The Coyote Under the Table/El Coyote Debajo de la Mesa (9 page)

El día antes de tener que ir solo a la corte, el amigo honesto estaba sentado frente a su casa con la cabeza agachada, sumido en la tristeza. Un viejo indio del pueblo cercano pasó caminando por ahí.

—Amigo —dijo el viejo—, ¿por qué se ve tan triste? Ha entrado la enfermedad en su casa?

El hombre negó con la cabeza.

—¿Se ha muerto alguien? —el viejo preguntó.

El hombre volvió a negar con la cabeza.

—Entonces, ¿qué es? No puede ser tan malo. Usted tendrá una buena vida con esta casona y estos terrenos. ¿Qué le hace tan triste?

El amigo triste contó al indio cómo había adquirido todo por medio de la docena de huevos que su amigo no había regresado a comer, y cómo estaba a punto de perderlo todo.

—Ni puedo encontrar un abogado que me represente —dijo al hombre.

—Deje que yo sea su abogado —el indio dijo—. Yo puedo ganar este pleito. ¿Cuánto me va a pagar?

—Si tú puedes librarme de la avaricia de mi viejo amigo — le dijo el hombre—, te pago cien hectáreas de terreno, junto con cien vacas.

—Eso es demasiado —el viejo indio le dijo—. Págueme nomás una fanega de maíz. Estoy muy viejo para cuidar cien hectáreas de terreno.

Quedaron en eso, y a la mañana siguiente el indio se encontró con el granjero delante de la corte a las nueve.

Bajo el brazo el indio llevaba una olla llena de frijoles cocidos y de cuando en cuando sacaba uno y se lo comía.

Cuando el proceso comenzó, el indio se quedó sentado al lado de su cliente comiendo frijoles y con la vista perdida a lo lejos. Primero uno de los abogados se levantó y dio un largo discurso a favor del amigo vagabundo. Luego el otro abogado habló. El juez escuchó atentamente, asintiendo con la cabeza como si estuviera de acuerdo con cada argumento presentado. El indio no parecía escuchar.

Cuando los abogados terminaron, el juez se volvió hacia el indio: —¿Qué tienes que decir de parte de tu cliente? —le preguntó. El viejo se levantó y caminó lentamente a la parte delantera de la cámara.

—Déjeme preguntarle algo a este hombre, tata juez —dijo, señalando al amigo que se había ido a viajar.

—Dígame, ¿qué le pidió a su amigo que hiciera con la docena de huevos aquella mañana hace diez años?

—Ya lo sabemos —dijo el juez—. Le dijo que los friera para el desayuno.

El indio asintió con la cabeza y luego le preguntó a su cliente: —Y ¿qué hizo usted con los huevos que compró con el dinero que su amigo le dio?

El juez se impacientó: —Sabemos eso también. Su esposa los frió. Tienes algo nuevo que revelar o debo emitir mi fallo?

—Antes que haga eso, tata juez —dijo el indio—, quiero preguntarle algo a usted. ¿Me puede prestar una hectárea de terreno para sembrar frijoles?

Con eso el juez perdió los estribos: —¿De qué estás hablando? —bramó—. Termina con lo que tienes que decir sobre el pleito para que pueda dar mi fallo. Deja de decir disparates.

El indio dio una cabezadita: —Entiendo —dijo—. Pero le estoy pidiendo que me preste terreno para sembrar estos frijoles. —Señaló los frijoles en la olla—. De estos frijoles voy a sacar una nueva cosecha.

El juez golpeó con el martillo y gritó: —¡Ya basta de tonterías! Apégate al asunto. ¿Qué tiene una hectárea de terreno que ver con este pleito? No estamos aquí para hablar de sembrar frijoles. Además, ¿dónde se ha visto que se saque una nueva cosecha de frijoles que ya están cocidos?

El indio se encogió de hombros: —Pero, tata juez —dijo—, creí que si usted estaba de acuerdo con que todos los bienes de mi cliente vinieron de una docena de huevos ya fritos, a lo mejor sería capaz de creer que yo podría sacar otra cosecha de frijoles ya cocidos.

El juez suspendió su martillo a medio bajar. Meditó un rato. Luego miró a los dos abogados y dijo: —Llévense a su cliente y váyanse de esta corte. Este hombre honrado no le debe más que una docena de huevos.

—¿Olvidó algo sobre los huevos, tata juez? —dijo el indio viejo.

—Oh, sí —agregó el juez—. ¡Que los huevos sean fritos!

