My Brother, Coyote

by James Buchanan

  Seth’s arm snaked back, drawing with it a cold piece of metal.

  “Aoo.” Complying seemed the best option for distraction. He felt strangely vulnerable in just his briefs. As much as possible True kept his body between Seth and their foe while he gained his knees and then stood. “Ha’át’íísha’? What do you want? The man’s clothes had none of the scrapes their own had suffered in the climb. That would mean he came up at least part of the way by ladder. The man dropped a dun colored bag at his feet. That pretty much sealed it that he was their digger.

  “Navajo, huh? I wouldn’t have thought you boys would go in a place where ghosts were.” Eyes crawling across their almost bare bodies, belittling them with his laughter, “Course, I guess with what you boys have apparently been up to, Chindi would be the least of your problems.” Still pointed towards True, the rifle was cradled loose but ready. He jerked his chin at Seth. “Come on, you too. Get your ass up, I hate to kill someone when they’re lying down.”

  One word behind him, “K’ad!” Now! and True dove to the side. Seth rolled onto his knees and fired the pistol. The bullet nicked the man’s sleeve and ricocheted off the stone.

  The blast of the rifle caught Seth in his chest as he stood. He staggered and dropped to his knees. Seth brought the pistol up again. His strength failed when he tried to squeeze the trigger. Another bullet tore into Ánaaí. Startled amber eyes spun wildly in his ashen face before he dropped forward onto the corpse of the great cat. True screamed. Senseless he dove at the pot thief. Grabbing the barrel, forcing it up, the thunder from the muzzle brought a hard rain of rocks down upon them.

  The man stepped back and swung the butt of the gun, catching True across the temple. Nausea washed over his senses. He staggered and went down on his knees. The golden light was swimming in rings out past his vision, pulling him through. A dusty boot landed in the middle of his chest and shoved. True rolled into the pile of Seth and bones and blood and death.

  ~~~~~

  He stepped over to True and skidded in the blood soaked sand. Dark eyes were open, unfocused, and the ragged breath was shallow. Three fingers to True’s neck caught a thready, double-time pulse. Unwrapping a mini-candy bar and popping it in his mouth, the digger stood. Gold foil drifted across the back of True’s hand. Wouldn’t be long before this boy was as dead as the other. He went about what he came to do. Two dead Navajo fags weren’t his problem. Chances were no one would ever find the bodies. If they did, it’d be ages from now. People got lost in the wilderness all the time; it’d be a few days before anyone got around to being worried. By the time anyone started looking, he’d be half-way to El Paso.

  Runoff coated the wall in fractured sheets of glass as it poured into the natural cistern. It thrummed and crashed, masking the crunch of footsteps across the floor. Propping the Remington against the stone, the thief slipped the bag over his shoulder. What artifacts he’d left on his first visit now went into the canvas carry-all.

  Low pitched and throbbing, the warning growl swept up and around, taking strength from the rocks. Slowly the looter turned. The pile of bones and skin and men heaved. Dark flesh rippled through the rents in the mountain lion pelt. Feral hatred glowed crimson in dead sockets. The thing lurched from the pile; the form of a puma, the skin of a puma, the soul of a man. Stiff legged it staggered forward. The jaw dropped.

  “Nnnnazztsaaaiiiidd!” rolled in a panther’s snarl laced with the voice of a Navajo. Kill!

  He scuttled back, franticly searching for the rifle. The beast lurched and shook. Bones snapped as it stretched. With each step it took, the movement became more fluid, more animal. Each inch forward closed the rents in the desiccated skin.

  “Nnnnazztsaaaiiiidd!” ricocheted off the walls, twining and tearing into the pot thief’s scream.

  Franticly scrabbling, his hands found the gun. He turned, pumped and fired. The bullet slammed into a dun shoulder. A chunk of hair and flesh flew. The cloying musk of rotting meat oozed across his senses.

  It slunk forward as if nothing had happened. Twice more he pulled the trigger. Twice more his aim was good. The big animal backed off a bit, but showed no signs of distress, not even any blood. Four steps to the right. Four paces to the left. It paced between him and the exit. All the time the lion was growling and gnashing its teeth.

  He brought the rifle to his shoulder. Taking careful aim, he squeezed the trigger. The bullet ripped into its skull, just below one twitching ear. First the panther shuddered, then dropped its massive head. Another shot caught the beast in the chest. With a click, the spent magazine ejected. Silence, except for the heavy panting of the great cat, filled the room. It moaned, shook, fell.

  The thief sucked in his breath. He let his knees give way, sliding down with his back against the stone. His hands trembled. “Sonofamotherfuckingbitch,” even his voice shook, “whatever the fucking hell you were, you’re dead now.”

  The puma turned volcanic eyes on the man and laughed.

  Dun colored death erupted from the floor in a mass of thundering paws. It charged, leapt, bit deep into his shoulder. Two screams battled for dominance. With a twist of its sinuous neck the beast tossed the man to the ground. Wicked fangs tore into arms and legs. He beat at it with the rifle stock. The lion kept attacking, alternating bites between his skull, face and neck. Blood gushed from puncture wounds below his eyes, cascading off his chin. His face had been ripped open. His nose was crushed. Parts of his mouth and right cheek were torn and dangling, the lower part of his right ear was missing. Toying with him, it let him crawl a few feet and then landed on his back. Mauling, battering but not killing, the puma ripped his skin.

  Finally, massive front paws wrapped around his shoulders. One powerful bite to the base of the skull broke the neck. Face in its maw, growling contented, the thing staggered to the corner, dragging the body between its legs. The snap of bones reverberated in the cavern.

