Coyote Blues

by Karen F. Williams

  David’s arm dropped to his side, the muscles and veins in his arms pumped from splitting logs. She absolutely understood Tom salivating over him. His chest glistened with perspiration, and she saw the mountain lion scars on his pec: those four fine and perfectly straight lines that sent Tom into a frenzy. Odd that scars would have sex appeal, but they definitely did. Too bad Tom would never get to touch or kiss, or whatever it was he fantasized about doing to them.

  “Who could forget it?” David said. “Two weeks before Thanksgiving. Dumped fourteen inches of snow. I hadn’t even gotten around to raking the leaves.”

  “Me either. It was autumn when we all went to sleep, winter when we woke up.”

  David shook his head. “This global warming is crazy.”

  Riley was looking forward to it. Not global warming, but to an early winter. She needed freezing temperatures to carry out her plan. And a storm. Snow would be a big bonus.

  David glanced at the envelope in her hand. “What’s up?”

  “I need a favor, Reverend. Do you have a few minutes?”

  He wiped his brow with a forearm. “You like apple juice?”

  Riley shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Good. I just juiced a bunch. I picked half a bushel at Colebrook Orchards the other day.”

  “That’s a lot of apples.”

  “About sixty.” He swung his axe, burying it in a log, then snatched a denim shirt from the back of a weathered Adirondack chair. “Come on in and help me drink some. Oh! And you get to see Raven and Magpie,” he said excitedly. “Miriam and her dad stopped by after services last Sunday. The kittens were so happy to see her.” David slipped on his shirt as they walked, not bothering to button it. “I hear you adopted the white one with gray spots. Congratulations.”

  “Yes. Luna Maria. She reminds me of the full moon when she’s curled up in a ball.”

  “Ah, I get it…the lunar maria. That’s cute. I bet she’s become your own little Sea of Tranquility. Isn’t it amazing what a calming effect animals have on us?”

  “It really is.” It was nice, too, that the reverend knew about the moon’s many parts.

  “Now that I have cats, I don’t know why I waited so long,” he said. “It’s been, what, six weeks? And already I can’t imagine living without them.”

  The kittens were at the door, and David opened it carefully, shooing them back to prevent an escape. Riley scooped up Magpie first, then Raven. They weren’t tiny fuzzballs anymore. Like Luna, their legs and tails had elongated, so that now they basically resembled miniature cats.

  The living room of the rectory was sparsely furnished but cozy enough, even if it seemed dark coming in from the sun. The wall with a fireplace was entirely fieldstone, the rest of the rectory stucco. A floor lamp with an amber mica shade lit their way, casting light on a nautical oil painting befitting a seafarer. In a raging ocean, an enormous openmouthed whale rose from the whitecaps. Riley squinted at the scene as she passed by. Thrashing about the stormy waves was a teeny-weeny man, his expression aghast, arms and legs flailing, as though he were doing cartwheels on the open sea—Jonah, she guessed, although whether the whale was about to swallow or had just spit him out, she couldn’t say for sure.

  The kitchen smelled wonderfully of apples, and Riley suspected there might be another Bible story going on in here. Even with modern appliances, she felt transported back to a simpler place and time. The floor was slate, and in the corner sat a potbelly stove waiting to heat the house with all those logs split and stacked outside. On a long, narrow farm table worn with age stood a vase of fresh-cut wildflowers, some half-burned beeswax candles, and a crate of apples. More loose apples waited on the butcherblock counter, ready to be tossed into an impressive-looking juicer.

  “I have some that should be cold by now,” David said, taking a pitcher from the refrigerator and reaching for two mason jars that served as glasses.

  Riley looked around as he filled them. An open door in the kitchen led out to an enclosed porch. She could see two more Adirondack chairs, a tackle box, and a picnic table with a lantern. The kittens were out there now, perched on the wide sills, their tails swishing with agitation as they watched birds at a feeder through the screen.

  David handed her a mason jar, clinking the rim of his glass to hers as if in a toast. Riley sampled it. “Wow, this is good.”

