The Coyote Under the Table/El Coyote Debajo de la Mesa Read online

  It was all agreed on. And then the next time the girl walked through the town, one of the young men came up to her to start a conversation. She told him, “You know that old, empty house at the edge of the town? If you go there at eleven-thirty tonight, you’ll see a coffin in the house. And there will be a candle burning at the head of the coffin. If you’re brave enough to get into the coffin and cover your face like a dead man and lie there all night long, I might like to get to know you a little bit better.”

  The young man was delighted that she had finally taken notice of him, and he swore he would do just as she told him.

  Later that day the second of the young men tried to speak to her and she told him, “You know that empty house out at the edge of town? If you go there at fifteen minutes before midnight tonight, you’ll see a coffin in that house. There will be a dead man lying in the coffin. If you’re brave enough to pull a chair up next to the coffin and pray over the dead body all night long, I just might talk to you from time to time.”

  The second young man was delighted too. He said he wasn’t the least bit afraid to do as she asked.

  Later, when she met up with the third young man, she told him, “You surely know that abandoned house at the edge of the town. If you go to the house right at midnight tonight, you’ll see a dead man in a coffin. There will be another ghost in a chair beside the coffin saying prayers. If you are brave enough to dress up like the devil—with your face all blacked with charcoal and cow horns tied to your head—and dance around those dead men all night long, I would enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

  Of course the third young man said he would do it.

  A little before eleven-thirty that night, the girl went to the house. The coffin was there, just as the carpenter had promised. She lit a candle at the head of the coffin and then hid in a back room to see what would happen.

  Sure enough, at eleven-thirty, the first young man arrived at the house. The girl saw him trembling as he climbed into the coffin. Then he pulled a cloth over his face and lay perfectly still.

  Fifteen minutes later, the second young man arrived. He dragged an old chair over near the coffin and began to pray in a quivering voice. The rosary beads rattled in his fingers.

  Suddenly, just at midnight, the young man in the chair looked up and saw the devil come dancing through the door. “Oh, my Lord,” he shouted. “It’s the devil!”

  The first young man jumped up out of the coffin. “You’re not going to get me yet!” he hollered at the devil and went diving out a window.

  When the young man in the devil suit saw what he thought was a dead man jump up out of his coffin and then dive out a window, he spun around and ran right back out the door.

  Down the road they went, the dead man hollering at the top of his voice, “No! No!” and the devil right behind him at every step.

  But the other young man didn’t even get up out of his chair. He just kept praying louder than ever. The girl couldn’t help but be impressed. She came out of her hiding place and said to the young man, “You really are brave. You didn’t run away.”

  The young man turned his white face toward her. “How do you expect me to run?” he asked. “My pants are stuck on a nail!”

  And just then the nail popped out of the chair. The young man fell to the floor face first and then jumped up and ran down the road after the other two.

  The next day the girl told everyone in the village what had happened, and the young men were so embarrassed, they never bothered her again.

  And to this day, in that village when someone has done something that seems to have taken a lot of courage and brags about it, people will say to him, “Maybe you’re brave. Or maybe your pants just got caught on a nail!”

  ENGANCHADO EN UN CLAVO

  En un pueblito campesino perdido entre las montañas cuentan un cuento gracioso de tres jóvenes que se enamoraron de la misma chica. A la muchacha no le interesaba ninguno de los tres y por poco la vuelven loca con sus esfuerzos por llamar su atención.

  Casi todas las noches llegaba uno de los jóvenes a pararse fuera de la ventana de la muchacha y cantarle canciones de amor. A veces dos, o hasta los tres, venían en la misma noche. Luego se daban a una competencia de aullar a cuál más recio y desesperado. De día pasaban por su casa a toda carrera en caballos ligeros para impresionarla. Siempre que paseaba por el pueblo, uno de los jóvenes se apresuraba a alcanzarla y entablar una plática u ofrecerle una flor.

  No importaba cuánto los desairara, o les dijera sin rodeos que no le caían bien, no querían dejarla en paz. Finalmente, a ella se le ocurrió la manera de darles una lección.