  ~~~~~

  Throbbing pain in his head twisted his gut in knots and drew True back to consciousness. Tentative explorations of his scalp found a mass of dried blood and hair above his temple. He felt bloated and sick. Things were vague, his memory jumbled as if someone had taken all his thoughts from his head and dumped them haphazardly back in. Trying not to heave, he sat up.

  Next to him, Seth groaned. Blood, the world smelled of blood. Tentatively True opened his eyes. Halos of gold danced before his vision. When they cleared, his breath caught in his throat. Death was here. Half eaten, covered in a layer of sand, the carcass of the pot thief lay in one corner.

  Seth, the man had shot Seth. “Ánaaí!” True tossed off the puma skin that covered them both. It stank of death. Seth’s face was sallow, his skin cold. “Ánaaí!” It was impossible that Seth would be gone. True cupped his cousin’s face in his hands. He shouldn’t touch the dead, but he didn’t care… this was his Seth. “Nda, nda.” No, it couldn’t be, it wouldn’t be.

  Seth’s chest heaved. True screamed and fell back. The turquoise bead heart fetish thumped against his ribs. Amber eyes snapped open. A low, whistling groan fluttered past Seth’s lips. Trembling, True watched Seth sit up. His cousin’s pained face turned to him; questioning, pleading.

  Then Seth rolled to his hands and knees. He retched. Blood and bone and bullets spilled from his mouth. Dried blood flecked his face and chest. Shudders wracked his frame as color returned to his skin.

  True stared. Horror and relief were warring in his brain. Whispering, “You know what they say of you?” True swallowed. “The old women whisper you are Yenaldlooshi,” He who trots here and there on all fours.

  Seth wiped the blood from his mouth, “I don’t know bro,” his voice was raw, “I think I walk on two most of the time.” A bitter laugh and Seth sat back on his heels. His smile stretched tight and thin across his mouth. Tentatively he reached out towards True.

  True caught Seth’s hand, bringing it to his lips. Something very wrong had happened here. He couldn’t understand it. Seth should be dead and he was not.
“If we go back and talk of this they will say other things, worse things, about both of us.” He couldn’t let people say things about him and Seth. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We will say nothing. No one has to know but us.” He pulled Seth into his arms, holding tight. “Ever.”

  FOURTH

  (díí’)

  Sleep faded as True returned from walking in dreams. A murmur next to his ear pulled his eyes open. Crisp, white sheets against cinnamon skin and white t-shirt hugging all the planes of Seth’s body, True could hardly breathe with the beauty of him. Seth had been a good boy for a few years now, staying out of trouble. Sister Agnes attributed that to True keeping him close. A soft, secret smile flicked over his lips. Their family would not be happy if they knew just how close.

