Episode 91 – Roadrunner and Coyote – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 10 Show Notes

Source: Mayan Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’re dealing in tales of animal trickery and avian treachery. You’ll learn that clothes maketh the bird, that you shouldn’t trust royalty, and that it doesn’t pay to be generous. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you can totally trust the Coyote. Honest! This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 91, “Roadrunner and Coyote”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
We haven’t seen many stories from Mayan folklore yet (partly because the Spanish conquest of the region systematically suppressed the stories, causing many to be lost), so I thought it was time. This week’s story deals with a number of angry avians, including one of my favorite modern-day tricksters – the Roadrunner. Meep meep!
Once, long ago, the land of the Maya was lush and flourishing, full of birds and butterflies and beasties in a wide variety of shapes and colors unlike anything seen today. Halach-Uinic, the Great Spirit, guarded over all and sundry in that ancient paradise. It was a time of peace and prosperity under the will of Halach-Uinic, whose very word was law. Well, mostly peaceful. I don’t know if you’ve ever spent much time around a large flock of birds, but they’re noisy as hell. The constant chatter and screeching and bickering between the birds began to get on the Great Spirit’s nerves. He thought about it through the growing pounding in his spiritual noggin and finally came to a solution – the birds needed to pick a king. Then, it would be the bird king’s job to keep the peace and quiet.
Once word got around to the various birds about the coming kingship, naturally they all thought that they were the best choice. Unlike Monty Python’s King Arthur, this king would in fact be voted for, which meant they would have to convince the others to vote for them. Col-pol-che, the cardinal, strutted up to speak first. “Look at me. No seriously, just look at me! Look at how deep the red of my plumage is, so bright and so beautiful. No one else is as brilliant as my crimson self. All the other birds admire me. Clearly, I should be the king. Look at me – I’m gorgeous!” Col-pol-che did a little twirl, fluttering his wings and raising his crest dramatically as he did so before sashaying away.
A complicated trill rang out, breaking the scarlet spell. X-col-col-chek, the tropical mockingbird, stepped up to the challenge. “Yes, yes, you’re very red but what good is that really? Now me, everyone agrees that I have the loveliest voice of anyone here. When I speak, or better yet when I sing, everyone stops and listens to me.” Puffing out his chest, X-col-col-check launched into an impromptu performance full of complicated rills and fluttering runs. It was impressive as hell, and the assembled birds all muttered that maybe the mockingbird had a point. Maybe he should be king.
The muttering stopped when Cutz, the wild turkey, strode haughtily into the circle. “Useless, the both of you. Both of you brag about your beauty, but what good is it really? Now me, I’m the biggest, strongest, baddest motherfucker out here. If we’re attacked, do you want red over there strutting or do you want me stepping the fuck up and stopping it? If you’re in danger, do you want that musical asshole to sing to you, or do you want me to defend you? Power is what makes an effective king, and I’m all power baby!”
Again, the birds muttered amongst themselves that the turkey had a point. And so it went all day, with bird after bird stepping up to argue that they were in fact the best bird for the job and explaining why every other bird was dead wrong. It got very heated and very loud, with every bird demanding the crown of king bird. Well, every bird but one. Kukul the quetzal kept quiet through the whole ordeal. He was a truly ambitious creature, proud in the way that those from powerful families so often are. Unfortunately, pride was just about all he had. Despite his poise, grace, and elegance, his plumage was shit. His feathers were ragged and dull, especially in comparison to the crimson glory of birds like the cardinal. Kukul was certain that he was the best bird for the kingship, but he was equally certain that there was no way in hell he was going to be picked looking so shabby.
Even so, Kukul truly felt that he was the bird for the job. If he didn’t have the splendor to overawe the others, then he would simply have to get creative instead. He thought the problem through from every angle he could think of before flying over to his buddy Xtuntun-kinil, the roadrunner. “Hey there, ol’ friend ol’ buddy ol’ pal! I’ve got a proposition for you. Hear me out: your feathers are every bit as splendiferous and magnificent as any bird here, but I know you’re too busy being the great messenger of the roads to want to be king. And let’s face it, you’re one hell of a messenger, the best there ever was, but I don’t think you’ve got the style and sophistication to pull off kinghood. You agree, right? Of course you do. I’d loan you my savoir faire if I could, but alas that’s impossible. So what say you loan me your fabulous feathers, just for this important occasion you understand. Once I’m elected king, I’ll make sure you get your fair share of the wealth, power, and prestige that comes along with the crown. Whaddaya say, bestest buddy?”
