My Brother, Coyote Read online

  “They left the Hogan. Bear’s Youngest Son came to the Hogan. It still stank of Coyote and he saw all his brothers were dead. He followed his sister and Coyote’s tracks to the river. When Coyote was half way across, Bear’s Youngest Son struck and killed his sister for killing their brothers. He tore her body to pieces, flinging it everywhere. He saw that her blood was running uphill towards more pieces of her body. Little Breath whispered to him, ‘You must kill her heart in Rock before her blood finds itself and comes together. If you do not kill it, she will not die.’ So Bear’s Youngest Son ran to Rock and killed his sister’s heart so she would stay dead.”

  The shortened text version was followed by pages of thousand-dollar words relating to the socioeconomic consequences of bride theft in matrilineal societies. True sighed. Lots of analysis but no knowledge would be found in these books. It was always that way. Look at it. See it. Never hear what was unsaid. Never feel the splendor, the magic of the story. His head throbbed with the effort. Shoulder’s ached with tension. Too much text on bright white pages; True’s eyes were burning. He ground the heels of his palms into the sockets.

  Rubbing until the stars sparkled behind his lids, True looked down and past and in.

  ~~~~~

  Bonfires snapped stars into the sky. Ash fell like snow on the ground. Winter’s kiss was hard on the land. True’s front was too warm and his back too cold. Earlier he assisted Uncle Jim with the sand paintings for the Way. The first layer of clean sand had been spread well before dawn. Jim, True and another half dozen men had worked furiously to finish it before nightfall. They would destroy it before morning came again so that The-Place-Where-Spirits-Come-And-Go would not remain open. The entire time they worked, an old man, a very powerful man, sat in one corner and sang. They called him Grown Big… a nickname so old its origins were forgotten. His eyes were covered with milky cataracts, but he knew the chants by heart.

  Butt resting against the dropped gate of Seth’s truck, True spooned mutton stew into his mouth. It was his first meal in nearly nine hours. Seth sprawled in the pick-up bed, propped against the wheel well. A battered straw cowboy hat was pulled low over his eyes, hands tucked into the sleeves of his heavy jacket. If True didn’t know better he’d have thought Seth slept. But every time he raised his spoon to his lips, Seth would kick his hip. True considered moving. But then his cousin would just invent some greater joke to torment him with. Settling for an inch farther over, he took another mouthful and got another bump.

  Pools of brilliance separated eons of night. The drone of a generator in the background powered the halogen lights illuminating the area in front the Hogan. People were scattered about the fires for warmth and companionship, using logs, truck benches and folding lawn chairs for seats. Snow from a recent storm clung where shadows hid it from the sun. Smells of roasting mutton and freshly brewed coffee wafted from the cook house. Children romped through the crowd playing cowboy.

  Licking the spilled stew off his chin, True watched as the old man threaded his way through the crowd. He took interest in no one. No one noticed him. No one led him. Yet his steps were as firm and sure as if he were walking across a boundless mesa.

  Setting his bowl to the side, True waited for the rolling crunch of moccasins to still before him. Long, white hair was pulled back into a bun at the base of the man’s neck. Worn, faded clothes, unassuming manner, lots of turquoise jewelry; any Navajo that met him would know he was a Hatqu’li. Wrapped across a weathered forehead, a wide swatch of un-dyed muslin told people what place the old man had tonight. True pulled his own head-band off and ran his fingers through close-cropped hair.

  Cataract filmed eyes settled on True’s face. If the singer hadn’t been blind that would have been a terrible affront. “Yá’át’ééh,” the voice was of a man ages younger.

  Being younger by generations True introduced himself first. “True Yazzie, born of Tódich’íinii,” as was proper he identified himself by his mother’s family, Bitter Water Clan, first and followed with his father’s, “born for Tsenabahiłnii,” Sleepy Water People. Those two things would let anyone know whether they were related through the matrilineal line and thus family or merely Nally, distant relations because of who your father had been. Family meant obligations no matter how remote. Because this was an old man, he gave his father’s father’s and mother’s father’s clans as well.

  Springs groaned. True felt Seth move behind him, knees pressed into his back, elbows on his shoulders. Voice low and rumbling, “Seth DelOro born of Tódich’íinii for the Nakai.” Breath warm on True’s neck, the rest of Seth’s linage rolled forth. His cousin-brother pressed close, protected him.

  “Why are you here?” The voice was flat, the words slow and without emotion… an old man twisting his tongue around language that was not his by nature.

  “Because my Uncle Jim asked me to come and help him.” True was ashamed that this old man would think he did not know how to speak with him. Switching to the old language, Dîné Bizaad, “Biniiyé.” That is why.

  “Daast’í.” Maybe his look said, and maybe not. He shook his head. Strands of white hair whipped about his face. Gnarled hands were shoved in the pockets of bleach stained jeans. His face turned slightly, lips puckered, pointing towards the sound of Seth’s breath “Nishą?” What about you?

  True answered, “Hweeshne’,” I have told you. “Ánaaí is with me.”

  Full and rich, the moon sat high above the old man’s shoulder. Moonlight caught along fissures running across his brow and drifted across wind carved cheeks. There was no way of telling what thoughts were working behind those marble eyes. If something needed to be said, Grown Big would get to it. The lights of homesteads sprinkled about the land twinkled like fallen stars below the distant horizon. Headlights bobbed along the winding road, heading inward. Chants, rising and falling in the uniquely Dîné rhythm, wove the stories into the sky.

  “Excuse me.” A woman’s voice cut the stillness. As one their heads snapped towards the intruder. Someone’s guest probably, youngish, good looking girl in a starched, white shirt and an expensive parka, maybe one of the kid’s teachers. “Sorry for bothering you gentlemen, but you looked like you might know. When will the dancing start?”

  “Not long now.” True tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. It was not her fault she’d been raised badly.

  She smiled. Time was different on the Rez, live there long enough and you understood that. “If I were to bring you back some coffee from the cookhouse, when would I have to be back not to miss it?” She understood it.

  Seth snorted and butted the back of True’s head, “Elevenish.”

  With a “Thanks,” she wandered off. True turned back to the old man. He was gone. Looking down at the moon-washed ground; the only recent prints were those of True’s boots. A low rumble of discontent echoed in Seth’s throat vibrating, through True’s frame. Every hair on his body was suddenly charged with lightning. The chanting from the Hogan continued to remind the Holy People of their duty as the stew turned sour in True’s gut.