  “And good for you.”

  Judging from his apparent virility, and estimating him to be around her age, she assumed he was right. “Didn’t they always tell us that as kids—an apple a day keeps the doctor away?”

  “Yep.” He smiled easily. “I think there’s something to it.” Then his eyes dropped to the envelope hanging from her hand. “What’cha got?” he asked, as though he’d been wondering all along.

  “My will.”

  The smile left his face. “Your will?”

  “I know it’s a strange request, but I wanted to ask if you’d take it for safekeeping. I didn’t want to leave the original with my lawyer. He’s moving to Boston. And I live alone. No point in having it there.”

  “Why not leave it with Peggy? She’s your good friend and business partner.”

  “If she sees it, she’ll worry.”

  “Should she?” His brow furrowed with concern. “Is something wrong, Riley?”

  “No. Nothing. I’m fine, really. It’s just important to have things in order, right?”

  “Right,” he said, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. He nodded, winked in understanding. “Since you’re here on personal business, let’s go to my office.”

  The reverend led her down a short dark hallway, the floorboards creaking, the old wainscoting so dark the candelabra bulb in a wall sconce only dimly lit the way. Then a door opened, and they were back in the twenty-first century. Everything advertised the technological age: the Sheetrocked walls, plush carpeting, and modern furniture; the commercial printer, fax machine, and two computers—one designated for church-related business, the other for personal use, she speculated, such as surfing those forbidden hookup sites after hours. At the far end, opposite the office equipment, were a flat-screen television and a sectional couch made for lounging. A folk-art print of a ship with myriad animals on board hung on the wall above it. “I like your Noah’s Ark,” she said.

  “Thanks. You know your Bible stories, huh?”

  “I’m more or less an atheist, but I know the popular ones. Doesn’t everybody? Noah’s Ark, Jonah and the Whale—they’ve pretty much found their way into the mainstream.”

  “True. Moralistic narratives, fairy tales included, somehow have lasting appeal. People enjoy stories that give lessons in the benefits of good behavior.”

  Riley glanced at the framed prints and posters decorating another wall. One looked out of place, done in the seemingly lost art of needlepoint. Riley presumed it was the work of a parishioner, a gift from some little old lady endeared to the handsome reverend. An array of flowers surrounded embroidered writing, and Riley stepped close to read the first line of the meticulously crafted piece.

  MEN NEVER DO EVIL SO COMPLETELY AND CHEERFULLY AS WHEN THEY DO IT FROM RELIGIOUS CONVICTION.

  Wasn’t that the truth! It made her think of Jim Barrett. And so did the next one.

  THERE ARE ONLY TWO KINDS OF PEOPLE: THE RIGHTEOUS WHO THINK THEY ARE SINNERS AND THE SINNERS WHO THINK THEY ARE RIGHTEOUS.

  Jim was, in all his arrogance, the epitome of a sinner who thought himself righteous. Of course, killing him might land her in the same category. “Are these Bible scriptures?” she asked.

  “Nah.” He waved a hand. “Quotes by Pascal, the sixteenth-century mathematician best known for the God Wager. I read him as a theology student, but I’ve never cared for any of those Catholic mathematicians that rose to fame during the Age of Reason. Especially Descartes. They promoted the view that animals are nothing but organic machines, incapable of any thought process, devoid of emotion, oblivious to pain. It gave people permission to mistreat and exploit them. Between
you and me, Christianity was one of the worst things to happen to animals. To nature in general. At least the Native Americans respected the earth and all its creatures.”

  “Hmm. What’s the God Wager about?”

  “It goes something like this. Either there is a God or there is not, right? So, if I believe in God and you don’t, and it turns out there isn’t one, then we haven’t lost anything. Life ends, the lights go out. No heaven, no hell. But if I believe and you don’t, and it turns out that God is real, then I win, and you lose.”

  Riley thought about this theory. “Why wouldn’t I win, too, providing I’m a good person?”

