Hiromi Itō

I came to encounter a coyote I left all sorts of things behind You couldn’t get on a plane unless you traveled light Back then there were weight restrictions for planes, they don’t have them any longer, American bodies have no restrictions, they’ve become so big that there aren’t restrictions on the weight of bodies or luggage any more, but back then, I can’t even count how many times I picked up my bags and stepped on the scale, no matter how many times I weighed myself, I still wasn’t the least bit lighter Not knowing what else to do, I took out my books Then I took out my clothes Then I went to the bathroom and defecated Then I took out more clothes Then I threw up Then I took out more books Then I stripped off all my clothes, held my bag, and stood on the scale, but I wasn’t the least bit lighter Know what I mean? That’s what it means to go on a trip That’s what it means to leave the place where you live Trips and then more trips There are things you need to carry with you to survive Not knowing what else to do, I called my husband, filed for divorce, talked to my children and told them Mommy wouldn’t be home for a while, in other words, it was only after I abandoned my relationships, my attachments, and even my language that I was light enough to get on the plane, when I arrived, all I had was a few changes of clothes, some cash, my passport, my visa waiver, my credit cards, and an 
international driver’s license In California, the sky was blue, there was nothing but seashore, wild land, and housing developments, it was hazy and hard to see in the evenings, it was as if everything was immersed in mother’s milk, my toes got cold, I bought some socks, but after wearing them three days, the cheap things were ready to fall apart, I looked long and hard at them, feeling like a coyote (Yeah, I tell people I came alone But that is not entirely true I was always thinking about the coyote The two of us traveling together) I saw dead raccoons I saw dead skunks I smelled them too Someone I met the first day said to me The whole place smells like skunk, must be a dead one somewhere It was an unfamiliar scent, but now I know it well The whole place smells like skunk, must be a dead one somewhere I know to say that to people now In any case, I didn’t see Any coyotes (Two traveling together) Someone in the street Told me to get the hell out of here Why had I come? I couldn’t find what I wanted, I had come so far but,get the hell out, this isn’t the place where the coyotes are, they’re farther away, in deeper places, where there is nothing, where there is much more emptiness So I headed east From the western edge of the continent to the east The interstates With odd numbers run north and south While even numbers run east and west Those in the 500s are the bypasses for I-5 (north-south) Those in the 800s are the bypasses for I-8 (east-west) I took I-5 south to I-580 I went further south to I-8 then went east East, east, east And even further east In Arizona, I took I-17 At Flagstaff, I took US Route 89 I dashed into a roadside motel, slept, and woke And started driving again The morning light shone brilliantly Each time I stopped to fill up with gas, I bought some brownies, each individually wrapped, I tore off the wrappers with one hand and ate them as I drove, the ridiculously sweet lumps stuck to the roof  of my mouth, when I stopped in front of a motel that night, my fingers didn’t want to leave the steering wheel, at the registration desk, the words I needed to say in English didn’t rise to my lips, even though 
I knew them all too well (Two traveling together) There was a woman standing at the side of the road, I called out to her in broken English, asking her what was the matter, she answered in what was also broken English Would you mind taking me to the nearest gas station? She sat in the passenger’s seat I’m Navajo Where are you from? From California, I answered No, that’s not what I meant What tribe are you from? she asked (Two traveling together) From Kayenta I took US Route 163 toward Monument Valley I had heard that coyotes lived there long ago That it’s an amazing place, the moon rises, the sun sets I imagined it would be like seeing the ocean But when I got there, it wasn’t like the ocean at all Rocks soared into the air Rocks, rocks, even more rocks Red rocks In the dust I watched the sun set over them By the time I got back to Route 163, the sun had sunk deep beyond the horizon, the only thing I could see was the road in front of me, 
I drove on looking for a place to sleep, but I didn’t see a thing, there wasn’t anything to see, air rushed through my cracked window, 
letting out a long, thin, high-pitched whistle Hii-iuu-uuuuu Hii-iuu-uuuuu Like a reed flute My thin, hard window was slightly open, the wind rushed in but couldn’t escape Hii-iuuu Uuu-uuuuu Uuu-hiiuuuuu (Two of us heard it) I drove a long way before spying a large motel, I saw the vacancy sign as I approached, I thought I’d have to drive for hours and hours before finding a place to sleep, I thought I wouldn’t stop, that I’d drive all night without stopping, but the place I found was part of a chain you see in every city, the bed was big and deep, and there was lots of hot water in the tub (Two of us were there) The next morning The car was completely filthy The whole thing was covered with bright red dirt and sand The windshield was covered with the splattered bodies of countless insects No one knew I had slept there, nor that I was leaving, nor which direction I was headed, no one knew It was a day that invited Death along the roadside I hadn’t even driven for five minutes before I saw it — A single, dead coyote Lying on its back, legs in the air (It was both me and My travel companion, too) Translated from the  Japanese

