Coyote Character Analysis

So.

In the beginning, there was nothing. Just the water.

Coyote was there, but Coyote was asleep. That Coyote was asleep and that Coyote was dreaming. When that Coyote dreams, anything can happen.

I can tell you that.

“In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep—”

“Wait a minute,” said Robinson Crusoe.

“Yes?”

“That’s the wrong story,” said Ishmael. “That story comes later.”

“But it’s my turn,” said the Lone Ranger.

“But you have to get it right,” said Hawkeye.

“And,” said Robinson Crusoe, “you can’t tell it all by yourself.”

And then Portland and the rest of the Indians began to shoot back, and soldiers began falling over. Sometimes two or three soldiers would drop at once, clutching their chests or their heads or their stomachs.

John Wayne looked down and stared stupidly at the arrow in his thigh, shaking his head in amazement and disbelief as two bullets ripped through his chest and out the back of his jacket. Richard Widmark collapsed facedown in the sand, his hands clutching at an arrow buried in his throat.

“Jesus!” said Bursum, and he stabbed the remote even harder.

Charlie had his hands out of his pockets, his fists clenched, keeping time to the singing. His lips were pulled back from his teeth, and his eyes flashed as he watched his father flow through the soldiers like a flood.

“Get ’em, Dad,” he hissed.

Sifton felt it first, a sudden shifting, a sideways turning, a flexing, the snapping crack of concrete and steel, and in that instant the water rose out of the lake like a mountain, sucking the cars under and pitching them high in the air, sending them at the dam in an awful rush.

And the dam gave way, and the water and the cars tumbled over the edge of the world.

“Okay, okay, here goes,” says Coyote. “In the beginning, there was nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s right,” says Coyote. “Nothing.”

“No,” I says. “In the beginning, there was just the water.”

“Water?” says Coyote.

“Yes,” I says. “Water.”

“Hmmmm,” says Coyote. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I says, “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” says Coyote, “if you say so. But where did all the water come from?”

“Sit down,” I says to Coyote.

“But there is water everywhere,” says Coyote.

“That’s true,” I says. “And here’s how it happened.”

So.

In the beginning, there was nothing. Just the water.

Coyote was there, but Coyote was asleep. That Coyote was asleep and that Coyote was dreaming. When that Coyote dreams, anything can happen.

I can tell you that.

“In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep—”

“Wait a minute,” said Robinson Crusoe.

“Yes?”

“That’s the wrong story,” said Ishmael. “That story comes later.”

“But it’s my turn,” said the Lone Ranger.

“But you have to get it right,” said Hawkeye.

“And,” said Robinson Crusoe, “you can’t tell it all by yourself.”

And then Portland and the rest of the Indians began to shoot back, and soldiers began falling over. Sometimes two or three soldiers would drop at once, clutching their chests or their heads or their stomachs.

John Wayne looked down and stared stupidly at the arrow in his thigh, shaking his head in amazement and disbelief as two bullets ripped through his chest and out the back of his jacket. Richard Widmark collapsed facedown in the sand, his hands clutching at an arrow buried in his throat.

“Jesus!” said Bursum, and he stabbed the remote even harder.

Charlie had his hands out of his pockets, his fists clenched, keeping time to the singing. His lips were pulled back from his teeth, and his eyes flashed as he watched his father flow through the soldiers like a flood.

“Get ’em, Dad,” he hissed.

Sifton felt it first, a sudden shifting, a sideways turning, a flexing, the snapping crack of concrete and steel, and in that instant the water rose out of the lake like a mountain, sucking the cars under and pitching them high in the air, sending them at the dam in an awful rush.

And the dam gave way, and the water and the cars tumbled over the edge of the world.

“Okay, okay, here goes,” says Coyote. “In the beginning, there was nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s right,” says Coyote. “Nothing.”

“No,” I says. “In the beginning, there was just the water.”

“Water?” says Coyote.

“Yes,” I says. “Water.”

“Hmmmm,” says Coyote. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I says, “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” says Coyote, “if you say so. But where did all the water come from?”

“Sit down,” I says to Coyote.

“But there is water everywhere,” says Coyote.

“That’s true,” I says. “And here’s how it happened.”