  “Because you don’t believe. That’s the only unpardonable sin in the Bible—renouncing God. So, when we reach the pearly gates, I’ll be on the guest list and you won’t. Therefore, the argument goes, it’s better to wager that God does exist, because the potential rewards of believing far outweigh not believing.”

  “And what if we believe in God but we’re gay?” Riley asked as she moseyed along the wall, glancing at the other prints and posters.

  “Let me tell you something.” David went to the couch and flopped down. “Homosexuality is mentioned only six times in the Bible, and it’s always within the context of lewd, drunken, and salacious heterosexuals who, driven by insatiable desires of the flesh, turn from their ‘natural ways’ with opposite-sex spouses in search of carnal pleasures. Pardon my language, but all the references point to self-proclaimed men of God who, behind closed doors, would screw anything they can get their hands on, whether it be at an orgy, a brothel, or in a barnyard, if you take my meaning.”

  Or online, Riley thought. Either the reverend was a hypocrite, or Tom’s seeing him on those hookup sites was a case of mistaken identity.

  “But think about it,” he went on. “For gay people, same-sex attraction is our ‘natural way.’ Nowhere does the Bible address homosexuality within the context of a loving, committed, and self-sacrificing relationship.”

  Riley went to the couch, dropping her envelope onto the table, and sat a few feet from him. “So, it would be sort of like men in prison, who identify as heterosexual, deviating from their ‘natural way’ by having sex with other men for the sake of having sex.”

  “Good analogy. He pointed to a book on the table. “You should read that.”

  She leaned forward to look at the title. God and the Gay Christian, by Matthew Vine.

  “In fact, take it with you,” he offered. “Give it to Fiona when you’re done. You know, she and I had a nice chat at your house that night. It’s a shame she’s struggled with sexuality and religion her whole life.”

  “It ruined her life.”

  “I know. I feel bad for her. For both of you.”

  Bad? The reverend had no idea how bad it really was. But Riley didn’t want to say too much. The less he knew, the less anyone knew, the better. Peggy included. In the event any of them were ever questioned, they’d have nothing to hide, nothing to tell.

  David sighed. “Religious fanatics can be such elitists. Coldhearted, too. I met a woman at a speaking engagement not long ago who said she’d rather see her children dead than find out they were gay. Imagine that? Being prideful and judgmental…discriminating against and oppressing people…these are the things Jesus warned against. We’re all the same in spirit. The soul has no ethnicity, no race, no sexual orientation.”

  “True. I guess we’re all nonbinary, genderqueer, once we leave our bodies.”

  “Ha. Something like that.” He downed half his apple juice and set his glass on the table. “I wish you’d attend our Bible-studies group one evening. You’d enjoy our debates.”

  “Eh…I don’t know, David. I appreciate the invitation, and it’s certainly nice to know your church condones homosexuality, but…on the subject of souls…I have little interest in a religion that sees animals as soulless. They suffer on earth as much as people do, so the thought of them being forsaken by the very God who created them is a big turnoff.”

  “Not all Christians believe animals are soulless. I for one don’t.” He smiled at her. “The Bible is full of metaphor. And the scriptures, like the constitution, are subject to interpretation. Think of ministers as spiritual attorneys—put two different ones in a room and you’ll get two different interpretations of the law, whether it’s Biblical or secular. Things get lost in translation, too. For instance, the Bible, in its original language, describes animals as a duality, body and soul, and humans as a trinity—body, soul, and spirit. The spirit, of course, being that part of the soul that gives us free will. I think of it as being synonymous with imagination. It’s what sets us apart from the animals—our ability to imagine what doesn’t yet exist, to create new things and choose whether to use them for good or evil. Think about it. Someone invented the wheelchair, while someone else invented the torture chamber. You get my drift.”

  “I do. But…well, what if it turns out animals don’t have souls. Where would someone who is only half human go?”

  “Half human?” He looked at her strangely, as though Riley were telling an off-color joke, and he was waiting for the punchline.

  “Yeah, like…I don’t know…let’s say a werewolf?”

  The reverend startled at the word. “Werewolf?”

