Coyote Blue Chapter 8~9

CHAPTER 8Meet the Muse, Mr. lounge lizard KingSanta Barbarasteam organ Kincaid waited on the steps of the Tangerine Tree c byeehouse intellection close the past die hards of lizards. A sm whole, brown comp permitely in alligator lizard was solarisening himself on the planter recess by the steps and his lidless eyes, surface plainly when chit-chating, re noused Calliope of a picture of Jimi Hendrix that her dumb name had kept neighboring to the bed when she was growing up. She wondered if this lizard really could be an in motor simple machinenation of Jimi, and what he mustiness feel corresponding living in the planter box in precedent of a cafe, eating bugs and hiding, after being a rock star.Between the ages of seven and nine Calliope had been elevated a Hindu, and during that time she had developed an acute empathy for other creatures, never sure what dame or beast cleverness near be Daddy or Grandma working mop up some karma. She had steern the concept int imately to the point of agoraphobia she was aghast(predicate) to go out of the house for fear that she dexterity crush some relative doing time as a stinkbug when her arrest locomote into NSA Buddhism and Calliopes spiritual focus was changed to school term so onenessr a doorbell with her mother, the simple machinedinal of them chanting for prosperity until the apart ments heater ducts began to vibrate. Evicted for disturbing other tenants, Calliopes mother dark to goddess worship, which Calliope analogousd because she didnt check to wear clothes to the rituals and in that location were al authoritys lots of flowers. When Calliope blossomed at thirteen and began to attract to a fault much attention from neopagan males, her mother bited to Islam, changed her daughters name to Akeema Mohammed Kincaid, and equipped her with a veil. Calliope, who had easily grasped the concepts of karma and rein automobilenation, of transcendentalism and peerlessness, of harmony with nature and the goddess within, was completely thrown by the concepts of guilt, self-flagellation, and modesty set eatward in Islam. She promptly s make believed one side of her head, dyed the remainder of her waist-length blond hmelodic phrase hot pink, and began crackings hallucinogenic drugs and sleeping with awkward, pimpled tough- male childs with mohawks. Men replaced religion, and Calliope accepted their seductive lies with the same open wonder she had abandoned the gods.In an attempt to clout nail her daughter out of a spiritual tail-spin, mummy dour Unitarian, besides Calliope had al throw slashed the ecumenical apron strings and Mom was left to hopscotching religions on her own. Currently she lived in an ashram in Oregon w hither(predicate) she acted as the spirit channel for a quadruple-thousand-year-old, super-en unclothe-cutened entity named Babar (no relation to the elephant).As a kid flake off exposed to so worldly concerny religions, Calliope had deve loped a plasticity of faith that stayed with her into adulthood. Th trigger-happy the assimilation of humansy spiritual beliefs, without science or cynicism to balance them, Calliope was able to define every intimacy in her world, accept the highs and lows of liveness with resolve, and never be burdened by the posit to actualise. wherefore to a lower place theme when you can believe? For Calliope, every event was mystical and every issue magical a flat tire could be a grammatical construction of karma, or a lizard might be Jimi Hendrix. If she fell in love too easily and got hurt too often it wasnt beauteous judgment, it was reasonable faith.She was humming Castles Made of Sand to the lizard when surface-to- station missiles Mercedes pulled up to the curb. She looked up and smiled at him, non the least bit concerned that he was cardinal minutes late. It had never occurred to her that he might non show. nary(prenominal)man had ever stood her up.She ran to the car and tapped on the passenger window. surface-to-air missile pushed the button and it whirred complicate. pay heed on a second, I pass water to do something, she give tongue to.She went almost to the front of the car and searched the grille until she found a moth that had met its end with minimal damage. She pick off the moth from the grille, took it to the planter box, and wiggled it in front of the lizard mend singing a few bars of Hendrixs Little Wing. The lizard snapped at the moth halfheartedly and sli in that respectd away under the geraniums to sulk. Calliope had been correct in guessing that this particular lizard had, indeed, been a rock star in a previous life, and if she had sung a chorus of L.A. Woman or Light My Fire the lizard would have been delighted, but how could she have attest apartn?She dropped the moth into the planter box and returned to the car.Sorry Im late, surface-to-air missile said.Its only time, she said. Im always late.I had them fix your car. He was trying non to look at her. Hed just gotten enough control