TWENTY-FOUR
Dogs do not wink. Wolves do not wink. Not in an intentional, Hey there, it's a private joke between the two of us kind of way. There was something in the animal's eye. A bug. It didn't mean anything. It certainly didn't mean, Don't worry, I won't bite you. So I stood there, waiting.
The reddish coyote-wolf raised its eyebrows and gave a questioning whine.
“What is it, boy?” I whispered. The other dogs had settled down to watch the show, but I wasn't taking any chances.
“Well, hell, I wasn't expecting you, Doc.”
I turned, and it was Jackie, wearing a fringed jean jacket and a guarded expression. She came up by the coyote-wolf and patted him on the head, and in the deepening twilight I felt as if she were standing with him somehow against me, like a wife with a husband bidding the unwelcome party guest a firm good night.
“I was hiking,” I said. “I didn't know you lived up here. I guess I wandered off the trail.”
Jackie squinted at me. “Thought for a moment you might be one of the town kids, come up to catch one of my babies for Halloween. You never know what nastiness people won't think up when they're bored—my friend's black cat got its eyes cut out five years ago.”
“I didn't even realize it was Halloween.” In the city, there would have been children in the street before sunset, dressed in bright plastic superhero and princess costumes, carrying fake jack-o'-lanterns.
“You're damn lucky the dogs didn't rip your throat out. They don't take to strangers. If Red here hadn't seen you—”
“Red?”
“This guy.” She hesitated. “Named him after Red, ‘cause of his color. And his disposition. He's a good boy, aren't you, Red?”
The animal lifted his muzzle as his ears were scratched, then looked at me with wise, sad canine eyes.
“Jackie. Are they all wolf hybrids?”
Jackie continued focusing on the animal. Red. “There's a good boy. Yes you are. Who's your mama? Who's your mama?” His tail wagged, but he glanced at me again, one of those guilty dog looks that say, I can't help myself. Sorry.
“Are you breeding them?”
Jackie straightened up, and set her jaw. “No, I ain't breeding them. I'm rescuing them from all the idiots who think they hear the call of the wild and wind up calling animal control.”
Picking up on their owner's tension, a few of the hybrids began to make low, rumbling noises. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you.”
“I know you didn't. I suppose I get a bit tired of it, though.” She sighed, looking out at her dogs. “Stop it, now.” The growling around me ceased as if a switch had been flipped. “Lot of people object to my keeping these guys, no matter why I'm doing it.”
There was a rustle of wind and leaves, and suddenly the air was colder, raising goose bumps on my bare arms. I turned to the sound and realized how long the shadows had grown. A true harvest moon, full and tinged with red, was rising up over the shadowy tree line.
“I should be getting back.”
“It's too late for that. You won't be able to see the trail.”
“But Hunter …”
“You can call him. I do have a phone, you know.”
I smiled, not sure if she could even see my face. We were standing farther apart than we had on previous occasions. “I don't want to impose …”
“It's too late. You'll have to spend the night. I have my jeep parked about a half-mile down on the other side, but by the time I got back it would be pitch black.”
“You don't go out at night?”
“Not on Halloween, I don't.” She turned and walked toward the trailer and I watched the lanky shape of Red the wolf detach itself from the other shadows and slink off into the night, presumably to join the rest of the pack.
“As long as I'm here, do you want me to take a look at Pia?”
Jackie lit a cigarette. “I wish you would.” She brought the slender dog back to her side with a whistle and a snap of her fingers. I examined the animal as best I could without the proper equipment. One thing was clear. She was losing all the fur on her legs and belly.
“My best guess is some sort of skin allergy,” I said, “but her abdomen seems to be hurting her as well. I think X-rays would be a logical—”
“Can't do it. Not around here.” Jackie stubbed out her cigarette on the ground. “They say she bit someone.”
I mulled over this new piece of information. “Maybe I can e-mail my former boss. He might have some idea.” Particularly if he had assumed Pia had been abandoned and used her for one of his experiments. But I kept that thought to myself.
“You're shivering,” Jackie observed. “Best come inside and warm yourself up.”
She opened the trailer door and I was relieved to see a certain amount of light, warmth, and order. There was a table and bench, a sink and counters, a bed tucked into the back. Jackie was unwrapping cellophane from a TV dinner.
“I guess you're hungry. I just have these Swanson things, so they'll have to do.”
“I, ah, don't eat meat.”
Jackie looked over her shoulder at me. “Macaroni and cheese okay?”
“More than okay. Wonderful. Do you have a mirror?”
“Over there.”
I peered at my reflection and was surprised to see that I was not as much of a mess as I'd expected after a day of fighting, crying, and taking a long, impromptu hike: In fact, I looked … not bad. Flushed cheeks slick with perspiration, bright eyes, tangled hair. There was a rip in my long-sleeved T-shirt which deepened the vee, showing the white edge of my bra. It took me a moment to put a name to my appearance: wild. I looked wild. I tried to finger-comb my hair into a ponytail and wound up creating a Medusa effect.
“You want a beer?”