  “You know, a shape-shifter, skinwalker. Let’s say I’m one of those—not a bloodthirsty monster, but a good, God-fearing werewolf, an innocent freak of nature. What then? Will I still be on that ‘guest list’ at the pearly gates, or will I disappear into oblivion because I’m soulless?”

  David squirmed in his seat, visibly uneasy, as though it suddenly occurred to him that Riley, the psychotherapist, might be half crazy. His mouth opened, but when nothing came out, he scratched his head, as if stimulating his brain to come up with a response.

  “I’m kidding,” Riley finally said, laughing to herself as she always did at the many reactions to her outlandish confession. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate here, presenting a conundrum.”

  “Oh.” He raked his hand through his long hair, letting out a much-needed chuckle that relieved the tension. “I see where you’re going. And I can tie it in with current events.” He regarded her with a probing stare. “You’ve heard of a chimera?”

  “No.”

  “In Greek mythology it was a human-animal hybrid. Today, a chimera is what scientists call a lab animal with two DNA profiles, like pigs fetuses injected with human stem cells.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Transplants. Lab-grown organs. People have received pig hearts, but eventually the body rejects them. So, by modifying a pig embryo with human DNA, they hope to increase the chance of success.”

  “Wow, a GMO pig. I thought we only did that to vegetables. What does a chimera look like?”

  David shrugged. “Like a piglet, I guess, but I don’t think any fetuses have survived full-term. Gestational periods are a problem. Pig fetuses develop faster than their human parts.”

  “Hm…a chimera,” Riley mused. It was horrific enough that something had caused her own mutation, but why did all these Dr. Frankensteins have to deliberately mess with nature? And wouldn’t they just love to get their hands on her? The thought of being subject to the torturous cruelty inflicted on lab animals made her shiver. “You think scientists will figure it out?”

  “If we could slow or speed up the aging of cells, we could slow our own aging process, maybe live indefinitely. But we can’t. Every cell of every species has its own clock. You know, in The Garden of Eden…as the story goes,” he said, acknowledging her skepticism with a bemused smile, “there were two trees. The tree of knowledge and the tree of life. Adam and Eve were told to keep away from the tree of knowledge, but they did have access to it…which is why they were able to disobey and partake of its forbidden fruit,” he said as Riley drank her juice. She enjoyed tasting the apple while he told the tale. It added special effects, enhanced the story.

  “The apple, of course, symbolizes knowledge. The pric
e of eating it was mortality. They started aging,” the reverend said. “But it gave them, well, knowledge…the capacity for higher-level learning, for language, for advancement. It’s what gave us imagination, as I said before. But to the tree of life they did not have access. God sent an angel to guard it so that, no matter how intelligent we became, we would never solve the ultimate mystery of life. We can’t make a cell. We can’t make a seed. Or an egg. We can genetically modify them, but outside of reproducing, we can’t create life where there is none. So, to answer your question, I think there’s a limit to what science will achieve before the resurrection.”

  “A lot of food for thought.” Riley smiled over at him. “Maybe that’s where the expression comes from. You know, food for thought…the apple made us think.”

  David gave a hearty laugh. “I like that, Riley. Maybe it’ll inspire a sermon. But anyway, I bring up the chimera because a werewolf, if it did exist, would be one. A single organism with two distinct genetic profiles—human and canine.”

  “Fascinating. I’ll have to ask Tom more about this.” Why the reverend showed little interest in Tom was hard to figure. It seemed the two would have been a perfect match, gotten on well, given their common interests and respective expertise in theology and biology. “He’s a geneticist, you know. He has a PhD in molecular biology.”

  “Really! No. I didn’t know that about Tom. And I don’t know all that much about science and chimeras. What I do know comes from reading The New York Times and from the outrage it’s currently causing among religious leaders.”

  “Why the outrage? If the majority of religious people believe animals have no souls and are just here for our use, then why should they care?”

  “That’s just it. The idea of a human and animal being genetically joined? It raises the same question you did about a werewolf. If a pig is part human, even five percent, then does it have a soul? And if so, can we morally justify killing it for organ transplants?”