[original prose] trickster
Title: Trickster
Genre: Modern, hint of fantasy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,241
I wrote this for a Stories challenge. I wanted to do more with it, but I also didn't want it to get too long, so perhaps I'll expand on it later. It concerns the idea of the trickster god prevalent in so many cultures.
A long, long time ago, people did not yet inhabit the earth. A monster walked upon the land, eating all the animals--except Coyote. Coyote was angry that his friends were gone. He climbed the tallest mountain and attached himself to the top. Coyote called upon the monster, challenging it to try to eat him. The monster sucked in the air, hoping to pull in Coyote with its powerful breath, but the ropes were too strong. The monster tried many other ways to blow Coyote off the mountain, but it was no use.
Realizing that Coyote was sly and clever, the monster thought of a new plan. It would befriend Coyote and invite him to stay in its home. Before the visit began, Coyote said that he wanted to visit his friends and asked if he could enter the monster's stomach to see them. The monster allowed this, and Coyote cut out its heart and set fire to its insides. His friends were freed.
Then Coyote decided to make a new animal. He flung pieces of the monster in the four directions; wherever the pieces landed, a new tribe of Indians emerged. He ran out of body parts before he could create a new human animal on the site where the monster had lain. He used the monster's blood, which was still on his hands, to create the Nez Perce, who would be strong and good. [1]
On either side of the plaque were pictures of Coyote from the myth. On the left, he was tied to the mountaintop, smiling deviously outward at the unseen monster. He had the body of a man--though furred--but his head was more coyote than human. On the right, he stood with his arms stretching apart, his bloodied fingers spread. Tendrils of the monster’s blood reached between his fingertips to the human body forming in the middle.
Melanie read the myth again and smiled to herself. The Nez Perce myth was one of many she’d collected on the Trickster God, but it was one of her favorites. That was why she’d come all the way to Idaho to see the Nez Perce reservation. There was just something about the Trickster God in his many forms--Coyote, Spider, Raven, Man. She shifted her binder in her arms and sighed, glancing down at the dissertation nearing completion. There were notes scribbled all over it. It was so close to being finished... but she was stuck.
The Trickster was important to her, and it was easy to tie together the evidence of his presence in the mythologies of countless cultures, but she was having trouble getting across why any of that should be important to anyone else.
“It’s a little gruesome, huh?” The voice startled Melanie. She turned to find its source. The man standing unusually close to her was short--barely as tall as she was--but he had the frame of an athlete. His hair was medium brown and shaggy, his eyes were a brown that was almost black, and his mouth was quirked with a smile. She must have hesitated too long because he added, “The creation myth. Born from the bloody pieces of a monster.”
She shrugged a shoulder and glanced back at the pictures of Coyote. “You could see it that way.” She surveyed the stranger again, noting his deeply tanned skin. “Do you live on the reservation?”
He grinned broadly. “No, I’m just the curious sort.” Amusement seemed to be a permanent feature of his face. “Coyote is a trickster god, isn’t he? Most creation myths feature a more powerful sort of god.”
“The Trickster is a part of more creation myths than you might think,” Melanie said. “The Native Americans always had a great respect for him, but they weren’t the only ones.”
“No one thinks much of him these days,” the man said. “He’s just the jester in the court of gods.”
“People don’t have much time for any gods these days. But the jester can be one of the most important parts of court--he uses humor and satire to point out truths others want to ignore.” She’d mentioned as much in her dissertation. The jester or fool was one of the Trickster’s many guises.
“But the court of old doesn’t exist anymore, so what’s the relevance now?” the man asked.
Melanie smiled and gave a slight shake of her head. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She gestured with her binder. “I’m working on my dissertation. I’m researching the Trickster God, but I’m having trouble explaining what makes my work important today. I’ve found references in religions all over the world....” She trailed off and then grinned. “But you don’t care. Sorry, I just get caught up in my work.”
“On the contrary. I find it very interesting.” The man smiled, revealing bright white teeth and exaggerated canines. “Why is it relevant to you?”