  Primero, fue al taller del carpintero del pueblo. —¿Cuánto cobras por hacer un ataúd? —le preguntó. Cuando el carpintero le dio el precio, ella ofreció pagarle el doble si hacía el cajón sin decir nada a nadie y si lo llevaba a la casa abandonada al borde del pueblo. Todos decían que esa casa estaba embrujada. Se veían luces misteriosas en la casa, decían.

  Todo quedó arreglado. Luego, la próxima vez que la muchacha caminaba por el pueblo, uno de los jóvenes se acercó para conversar y ella le dijo: —¿Conoces esa vieja casa abandonada en las afueras del pueblo? Si vas allá esta noche a las once y media, vas a ver un ataúd en la casa. Y va a haber una vela prendida en la cabecera del cajón. Si tú te atreves a meterte en el cajón y te cubres la cara con una tela, como un muerto, y pasas toda la noche acostado ahí, es posible que quiera conocerte un poco mejor.

  El joven se alegró de que por fin le prestara atención y juró hacer lo que le había pedido.

  Poco más tarde, el segundo de los jóvenes intentó hablar con ella y a él le dijo:

  —¿Conoces esa casa abandonada en las orillas del pueblo? Si vas a la casa a las doce menos cuarto, vas a ver un cajón en la casa. Habrá un muerto tendido en el ataúd. Si tienes valor para arrimar una silla al ataúd y rezar junto al muerto toda la noche, creo que me gustaría hablar contigo de cuando en cuando.

  El segundo también se alegró. Dijo que no tenía el menor miedo de hacerlo.

  Después, cuando se topó con el tercer joven, le dijo: —Tú seguramente conoces la casa abandonada en las orillas del pueblo. Si vas allá a la medianoche en punto, vas a ver un muerto en un ataúd. Verás otra ánima rezando en una silla al lado. Si eres bastante valiente como para vestirte de diablo, con la cara cubierta de carbón y cuernos de vaca amarrados a la cabeza, y bailas alrededor de los fantasmas toda la noche, me complacería pasar un rato en tu compañía.

  Por supuesto que el tercero también prometió hacerlo.

  Un poco antes de las once y media la muchacha fue a la casa. El cajón estaba ahí dentro, así como el carpintero había prometido. Prendió una vela en la cabecera del ataúd y luego fue a esconderse en un dormitorio de atrás para espiar.

  Efectivamente, a las once y media, el primer muchacho llegó a la casa. Vio el ataúd vacío con la vela alumbrando la cabecera. La muchacha lo vio estremecerse cuando se metía en el cajón y se tapaba la cara con una tela. Luego quedó perfectamente quieto.

  A los quince minutos el segundo joven llegó. Arrimó arrastrado un sillón viejo y comenzó a rezar en voz trémula. Las cuentas del rosario sonaban entre sus dedos.

  Por casualidad, a la medianoche en punto, el joven sentado levantó la vista y vio al diablo entrar bailando por la puerta.

  —¡Ay!, Dios mío —gritó—. ¡Es el diablo!

  El primer joven brincó del cajón—. A mí no me vas a agarrar —gritó al diablo. Y salió lanzándose por una ventana.

  Cuando el joven disfrazado de diablo vio al que daba por muerto saltar del ataúd y tirarse por una ventana, dio media vuelta y salió disparado de la casa.

  Los dos se fueron corriendo por el camino. El “muerto” gritaba a todo pulmón: —¡No. No! —y el diablo lo seguía pegadito.

  Pero el tercero no se levantó de la silla. Seguía rezando, cada vez más recio. La muchacha quedó impresionada. Salió de su escondite y le dijo al muchacho: —Tú sí eres valiente. Tú no corriste. />
  El joven le volvió la cara pálida: —¿Cómo quieres que corra? —balbuceó—. Se me engancharon los pantalones en un clavo.

  En eso, el clavo se desclavó de la silla. El muchacho cayó de bruces en el piso y luego se levantó y se puso a correr tras los otros.

  Al otro día la muchacha contó el chiste a todo el mundo y a los tres jóvenes les dio tanta vergüenza que no volvieron a molestarla jamás.

