had come to understand this alternate world as he described it. Its inhabitants, although predictable in some ways, were quirky in others. These were not Jesus-type perfect deities by any stretch of the imagination. They were gods who both screwed up and had a good time. Some Willie liked and could trust; others, he flat-out avoided.
Even if the world of the animal people was a place Willie dreamed up, I was always curious about how it worked; I had no doubt that he possessed a special turn of the imagination, and I was pleased to be privy to his adventures. Whether they were imaginary or not was beside the point.
I remembered him saying once, “All I ask, Chief, is that you allow yourself to imagine. That won’t hurt you, will it? That’s all I ask. Accept for a moment and listen. Keep an open mind.”
I did my best, but my mental quirk being what it is, Aristotle was always to be my main man. Cause and effect. A leads to B; B leads to C.
Coyote was Willie’s favorite of the animal people, and ordinarily the one he summoned in his trances, although sometimes he would maintain that it was Coyote who had done the summoning. If you’re a shaman, you have duties and responsibilities as well as privileges.
Once, when I went with Willie to the village of Taholah on the Quinault Indian Reservation just north of Hoquiam, Washington, I made the mistake of teasing Willie about his frequent disappearing acts.
Later that night when we were all drunker than skunks, a large-bellied man took me to one side and solemnly suggested that I go easy on Willie. He said Willie was Coyote and could only stand being human for short stretches of time.
If that were true, I certainly couldn’t disagree with Willie’s preferences. Being human did have its drawbacks from time to time.
The large-bellied man said I should be honored to be the white man chosen to be Coyote’s earthly companion. In saying this, he seemed genuinely amazed that I could treat Willie so casually.
I envied Willie, if all that hocus-pocus about the animal people and him being Coyote were true. I wouldn’t mind having a turn at being a coyote just to see what it was like. I could see Willie and me loping extracool through tall sagebrush, dashing down this or that rabbit trail and snarfing up kangaroo mice as though they were popcorn. In the daytime I’d make furtive dashes toward speeding autos to see if I could frighten drivers into losing control; at night I’d yip and yelp and howl for all I was worth and scare the fertilizer out of all little kids within hearing distance. Just why he — Coyote in Willie form — had chosen to latch on to me was one of life’s mysteries.
It was chilly in cottage number nine when the three of us finally got to sleep, I in my bed, Donna in the pull-out, Willie on a fold-out canvas cot I retrieved from the back of my bus; I pulled the covers up around my neck. Outside, I heard a yelping by the lake. Coyotes?
I snuck a quick look at Willie Prettybird to see if he was still there.
He still was. Silly me.
I thought I was in for an uneasy night, but I wasn’t. I fell into a deep, restorative sleep.
I dreamed that I was in the woods and heard a great purring. I didn’t know where the purring came from, but it enveloped me and was wonderful. Finally, I looked up and on the branch of a spruce tree a sleek panther looked down at me with feline yellow eyes. I looked into the feral depths of those eyes, and the panther purred a soft rumble. The purring enclosed me again, held me. So very soft.
I awoke with a start.
Across the way, Donna Cowapoo was looking at me with those eyes of hers, the dim light making hollows beneath her brow and above her high cheekbones. “Did you have a dream?” she said.
“I saw a panther sitting on a tree limb.”
“Ahh,” she said.
“It was purring. Humming along like a great, contented pussy cat.”
“It didn’t scare you, did it?”
“Gave me a bit of a start was all.”
“A panther! What would you call it, a nightmare or a dream?”
“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t call it a nightmare. It wasn’t frightening.”
“Ahh, good,” she said and turned over to return to sleep.
It was cold enough to disturb a well-digger’s testicles, but I finally