his sunning. The prayer rattle would sound and brother Snake would comfort True with sibilant hisses, “Íísísts’áá’. Bik’i’disshtiih” I listen. I understand. Each time True would ask forgiveness for his intrusion. The sun was drifting off to the west when he slunk back into camp.
One of the big, blonde, football player types caught sight of him. The guy was working off a D in the professor’s class to be eligible to play next year. “Hey did you know there was some big wig out from Harvard here?” The jock seemed agitated, worried.
“Yeah, met her earlier.” True hopped Dillihay hadn’t been mouthing off to everyone about this morning. “Why?”
Instead of answering he had another question. “Didn’t you tell her?”
“About what?”
“Snakes.” The jock swallowed, confused and shaken, “Looks like she pulled the lid off some container and a bunch of baby rattlers had hatched inside.”
True sucked in his breath, snake’s children were very, very dangerous. Their Witch Medicine was twice as potent as an adult’s.
Without waiting for True to comment, the jock continued, “Two of the little buggers bit her. One in each eye.” The blonde looked back at the cooking ar
ea. “Prof found her. Said probably nothing anyone could have done would have been fast enough.” He turned his full attention to True. “Did you know baby rattlers have neurotoxins in their venom?”
THIRD
(táá’)
No one wanted to be near Seth the second time he got out of prison. He’d wander into the Uranium Café for a cup of coffee and every Indian in the joint would move to the other end of the room. Even the Mexican gals said he creeped them out and refused to serve him.
The Albuquerque paper had carried the story of the armed robbery that sent him back. They’d interviewed the clerk at the gas station in Arenal. During the graveyard shift, a young man had asked to use the phone. As he approached, the clerk felt the overpowering urge to run, get away. That’s when the thief pulled a gun and demanded the contents of the cash register. He said the man’s eyes, half covered in red-brown hair, were glowing gold. Strangely the robber had started crying, without tears, and repeating in Navajo, “He won’t give it to me. They want money so they will make him give it to me.” Terrified, the clerk handed over the cash. Then the robber bolted from the store.
The clerk pulled a pistol from under the counter and shot the robber as he ran. Tumbling into the garbage cans stacked behind the convenience store, he’d been sure the guy was dead. “I shot him through the chest, I swear,” he’d told the reporters. Back inside he’d gotten on the phone to the cops. His blood went cold as he watched the man get up and shake himself off. They’d picked up Seth five blocks away with two-hundred dollars and an unloaded, throwaway pistol in his pocket. Not a scratch on him, but his jacket was shot clean through. The police figured he’d dodged just at the right time.
Seth spent his twenty-first birthday being arraigned.
Bad as all that was, the rumors were worse.
Two nights before the robbery, the clerk had been cleaning the back parking lot. Billy Sosa was Navajo. Like everyone, he was related to someone in Grants. True knew him. Both of them went to State. Every semester they swapped places on the dean’s list. That was how it should be, neither taking too much honor from the other.
Billy told his mom, who told his aunt, who told her cousin and the game of reservation telephone was off and running.
That night, as he swept the sidewalk, a huge, yellow dog with large teeth and dripping gums trotted past. It stopped by the trash cans and stared at him. Billy didn’t think, just ran, waving the broom and yelling because he didn’t want it in the trash, messing the parking lot he’d just cleaned. It just stood there and stared back at him. That’s when Sosa saw it had no tail and its eyes were hot, glowing coals. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. His palms went slick with sweat. He damn near pissed himself as he realized it was no dog. A man’s eyes glared from the shaggy coat.
Screaming, running back into the store, Billy cowered behind the counter, peeking over every few minutes. The evil thing just sat in the middle of the lot watching him and licking its foul lips. Finally it trotted off behind the big trash bin. Still the clerk refused to move from his meager cover.
After an hour of sitting scared, Billy finally convinced himself that he was just being silly, getting spooked over nothing. So he went back behind the trash bin where the dog disappeared to chase it off; keep it from strewing trash all over the place. Of course he took the pistol they kept under the counter with him.
When he got back there, there was nothing… no tracks and no dog. Where the trash bin was located there was no place to hide. It was barren sand. He ran screaming back to the store for a second time and locked the doors, refusing to even let customers in.
The next night was his night off. About two in the morning the neighborhood dogs went nuts; howling, barking and screaming. Through an open window, a dry breeze carried the faint sound of drumming and chanting. Despite the heat, chills ran up Billy’s arms. The curtains swayed in the wind. Every now and then they would blow far enough that he could see glowing red eyes coming closer and closer. Beams creaked as someone, someone big, walked across the roof. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. Stunned with fear, frozen, Billy knew he was going to die. Then his father had called from down the hall. He scrambled off the couch and bolted into his parents’ room. His dad grabbed the shotgun and they tore outside, but couldn’t find anything.
The night after that, Seth had robbed him.