“Well, it’s--” She frowned. “I just always found it interesting. I guess it’s because... well....” She glanced back at the creation myth on the wall, taking in the vivid paintings of Coyote. “I just always felt that people take life too seriously. We worry too much about what people think, about not breaking rules, but it’s all so ridiculous because it’s all just leading up to the end. We’re born, we live, we die. We already know how it’s going to end, so we might as well enjoy the journey there, but people get so caught up in the ‘real world’ that they live entire lives of mediocrity with nothing to say for themselves when the end comes.” She was rambling. She forced herself to stop and find her point. “The Trickster knows how to poke fun at life and seriousness. He reminds us that it isn’t such a big deal. Sometimes he has to trick us and make us fall on our faces, but it helps us learn to laugh at ourselves.”
“Maybe we need a bit more of that these days,” the man said.
Melanie found the words coming together in her head. This was the push she’d needed--she knew what direction to take. This was why the Trickster was important. He broke the serial monotony of life taken too seriously. People had forgotten him in the modern world, but they needed reminding. “Yes, yes, we do!” she said, flipping open her binder.
The man moved to step away. “Wait--” She paused halfway through skimming the pages of her dissertation. “Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Etza’a,” he said. He gave a small, coy nod and turned his back, moving away down the hall. Melanie watched his retreating back until he turned a corner. A frown pulled at her lips; there was something about that name. He’d said he didn’t live on the reservation, but it was definitely Native American. Not Nez Perce, perhaps....
She shook her head and turned back to the creation myth on the wall. Memory returned to her in a sharp flash: etza’a, of the Paiute language. It meant coyote.
She whirled away from the exhibit, but Etza’a was long gone. She stared out the museum window; this side of the museum faced a park. Across the grass, away from the benches and strolling people, she caught the briefest glimpse of a distinct shape, like a shadow but too solid: a coyote, meeting her eyes across the distance.
Melanie gave a respectful nod. When she looked up again, the Trickster was gone.
[1] Terri J. Andrews
Genre: Modern, hint of fantasy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,241
I wrote this for a Stories challenge. I wanted to do more with it, but I also didn't want it to get too long, so perhaps I'll expand on it later. It concerns the idea of the trickster god prevalent in so many cultures.
A long, long time ago, people did not yet inhabit the earth. A monster walked upon the land, eating all the animals--except Coyote. Coyote was angry that his friends were gone. He climbed the tallest mountain and attached himself to the top. Coyote called upon the monster, challenging it to try to eat him. The monster sucked in the air, hoping to pull in Coyote with its powerful breath, but the ropes were too strong. The monster tried many other ways to blow Coyote off the mountain, but it was no use.
Realizing that Coyote was sly and clever, the monster thought of a new plan. It would befriend Coyote and invite him to stay in its home. Before the visit began, Coyote said that he wanted to visit his friends and asked if he could enter the monster's stomach to see them. The monster allowed this, and Coyote cut out its heart and set fire to its insides. His friends were freed.
Then Coyote decided to make a new animal. He flung pieces of the monster in the four directions; wherever the pieces landed, a new tribe of Indians emerged. He ran out of body parts before he could create a new human animal on the site where the monster had lain. He used the monster's blood, which was still on his hands, to create the Nez Perce, who would be strong and good. [1]
On either side of the plaque were pictures of Coyote from the myth. On the left, he was tied to the mountaintop, smiling deviously outward at the unseen monster. He had the body of a man--though furred--but his head was more coyote than human. On the right, he stood with his arms stretching apart, his bloodied fingers spread. Tendrils of the monster’s blood reached between his fingertips to the human body forming in the middle.
Melanie read the myth again and smiled to herself. The Nez Perce myth was one of many she’d collected on the Trickster God, but it was one of her favorites. That was why she’d come all the way to Idaho to see the Nez Perce reservation. There was just something about the Trickster God in his many forms--Coyote, Spider, Raven, Man. She shifted her binder in her arms and sighed, glancing down at the dissertation nearing completion. There were notes scribbled all over it. It was so close to being finished... but she was stuck.