  ~~~~~

  Somebody spoke. From their tone it didn’t sound like it was the first time. True shook himself back into his mind. The book was still open on the table, one finger tucked just under the edge. Library paste, dust and twice-circulated air crept into his nose.

  “Are you finished with that book?” A young man was leaning over the carrel, tapping on one of the stacked tomes by True’s hand.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, True cleared the last of the dream from behind his sight. “Yeah,” he offered it up. Actually he wasn’t finished with that book, but he didn’t think he could return to his research any time soon. “Go ahead and take it.”

  Unease followed him through the rest of the day. Barely aware of the lab he was running, students had to ask him the same question two and three times before True would acknowledge them. Even then his answers were curt and not particularly helpful. When the class was finished he should have hea
ded back to the library for more research. Instead he caught the bus back to Mesilla. The afternoon was killed watching three-hundred channels of nothing that could hold his attention.

  It didn’t even register that Seth was home until the snap of a pop top echoed from the kitchen. The scent of soap heralded his cousin’s entrance. Grungy work clothes had already been swapped for clean t-shirt and fresh jeans. Television couldn’t attract his interest, but Seth in low-slung denim could. True marveled at just how sensual and animalistic his cousin’s walk was. Ánaaí moved like he was stalking something. True hoped Seth was stalking him.

  “We going to go out tonight?” Seth dropped onto the cream colored sofa next to True. “We could hit the Briar Patch in El Paso.” His bare feet went up on the pickled-pine coffee table.

