Legends of Our Nation

Continued from last week.

The Indians & Death

In those days long ago neither the Indians or the animals were subject to death. They all lived for- ever, and there was yet enough room for everyone. Only the coyote, disappointed grumbler that he was, went about grousing: “Why do we have to be squashed here like this?” If only the old were to die, we’d be far better off.” And he ran all over the prairie, shouting so loudly that he could be heard in both forest and desert. But no one paid any heed to his talk, for it was well-know that the coyote was a scoundrel who always tried to make trouble for everything and everybody.

This time, however, it soon became apparent that he would not so easily give up the idea that had lodged firmly in his crooked, disordered head. And when the snow remained lying on the ground especially long that year and famine threatened, he again started to shout:

“There, you see? I told you. There are too many of us, and that’s why we are hungry. If only the old were to die, there would be plenty to eat for all of us.”

In the end the Great Shaman heard of the coyote’s suggestions. The wise old man became very angry and wanted to punish the evil-minded ruffian, but then he thought better of it and decided to call a meeting, which he hoped would prove to the coyote how disagreeable his suggestion really was to one and all. Perhaps, thought the Great Shaman, the coyote may yet mend his ways.

And thus, the Indians and the animals assembled at the foot of the Sacred Rock, with the Great Shaman sitting on a tree-stump on top of the cliff; his headdress touched the sky when he raised his head to address them in the following words:

“My children, I could no longer bear to listen to the yelping of your brother coyote, who keeps proposing that we bring death into the world. That is why I have now called you together. Tell the coyote what you think of his idea, so that he may be taught a lesson.”

The animals conferred together quickly, while the coyote sat alone, scratching behind his ears with his paw and getting up every now and again to trot from one to the other, pricking up his wars to hear what they were saying. All of a sudden, he called out:

“Oh Great Shaman, I never intended to harm anyone, but there isn’t enough food to go round, and we can’t all survive.” His cunning eyes were narrowed into mere slits. “It was never my intention that those who die should not return to this world.”

“What is it you suggest, then?” asked the squirrel.

“I would tell you, only…I don’t know, nobody trusts me, that’s the trouble.”

“Go on, tell us,” The Indians urged him, and the Great Shaman leaned forward in order to hear him better.

“Very well, then,” said the coyote. “I suggest we make a hole in heaven, and all the dead can move there for a time. Then, when there is again enough food for all, we’ll simply call them back.”

“But there isn’t a tree so high,” murmured the bear.

“I have thought it all out,” replied the coyote smugly. “An Indian arrow will reach the sky. Then a second arrow can be shot to join up with the first, then a third and a fourth, until they link Heaven and Earth. Anyone can climb up then, and it will be even easier to get down again.”

Continued next week.