I Am Chito

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