  True pushed them off. This wasn’t their house; they needed to treat it better. “No, I’m not up to playing WeHopi tonight.” Diet Coke shot from Seth’s nose. He leaned over the overstuffed arm, letting it dribble on the floor. WeHopi was what the bartenders in the GLBT clubs in Phoenix and Albuquerque called gay Indians… we hopi we get laid.

  Snorting back the soda, “Yeah, you gotta hope ‘cause you’re just one homely Navajo, bro.” Seth’s smile said he thought True was anything but.

  “Sokay,” True slid his arm around Seth’s shoulders and pulled him in tight. “It don’t matter how ugly I am, ‘cause I got you.”

  For a time they just sat, True tracing his thumb along his cousin’s jaw line. Finally, Seth sighed, there really was nothing worth watching. “If you don’t want to go out, what do you want to do tonight?”

  “Just relax.” True couldn’t dodge the unease that had ridden him all day. “Today’s been kinda off, strange.”

  Seth stood. Chugging the last of his soda, “Come on bro, I know what will relax you.” Suspicious, True stared up from the couch. Innocence stared back. Then he shrugged and clambered off the sofa. Little sparks followed the path of Seth’s knuckles across True’s jaw. “You grab some towels. I’ll meet you downstairs in, like, five, ‘kay, Tick?”

  True smiled. “Okay five.” Back home, five minutes could be anywhere from right now until tomorrow noonish. Somehow he doubted Seth would keep him waiting that long.

  Like many New Mexican homes this one followed the lay of the land. The top level, with most of the living space, sat at the top of a rise. Follow the drive around a stand of mesquite and it dropped back down where a car port was slung underneath the house. The other portion was a laundry area and a small rec room. Sliding glass doors gave it a commanding view of the desert beyond.

  A tiny bar dominated by crystal and mirrors and a leviathan of a pool table were the two arresting features of the room. Like the rest of the house creams and faded pastels pervaded the décor. True sighed, maybe someday he could afford to live like this. Then he felt a guilty twinge, Navajo weren’t supposed to desire such things.

  He dug out two towels from the tiny bath under the stairs, and walked towards a small door finished in etched glass. Now this any Navajo would desire – their own personal sauna. Sweat baths were a guilty pleasure in a land with little water. True twisted the timer, priming the heater so it would be warm when they started. Sweat lodges went as far back for the Navajo as there were tales to be told. The traditional lodge, dug into the earth and finished with pine logs and clay, was religious in nature.

  Towels were exchanged for a bucket. Filling the container at the bar sink, True watched as Seth thundered down the stairs shucking his shirt. He had to switch bottles between hands to free his arms. The t-shirt landed on the pool table. After unscrewing the cap on one, Seth leaned over the bar and dumped the contents in the bucket.

  Familiar scents tickled True’s nose. “What’s in that?”

  “Essential oils; cedar and pine,” grabbing the bucket Seth headed for the sauna, “Bought it at this new age book store.”

  Incredulous, “You went into a new age book store?” Fingers working the buttons on his shirt, True followed his cousin.

  The bucket hit the floor with a wet thump, sloshing water on the tile. “And never will again. Girl at the counter started salivating when I told what I was looking for and why.” Seth was dropping his jeans and shorts as he talked. “Got her all excited about traditional Navajo rituals. I must have been there an hour… all the time I’m thinking, ‘can I just pay for this shit and leave?’”

  Steadied on the wall, True yanked off his shoes. Then his pants and briefs followed Seth’s into a pile. The entire time he was laughing at the idea of Seth as a one-man cultural awareness program. “Well, we ain’t doing the ritual… not unless you’re up to four hours of chanting.” Seth probably told her lots of things, ninety-nine percent of which would have been complete and utter bullshit.

