Read Online Cherokee Bat and the Goat Guys by Francesca Lia Block - Free Book Online
Authors: Francesca Lia Block
Ads: Link
Bat.”
“Coyote Dream Song.”
Coyote Dream Song chanted again. His voice filled the evening like the candlelight, like the smoke from the sage, like the beat of his heart.
“Now we will dance the sacred dances,” Coyote said, and everyone stood, shyly at first, with their hands in their pockets or folded on their chests. Coyote jumped into the air as he played his drum, and the music moved in all of them until they were jumping too, leaping as high as they could. Then Coyote began to spin and they spun with him, circles making a circle, planets in orbit, everything becoming a blur of fragrant shadow and fragmented light around them.
“And we will dance our animal spirit,” Coyote said, crouching, hunching his shoulders, his eyes flashing, his face becoming lean and secretive. The circle changed, then. There were ravens flying, deer prancing, obsidian elks dreaming.
Finally, the dancing ended and they sat, exhausted, leaning against each other, protected by ancestors who had recognized their names and glowing with the dream of the feathers and fur they might have been or would become.
“This is the healing circle,” Coyote said. “So you may each say what it is you wish to heal. Or you may think it in silence.” And he put his hand to his heart, then reached to the sky, then touched his heart again.
“The children in my country who beg in gutters and the hurt I gave to Witch Baby,” Angel Juan said.
“My Angel Juan’s headaches and all broken hearts,” Witch Baby said.
“Cherokee’s blistered feet and anything in the world that makes her sad,” Raphael murmured.
“Our damaged earth. Angel Juan’s headaches, Raphael’s desire for smoke. Witch Baby’s sweet heart. Cherokee’s pain,” Coyote said.
Wings, haunches, horns and hooves, thought Cherokee Bat, Wings, haunches, horns, hooves, home. Then, “All of you,” she said aloud.
Coyote put his hand to his heart, reached to the sky, then touched his heart again.
That was when the wind came, a hot desert wind, a salt crystal wind, ragged with traveling, full of memories. It was wild like the wind that had brought Cherokee the feathers for Witch Baby’s wings, but this time there were no feathers. This wind came empty, ready to take back. Cherokee imagined it extending cloud fingers toward them, toward the circle on the hill, imagined the crystalline gaze of the wind when it recognized Witch Baby’s wings made from the feathers it had once brought.
The wings also recognized the wind and began to flap as if they were attached to a weak angel crouched in the center of the circle.They flapped and flapped until they began to rise, staggering back and forth in the dust. Cherokee, Raphael, Witch Baby, Angel Juan and Coyote stared in silence as the wind reclaimed the wings and carried them off, flapping weakly into the evening sky.
Witch Baby stood and reached above her head, watching the wings disappear. Then she collapsed against Angel Juan and he held hen
“You don’t need them,” he whispered. “You make me feel like I have wings when you touch me.” And as he spoke, one fragile feather, glinting with a streak of green, drifted down from the sky and landed upright in Witch Baby’s hair.
Meanwhile, Raphael was inching toward the haunches that lay in front of him, Cherokee could see by his eyes that he wasn’t sure if he was ready to give them up. But it was too late.
The goat had come down the hill. One old goat with white foamy fur and wet eyes. Unlike the goats who had come before, to give their fur to Coyote and Cherokee, this goat was quiet, so quiet that when he had gone,dragging the haunches in his mouth, Coyote and The Goat Guys were not sure if he had been there at all. Raphael started to stand, but Cherokee touched his wrist. He reached for her hand and they turned to see the goat being swallowed up by the hillside, a wave vanishing back into the ocean.
Cherokee knew what she had to do. Coyote was standing, facing her with a
“Coyote Dream Song.”
Coyote Dream Song chanted again. His voice filled the evening like the candlelight, like the smoke from the sage, like the beat of his heart.
“Now we will dance the sacred dances,” Coyote said, and everyone stood, shyly at first, with their hands in their pockets or folded on their chests. Coyote jumped into the air as he played his drum, and the music moved in all of them until they were jumping too, leaping as high as they could. Then Coyote began to spin and they spun with him, circles making a circle, planets in orbit, everything becoming a blur of fragrant shadow and fragmented light around them.
“And we will dance our animal spirit,” Coyote said, crouching, hunching his shoulders, his eyes flashing, his face becoming lean and secretive. The circle changed, then. There were ravens flying, deer prancing, obsidian elks dreaming.
Finally, the dancing ended and they sat, exhausted, leaning against each other, protected by ancestors who had recognized their names and glowing with the dream of the feathers and fur they might have been or would become.
“This is the healing circle,” Coyote said. “So you may each say what it is you wish to heal. Or you may think it in silence.” And he put his hand to his heart, then reached to the sky, then touched his heart again.
“The children in my country who beg in gutters and the hurt I gave to Witch Baby,” Angel Juan said.
“My Angel Juan’s headaches and all broken hearts,” Witch Baby said.
“Cherokee’s blistered feet and anything in the world that makes her sad,” Raphael murmured.
“Our damaged earth. Angel Juan’s headaches, Raphael’s desire for smoke. Witch Baby’s sweet heart. Cherokee’s pain,” Coyote said.
Wings, haunches, horns and hooves, thought Cherokee Bat, Wings, haunches, horns, hooves, home. Then, “All of you,” she said aloud.
Coyote put his hand to his heart, reached to the sky, then touched his heart again.
That was when the wind came, a hot desert wind, a salt crystal wind, ragged with traveling, full of memories. It was wild like the wind that had brought Cherokee the feathers for Witch Baby’s wings, but this time there were no feathers. This wind came empty, ready to take back. Cherokee imagined it extending cloud fingers toward them, toward the circle on the hill, imagined the crystalline gaze of the wind when it recognized Witch Baby’s wings made from the feathers it had once brought.
The wings also recognized the wind and began to flap as if they were attached to a weak angel crouched in the center of the circle.They flapped and flapped until they began to rise, staggering back and forth in the dust. Cherokee, Raphael, Witch Baby, Angel Juan and Coyote stared in silence as the wind reclaimed the wings and carried them off, flapping weakly into the evening sky.
Witch Baby stood and reached above her head, watching the wings disappear. Then she collapsed against Angel Juan and he held hen
“You don’t need them,” he whispered. “You make me feel like I have wings when you touch me.” And as he spoke, one fragile feather, glinting with a streak of green, drifted down from the sky and landed upright in Witch Baby’s hair.
Meanwhile, Raphael was inching toward the haunches that lay in front of him, Cherokee could see by his eyes that he wasn’t sure if he was ready to give them up. But it was too late.
The goat had come down the hill. One old goat with white foamy fur and wet eyes. Unlike the goats who had come before, to give their fur to Coyote and Cherokee, this goat was quiet, so quiet that when he had gone,dragging the haunches in his mouth, Coyote and The Goat Guys were not sure if he had been there at all. Raphael started to stand, but Cherokee touched his wrist. He reached for her hand and they turned to see the goat being swallowed up by the hillside, a wave vanishing back into the ocean.
Cherokee knew what she had to do. Coyote was standing, facing her with a
Similar Books