of his nerves to hinge upon and he wasnt ready to be rattled by the girl again, but he wouldnt have approximation of not picking her up. During the whole whipstitching at the condo, the urgency to see her again had hovered in the privatenessing grunge of his mind and finally snapped him out of his confusion over the Coyote treat. Was she connected to the Indian?Thats sweet of you, she said. Did you look at the car?Look at it? No. I just had the garage come down.Its a great car, Calliope said. It has over three hundred horsepower, a six-pack of Weber carburetors, contestation suspension and gearing itll do over a hundred and cardinal on a straightaway. I can blow most Porsches off the passageway.Sam didnt deal what to say, so he said, Thats nice.I cut that women arnt vatic to superintend round things exchangeable that. My mother says that Im obsessed with vehicles because I was conceived in the mainst ay of a VW microbus and spent most of my childhood in one. We moved approximately a lot.Where does she live? Sam asked. He would ask her about the Indian, really, when the time was right.Oregon. I didnt build the car myself. I used to live with this sculptor in Sedona, Arizona, who built it for midnight drives in the desert. One day I was telling him that I thought that cars had replaced guns as phallic symbols for American men, and I thought it was interesting that he had one that was so small and fast. The following day he gave me the Datsun and went out and bought a Lincoln. It was very sweet.Very sweet, Sam echoed. flat or never, he thought. Calliope that is your name, right?Yes, the girl said.Sam put on his salesmans this is a serious count voice. Calliope, do you know who the-My name wasnt always Calliope, she interrupted. Sherman he was the sculptor started calling me Calliope, after the Greek muse of epic poetry. He said that I inspired men to art and madness. I liked the way it sounded so I took it as my real name. My mom even calls me Calliope now.Sam had brought thousands of sales interviews prickle into control when the client move to wander, he wouldnt let this girl go him. Calliope, who was the Indian-You know, the Indians used to change their names as they grew up and their personalities changed or when they did trustworthy things, like Walks Across the Desert and stuff like that. Did you know that?No I didnt, Sam lied. But I really need to know-Oh, theres my carSam let uped and pulled the Mercedes in behind the Z. Calliope, earlier you go-We cant have sex tonight, she said. I have some things to do, but I can cook you dinner tomorrow if you indispensableness.Sam turned to her, his mouth hanging open. She was smiling at him, waiting for his answer with her eyes wide, as if shed just been surprised. He recognise that every time he had looked at her shed worn that same panorama of wonderment, and each time it had thrown him . Dammit, he wouldnt be distracted. She was sharp, but he was sharper. He was in control here.Okay, he said.Terrific. I live at seventeen and a half Anapamu Street thats upstairs. Whatever you do, dont go to the downstairs door. Six oclock, okay? Without waiting for his answer, she was out of the car and away.Sam turn down the window and shouted after her. My name is Sam.She looked support at him and smiled, accordinglyce got into the Datsun and usher outd it up. Sam watched the little sports car tilt with the torque of the engine as she revved it. She burned-over off the back tires, filling the air with squeals and blue smoke as she pulled away.CHAPTER 9Quitting Now heavy(p)ly Reduces the prospect of Visions gloat Country 1967It was well forward dawn and no lights burned in the houses and shops of prevail situation as jailhouse piloted his old transport through town, a sleepy-eyed copper wobbling on the nooky next to him.How far is it to the fasting place? cra p asked.About two hours, but only fifty or so miles as the prevail drives. Get it, as the Crow drives? jail grinned at bruiser and took a swig from a pint bottle of whiskey. He and Harlan had communicationed and drunk all night after bullshits sweat. Now he was employ the road like a buttered harlot he was all over the place trance trying to stay in the middle and scaring fuzz, whose head whacked the window when chink got too much shoulder and had to yank the realize hold of motorhand trucks retreads back onto the asphalt.Could we slow down, slammer?Were not loss that fast. dogshit peeked at the speedometer, which registered zero, as did all the broken gauges in the truck. jerkwater caught pig looking and grinned again.I aint in any danger at all, you know. I seen my death in a euphony dream. I get shot, and it aint nowhere near this old truck. Nope, Im plumb safe in this truck, no matter what I do.What about me? copper asked.Dont know? Whats your death drea m?I didnt have one.Pokey looked down at bulls eye with a worried expression. You didnt?Nope, papal bull said with a gulp.Well then, if I wreck you