 

H
ere is a story about an old dog and a coyote. The dog belonged to a man and woman who lived on a farm at the edge of a village and for many years he had served his owners well. He had protected their fields and their chickens from wild animals. He had kept thieves away from their house. But now his old legs were so stiff that all he did was lie in the sun beside the door and sleep.

The dog's owners were very poor. They had a hard time just making enough from their tiny farm to feed themselves. And of course it was an expense for them to feed the old dog. Now they had a new baby, which would add to their expenses. So one day, as they were leaving the house to go to the field to work, the woman said to her husband, “Why do we keep this old dog around? He does nothing but sleep all day long.”

The husband said, “You're right. We can't afford to keep a dog that doesn't do any work. This Sunday I'll take him to the woods and get rid of him.”

The old dog heard what they said and decided he would run away from the farm. As soon as his owners had left, he struggled to his feet and walked off into the hills. His head hung down and he sobbed softly to himself as he walked along.

Then, from under a piñon tree, someone called out to him. “Hey, dog,” the voice said, “why are you walking around looking so sad?”

It was the dog's old enemy, the coyote. Over the years they'd had many bitter struggles, with the coyote trying to steal chickens from the farm and the dog determined to keep him away. But now, when the dog heard someone speak to him in a friendly voice, he couldn't hold back his tears.

“Aaauuu,” he cried. “They're going to kill me!”

The coyote was puzzled. “Why are they going to do that, dog?”

“They say I'm too o-o-o-ld. They say I can't work any mo-o-o-re.”

“Well,” said the coyote, “I have noticed that you don't guard the chickens very well these days. That's why I don't steal from your farm anymore. It's no fun if there's no one to chase me. But we can't let them shoot you. I know what we'll do.” And the coyote told the dog his plan.

The dog went trotting off toward the field where his owners were working. They had left their baby asleep under a shady bush at the edge of the field, and the dog lay down not far from where the baby slept.

Suddenly, the coyote came running out of the brush. With his teeth, he picked up the baby by its blanket and ran off into the trees. The woman screamed and fainted. The man dropped his hoe and came running across the field. And the old dog ran barking and snarling after the coyote.

As soon as he got into the trees, the dog found the baby lying on the ground. The coyote had left her there, just as he'd said he would. The old dog took the baby's blanket in his teeth and carried her back to her father.

“Good dog!” the man said. “You saved our baby's life!” He hugged and patted the dog.

When the woman recovered her senses and heard what had happened, she said, “How could we think of destroying this dog, just because he eats a few pennies worth of scraps each day? He should eat as well as we do.”

“You're right,” the man replied. “From now on this dog won't eat scraps. He'll sit right up at the table and eat with us.”

From that day on, they set a place at the table for the dog each evening, and he sat in a chair and ate whatever his owners ate. When neighbors passed by and saw the dog sitting at the table, they would make fun of the farmer. “Whoever heard of letting a dog sit at the supper table?” they would say.

But the man would tell them, “That dog saved our baby from a coyote that had carried her off. As long as he lives, he can eat at the table with us.”

Of course the dog enjoyed his new life. And he kept trying to think of a way to repay the coyote. When the time came for his owners to baptize their baby, he saw his chance. When all the people were at the church for the baptism, he went to the hills and found the coyote. He brought the coyote home and hid him under the table.

Soon all the family and friends arrived and they sat down at the table for a big meal. The dog took his place at the table as usual, and whenever some food passed his way, he would slip it under the table to the coyote.

He slipped a whole leg of lamb under the table, and then a big bowl of posole and a stack of tortillas. And then he passed a bottle of wine to the coyote.

The coyote pulled the cork from the bottle and drained the wine in one gulp. “¡
Ay, caray
!” the coyote said. “Now I'm going to sing.”

“Oh, no!” The dog hushed the coyote. He grabbed another bottle of wine and poked it under the table. The coyote gulped it down.

“¡
Ay, qué caray
!” he said. “I'm really going to sing!” And he threw his head back and let out a long howling song.

Everyone jumped up from the table in alarm. But the dog went diving under the table, growling and snapping at the coyote. The coyote ran from the house laughing to himself, with the old dog struggling along behind.

When the dog returned, everyone gathered around to hug him. “That wild coyote wasn't satisfied with just trying to steal the baby. He had come back to eat us all. And this dog saved us!”

From that day on, no matter where he went in the whole village, the dog sat in a chair and ate at the supper table with the people of the family. And so the old dog lived out the rest of his days as happy as any dog in this world.