Shape-Shifters

by Aletha Rolbin-Ghanie

Last year, in an Indigenous Literature class, I did a lot of reading on shape-shifters. The most interesting character is probably the archetypal "trickster figure." The Trickster not only appears in many Aboriginal stories, but throughout myth in general. Some call him Whiskey Jack (or Wasaygachuck); others call him Loki; some call him Pan. In fact he has many names, but one essential personality that figures prominently in life, literary or otherwise. The Trickster can be perceived as good or evil, depending on the effects he has on the mortals he interferes with. Either way, his function is to influence destiny, to steer you on or off your intended path, to change you for better or worse, depending on his own inclinations. As an instrument of destiny, the Trickster can assume many different forms (i.e. reproducing the faces of those closest to you). Like they say, "seeing is believing." And in the end, ironically, it's our reaction to the shape-shifter that changes us.

I think there must be something of this shape-shifter in all of us, some sort of duality that never quite evens out. It's this character that makes us unpredictable, flexible even, able to control the outcome of our respective destinies, be it for good or ill. We are malleable creatures, able to go from one extreme to the next, expanding, shrinking, exploding and imploding. We can change and sometimes we are hardly recognizable.

Today, I read a story with one of my classes—a traditional Korean folk tale about a brother and a sister whose mother was eaten by a tiger on her way home from buying them buckwheat puddings. The tiger is not only hungry, but cruel, devouring her while she is still alive—first an arm, then a leg and so on. He seems to enjoy her suffering. Insatiate, the tiger finds the family’s house and poses as the mother. He tries to persuade the children to come outside; but the children realize what has happened, and they run into the forest, the tiger chasing after them.

They climb as high as they can up a tall tree, but the tiger starts chopping it down with an axe that has unluckily been left behind, and desperate, the children pray for help. Miraculously, a ladder from Heaven is provided for their escape. Taking pity on the newly orphaned children, the God turns the boy into the sun and the girl into the moon (prior to this, these celestial entities did not exist, apparently).

Though they make their escape from the monster—the murderous tiger—the girl soon grows unhappy with her new life as the moon. She exists for many years in the dark, alone and cold, as we know the moon to be. She lives this way for so long that when the God finally consents to let the siblings switch places, the girl has difficulty adjusting to her newfound brilliance as the sun. She is modest and is unable to contend with being stared at and admired and loved by the people down below. To remedy her self-consciousness, she makes herself so bright, so intense, that people need to shield their eyes from her or risk blindness. Having gone from one extreme to another, shape-shifting as she had, it was the only way she could cope.

No matter how much you alter, some small part of your past always gets left behind whether you can see it or not.