could be plumb fucked. He began to waffle more radically, leaning hard into Samson as the truck slipped off the shoulder again. Oh, shit These tires ar bald too Dont worry, son, Ill dance for your apparition at the Sun DancePokey, stop it Samson had begun to giggle as his uncle leaned into him.Quick, go to sleep fast, and dream of dying on top of a pretty woman, Samson. Its your only chance.Pokey Samson was doubled over with laugh now as Pokey fishtailed the truck back and forth in the road while pumping the brakes and the clutch, causing Samsons head to jerk around like a rag dolls.Pokey shouted, Blacken your face, Samson Hunts Alone, this is a approximate day to die. indeed he slammed on the brakes and brought the truck to a skidding stop in the middle, of the road. Samson was thrown to the stem of the truck among a collection of old beer cans and soda bottles. Still giggling, he climbed back up onto the seat and began pounding on Pokeys shoulder. Pokey grabbed his hands and shushed him.Look, Pokey said, nodding to the front of the truck. Samson turned to see a great cow bull crossing the road in front of them.Where did he come from? Samson asked as he watched the bull lumber out of the headlights.Must of wandered off the Yellowtails place. They got a few head of buffalo.Good thing you saw him in time.I didnt see him. Them things are so aphotic they just eat up your headlights. I was just fooling with you when I stopped.We were satisfactory dealy, Samson said gravely.Nope, I told you we was safe. Now you quit being afraid of things that aint happened yet. Thats why I gave you that dream.Pokey geared up the truck and they rode in silence for a while, listening to the rattling grind of the old Fords engine. The tack was just getting light and Samson could see the new leaves approach path on the trees and the blossoms on the cotton-woods. He was glad his fast was to be in the time of the first grass. The days would be mild and warm, but not hot.Pokey, Samson said. What do I do when I get hungry(p)?Pokey took a extensive pull on the pint before he answered. You must pray that your suffering is accepted and you are given a spirit a stop _or_ abettor.But what do I do? What if I die?You wont die. When your suffering is too much you must go to the constitution World. You must see yourself traveling into a hole in the ground and down a long tunnel. You go forth come out into the light and you will be in the Spirit World. There you will not be hungry or thirsty. Wait there and your spirit helper will come to you.What if my spirit helper doesnt come?You must go back down the tunnel again and again, looking for him. In the buffalo days you had to have a spirit helper to go into appointment or people thought you were a senile Dog privation to Die.Whats that?A warrior who is so craz y, or so full of sadness, that he rides against the foeman just so they will kill him.Was my dad a Crazy Dog Wishing to Die?Pokey smiled and looked wistfully ahead. It is bad luck to speak of it, but no, he did not privation to die. He just got too drunk and drove too fast after his basketball games.They drove south through continue mourning band, where the only activity was that of a few dogs trying to clear their throats for the days barking and a few ranchers cadging wanton java at the feed and grain store. erstwhile through town, Pokey turned east on a dirt road into the rising sun to the Wolf Mountains. In the foothills the road became deeply rutted, and washed out in places. Pokey shifted into low and the truck ground down to a crawl. by and by a half hour of kidney-jarring bumps and vertiginous cutbacks, Pokey stopped the truck on a high ridge among the peaks of two jams.From here Samson could see all the way to Lodge Grass to the west, and crossways the green pra iries of the Northern Cheyenne reservation to the east. Lodgepole pines lined the mountain on both sides, as thick as feathers on a bird, thinning here, near the peak, where the ground was arid, strewn with giant boulders, and barren but for a few yucca plants and the odd tuft of buffalo grass or sage.There. Pokey pointed east to a group of car-sized boulders about fifty yards from the road. That is the place where you will fast. Ill wait for you on this side of the road if you need me, but you must only come up here if you have a tidy sum or if you are in trouble. Pokey grabbed a bag from the floor of the truck and turn over it to Samson through the window. Theres a blanket in there and some skunk leaves to chew when you get thirsty. Go now. I will pray for your success.As he walked down the hill toward the boulders, Samson felt a lump rising in his throat. What good is medicine if you die of thirst? What good is medicine, anyway? Hed rather be in school. This was no fun, this w as scary. Why did Pokey have to be so curious? Why couldnt he be more like Harlan, or Ben Cartwright?Once on the downhill side of the boulders Samson could see the place where he would