The Story of Home

The dust rolled across the cracked and dried desert of the Australian Outback and, despite the heat, I shivered at the sight of the old man, sitting on a creaky rocking chair, staring out at the emptiness beyond. I hesitated to stop at this ramshackle old wooden building but my truck’s engine was starting to overheat in the boiling midday sun and I knew I had to take a break.
The old man cast a toothy grin my way as my boots thudded on the rocky earth and I pulled a bottle of water from my drinks cooler. I had left home months earlier, after spending far too much of my life arguing with my parents – just packing my bags and leaving, with the vague notion on my mind that I might never go back. For the past few weeks I had been travelling around what seemed to be the emptiest parts of Australia and was on my way to the city, hoping to be able to take a plane and go on to some other country the next day.
The old man before me had dark skin that stretched across his face making him look as ancient as the desert itself. He didn’t stand as I made my way towards him and it wasn’t until I stood on the steps up to his porch that he spoke. His words revealed yellowed teeth, completing the terrifying vision of an old ghost, spending an eternity alone in the middle of nowhere.
“G’day,” he said, in a rasping voice. “It’s always a good idea to let the sun make its journey home before going there yourself.”
“Uh, right,” I said, finding myself struggling to place his strange accent which made it seem like he came from everywhere. And nowhere.
“I’ll tell you a story,” he said, turning to look out at the desert again. “One as old as words; as old as time.”
“If you like,” I muttered, sitting on the steps beside him, taking another gulp of my water as I tried to pretend that this strange old man didn’t inspire the strangest sense of fear within my soul.
“It’s the story of Trickster. The story of home…”
“Trickster?” I repeated.
“Yes. There are many names for him, across the world. The Mimi. Anansi. Coyote. Fox. Loki. Ueuecoyotl. Phooka –”
“I get the point,” I muttered.
“No,” the old man murmured. “I don’t think you do.”
I leaned back against the railing, closing my eyes. The old man remained silent for what seemed like forever and when he spoke his words overcame my senses. All I knew was Trickster. All I felt was his story. And somehow, through it all, I found myself…

…Trickster has existed since Chaos reigned over the world. Trickster can never die. Trickster is the hero who brought order and life to the universe. But he is also the fool who gave us death and caused suffering for every gift he has given. Trickster is a creator. A shape-shifter. A joker. But also a truth-teller.
When Trickster is around then nothing is impossible. There are limitless possibilities but only if we embrace them and are willing to face the consequences.
It is the story of Trickster which leads us to a place, where, once, a long time ago, an old man was walking alone, with a heavy burden across his back. He was tired and thirsty and hungry, but continued on his journey, despite the hardships.
He was about to reach a crossroads, where the first path would lead him forever on his journey and the other, if he so wished, would lead him home. He did not wish to return home, for long ago he had caused his family great pain and did not wish to face the consequences of his mistakes.
There was a marker by the junction: two arrows of rotting wood, each showing him which way those two paths would lead. But before he could reach the signpost to read what was upon them, an animal came bounding across the path, chasing a rabbit across the empty desert and knocking down the sign as it passed. He at first thought the animal was a dingo but then he heard a soft voice in his head speak the haunting word: ‘Coyote’. For a moment he thought he could hear someone laughing in his ear.
He stared at the signpost for an instant and then turned to look for the animal who had breezed past him like a mischievous tornado. But the animal was gone. There was no sign that it had ever been there.
A spider scuttled past his foot, coming to rest on the remains of the signpost. With a sigh, the old man sat on the road, heavy burden still resting on his back, hoping for some sign to show him the correct path to take.
He pulled out some food but ate it slowly and laboriously as it tasted of nothing through the confusion in his mind. He could never go home to the family he had left behind. There had been too many words spoken and too many actions taken, for his family to ever accept him back. He could never face them.
“There is no place that can compare to home,” a soft, silken voice spoke. “It is the place you belong when there is nothing else left in the world.”
“You always come up with the strangest of things,” the man muttered, assuming that the voice had come from his own mind.
The spider suddenly moved from the signpost and ran behind the man. Startled, he began to stand up but was stopped by the sight of a coyote’s head, peering around to look at his meal, tongue dangling from its mouth as it panted. The wild canine seemed to be grinning at him.
“Wh-who are you?” the man whispered.
“I have many forms. The spider’s really for Africa. But, hey, the coyote’s really for North America,” the animal told him, without appearing to move its grinning mouth.
And then, with lightening speed, Coyote grabbed the food from the man’s hands and began to chew on the dried meat. He jumped over to the signpost and sat beside it, tail swishing across the wood.
Tilting his furred head, two identical rows of white teeth sparkling in the bright sun, Coyote said, “I’m just here to have a bit of fun. Now you’ve got to choose. And if you pick the correct path, your heavy burden’ll be gone.”
“Which way’s the right way?” the man asked.
Coyote looked to the right. “That one.”
“Are you sure?” the man asked, standing up.
Coyote wound his body around the man’s legs. “I am the master of deceit. But I think it might be left now.”
The man squared his shoulders and kicked the signpost as he turned towards the left path. The desert path beckoned him, whichever direction he chose, and either road could be right or wrong. There was only one way to find out. And already he could sense that his heavy burden was feeling lighter.
He strode away from the mysterious Coyote, unable to look back for fear that he had made a mistake and would see it in the wild animal’s eyes. But as each step led him further onward, he began to get the feeling that he was going home at last.
And behind him, Coyote chuckled, grin ever present, as he ate his way through the food he had stolen from the man’s backpack.
“Whichever way you’re going, old man, have some fun along the way,” he said, as he and the food faded from sight. “Like I said, in the end, home’s the only place that’s left.”
The broken signpost lying on the path was the only sign that he had ever been there at all…

…Suddenly, my eyes snapped open and I stared up at the man, sitting in his ancient rocking chair, gazing out at the desert. Had I dreamed it? Had he ever really spoken?
“The sun’s passed homeward now,” he said softly. “You can head for the city.”
Without a word, I stood up and left him sitting there. I didn’t look back because I kept feeling as if someone was grinning at me and I didn’t want to see his face.
Within moments I was again driving along the empty Australian Outback but now I was beginning to miss the highways of London where I had grown up.
There had been a lot of arguments. My family and I had caused each other so much pain that it might never fully heal. But I couldn’t seem to forget the dream. I began to wonder if maybe my burden would be lifted, if I only faced up to my past. It felt as if Coyote was laughing at my situation. As if it was all as simple as the two directions at a fork in the road.
As I remained lost in my thoughts, an animal raced across the road chasing a rabbit, forcing me to swerve and leaving my truck to go skidding and screeching onto the cracked desert. I heard the hiss of my tyre bursting in the heat and the water in my drinks cooler had escaped from its bottles and was dripping across the passenger seat.
But I paid attention to none of that. I could have sworn that the animal I saw was a coyote. And everyone knows coyotes don’t exist in Australia. But there was no sign of it, or the rabbit, anywhere. For a moment, I thought I heard a voice, saying he wished that he had a real home in the world he had created.
And somehow I knew. That was where my path led.
Home.