  True wanted to keep him near, hated when Seth went away. Out there, in the biliganna’s world, with no one to anchor him, he might forget. He might forget the voice of Little Breath and how to sing to Dawn Boy as he left the darkness. He might forget to apologize to Snake for disturbing him. He might forget and lend his clothes to someone and lose all his luck. Worst of all, Seth might forget True. He couldn’t live if that happened.

  This was the first summer they hadn’t gone home. True’s dissertation advisor was on sabbatical in Europe and had asked True to house-sit his place in Mesilla. It was disconcerting at first, the thought of living in a biliganna home all by himself. Finally he’d gotten the courage to ask if Seth might keep him company. Relief flooded him when the answer was yes. His advisor knew of Seth’s legal troubles, but the man trusted True. With that resolved, they’d settled in. Seth landed a job in the machine shop of a small factory in Canutillo, Texas. True spent his days in the library preparing research for his thesis. Life was as perfect as it could get.

  True nuzzled behind his cousin’s ear, taking in his smell. Scents of aspen and metal shavings from the factory drifted from Seth’s skin. Underneath it all were hints of piñon pines and warm, sandy mesas and endless sky. Seth’s body called to True. Desire landed hot and hard in his hips. He slipped a hand under the waistband of Seth’s boxers and pressed his lips against the back of a warm, brown neck. A sleepy groan as Seth’s body responded to True’s touch. Pushing the boxers down, True pulled Seth’s hips against his naked skin. Unless he was home, True always slept in the nude. Clothes were too confining, too hot. No matter how warm the weather, Seth never wore less than a t-shirt and shorts to bed.

  True was hard and throbbing as Seth pushed back, grinding into his erection. “Atsilí, what are you doing?” Seth was already panting. Like True, his own need woke him urgent most mornings. Who else would be so matched to True?

  “What does it feel like I’m doing?” His fingers danced along Seth’s cock. Silken skin was coming to life under his touch. Tugging on his foreskin while blowing in his ear, True was rewarded with another whine. Those two things never failed to get a rise out of Seth. With a small laugh, “Ha’át’ííshą’?” True already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Seth say the words, give his desire life.

  Instead of speaking, Seth rubbed himself harder against True. Warm shocks melted down True’s thighs. That was good enough this morning. True wrapped his arm about his cousin’s middle and began to lick Seth’s neck. Seth pulled away, hand out and searching the nightstand. Laughing, he passed back the little tube of lubricant and then snuggled against True’s chest. “You’re just always horny, huh?” The warm comfort of Seth’s body against his own was more erotic than any overt touch would have been.

  True fumbled the cap off with one hand. Another grind of Seth’s hips against his erection sent shocks through him. True squeezed too hard. The contents erupted, running over his fingers and onto the sheets. Tossing the crushed tube somewhere behind him, he nipped Seth’s shoulder. “Around you I am.” The slick gel was cold on his cock and he shivered. Then his fingers were searching, sliding along behind Seth’s sac, finding his hole and pushing in.

  “Oh, bro,” Seth writhed under True’s touch, “You going to take care of that problem or just tease me all morning?”

  Instead of answering, True kept exploring, enjoying how Seth’s body gripped his fingers as he slid in and out. He loved the way he could make Seth shudder by stroking him just so. He loved how he could keep Seth moaning and on edge for hours as he did nothing more than touch, and stoke and kiss.

  This was not going to be one of those mornings. There was too much need in both of them for that. Pushing Seth’s legs open with his own, True ran his cock along Seth’s ass. Lips found his own as Seth twisted in his arms. Their tongues danced, lighting fires deep inside True’s belly. He pushed, groaning into the kiss as Seth’s resistance gave and he slipped inside.

  True’s breath caught in his lungs. It was always so intense, the moment of penetration. He trembled with the soft heat swallowing his cock. Seth sighed into his kiss, reaching back and twining fingers into True’s hair. Long and slow, True rocked them both with his body. Every inch of Seth’s skin was worth exploring; the flat planes of his stomach, the sensitive nipples up under his shirt, the long curve of his thigh and the hot weight of his sac. With enough time and the right moves True could bring Seth off just by fucking him.

