Aurendel - Strays

When Jack returned from his errands, it took him a couple of trips to unload the truck. First, a couple of sacks, one of them groceries (milk, bacon, eggs, meat), then the mail and the newspaper all got dumped on the kitchen table. Finally that blasted door and a load of boxes, which could all just stay on the front porch until he was good and ready for them. After he put away the food, Jack picked up the other sack and went to the living room to check on the wolf.

"I'm back," he announced. The wolf looked up from the manuscript and nodded. "Here." Jack handed it the sack. The wolf set down the papers and took it, surprised. It pulled a box out of the sack, and looked quizzically at Jack. "Go on--open it." It did. More surprise. "Try ‘em on. Had to guess at your size." Grinning, the wolf tried on the mocassins.

"Thank you, Jack."

"Do they fit?"

"They're fine." The wolf tried to get up off the couch, but Jack waved it back and changed the subject. Last thing he needed was a wolf jumping all over him in excessive gratitude.

"How're you coming on the manuscript?" Jack asked.

"Just a few more pages."

Jack was dumbfounded. Here he'd only been gone a couple of hours--well, maybe a little longer, since he'd been stopped by a couple of chatty fishermen--and the critter was almost finished with the book. If it'd actually read it word for word. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's very good," the wolf answered. "But I think I see what your editor was talking about."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Well, for instance, here." The wolf leafed through the pages. "You've got this long bit telling all about the Masai. I can see why George might call it a digression. If you don't mind my making a suggestion . . . "

"Oh, suggest away, by all means," Jack growled sarcastically. He could feel his face getting hot with indignation. By hell, this animal had nerve!

The wolf ignored Jack's outrage. "Instead of telling your readers all this information, why not show them by giving it to them as descriptions and actions of the tribe? Incorporate it into the story itself, you know."

Actually, that was a very good idea. Jack was nonplussed. As if sensing his confusion, the wolf said, in apologetic tones, "I ought to have told you before, I'm my pack's storyteller."

Jack chewed his moustache thoughtfully, trying to decide how he ought to react to this. Should be irritated or pleased? Noting the wolf's crestfallen expression, he decided on the latter.

"That's a good suggestion." The wolf perked up immediately, and Jack continued, "What other ideas have you got?"

The wolf grinned. "Oh, several. But could we discuss them over lunch? I'm famished."

Jack stared. "You just had a big breakfast not more than three hours ago."

"I can't help it. Those were making me hungry." It pointed at the trophy heads on the wall. There were four of them: a stag, a pronghorn, an elk, and--Jack's special pride--a Cape buffalo. "Did you kill those?" the wolf asked. "And are there many more like them around here?"

Jack smiled. "I've hunted just about everywhere I've been. The deer's the only local." The wolf looked disappointed, but Jack continued. "The elk," he said, pointing out the heads as he named them, "is from up north in Canada. The antelope I got out West. And that monstrosity," Jack swelled with pride, "is a Cape buffalo, one of the most dangerous and unpredictable game animals in Africa."

The wolf looked impressed. "Where is the rest of your pack? Surely you did not make that kill alone."

"I shot it myself. Large caliber, of course. A handgun like this wouldn't have been more than a mosquito bite to that." He pulled his pistol from his pocket and handed to the wolf, who carefully inspected it. "Watch where you point that," Jack rebuked it. The wolf carefully aimed the barrel away from Jack's direction, gave it another sniff, and handed it back. Feeling expansive, Jack offered, "When you're up to it, I'll take you out shooting, if you like." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized that teaching a wolf to shoot a gun might not be a good idea. But he'd already made the offer, damn it!

"Thank you, but I prefer to hunt my way. What fun is there in standing still and pointing at things? The chase is better."

Well, couldn't fault the wolf there.

"What about lunch?" it whined.

"All right." He helped the wolf up, and the two returned to the kitchen for ham sandwiches. Jack was glad he'd bought more milk.

As they ate, Jack questioned the wolf about its ideas for the manuscript. It pointed out several passages where the descriptions were too skimpy for readers unfamiliar with the places Jack knew. "Use all the senses, Jack," it said. "Tell me, what does the night air feel like on the savannah? How does it smell? Can you taste the dust and heat in the noonday? All you've got is visual description. Life's more than that."

Jack nodded his understanding. Trust a wolf to think of such things. He was beginning to enjoy this. Seeing that it had finished its three sandwiches, he got it some more aspirin.

They continued working, pages spread out on the kitchen table, heads together over the manuscript. While one part of Jack's mind was delighted to be able to really discuss his work with a fellow storyteller, another part found the wolf disturbing. It was bad enough for someone his age to turn to a young pup like this; it was more subtly offensive that a man should seek advice of an animal. Then, too, at close quarters its slightly musky scent was an uneasy reminder of the essentially wild nature of his guest.

The hours passed unnoted as the two argued over the book. About four o'clock they were both startled by a sudden crash of thunder. Jack glanced at the clock. "Right on time," he noted.

"What is?" asked the wolf.

"The afternoon storm. I'd better shut off the air conditioner. Last summer the lightning blew out the compressor." Jack suited action to words, then returned to the kitchen and suggested a move to the living room. The wolf acquiesced.

Jack opened up the windows that were sheltered by the front and back porches. A crossbreeze swept through the windows, bringing cool damp air, tingling with electricity, into the house. On the couch, the wolf inhaled delightedly, taking deep breaths of the clean woodsy smell. It twisted about on the couch to bring its face close to the window screen, looking out at the water oaks and sweet gums that surrounded the house. Jack smiled indulgently and sat down beside the wolf. He looked out at the sky between the trees. The dark clouds had the greenish cast that warned of tornado weather.

Then came another crash of thunder, and the rain hit in grey sheets. The two watched the downpour in silence for a time. Neon-colored lightning enlivened the sullen stormclouds. Hail rattled like mortar shells on the tin roof of the porch. After a while, the wolf said, "I've never seen a summer storm like this. In the North Forest, our worst storms are winter blizzards."

Jack nodded. "We're not far from the lightning capital of the world." The wolf looked impressed. "Of course," Jack went on, "we're too far south for snow." That seemed to impress the wolf even more. The hail ceased, and the thunder began to recede. "If you're from so far north," said Jack, "how'd you get down here?"

"Well Jack, that's a long story, and I only remember parts of it. I'm hoping you can help me fill in the rest."