  Y todavía hoy, en ese pueblo, cuando alguien hace algo que parece muy atrevido y se hace el valentón, la gente le dice: — Bueno, a lo mejor eres valiente. O puede que se te engancharan los pantalones en un clavo.

  HOW TO GROW BOILED BEANS

  This is a story about two friends who grew up together in the same village. When they were grown, one of them married and stayed in the village, making the best life he could by farming and doing any sort of work that was available. The other left the village to travel around and try his luck in the larger world. He ended up wandering far away. The two friends didn’t see one another for many years.

  And then one year at the village fiesta, the friend who had stayed at home met up with the one who had gone traveling. The old friends shook hands. “It’s so good to see you,” said the villager. “Come home with me. Spend the night with me and my family.”

  So the two friends went home to spend the evening talking about old times. In the morning the friend from far away said he had to meet a man about some business. “But I’ll be back soon,” he said. He dug his hand into his pocket and brought out two coins.

  “Here. Take these two pesos. Go and buy a dozen eggs. Ask your wife to fry them for our breakfast. When I return we’ll all eat together.”

  So, while the one friend went off to his meeting, the other hurried to the market to buy eggs. His wife fried them and they set the table and waited for the friend to return. When an hour had passed and the friend still hadn’t appeared, the man said to his wife, “We may as well just eat these eggs ourselves. My old friend must have forgotten to come back.”

  “But your friend paid for the eggs,” his wife said. “They’re not really ours.”

  “I know what I’ll do,” said the husband. “As soon as we finish eating I’ll go and buy another dozen eggs.”

  He did that. But they didn’t cook the eggs. Instead, the man put them in the nest of one of his own hens so that she could hatch them. “I’ll keep track of everything that comes from these eggs,” the man said, “and if I ever see my old friend again, I’ll share it with him.”

  The dozen eggs produced eleven young hens and one rooster. In a year’s time the hens were all laying eggs of their own and hatching out more babies. The man sold all the eggs he could, and then began selling the chickens as well.

  With the money he made he bought a cow, and the cow had two calves. They grew and had young of their own.

  He sold some of the cattle and bought sheep. Then with the money he made from selling cattle and sheep he bought land.

  He became one of the wealthiest men in those parts. But he always told everyone, “Part of this belongs to my old friend. It all comes from my friend’s dozen eggs. If I ever see him again, I’ll divide it with him.”

  At the village fiesta ten years later, the friends met again. As before, they shook hands, and the man who had stayed home invited his friend to spend the night. They went to the big house where the villager now lived. It stood in the middle of fertile green fields. Beyond the fields, sheep and cattle were grazing.

  “Do you remember the two coins you gave me to buy eggs that morning ten years ago?” the one friend asked the other. “All this comes from that dozen eggs.” And he explained just what had happened. “And now,” he told his friend, “I want to divide everything with you. Half of all this is yours!”

  But the friend from far away said, “No. You’re mistaken. If all this comes from the two pesos I gave you to buy eggs, it all belongs to me. I won’t settle for anything less.”

  “But that isn’t fair,” said the other. “I’ve worked hard all these years. I’ve invested your dozen eggs wisely. I’ve managed the growth of our business carefully. I’ll keep half of everything.”

  “I say it’s all mine,” said the traveler, “and if you won’t give it to me of your own free will, I’ll take the matter to court.”

  Of course the hard-working friend wasn’t willing to give everything away, so the other man went looking for a lawyer. He had no trouble finding one. In fact, he found two. They both saw a lot of profit for themselves in the case.

  As for the unhappy friend who had worked so diligently all those years, no one wanted to defend him. Every lawyer he talked to was on his friend’s side. A date was set for the matter to be placed before the judge.

  The day before he would have to go alone to the court, the hard-working friend sat in front of his house with his head bowed down, lost in his sorrow. An old Indian man from the neighboring pueblo came walking past.

  “Amigo,” the old Indian said, “why are you so sad? Has sickness come to your family?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Did somebody die?” the old Indian asked.

  Again the man shook his head.

  “Then, what is it? It can’t be all that bad. You must have a good life with all this land and this big house. What can be making you so sad?”

