"De.Lint,.Charles.-.Coyote.Stories" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

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"This was one fine powwow," Coyote he says.

Angie she nods her head. She's sitting beside Coyote all sweaty and hot and
she'd never looked quite so good before.

"Yeah," she says. "We got to do it again."

We start having regular powwows after that night, once, sometimes twice a month.
Some of the skins they start to making dancing outfits, going back up to the
reserve for visits and asking about steps and songs from the old folks. Gets to
be we feel like a community, a small skin nation living here in exile with the
ruins of broken-down tenements and abandoned bull dings all around us. Gets to
be we start remembering some of our stories and sharing them with each other
instead of sharing bottles. Gets to be we have something to feel proud about.

Some of us we find jobs. Some of us we try to climb up the side of the wagon but
we keep falling off. Some of us we go back to homes we can hardly remember. Some
of us we come from homes where we can't live, can't even breathe, and drift here
and there until we join this tribe that Albert he helped us find.

And even if Albert he's not here anymore, the stories go on. They have to go on,
I know that much. I tell them every chance I get.

See, this Coyote he got in trouble again, this Coyote he's always getting in
trouble, you know that by now, same as me. And when he's in jail this time he
sees that it's all tribes inside, the same as it is outside. White tribes, black
tribes, yellow tribes, skin tribes. He finally understands, finally realizes
that maybe there can't ever be just one tribe, but that doesn't mean we should
stop trying.

But even in jail this Coyote he can't stay out of trouble and one day he gets
into another fight and he gets cut again, but this time he thinks maybe he's
going to die.

"Albert," Coyote he says, "I am one crazy skin. I am never going to learn, am
I?"

"Maybe not this time," Albert says, and he's holding Coyote's head and he's
wiping the dribble of blood that comes out of the side of Coyote's mouth and is
trickling down his chin. "But that's why you're Coyote. The wheel goes round and
you'll get another chance."

Coyote he's trying to be brave, but he's feeling weaker and it hurts, it hurts,
this wound in his chest that cuts to the bone, that cuts the thread that binds
'.him to this story.

"There's a thing I have to remember," Coyote he says, "but I can't find it. I
can't find its story. . . . "