While Seth was cooling his heels in lockup, Billy came down with a fever. A nasty flu with chills, muscle aches, headache, nausea, vomiting, and generally just being damn tired. Dry coughs kept him from sleep. Finally he felt well enough to return to work, but complained of being short of breath. Frequent breaks didn’t seem to help. Weeks after his initial illness, Billy collapsed into a display of chips and was rushed to the hospital with respiratory failure. Internal bleeding, fluid in the lungs… all the doctors agreed that Hanta virus struck him down.
Darker things were whispered among the Dîné.
This time True had managed regular visits. The state penitentiary, unlike the federal shock-camp, wasn’t that far outside of Grants. He and Seth spent their time in low-voiced conversations. More of what was unsaid than said mattered. Uncle Jim had gone a few times as well; talking long and hard with Seth about finding hózhó.
When he wasn’t in school or visiting Seth, True worked for the Bureau of Land Management in their cultural resources division. Based out of the Rio Puerco field office, he regularly got assigned duties in the Cebolla wilderness. Being local and heading towards a degree in Anthropology/Archeology, they set him out looking for traces of looting. A khaki on khaki uniform with the BLM ball-cap, a solid set of hiking boots, backpack and bed-roll and True would be off for a day or three. Cebolla was over sixty-thousand acres of forested, rim-rock country. Mesas, canyons and grassy valleys covered badlands rich in prehistoric sites – including Anasazi ruins.
Sentenced to three years, less than two served, and Seth was home by autumn. True had graduated over the summer and was due to start his Masters next spring. He kept working for BLM to pass the time. Seth would usually tag along. It wasn’t like a twice convicted felon had much hope of landing steady work. And Sister Agnes asked him to. Not that True ever needed much persuasion to have Seth around.
His bosses usually turned a blind eye to True’s travel companion. After all, they were sending him, officially unarmed, into thousands of miles of trackless wilderness to hunt for signs of men engaged in grave robbing. An Anasazi pot could net several hundred thousand dollars. People were willing to kill for that kind of money.
And there were more prosaic risks. Rocky terrain meant potential twisted ankles and broken bones. Rattlesnakes sunned on rocks. Bears browsed between the trees, rooting under deadwood, and got damned ornery when disturbed. The elusive mountain lion sometimes made an appearance off trail. Any one of those could be death to a man traveling alone.
Dun colored escarpments jutted into the sky with an occasional natural arch or hoodoo thrown in for good measure. The sandstone mountains wore cloaks of ponderosa pine. Golden eagles and prairie falcons circled the great expanses. Mule deer grazed among stands of piñon and juniper. Banana Yucca and thin, wheat colored strands of Indian Rice Grass worked through the rocks. It was a living, breathing, high-desert world; roadrunners scurried into snakeweed chasing desert millipedes which traced waves in the sand over the prints of a long gone bobcat stalking its dinner. It was perfect. Just True and Seth outdoors, “hunting” men as their ancestors had done for centuries.
That afternoon a shady spot at the base of an escarpment seemed a reasonable place for a break. True shrugged out of his pack before popping a mouthful of the ungodly trail mix his mom threw together. Smiling, he watched as Seth dropped his backpack on the dirt and chugged water from his canteen. Brows shot up over golden eyes when True’s stare was caught. Then Seth’s tongue rode the edge of his lips.
When True stepped in, hand outstretched for the water, his cousin grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a brutal kiss. True choked o
n stale granola and raw piñon nuts. Wicked, feral, Seth’s laugh crawled down his spine. Seth’s hands worked open his shirt. It was useless to try and deny Seth when he was in full, predatory sex mode.
There was no one better than Seth at this. Not that True had much of any experience beyond Seth. But he’d watched movies. And twice in college he’d gotten way too drunk and accepted offers. Once from a cute guy named Keith his first year and another from a jock he’d tutored in science. Keith and True had laughed long and hard over it afterwards, remaining friendly, but not close. The jock was far less accepting of True’s cold shoulder. For a couple months it got bad. Only Seth knew the full extent of how bad. But then the jock and two other guys were in a wreck on I-10. After that True never said his name aloud… to name the dead would be to call his chindi, ghost, back.
True groaned as Seth yanked down his pants and shorts. He hissed as his cock was caressed by the air. Seth pushed him back against the cliff, legs spread. True could smell his cousin’s need mixing with his own; the sweet, musky scent of animals in heat. Seth licked his chest, down to his stomach. Shivers crawled out from wherever Seth touched. Down… down… True could feel both their hearts thudding in his own chest.
Slowly, Seth teased the underside of True’s cock with his tongue. Licking from base to where the shaft flared into the head, Seth lingered, tracing the outline. He toyed with True, pulling the foreskin up and over with his teeth. Every second Seth was on him sent a new wave of fire through True’s hips. Warm brown lips wrapped around his cock as Seth pawed between his legs. Seth teased True’s balls with his fingers before sliding True deep into his mouth, tracing every vein with his tongue.
My Brother, Coyote Page 4