  “I know, but I miss the smell.” A wistful smile replaced the usual sarcastic set of his lips. “Reminds me of when we’d go up hunting with Uncle Jim.” He reached out and pulled True to him. Seth’s skin was warm and soft where their bodies met. “And we’d sweat, and he’d tell the stories, get our minds straight before we went out.”

  “Yeah, things were good then. They’re good now.” True tapped the black plastic bottle still in Seth’s hand, “So what’s in this one.”

  “Had to replace what you wasted this morning. Silica, unscented,” Seth’s smile was beyond wicked. “The important stuff, bought that at a porn shop over on Amador. They were much less intrusive.” His fingers hovered over the switch. “Lights on or off?”

  “Off.”

  Melon-sized rocks, brought from a distant mountain, glowed in the northern corner. Planks of cedar, faded white, ran horizontal around the edge. The door faced east. The professor had constructed the sauna in keeping with the old ways… or as much as modern amenities would allow.

  When the door closed, True could barely see his own hands. Only the dull, glowing rocks cut the darkness. Vision gone, his other senses sharpened; heat from the radiant rocks baked his body, the cedar bench was smooth on his skin, Seth’s chest pressed against his back. Five and a half feet by four feet with one full length bench; the sauna could only fit two if you were willing to get real cozy. Getting cozy with Seth was exactly what True had in mind for the evening.

  Seth’s arm was hooked over the heater guard, using it like an armrest. Loud pops broke the silence as Seth poured the brew of water, cedar and pine on the red rocks. An unbearable rush of hot vapor swelled about them. Both breathed deep, filling their lungs. The steam left as quickly as it came. All the evils of the day slipped out when they exhaled. Only the pleasant odor of pine needles lingered in the air. Mingling sweat streamed from their skins as they sat absorbed in dark silence.

  Seth’s thumb traced lazy circles on True’s thigh. “Not as good as the real deal, but it heals, huh, bro?”

  “Yeah. Now all we need is Uncle Jim and the chants.” True snorted, “Scrap that, I don’t think Uncle Jim would get a thrill out of what we plan on doing.”

  “What?” Soft heat followed the caress of Seth’s fingers across True’s stomach. “You don’t think he has a chant for that?”

  The touches tickled, bringing forth laughter, “Yeah, I think it goes something like ‘oh baby, oh baby.’”

  Seth’s laugher twined with True’s. Breathing the words across True’s neck, “And everyone says I’m a bad influence on you.” Another bowlful of brew splashed across the hissing rocks and another burst of steam cleansed their souls. He scooted back, pillowing True’s head against his chest. “You’re still tense. You’re way too tense.” Seth’s fingers worked along True’s shoulders and ribs. “Going out would have relaxed you.” He leaned over to press his mouth against his cousin’s throat. Moving up across True’s jaw then slowly coaxing soft lips to open and reciprocate the attention. Minutes ticked away, time unimportant for them as the anxiety and stress of the day melted.

  True dropped his head back on Seth’s shoulder. “This is relaxing me.” All the little poisons and barbs from
the day dropped out with each bead of sweat. The musky, almost narcotic, cedar smell worked its way up into True’s head.

  “Yeah, but it’s starting to not relax me.”

  True sat up, twisting back to look into his cousin’s gold eyes. “I can tell.” Seth’s hardening cock jumped against a firm stomach. True’s fingers played with damp strands of rust hair. The soft smile that only Seth could bring forth touched his lips. “Wanna fool around?”

  Giving himself a few slow strokes, Seth teased, “You have to ask?” His other hand drew fire across True’s shoulders. “I always want to fool around with you.” Easing himself off the bench, “Why don’t you lie down? On your stomach, let me rub your back.”

  True leaned forward and stretched out on the wood. “Oh, you’re going to give me a back rub, huh?”

  “Sort of,” Seth ran his tongue up True’s spine, making him arch into the touch. Working in slow circles, Seth kissed down True’s back. Hands kneading True’s hips, he sucked on the spot just above his cousin’s tailbone. Then he licked the tight space nestled between True’s cheeks.