The first time I ever heard about coyotes Was in a book called (in Japanese)Seton’s Animals for Boys and Girls There I encountered Lobo the Wolf King, bighorn sheep, a family of wild boars, cottontail rabbits, and raccoons, but it was the stories of the wise coyote I loved the best I read the book over and over, over and over, it taught me the wisdom of rabbits, wolves, wild boars, but nothing surpassed the wisdom of the coyote Tito was raised by humans, was kept constantly on a leash No one loved her, they teased her until she ran away She learned to survive Ran for her life with her pups in her mouth Trying to get away from dogs and people I read about her over and over, over and over There was a map of America in the front of the book with pictures of animals where the stories took place: coyotes in the central plains, wolves in the southwest and north, elsewhere there were cottontails, boars, and partridges During my childhood, that was America to me Where did that book go? I no longer live in my childhood home, not even in the same town, not even in the same country, I lost my place there, I lost people and relationships, almost lost others too, I lost my language, but what about that book I read over and over, over and over? I must have lost it too Just the other day I tried searching for it on Amazon It popped right up, and I ordered it straight away Lives of the Hunted it’s called in English Published in 1901, reprinted in 1967 It arrived at my home A former library copy, the word discard stamped on it in big letters, probably the library didn’t want it because the stories are too cruel, too cruel for today’s youth, nowadays kids are used to killing one another in the virtual world, but even so, the stories are too cruel, 
a mother coyote was giving her cubs her milk, was licking them when hunters shot her dead, her cubs fled into their den, only to be dragged out one by one Here is how the book describes it: Even at this age there was a certain individuality of character among the puppies. Some of them squealed and some of them growled when dragged out to die. One or two tried to bite. The one that had been slowest to comprehend the danger, had been the last to retreat, and so was on top of the pile, and therefore the first killed. The one that had first realized the peril had retreated first, and now crouched at the bottom of the pile. Coolly and remorselessly the others were killed one by one, and then this prudent little puppy was seen to be the last of the family. It lay perfectly still, even when touched, its eyes being half closed, as, guided by instinct, it tried to “play possum.” One of the men picked it up. It neither squealed nor resisted. Neither squealed Nor resisted ... The book was in English, but I could read it quickly Since I remembered the Japanese I had read the book over and over, over and over All the coyote pups were killed Only one survived, only a single pup Tossed with its dead littermates into a sack and taken to a farm In the original, the hunters named her Tito That’s what I had suspected, I had read it in an old translation, kids in Japan back then couldn’t be expected to pronounce the unfamiliar sound ti, but that’s the version I was brought up on So for me, her name was always Chito I was always Chito Wow-wow-wow-wow-wow-w-o-o-o-o-o-o-w I remember her voice When I was a child, I read the book over and over, over and over Here is how the book describes it: an inborn hankering to sing Her songs were a volley of short barks mixed with doleful squalls — Wow-wow-wow-wow-wow-w-o-o-o-o-o-o-w Here is how the book describes it: when the sun went down she would feel the impulse to sing that wild song of the West which means so much to the Coyotes. It is not the invention of an individual nor of the present, but was slowly built out of the feelings of all Coyotes in all ages. I’m not sure if I remember the Japanese correctly Getting old is no fun at all, you forget important things like that It is not the invention of an individual nor of the present, but was slowly built out of the feelings of all Coyotes in all ages and Her experiences all emphasized for her that old idea to “lay low”— that is, to be quiet, unobtrusive, and hide when danger is in sight Those were the most important things I learned as a child Chito’s wisdom How to survive Seeing the book, I remembered why I came to this place called America The most important things I learned as a child Were in that book I read over and over Maybe I had lost them for a while Or just forgotten The fate of the animals, their lives and deaths Their lives upon the plains, and my life too Chito was killed over and over again But each time she came back to life The humans tenaciously, persistently killed her She tricked them and was tricked by them in return She scattered her feces, went into heat The more they hunted her The more clearly things came into focus In other words, all the things she thought along the way Not the invention of an individual nor of the present But slowly built out of the feelings of all coyotes in all ages It was for Chito For Chito That I abandoned my home, bought an airline ticket And came to this place There was someone I barely knew, I’d only barely caught his scent But still I followed my nose and pursued him I found a room, rented a car And stayed the full three months permitted without a visa, I thought I’d try to stay When people asked me why I’d come, I said I’m a poet, I’ve come to learn about the oral traditions of the Native Americans And that was true But I didn’t even know what I wanted to know I didn’t know where to go I didn’t know whom to ask I was terrible at speaking with people in my native tongue, so in English it was damn near impossible, I couldn’t even tell them who I am (it took me decades to say that even in Japanese) But the real reason I came Was because I wanted to encounter a coyote I wanted to prick up my ears and listen to its howl Rattling dryly over the roads, through the darkness of night Translated from the  Japanese