  Seth was too impatient. His other hand was already moving along his own shaft. Every roll of his hips sent pleasure running through True’s frame. Each of Seth’s gasps and moans drove True harder with chills.

  Finally, True gave into the heat licking his balls. Hands locked on Seth’s hips, he slammed into Seth’s channel. His cousin’s chin was locked into his chest as his body tightened in on itself. Then his head slammed back against True’s shoulder as Seth’s orgasm jerked his muscles taught. True loved the feel of Seth’s body devouring his own; sucking him deep inside. So intense, it pulled him up and over into ecstasy. True slammed his hips against Seth’s body. Face twisted with the pleasure, he could barely breathe, “Ánaaí,” as he came.

  Both shivering with the last fading chills, they collapsed into each other’s embrace. The smell of sex in the room was almost enough to get True hard again. Running his hands beneath Seth’s shirt and burying his mouth in rust colored hair, True savored the afterglow. Finally he slipped from his cousin’s body. “So nádleehí,” he worried Seth’s ear with his teeth, “when you going to stop being a lazy woman and make me breakfast?” With a growl, Seth shoved back sending True sprawling onto the floor.

  True ended up gnawing on a tortilla while Seth drove towards campus. Sex and showers had eaten up enough of the morning and his cousin couldn’t afford to be late to work. After being dropped off, he wandered over to the American Indian Program offices at Garcia Annex and then to the Anthropology Department in Breland Hall to collect his messages. Research was next on the agenda. Giving Stan, the life sized casting of a T-Rex skull, his usual thump on the nose, True drifted back into the stacks of the Zhul Library.

  Preliminary research was a bitch. Especially bad was reading the dry translations of the wondrous stories that lived in his soul. Songs, blessing-ways and night-ways all ended up muddied with what symbols the academic mind placed within them. True sighed. Some people were never meant to understand. This piece was an ethnographic monograph of How Coyote Got His Wife.

  As he read, True’s mind filled in the voids in the text. What he remembered came back to him in Uncle Jim’s voice. “Coyote wished to marry Bear’s Daughter. Coyote knew that Bear’s family would kill him, like they’d killed everyone else, if he tried to marry Bear’s Daughter. So Coyote took his heart from his chest and gave it to Rock to hold, putting it under Rock’s body. ‘Rock,’ he said, ‘do not let anyone take my heart from you or I will surly die.’ Then Coyote went to Bear’s Hogan and called to his Daughter, ‘Come and marry me!’”

  “Bear’s Daughter laughed, ‘I would not marry Coyote,’ and struck Coyote with her father’s club, killed him, and threw his body over the cliff. Because Rock held his heart safe he got back up again. Coyote climbed the cliff and said to Bear’s Daughter
, ‘Come and marry me!’ She did not understand why Coyote was not dead. Bear’s daughter struck him again and killed him. Then she took her knife and cut his body to pieces and threw him in her stew pot. ‘That will kill him,’ she said.”

  “Coyote crawled from the pot, dripping water. Again he said, ‘Come and marry me!’ Bear’s Daughter struck him a third time, killed him, cut him to pieces and burned his body to ash, then she threw the ash to the wind. ‘Now he must be dead,’ she said. Wind spun and spun until Coyote stepped out, ‘Come and marry me!” Because it was the fourth time Coyote asked, Bear’s Daughter had no choice.”

  “After they had lain down together and were married, Coyote’s wife asked why he could not die. ‘Because Rock holds my heart,’ Coyote told her. ‘Show me how to do this,’ she said. So Coyote showed her how to give her heart to Rock to hold. While they were gone Bear’s three eldest sons came home. The Hogan reeked of Coyote and they knew that he had been there with their sister. When Coyote’s wife returned, her brothers said, ‘You have been with Coyote.’ ‘Foolish brothers, I have not been with Coyote,’ she laughed at them, “Come, let me cook you dinner and you may sleep.’ While they slept, she and Coyote killed them all.”