Xtuntun-kinil considered the offer. It was actually pretty tempting; Kukul was right about the roadrunner being too busy as messenger to want to add kingly duties to his day (and he more than suspected he was also right about his lack of social graces), but parting with his plumage was a big ask. He was understandably hesitant. Kukul sensed an opportunity and pressed harder, painting grand visions of wealth and status and bodacious bird babes as far as the eye could see. He also assured the roadrunner repeatedly of his strong sense of integrity and obvious good intentions. Unlike in the Warner Brothers cartoons, this roadrunner was a trusting and convivial soul and he was finally convinced to agree to Kukul’s offer.
The deal made, Xtuntun-kinil watched with a sickening sense of loss as all of his scintillating feathers vanished from his body one by one, and one by one the clever quetzal mixed them into his own plumage as carefully as any expensive flower arrangement. Within minutes, the quetzal was decked out in a truly magnificent costume that outshone any other bird present at the assembly. His tail hung in a long jade plume, sweeping in an elegant curve from his body, which shimmered with soft iridescent hues of emerald and turquoise. He looked as stunningly beautiful as the sky over the Mayan jungle of days long past. The feathers on his puffed out breast glittered with the reds and oranges of a tropical sunset, topped by the bright spark of brilliant yellow that was his beak.
Kukul was now drop-dead gorgeous and he fucking knew it. He strutted into the squabbling assembly of birds and was thrilled to hear all conversation drop away into a hush. All eyes were now on the quetzal, and silence lay heavy across the forest, broken only by the occasional muted sigh of envy. Kukul strode confidently into the center of the assembly, certain that he had won. Everyone could see that he was clearly the most kingly bird here. For his part, the Great Spirit Halach-Uinic was thrilled to see the transformation of the drab, quiet bird that Kukul had been into the gorgeous creature that now stood before him. It was a makeover worthy of any 80’s movie montage. Raising his hands to get everyone’s attention, Halach-Uinic declared that it was clear that the quetzal should be named king of the birds. No one objected.
Thunderous applause met this announcement, and each bird hopped over to Kukul in turn to offer his congratulations to the new king. Once everyone had taken a moment to graciously offer their homage to the king, they all flew away home and left Kukul to his new, important duties. Since there had never before been a king of the birds, there was much to organize and decide and so Kukul was immediately buried in responsibility. The roadrunner wanted his plumage back to its full former glory, but the quetzal was clearly very busy. He could wait a little bit until his friend found his bearings. Surely the new king would be very gracious about fulfilling all of his grand promises to the roadrunner just as soon as he had a spare moment.
Kukul never even noticed when the roadrunner left. He was so very busy and there was so much to do that he kept putting off returning the borrowed feathers. There was always some new crisis that demanded his attention that was always more important. Before long, he had quite forgotten about the roadrunner and all of his promised benevolence. Being king kept him far too busy to worry about old bargains.
Some time passed under the rule of the quetzal king. One day, a few of the birds had gathered to chat about the comings and goings of the bird kingdom, and the subject of the roadrunner came up. None of them had seen the friendly Xtuntun-kinil in several days. In fact, once they really thought about it, none of them could remember seeing him since the great election of the king of birds. Everyone knew how kindly the roadrunner was and how easy it was to take advantage of his generosity, so naturally they suspected Kukul of some dirty trick. Kings have been known to be assholes on occasion after all.
They organized a search party to comb through the jungle for the missing bird. They searched high and low; they searched along the roads and in the wild places of the forest. At last, they found the roadrunner hiding in a bush deep in an isolated part of the remote jungle. The poor thing was naked, trembling with cold, and starving almost to the point of death. They rushed to bring him a revivifying honey drink, helping to bring him back to some semblance of health though he was still deeply depressed.
Everyone asked what had happened, and the roadrunner told of his bargain with the quetzal king and of the cruel treachery that had left him featherless and bereft. He was devastated by what had happened, and kept asking the others ‘Puhuy? Puhuy?’ which means ‘Where is he? Where is he?’ in the Mayan tongue. The other birds realized that they didn’t know where Kukul was now; the king had become far too busy and important for any of them. They might not be able to help their devastated friend find his betrayer, but they could help with his more pressing concern of being stark naked. Each of the birds donated a few of their own feathers while the mockingbird sang a rousing tune to try and boost the roadrunner’s spirits.