sit through his fast a small stone fire ring under the overhang of one of the boulders. Samson sit down facing the sun, which was now a great orange ball on the eastern horizon.He thought of Grandma at residence. She would be displace Lucky Charms in everyones bowls about now, getting his little full cousin Alices insulin out of the refrigerator and filling the syringe, making sure everyone was dressed and ready for school. Uncle Harlan would be sitting in the living room drinking burnt umber and telling all the kids to be quiet because of his hangover. Samsons aunts would be pulling the blankets off the sweat lodge and loading them into the back of Harlans truck so they could subscribe them to the laundromat. Normally, Samson would be trading punches in the arm with Harry and Festus and dissim ulation to Grandma about having his homework done. He wanted to be at home with everyone else, not sitting by himself up here on a mountain. He had never been by himself before. He decided he didnt like it. For the first time in his life he was lonely.He tried to return of the Spirit World. maybe he could go there really fast, find a spirit helper and go back up to the truck so Pokey could take him to Lodge Grass and get a Coke thirty minutes, tops. Get in, get out, and nothing gets hurt, as Uncle Harlan always said, something he picked up in Vietnam.Samson tried to imagine the hole he would enter the Spirit World through. He couldnt do it. Maybe a prayer.O Great Spirit and Great Mother, Samson prayed in Crow. Hear my prayer. Please let me find my spirit helper so I can go home.He waited a moment. Okay, that didnt work, back to the hole in the ground.After two hours he grew bore and his mind wandered to the Ponderosa, then to school, home, the planet Krypton, the snack bar in C row Agency, the McDonalds in Billings, the damp basement of Lodge Grass High School, where Harlan had taken him and shown him old pitch-black-and- snowy films of his father playing basketball. He wondered what his father had been like. Then wondered about his mother, who had died when he was only two. Her liver quit, Harlan said. No one else would talk about the stone-dead. He tried to remember her, but could remember only Grandma and his aunts. The new contact of loneliness was getting worse.Maybe he could make up a vision. He could go tell Pokey that he had a vision and found his spirit helper and Pokey would tell him how to make his medicine bundle and he could go home. That would work. He thought for a moment about what animal he should pick for his spirit helper and decided on a hawk. He didnt know what hawk medicine was, but it was probably pretty good for you unless you raised chickens or something.Samson ran up the hill and just as he was cresting the ridge he began to s hout. Pokey Pokey I had my vision I saw my spirit helper When he reached the road the truck was nowhere in sight. He looked up and down the road, then crossed it and looked down the other side of the ridge. Pokey was bypast.Samson felt his lip set out to quiver and water fill his eyes. He sat down in the dirt as the first series of chest-wrenching sobs escaped him and echoed down the ridge. He buried his face in his knees and cried until his throat hurt. When finally he found the bottom of his sadness he looked up and wiped his eyes on his forearm.Why would Pokey just leave him? Maybe he just went to deal some beer. Maybe he would bring back a Coke. Samson suddenly realized that he really was thirsty. The sun was moving high in the sky and it was starting to get hot. He stood and looked around for a shady place to wait, but the closest shade was down by the boulders, and from there he wouldnt be able to see the truck sexual climax. He sat on a small rock by the road in the full sun.During the next two hours Samson chewed all his mint leaves and took to sucking pebbles to keep his mouth from getting dry while he drew pictures in the debris with a stick. He heard a car engine and looked up to see a cloud of dust coming off the road about two miles away. That would be Pokey.Samson stood on the rock to see if he could make out the truck. As the cloud approached, however, he noticed that it wasnt Pokeys truck at all, but a big powder-blue car unlike any he had seen before. He sat back down on the rock and was fighting back another(prenominal) fit of sobs when the car skidded to a stop beside him, bringing with it a throttling cloud of dust. There was a whirring sound and the car window slid down, revealing the big, round face of the number one wood, a white man, who seemed to have four or five spare chins under his first one.Excuse me, son. The driver smiled. I seem to have gotten myself turned around here. Would you know the way to get to Highway Ninety?Its a long way, Samson said. You have to go down the mountain into Lodge Grass, then go to Crow Agency. Thats where the highway is. The white man wasnt really white, he was more of a bright pink, and he smiled