“Sure.” I turned away from the mirror and slid onto the bench that seemed to serve as both couch and kitchen table.
“It's warm. Ice melted in the cooler.”
“That's okay.” I took a sip of warm beer and felt as if I were truly having an adventure, even though the only thing I was doing was accommodating myself to someone else's life for an evening, and that wasn't exactly trailblazing behavior. No pun intended.
I looked around. All the plates and cups were small and stackable, and there was a kind of odd charm about that. It was like eating in Munchkinland.
“You know, Jackie, I've never been in one of these before. Everything's so miniaturized.”
“Trailer's old as shit.”
“1950s?”
“1970s. Here.” She handed me a little cardboard plate with macaroni and cheese, a few carrots, and chocolate pudding, each in its own compartment.
“I couldn't use your phone first, could I?”
“Be my guest.” The phone was an old rotary, and Jackie turned on a small color television while I dialed. On the fifth ring, the machine picked up.
“Hello, Hunter? It's Abra. Don't worry about me, I'm staying over at Jackie's to night. Got lost on a hike, I'll be back in the morning.” I kept my voice neutral for Jackie's benefit. “If you want to call me when you get back in, the number is …”
Jackie repeated her number into the receiver.
“So don't worry. Good night.” I hung up without telling him I loved him, another first, just like the fight.
After Jackie and I had finished eating there was nothing to do, and even though it was not yet eight o'clock in the evening, it felt like midnight. I threw the remains of dinner away and Jackie folded back the benches and suddenly the table was a small bed.
“I'm going out for a cigarette and a pee. I got running water for brushing teeth and stuff, but I hate emptying the toilet out so if you don't mind …”
“I'll go outside, too.”
We walked out together into a symphony of crickets. There was a scratch and a spark, then the oddly comforting smell of cigarette smoke drifting up into the night. We leaned up against a pickup truck that hadn't been anywhere in a very long time. The moon, just clearing the tree line, was full.
“Want one?”
“No, thanks. No, wait—yes. I do. Thanks.” I hadn't smoked a cigarette since junior high, and like back then, I didn't bother trying to inhale. Still, it felt rather satisfying, the whole business of holding something in your hand, breathing in and out, the smoke a perfect punctuation to everything said and not said.
“You have a fight with your husband?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then you probably ran away from needing to have one.” We leaned back and looked up at the moon. Then Jackie burst into a little bronchial coughing fit, breaking the silence.
“You okay?”
“I know all about you and Red, you know.”
I turned to stare at her, but she continued looking out at the night, the cigarette a red eye glowing between her fingers. “There's nothing to know.”
Jackie blew out a plume of smoke. “He wants you. You'll wind up sleeping with him to spite that husband of yours. And Red'll get hurt, because when all's said and done, he's not your type.” Jackie took a deep drag on her cigarette, leaned back. “You know he's some kind of Indian shaman? Has to apologize for each little critter he kills, offer its spirit something so it won't be mad at him.” Jackie looked at the stub of her cigarette almost sadly before grinding it out underfoot. “You probably think that's all a lot of horse shit.”
“No, I don't. My mother believes in … alternative realities.”
“He doesn't have a high school diploma, you know. Just a GED, same as me.”
I sighed, realized I hadn't been smoking the cigarette in my hand, and stubbed it out. I wanted to tell Jackie I wasn't some alien New York City snob with designer underwear and subscriptions to avant-garde theater. I wanted to tell her I was book-smart and people-stupid, and book-smart only in a very narrow area. I wanted to tell her I wasn't all that sure of myself, but somehow I felt that she already knew that. And still thought I was capable of hurting Red.
From somewhere behind and above us, one of the hybrids howled, a perfect solitary wail, and then one of the others answered it.
“That's beautiful,” I said.
“Mm. That's why I like having ‘em around. You can get prettier dogs, you can get nicer dogs, but if you want the music, you got to go for a bit of the wild.”
“Do they really howl at the moon?”
“Hey, once a month, don't we all?”
Not me, I thought, not with my irregular menstrual periods. I'd be the wolf out of tune with the pack, the one lagging behind.
We listened as two more of Jackie's hybrids joined in, a blending of inhuman voices that filled the night with lupine magic. I wished the sound didn't remind me of my mother's movies, of werewolves and curses and the pretty maiden about to get mauled. I wished I could just have the pure experience of it, the raw lament of I am here, Are you there, and the choral response, We are here, We are here.
“I need a pee,” said Jackie.
“Okay,” I said. What are you supposed to say to that, anyway? She tromped off, leaving me alone. I moved deeper into the shadows, and tried to keep my long skirt bunched up and out of the way. I couldn't exactly see what was I doing and in the end, I got one of my shoes slightly wet. I realized I didn't have any toilet paper—did Jackie use toilet paper? Not such a good little camper. I was shaking myself off when I heard a sound.
“Wait,” I squeaked, “I'm still peeing!” Why I was so shy of Jackie, I couldn't say. Except, even as I shook out my skirt, I knew it wasn't Jackie.