That is why, to this day, the roadrunner’s feathers are so oddly varied in color and pattern. Along with his duties as messenger, it’s also why he spends so much of his time patrolling the roads of the Mayan lands. He has not yet found that treacherous quetzal that stole his feathers and he searches still. He races up and down the roads in front of travelers, anxiously asking them ‘Puhuy? Puhuy?’
Personally, I think this makes for a pretty compelling origin story for the fleet-footed Roadrunner of my childhood cartoons. It certainly explains why he is always on the move unless there’s food to be had and why he is so hard for Certified Genius Wile E. Coyote to trick with any of his clever schemes and explosive Acme gadgets. And speaking of the Roadrunner’s eternal pursuer, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s nemesis is the coyote.
We’ve met the imminent trickster Coyote before, back in Episode 27, but there are many more stories in the lore of other peoples, including the Maya. This particular tale combines Mayan birds with Coyote into a delightful little cocktail. Many years ago, there was a hen that lived in the branches of a tall tree. She was nesting up there quite comfortably when a coyote sauntered up to the trunk. “Hey there, pretty bird! I’ve got some good news for you, if you’re interested.” The hen was intrigued but also suspicious. Coyote was known for being a very clever beastie who knew all kinds of secrets and juicy gossip, so it was entirely possible he had something worth hearing. On the other hand, he was a conniving predator and could very easily just be trying to trick her into becoming dinner. “News, huh? For real? You really have news?”
I’m not entirely sure what she expected. What, is Coyote going to go ‘well since you asked so nicely, no I’m actually lying to try and murder you’? No, Coyote just smiled a toothy smile. “For really reals. It’s about the two of us. I just heard that the coyotes and the hens have made peace. It’s been decided that we’re going to get along now and be the best of friends. How about you come down from your tree and we’ll just hug it out like the buddies we now are? You know, as a sign of good will.”
Hen fluffed her feathers as she considered. If it was true, that was indeed very good news. If. She was still a long way from trusting Coyote. She asked him over and over and over again if it was true, like really true. He kept insisting that it was. She kept digging, asking for more and more details to try and suss out the truth. “Where was this peace treaty actually signed, Brother Coyote?” “Oh just over there by the hunting grounds on the other side of the mountain.”
He gestured to a distant spot with his paw and she peered towards where he gestured. “That mountain right there?” “Indeed, scout’s honor. I’m definitely telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me dog.” “Dog?” “Never mind that. Come on down from the tree and we’ll go over together.”
Hen fluffed her feathers again and hopped out of her nest. “Alright, Coyote. That really is good news and we should celebrate! And speaking of Dog, it looks like he has heard the good news as well and is headed over to join us. Did Dog also sign the treaty? He certainly seems excited about it; he’s in a hell of a hurry to get here. I bet he’ll give me a ride over to the treaty spot if I ask. We’re tight like that. Coming, dog!” She hopped towards the edge of the branch, looking for all the world like she was going to jump down. Coyote shot one last longing look at the plump hen overhead before dashing off into the jungle. Coyote might be clever, but Dog was much bigger and stronger than he was and he didn’t want to risk a fight. Of course, no dog was actually coming. Hen was lying through her beak to test the truth of Coyote’s claims. If there really had been some big animal treaty, then he wouldn’t have been worried about Dog. Since he had slunk off in fear, she could now be certain that he was lying just as she had suspected. If she had done as he asked, she’d be dead now.
There’s another version, told by the Akimel O’otham people of southern Arizona and northwestern Mexico, wherein Hen first convinces Coyote to fetch seeds and bugs for a celebration feast before siccing her imaginary dog on him, thus saving herself from becoming dinner while gaining herself a nice meal in the process. This leaves her far too full and fat to fly away, which is why she needs to invoke her canine savior and also why she still walks everywhere today. As we’ve discussed before, trickster characters (Coyote in particular) are often the butt of the tricks they try to play as another clever creature turns the tables. In either version, the little hen outsmarts the coyote and survives. Hooray!
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, we’re going to meet the ax-wielding Irish version of Puss in Boots. You’ll find out that stairs can be murder weapons, that not all weddings should be stopped, and that you’re not a doctor just because you dress like one. Then, in Gods and Monsters, if you give a witch a cookie, she’s going to want some black magic to go with it. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.