  Then the sad friend told the Indian the whole story of how he had acquired everything because of the dozen eggs his friend had never returned to eat, and how he was about to lose it all.

  “I can’t even find a lawyer who will present my side of the case,” he told the man.

  “Let me be your lawyer,” the old Indian said. “I can win this case for you. How much will you pay me?”

  “If you can save me from my old friend’s greed,” the man said, “I’ll pay you a hundred acres of land and a hundred cattle to go with it.”

  “That’s too much,” the Indian said. “Just pay me a bushel of corn. I’m too old to take care of a hundred acres of land.”

  It was agreed. So the next morning the Indian met the landowner in front of the courthouse at nine o’clock.

  Under his arm the Indian had a pot of cooked beans, and every so often he would take one out and eat it.

  When the proceedings began, the Indian sat beside his client eating beans and staring off into space. First one lawyer stood up and made a long speech on behalf of the wandering friend. And then the other lawyer spoke. The judge listened carefully, nodding his head as if he agreed with every point they made. The Indian didn’t seem to be listening at all.

  When the two lawyers had finished, the judge turned to the Indian. “What do you have to say for your client?” he asked.

  The old Indian stood up and shuffled slowly to the front of the court. “Let me ask this man something, tata juez,” he said, pointing at the friend who had moved away. “Tell me, what did you ask your friend to do with the dozen eggs that morning ten years ago?”

  “We already know that,” the judge said. “He asked him to fry them for breakfast.”

  The Indian nodded. And then he said to his client. “What did you do with those eggs your friend gave you money to buy?”

  The judge was growing impatient. “We know that too. His wife fried them. Do you have anything new to say, or shall I give my decision?”

  “Before you do that, tata juez,” said the Indian, “I want to ask you something. Could you lend me an acre of land to plant some beans?”

  With that the judge lost his patience. “What are you talking about?” he roared. “Finish what you have to say about this case so that I can make my decision. Don’t be talking nonsense.”

  The Indian nodded. “I understand,” he said. “But I am asking you to lend me an acre of land so that I can plant some of these beans.” He pointed at the beans in his pot. “With the beans in this pot, I will grow another crop.”

  The judge pounded his gavel and shouted. “Stop this foolishness, and stick to the point. What does an
acre of land have to do with this case? We’re not here to talk about planting beans. And furthermore, who ever heard of growing a crop from beans that are already cooked?”

  The Indian shrugged his shoulders, “But, tata juez,” he said, “I thought that if you could believe that my client’s wealth grew from a dozen eggs that were already fried, maybe you would believe I could grow a crop from boiled beans.”

  The judge held his gavel in mid-air. He thought for a moment. Then he turned to the two lawyers. “Take your client and get out of my court! This honest man owes him nothing but a dozen eggs.”

  “Did you forget something about the eggs, tata juez?” the old Indian asked.

  “Oh, yes,” added the judge. “The eggs must be fried!”

  CÓMO SEMBRAR FRIJOLES COCIDOS

  Éste es el cuento de dos amigos que se criaron juntos en el mismo pueblo. Cuando ya eran grandes, el uno se casó y se quedó en el pueblo, ganándose la vida como podía, cultivando sus campos y haciendo cualquier otro trabajito que se le presentara. El otro abandonó el pueblo para trotar por el mundo y probar suerte en el extranjero. Terminó viajando muy lejos. Los amigos no se vieron durante muchos años.

  Luego, un año, en la fiesta del pueblo, el amigo poblano se encontró con el amigo viajero. Los viejos amigos se estrecharon la mano.

  —Qué alegría verte—dijo el amigo poblano—. Ven a mi casa. Puedes quedarte conmigo y mi familia esta noche.

  Así que los dos amigos fueron a la casa para pasar la tarde hablando de tiempos pasados. En la mañana el amigo viajero dijo que tenía que reunirse con un hombre sobre algún negocio.

  —Pero vuelvo enseguida —dijo. Metió la mano en el bolsillo y sacó dos monedas—. Toma estos dos pesos. Ve y compra un docena de huevos. Pídele a tu esposa que los fría para nuestro desayuno. Cuando regrese, comemos todos juntos.