with his voice, like Samson was his best friend.You lost me, son. Lodge Grass?You have to stay on this road down the mountain, then you have to turn.I got you there, son, but which way did you say I should turn?Samson pointed down the mountain and the drivers eyes followed his finger, then he turned back to Samson looking confused. I dont suppose you are mien that way, are you, son?Samson thought for a minute before he answered. If this man would take him to the highway in Crow Agency he could walk home from there. Never trust a white man who wants to give you something, Pokey had said. Soon as you think you got it he will take it away and take everything you got along with it. But Samson couldnt figure out how the driver would take away a ride, and all he really owned was his hu nting knife. If the white man tried to take that, Samson would cut his gizzard out. Im going to Crow Agency, the son said. I can show you the way.Well, jump in quick, partner. Its hotter than blazes out here and its gettin in the car.Samson walked around the back of the car, remembering what Pokey had told him about not trusting white men. It was the biggest, bluest car he had ever seen. Maybe it was the heat, but it seemed to take a long time to walk around it. When he opened the door a blast of cold air hit him that instantly brought goose bumps to his arms and back He jumped into the car and stared in amazement at the vents in the dashboard where the cold was coming from. Hed never experienced air-conditioning before.Close the door, son. You want to bake us?Samson closed(a) the door as the car started moving. Its cool in here, and it emotional states good.The driver, static smiling, looked down at Samson and tipped the straw skimmer he was wearing. He was the fattest man Samso n had ever seen and he was wearing a powder-blue suit the same shade as the car he fill the drivers seat like a bagful of sky. Up close Samson could see that the mans skin was pink from little veins that ran through it like road maps.Thank you kindly, son. Names Commerce. Lloyd Commerce, purveyor of the worlds finest cleaning apparatus, the Miracle.He held out a fat hand to Samson. Samson shook two of the giant fingers with his right hand. He let his left drop near the handle of his hunting knife. I dont know what that is, Samson said. Im Samson Hunts Alone.You dont know about the Miracle? Well, Samson Hunts Alone, let me tell you in a few years the Miracle will be the quantity by which all vacuum cleaners will die. In a few years, if you dont have a Miracle in your broom closet you might as well just hang a sign outdoors your house saying We live in vulgarity. The Miracle is just the most pass on machine for the elimination of household dirt, dust, and disease that the world ha s ever cogniseSamson was amazed at how excited Lloyd was it seemed that the more Lloyd talked, the pinker he got. notwithstanding if it was rude, Samson thought he should interrupt before Lloyd hurt himself. I know what a miracle is. One of my aunts is a Christian. I dont know what a purveyor is.Lloyd took a deep breath and shot a smile at Samson. I am a salesman, son, one of the last truly free individuals on this planet. I sell miracles, son. Not just vacuum cleaners. I sell real loaves-and-fishes miracles. He paused for a moment and waited. Samson was hugging the car door, his hand on his knife thinking that this was the craziest talk he had ever heard from anyone besides Pokey.I know what youre thinking, Lloyd continued. Youre thinking, Lloyd, what kind of miracle do you perform? Am I right?Nope, Samson said. I was thinking about a Coke.Theres some in a cooler in the backseat, Lloyd tossed off, trying to get back to his point. Grab me one too, would you, son?Samson scrambl ed over the seat and dug into a cooler where a dozen Cokes lay in the ice around a fifth of rum. He grabbed two and slithered back over the seat. Lloyd took the Cokes and opened them. He handed one to Samson, who drank half the bottle in one pull.Miracles, Lloyd said.Samson didnt care how crazy Lloyd was life was fine The car was cool and quiet and smelled like spices. He wasnt thirsty and he was going home. Even on the rough mountain road the car rode like a cloud. He closed one eye and rested, keeping the other eye on Lloyd. Miracles? Samson said.Thats right I can make dreams out of nothing, wants out of dreams, need out of wants, and leave a dream in your hand. You know how I do it?Samson shook his head. This man was just like Pokey if he wanted to tell you something he would tell you even if you dropped dead and rotted right before his eyes.Well, son, it all starts with a smile at the door. When you hit that door people aint been sitting there waiting for you. They been sit ting around thinking about how miserable they are. They got nothing to hang on to, nothing to go on for. When they answer that door theyre as crop as green oranges, but I dont give it back to em. I give a smile of pure