Standing on the rock while the hurricane lashed at my hair and cloak, I ecstatically watched the full force of the storm hammering away at the ship, under a starless sky. In triumphant fettle I followed all the twists and turns of the drama -- from the instant the vessel cast anchors until the moment she was swallowed up within that fatal garment which dragged those whom it clothed like a cloak, down into the bowels of the sea. But the time was approaching when I myself would play a part as actor in these scenes of disordered nature. When the spot where the vessel had battled clearly showed that she had gone to spend the rest of her days in the stalls of the sea, some of those who had been borne overboard by the breakers reappeared on the surface. They clung to one another, grappling in twos and threes: this was the way not to save their lives, for their movements were hampered and they sank like cracked beakers .... What is this army of marine monsters swiftly slicing through the waves? There are six of them, with sturdy fins that cut a path through the heaving waves. The sharks soon make merely an eggless omelette of all the human beings who flail their four limbs in this unsteady continent, and share it out according to the law of the strongest. Blood mingles with the waters and the waters with blood. Their savage eyes sufficiently illumine the scene of carnage .... But what is this new turmoil in the water, yonder on the horizon? A waterspout approaching, perhaps? What strokes! I realise what it is. An enormous female shark is coming to partake of the duck liver pate, to eat the cold boiled beef. She is raging, ravening. A battle ensues between her and the others to contest the few palpitating limbs that here and there bob silently on the surface of the crimson cream. To left and right her jaws slash, dealing mortal wounds. But three live sharks surround her still, and she is forced to thrash around in all directions to foil their manoeuvres. With a mounting emotion hitherto unknown to him the spectator upon the shore follows this new variety of naval engagement. His eyes are fixed on this valiant female shark with her vicious teeth. He hesitates no longer. Musket to shoulder, and adroit as ever, he plants his second bullet in the gills of one of the sharks as it shows itself a moment above a wave. Two sharks remain, displaying even greater tenacity. His mouth full of bile, the man throws himself off the rock's summit into the sea and swims towards the pleasantly-tinted carpet, gripping the steel knife he always carries. From now on each shark has one enemy to reckon with. He heads for his weary adversary and, taking his time, buries the sharp blade in its belly. Meanwhile the mobile fortress easily disposes of her last opponent .... Swimmer and female shark he has rescued confront each other. For some minutes they stare warily at one another, each amazed to find such ferocity in the other's stare. They swim, circling, neither losing sight of the other. Each thinking: "Till now I was wrong -- here is someone wickeder than I!" Then of one accord, in mutual admiration, they slid toward each other -- the female parting the water with her fins, Maldoror smiting the surge with his arms -- and held their breaths in deepest reverence, both longing to look for the first time on their living image. Three metres separated them. Effortlessly, abruptly, they fell upon each other like magnets, and embraced with dignity and recognition, in a hug as tender as a brother's or sister's. Carnal desires soon followed this demonstration of affection. A pair of sinewy thighs clung to the monster's viscous skin, close as leeches; and arms and fins entwined about the loved one?s body, surrounded it with love, while throats and breasts soon fused into a glaucous mass reeking of sea-wrack. In the midst of the tempest that continued raging. By lightning's light. The foamy wave their nuptial couch -- borne on an undertow as in a cradle -- they rolled over and over towards the unknown depths of the briny abyss -- and came together in a long, chaste, hideous coupling! ... At last I had found someone who resembled me! ... From now on I was no longer alone in life! ... She had the same ideas as I! ... I was facing my first love!

[from the Alexis Lykiard translation (Exact Change: 1994, p. 97-99) of Comte de Lautr顭ont?s Les Chants de Maldoror (1868).]

In those days the Coyote was a spirit Coyote; he was a friend of the Man: they were cousins and talked together. The Coyote loved the night: all night long he would sit and watch the stars. There was one large star, more beautiful than the moon or the sun. He was in love with the star and would talk to her, night after night, and all night long. But the star would not answer him; she walked across the sky, looking at him, but saying nothing.

The Coyote grew more and more crazy for that star. He noticed that always, as she walked through the sky, she passed very close to a certain mountain peak, so close it would be easy to touch her. The Coyote traveled as fast as he could, a long, long way; till, very tired, he stood on this mountain, at the place the star always touched. He would not sleep for fear of missing her, so he sat and waited.

In the evening he saw her coming; she was very beautiful. He could see now that she and the other stars were dancing; they moved through the sky dancing. The Coyote waited; his heart was nearly bursting through his skin, but he kept quiet. The star danced nearer and nearer; at last she was on the mountain. He reached up as high as he could, but he could not quite touch her; then he begged her to reach her hand down to him. She did so, and took his paws into her hand.

Slowly she danced with him, up from the mountains; far up into the sky, over the earth. The Coyote got very dizzy; his heart was afraid. They went higher into the sky, among all the stars. It was bitter cold and silent. None of the stars spoke. The Coyote looked down, and fear made his heart very cold. He begged the stars to take him back to the earth. When they were at the very top of the sky, the star let go of the Coyote. He was one whole moon falling, and when he struck the earth, he knocked a great hole in it. His blood turned to water and made a lake. This is Crater Lake, in Klamath country. When the Coyotes talk to the stars at night, they are scolding the star that killed their father.

[from C.E.S. Wood's A Book of Indian Tales (1929), pp. 97-99.]