The Trickster was important to her, and it was easy to tie together the evidence of his presence in the mythologies of countless cultures, but she was having trouble getting across why any of that should be important to anyone else.
“It’s a little gruesome, huh?” The voice startled Melanie. She turned to find its source. The man standing unusually close to her was short--barely as tall as she was--but he had the frame of an athlete. His hair was medium brown and shaggy, his eyes were a brown that was almost black, and his mouth was quirked with a smile. She must have hesitated too long because he added, “The creation myth. Born from the bloody pieces of a monster.”
She shrugged a shoulder and glanced back at the pictures of Coyote. “You could see it that way.” She surveyed the stranger again, noting his deeply tanned skin. “Do you live on the reservation?”
He grinned broadly. “No, I’m just the curious sort.” Amusement seemed to be a permanent feature of his face. “Coyote is a trickster god, isn’t he? Most creation myths feature a more powerful sort of god.”
“The Trickster is a part of more creation myths than you might think,” Melanie said. “The Native Americans always had a great respect for him, but they weren’t the only ones.”
“No one thinks much of him these days,” the man said. “He’s just the jester in the court of gods.”
“People don’t have much time for any gods these days. But the jester can be one of the most important parts of court--he uses humor and satire to point out truths others want to ignore.” She’d mentioned as much in her dissertation. The jester or fool was one of the Trickster’s many guises.
“But the court of old doesn’t exist anymore, so what’s the relevance now?” the man asked.
Melanie smiled and gave a slight shake of her head. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She gestured with her binder. “I’m working on my dissertation. I’m researching the Trickster God, but I’m having trouble explaining what makes my work important today. I’ve found references in religions all over the world....” She trailed off and then grinned. “But you don’t care. Sorry, I just get caught up in my work.”
“On the contrary. I find it very interesting.” The man smiled, revealing bright white teeth and exaggerated canines. “Why is it relevant to you?”
“Well, it’s--” She frowned. “I just always found it interesting. I guess it’s because... well....” She glanced back at the creation myth on the wall, taking in the vivid paintings of Coyote. “I just always felt that people take life too seriously. We worry too much about what people think, about not breaking rules, but it’s all so ridiculous because it’s all just leading up to the end. We’re born, we live, we die. We already know how it’s going to end, so we might as well enjoy the journey there, but people get so caught up in the ‘real world’ that they live entire lives of mediocrity with nothing to say for themselves when the end comes.” She was rambling. She forced herself to stop and find her point. “The Trickster knows how to poke fun at life and seriousness. He reminds us that it isn’t such a big deal. Sometimes he has to trick us and make us fall on our faces, but it helps us learn to laugh at ourselves.”
“Maybe we need a bit more of that these days,” the man said.
Melanie found the words coming together in her head. This was the push she’d needed--she knew what direction to take. This was why the Trickster was important. He broke the serial monotony of life taken too seriously. People had forgotten him in the modern world, but they needed reminding. “Yes, yes, we do!” she said, flipping open her binder.
The man moved to step away. “Wait--” She paused halfway through skimming the pages of her dissertation. “Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Etza’a,” he said. He gave a small, coy nod and turned his back, moving away down the hall. Melanie watched his retreating back until he turned a corner. A frown pulled at her lips; there was something about that name. He’d said he didn’t live on the reservation, but it was definitely Native American. Not Nez Perce, perhaps....
She shook her head and turned back to the creation myth on the wall. Memory returned to her in a sharp flash: etza’a, of the Paiute language. It meant coyote.
She whirled away from the exhibit, but Etza’a was long gone. She stared out the museum window; this side of the museum faced a park. Across the grass, away from the benches and strolling people, she caught the briefest glimpse of a distinct shape, like a shadow but too solid: a coyote, meeting her eyes across the distance.
Melanie gave a respectful nod. When she looked up again, the Trickster was gone.
[1] Terri J. Andrews