We‘re sitting around the cabin, Dottie, Sue, and me are, telling stories about Coyote to the kids. A fire on this warm night is not necessary, but we think it adds to the sense of occasion. Kids today do not have much occasion to listen to their elders.
In the stories, my sisters and I are always young, slim, and pretty. That’s hard for the kids to swallow. They try to be respectful, but one of the youngest invariably gets the giggles thinking about such a ridiculous notion. Then one of the oldest kids will swat the giggler on the head . “Stop laughing at Auntie, or I’ll kill you next time.”
Members of our tribe threaten each other with death on a daily basis.
Looking at my sisters and me today, even I have trouble believing we were once young, let alone good-looking. Dottie’s put on about 200 pounds. Sue’s face is a journey via fault lines to the center of the earth. And I can’t walk or see or hear or chew well anymore.
Yet it had to be true or Coyote wouldn’t have bothered with us back then. That’s the way he was. He could get the pick of any litter. And he could get any litter he wanted, too. Fact is, every female in the whole damn kennel would jump all over him.
“He was ugly in the face,” Dottie likes to begin.
“I beg your pardon,” Sue interrupts. “He was the handsomest man this side of the Clan Gathering at Muscate.
Now they look to me. I’m the middle child who settles everything. Well, I’m the middle child if you don’t count Leroi, and nobody counts Leroi.
“Coyote wasn’t handsome, ” I say. “but he wasn’t ugly. His was a plain, ordinary face. But he sure could dance.”
“He could have danced all night, he could have danced, danced, danced---“
Two of the kids are singing and get up to start an exaggerated waltz, and the others laugh until they notice we’re silent and do not intend on proceeding with the story until they shut up.
“Sorry Aunties,” they chime in unision. Once the fire magic has a chance to lull them and once the story magic has its chance to fascinate them, the kids settle down. Unless they are playing secretly with their cell phones.
“The night we met Coyote," Dottie continues, there was a big dance over to Coeur d’Alene. I was 16 and this was my first dance. That Hall was lit up like Heaven itself. For a moment I couldn’t take it all in and I almost fainted. The expression ‘blacking out’ is wrong. Everything went white, and you know that’s bad for a Native American. But someone caught me before I fell. A man. He wasn’t much older than me, though there was nothing of a boy about him. His arms were strong, I could feel that. Then I became aware of his face rising from the whiteness surrounding me. It was an ugly face and - -“
“No!” the Greek chorus of kids protest. “He wasn’t ugly. Auntie Esther says he wasn’t ugly,” they remind Dottie. And before Sue could speak, they address her too. “And he wasn’t handsome either. Auntie Esther says.”
“Well, his face scared me,” Dottie retorts, “whatever he actually looked like. Nobody can argue with what I saw when I looked at that face.”
“He was handsome to me and everyone else in the world except my sisters, of course,” says Sue. "They couldn’t pick out Coyote from Eagle in a line-up.”
My sisters glare at each other and the audience.
“What did Uncle Leroi think,” one of the kids asks, slyly, that brash Ray-Ray.
I wish he hadn’t brought up Leroi. I know the rest of the them will start chanting “Long Live Leroi.” I'm tired of that old business and suddenly, I’m tired of the younger generation.
“Goodbye, kids. Get out of here.” I say. “Scram, beat it, vamoose, adios, ciao, sayonara. Storytime’s over and there won’t be any squaw candy, either. “
“You shouldn’t have mentioned LeRoi,” Sue shakes her head sadly. “You know how she feels about all that. Why do you torment your elders?” The grooves in her face seem deeper than ever.
“When we were children, we listened to our elders. We learned.” Dottie stands up and scolds, bulk a-quiver, looming above them.