When I looked up, Red was there, leaning against a silver birch. He looked like he'd been there for a while. His face was pale and miserable, maybe hungover. He was dressed only in ragged jeans, his naked chest and stomach furrier and ridged with more muscle than I would have suspected. The howling tattoo on his upper arm looked smaller now that I could see just how large his bicep really was. I realized I was spending a long time looking at him just about the same time he did: Our eyes met and he smiled.
“Red! Are you okay? Jeez, where did you come from?”
“Well, I was born here. But I spent my formative years in a shitty small Texas border town.” His voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn't been using it for a while.
“No, seriously. Were you lurking around listening to Jackie and me?”
“A little.”
I didn't know what to say to that. When he looked up at me again, his eyes glittered with some emotion I couldn't quite name: a hint of something complicit, as if he knew a secret which concerned both of us.
“You shouldn't eavesdrop.”
“Yeah? Maybe you shouldn't go into strange men's cabins and leave your scent all over their beds. Once boundaries are crossed, it's not so easy to set them back up.”
“Sorry. I didn't realize I was so … pungent.”
“You're not.” He grinned rather wolfishly at me and I began to feel uncomfortable. Also warm. “And I like your smell, in case you hadn't noticed.”
Time to change the subject. “Jackie thinks you're an Indian shaman,” I blurted out.
Red hooked his fingers into the loops of his jeans. “Shaman's a Siberian term, I believe. My grandfather would say calling an Indian a shaman is like calling a rabbi a Jewish priest.” He tucked his chin and looked up at me. “However, I did meet an Inuit fellow in Canada. Followed him around for a year and learned a hell of a lot about tracking things that don't always walk on the waking side. But I don't suppose that makes me a shaman.”
“What do you mean, on the waking side?” I took his arm, eager to get away from what I suddenly realized was the lingering smell of my urine. “You mean you track things down in dreams?”
“Sometimes. I've had a few dreams about you, Doc.”
“You have?” I kept my eyes on the ground as we walked. “What kind of dreams?”
“You should know,” Red said. “You were there.” Remembering my own disturbingly erotic dreams about Red, I stumbled. “Easy now,” Red said, his arm keeping me from falling. “Hunter know where you are?”
“I left a message. But he was out.” I didn't know if I believed that one person could visit another in dreams. A month ago, I would have sworn that such a thing was impossible. But then I recalled standing with Red in my kitchen, his certainty that I had wanted him, too.
Red stroked my hand where it rested on his arm. “Your husband's probably looking for you. I'll take you home.”
“But it's dark out. Jackie said it's not safe.”
There was a pause and we both stopped walking, and it suddenly became a little strange that I was still holding his arm. Red inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. “Not safe for Jackie, maybe. She's got the worst night vision in Dutchess County. But I can get you home.”
“Could you? God, I'd really appreciate it.”
I dropped his arm and started to walk back to the trailer. It wasn't until I got to the door that I realized he hadn't followed me.
“Jackie? Jackie, Red's here. He says he can take me home, and if that's all right with you, I'll—”
The screen door flew open and Jackie peered out, the outline of her generous breasts visible in an old flannel nightgown. “Red? You say Red's here?”
“Yes, and since I really don't want to impose, I thought I'd just—”
“Red? Abra says you're going to take her home?” She sounded so incredulous that I was a bit taken aback. Surely it couldn't be that dangerous, could it? Were we going to be attacked by raccoons?
Red moved out of the shadows.
“You sure you're up to it? The whole way? Like that?”
Truth was, I had wondered why he was dressed just in torn jeans, but had been too startled to ask him.
“I can do it. She should be home to night.”
Jackie shook her head. “You're a big fool, Red, you know that? Why not just let her sleep here?”
“You know why.”
“Her husband's not about to go looking for her in some shotgun fury, Red. You saw how he was.”
My mouth went dry. I found myself watching Red, trying to read his response, but his face was a pale blur in the middle distance.
“That was then. This night could be a different story.”
I cleared my throat. “Listen, Hunter's not exactly the jealous type. If you're worried he's going to be crazed that I spent a night out, you're dead wrong.”
Red took three steps, and I could see the fine sheen of sweat on his face and chest, despite the chill autumn air. “You never know, Doc,” he said. “People change.”
“I don't think that's the way he's changing.”
“You want to stay here?”
I glanced back at the trailer. “Well, if it's not safe—”
Red laughed, a dry sound, more cynical than I was used to from him. “It's safe with me. Tell her, Jackie. That she's safe going back with me.”
There was a pause and I turned to look at my hostess. She seemed older than she had when we'd smoked the cigarettes. “You're safe with Red, Abra.” Then she turned and slammed the door behind her, leaving me alone with her ex-boyfriend, the redneck shaman.
“I don't want to cause trouble between you,” I said.
Red made a small amused sound. “It's not you causing the trouble.”
“But I don't want to make anybody feel—”
He put his hand on my arm and we both jumped a little. “Shut up, Doc,” he said, but with such tenderness that I half-felt he'd said something else entirely. “Let's go.” Red plunged off into the night, and I followed him blindly.