The Tricksters

There was a special section of the cemetery. I finally found it and parked. The grass was thick and lush and sloped down to the creek bed that marked the edge of the property. The creek was dry, had lots of brush and chaparral and small trees, very typical for this part of southern California.

There were about 50 people in the parking area when I arrived. They were dressed more formally than most of the attendees at the recent funerals and memorial services I had attended; I have usually been the one that is a little overdressed in my black suit, the suit that has gotten too much use lately.

The rabbi was almost late and I think my friend was getting a little concerned; I don’t think he has a strong religious affiliation, sort of a rabbi for hire connection. Now, things could begin.

The funeral director, who had passed out yarmulkes and pieces of black cloth with pins, I passed on both, now invited the attendees to the seats. The chairs were placed under the temporary awning that was near the newly dug grave. This was about a hundred feet from the parking lot and navigating the thick grass looked to me like a serious issue for some of the women who were wearing high and in some cases stiletto heels – but to my surprise they did well!

The sun was shining brightly as if the morning fog had burned off a little early seemingly just for us. About 5 minutes after the service began, a strange thing happened; at first, it was a sharp singular sound, the bark from an unknown source. Then, almost at once, the chorus began, the sound of at least six individuals singing, barking and howling. The tempo and excitement rose into a crescendo that filled the air, and it went on and on. There was a quiet under current of whispers among the audience, “Coyotes, coyotes, coyotes.”

And then as suddenly as they had started, they stopped. I, and I’m certain many of the others though it must have been the soul of one of the recent internees, perhaps the woman we were burying, moving among the wild animals. But then, my serious self took over, as he so often does and I could see a mother returning to her family with a rabbit, or a vole or a gopher, and after the greeting ceremony and the re-establishment of relationships and hierarchy the prey was ripped apart and devoured.

These animals were permanent residents here, and they simply could not be bothered to this extent by the passing of a thousand souls every year. No, it must have been a rabbit. But then, the Indians do call them the trickster or the spirit animal. Who knows?