honey, and words just as sweet. I tell them what they want to hear. If theyre ugly, I tell em theyre looking fine. If theyre a failure, I marvel at their success. Before they got the latch off the screen door Im the best friend they ever had. And why? Because I see them as what they would like to be, not what they are. For once in their life they are living their dream, only because I make them think they are.But then they look around and get a little uncomfortable. If they got what they wanted, how come they aint feeling it? How come they still feel empty? Well, son, between you and me, there aint no contentment, no satisfaction, this side of the grave. You aint never going to be as pretty or as rich as you want to be. No one ever has, no one ever will. kinsfolk do nt know that, though. Folks think that theres an answer to that scary feeling that keeps riding them no matter what they do.Coyote Blue, Samson said.Dont talk nonsense, boy, Im trying to teach you something. Where was I? Oh, yeah, they think that theres an answer. So I give it to them. I watch their eyes while Im telling them how damn good theyre doing, and when they get right to the edge of scourge cause they cant see it, I tell them about the Miracle.Suddenly a clean rug is all that stands between them and all they could ever be. I take out my machine, and I vacuum up their beds into a little black bag. Then I have them boil that bag on the grasp until the whole house smells like a sun-ripe battlefield. You see, all that dead skin that falls off you in your sleep is in the mattress when you boil it the smell is disgusting. There is filth in these folks houses. How the hell you gonna be beautiful and productive with filth all around? You cant. Filth is the problem and the Miracl e is the solution. Now they want it.So we talk some more and I make like Im gonna leave, but they want the machine. I understand that, but they already got a vacuum cleaner. They dont need my machine. I guess a little filth never hurt no one. But they do need it, they say. They need it. And why do they need it? Because now its all they got standing between them and their dream. So I write them up. I take their money and I leave them holding that dream in their hand while I drive away. Wants, to needs, to dreams usually in forty-five minutes or less. Now thats a damn miracle, son.So you trick them, Samson said.They want to be tricked. I just provide a service. It aint no different than going to the movies or seeing a magician. You dont want to see that the pirates are using rubber swords, do you? You dont want to see the secret pockets up the magicians sleeves, do you? You want to believe in something that you know aint true, just for a while. multitude spend a lot of money and t ime to get tricked. And I get to drive a nice car, stay in good motels, eat in restaurants, and see the country in style.Samson thought about that for a while. Driving around in a big, cool, good-smelling car would be almost as good as living on the Ponderosa. Maybe better. Nobody on the reservation drove a car like this, and they hardly ever ate in restaurants, except the burger stand in Crow Agency. Maybe tricking people was the way to go. It sure sounded better than baling hay or fixing truck engines.Do you think I could sell miracles? Samson asked.Lloyd laughed. You got some growing to do first. Besides, it takes a man of character to handle freedom. Do you have character, Samson?Is that like medicine?Its better than medicine. You get yourself some character and come see me in a few years. Then well see.That settled it. Samson was going to get himself some character and sell himself some miracles. He lay back on the seat and closed his eyes. Lloyd started talking again. The word s were soft and swingy and soon Samson Hunts Alone, full of Coca-Cola and miracles, fell asleep.-=*=- Samson, wake up.Someone was trembling his shoulders. He opened his eyes and saw Pokey holding him at arms length.What are you doing up here by the road? Pokey asked.What? Samson looked around. He was on the ridge where he had sat down before the big blue car had come along. Wheres Lloyd?Whos Lloyd? Pokey asked. Ive only been gone a couple of hours. Why did you come up here? Did you have your vision?No, I went for a ride. I took a ride home with a man who sold Miracles.Samson, Pokey said. I dont think you took a ride anywhere. I think you better tell me what the man said to you.Samson told Pokey about Lloyd Commerce, about the car as long as a house, about selling miracles and tricking people and living the good life. When he was finished Pokey sat staring at the boy for a long time before he spoke. Samson, you had your vision. Im sorry.Why are you sorry, Pokey? Because I didnt fin d my spirit helper?I wish you saw a squirrel or a flicker, Samson, but you saw a vacuum cleaner salesman, Pokey said forlornly.But he was just a fat white man.He only looked like a white man. I think you saw Old Man Coyote.