The Blood Spilt

14

Rebecka Martinsson is sitting on the bed in her chalet. She can see the contours of the back of the chair outlined against the gray rectangle of moonlight in the window.
Now, she thought. Now the panic ought to kick in. If anybody finds out about this, I’m toast. I’ll be convicted of illegal entry and unauthorized interference, I’ll never work again.
But the panic wouldn’t come. No regrets either. Instead she felt quite light hearted.
I can always get a job as a ticket collector, she thought.
She lay down and looked up at the ceiling. Felt slightly elated in a crazy way.
A mouse was rustling about in the wall. Nibbling and scampering up and down. Rebecka knocked on the wall and it went quiet for a while. Then it started again.
Rebecka smiled. And fell asleep. With her clothes on and without having brushed her teeth.
She had a dream.
She is sitting up on Daddy’s shoulders. It’s blueberry time. Daddy’s got the basket on his back. It’s heavy, with the basket and Rebecka.
“Don’t lean,” he says when she stretches over to catch the beard lichen hanging from the trees.
Grandmother is walking behind them. Blue cardigan and gray head scarf. She has an economical way of moving in the forest. Doesn’t lift her foot any higher than necessary. A kind of rapid trot with short steps. They have two dogs with them; Jussi, the gray dog, sticks with Grandmother. He’s getting old, saving his strength. And Jacki, the youngster, some kind of pointer cross, rushes here and there, he can never get enough of the different smells, disappears from sight, sometimes you hear him barking several kilometers away.
Late in the afternoon she is lying by the fire and sleeping while the adults have gone a little further away to pick berries. She’s using Daddy’s Helly Hansen as a pillow. The afternoon sun warms her, but the shadows are long. The fire keeps the mosquitoes away. The dogs come and look at her from time to time. Nudge her face gently with their noses then scamper away before she has time to pat them or put her arms around their necks.


YELLOW LEGS

It’s late winter. The sun climbs above the tops of the trees and warms the forest. Lumps of heavy snow slide down from the trees. A difficult time for hunting. During the day the deep white blanket is softened by the warmth. It’s hard to run after prey. If the pack hunts at night by moonlight or at dawn, the icy surface slashes their pads to ribbons.
The alpha female begins to run. She is getting restless and irritable. Any of the pack who approach her can expect to be snapped at or told off. She positions herself in front of the subordinate males and urinates with her leg lifted so high that she almost has difficulty keeping her balance. The whole pack is affected by her moodiness. There is growling and howling. Scraps are constantly breaking out between the members of the pack. The young wolves roam around uneasily on the edge of the resting place. There is always one of the older wolves ready to put them in their place. At mealtimes the rank order is rigidly maintained.
The alpha female is Yellow Legs’ half-sister. Two years ago she challenged the old alpha bitch at exactly this time of year. The lead bitch was about to start running, and was asserting her superiority over the other females. She turned to Yellow Legs’ half-sister, stretched her gray-striped head forward, curled back her lips and bared her teeth with a threatening low growl. But instead of slinking backwards in fear, her tail pressed between her legs, Yellow Legs’ half-sister took up the challenge. She looked the old bitch straight in the eyes and her hackles rose. The fight broke out in a split second and was over in a minute. The old alpha female lost. A deep bite in her side and a ragged ear were enough to make her retreat, whimpering. Yellow Legs’ half-sister drove her away from the pack. And the pack had a new alpha female.
Yellow Legs never challenged the old leader. Nor does she stand up to her half-sister. And yet it seems as if her half-sister is particularly irritated by her. On one occasion she clamps Yellow Legs’ muzzle firmly between her jaws and takes her on a half circuit through the pack. Yellow Legs slinks along humbly, her back bent, her eyes turned away. The young wolves get up and begin to walk around uneasily. Afterward Yellow Legs licks her half-sister’s mouth submissively. She doesn’t want to fight or assert herself.
It’s hard to get the silver gray alpha male’s attention. When the old female was there he used to follow her around for weeks before she finally decided to mate. He sniffed at her bottom and put the other males in their place so that she could see. Often, he would come back to her as she lay resting. He’d tap her with his front paw to ask “what about now?”
Now the alpha male is lying inert, apparently uninterested in Yellow Legs’ half-sister. He’s seven years old, and there’s no one in the pack showing the least interest in taking his place. In a year or so he’ll be older and weaker, and will have to assert himself more. But for the moment he can lie here and let the sun warm his fur while he licks his paws and snaps up a little bit of snow. Yellow Legs’ half-sister is watching him. Squats down and urinates close to him in order to arouse his interest. Walks past him, very close. Keen and bloody around the base of her tail. In the end he obliges and covers her. The whole pack breathes a sigh of relief. The level of tension in the group drops immediately.
The two one-year-olds wake Yellow Legs and want to play. She has been lying under a pine tree a little distance away, half asleep. But now the youngsters hurl themselves upon her. One of them thumps his huge front paws down into the snow. His whole body bent playfully forward. The other comes hurtling over at full speed and jumps over her as she lies there. She leaps to her feet and sets off after them. Their barking and yapping echoes through the trees. A terrified squirrel shoots up a tree trunk like a red streak. Yellow Legs catches up with one of the youngsters and he does a double somersault in the snow. They wrestle for a while, then it’s her turn to be chased. She flies like an arrow between the trees. Sometimes slows down so they can almost catch up with her, then shoots away again. She won’t get caught until she wants to be.