Opening up to Michael, and exposing the fragile underbelly of my broken psyche, brings about an exhaustion that rivals the side effects of V's manipulation. I hate that I may have ruined Michael’s opinion of me. Hurting my friends seems to be the norm for me, anymore.
“Apparently, so has self-pity, Christopher.”
“Ellie, where have you been? If you had been here, maybe I wouldn’t be in the condition that I am now.” My words are partially muffled by my pillow as I lie down on the bed.
“I can do nothing to ease the pain of your choices. You have to accept them, good and bad. They were decisions that you brought into being … the happiness, as well as the pain, and the consequences are yours alone to endure.”
My eyelids are growing heavy; drained of energy … all that is left to feel, is shame. Embarrassment, over what I had allowed to happen, burn my tear ducts. I haven’t finished telling Michael the entire story. I told him how I hid from the horror of James’s death like a coward, but I neglected to tell him that I didn’t regret pulling the trigger leading to James's excruciating end. I had become completely indifferent, reduced to the sociopath that James wanted me so badly to be. Lying there, on that bed in Vegas, unable to move, unable to withdraw from what I’d seen, I realized, I had no more connections to the world outside the ethereal veil ... and I wished for a death that might return me to Ellie.
Back in Montana, before slipping into unconsciousness, I hear Ellie’s voice one last time, “Are you so ready to feed yourself to the wolves … just promise me that you’ll finish telling Michael everything. You need to tell the whole story, Christopher, and then maybe you’ll actually be able to accept that what you accomplished in the end was right. Maybe you will realize that you can forgive yourself … that in the end, you tried to make the honorable choice. You’re only human.”
It isn’t until her voice starts to fade that I notice she hasn't been touching me, there were no sparks preceding her words. I write it off as maybe I am asleep, or perhaps I am just imagining her voice. Luckily, Michael is going to be here until tomorrow, and then he will have to report back to work.
Thankful for his help, I let the waves of shame take me under, for now. Yes, that is what I need to do, fold myself into sleep and allow my subconscious deal with how exposed and vulnerable I have become.
**~~**
Stiff and sore, I open my eyes and take in the morning light. For a moment, I stare at the stream of sunshine flowing from the east; the rays are higher in the sky than when I woke the day before. Chastising myself for actually sleeping until the next day, I rise to get a jump start on my chores, and hopefully make breakfast before Michael has to leave. Cracking the door, I listen carefully to see if anyone else is awake. Satisfied that I might be able to pay back Michael’s kindness with at least breakfast, I hurry to turn on the teakettle, start the generator, and stoke the fire.
Cord of wood in hand, I glance in the whelping pen; Lune looks up at me, communicating that he is happy to see me up and around. To my eyes, his spirit has grown so much in the past nine months; I am in wonder that he continues to choose me for a companion. Artemis is sleeping curled up to her mother’s belly; her stomach is round and full, obviously just done with eating her breakfast. I pick her up and hold her warm little body close to my chest as I let the adults outside. Some of Ursa and Lune’s enthusiasm returns to normal as they leap into the snow banks that have blown up against the trees. Visualizing their thoughts, I know that today, they both want to hunt, stretch, and play.
Leaving them to their duties, I return to the recliners situated by the whelping pen. With Artemis still sleeping soundly in my arms, striding around the first chair, I see familiar feet propped up, and have to laugh at the awkward position in which Michael has fallen asleep. I sit in the farthest chair from the fire, adjacent to Michael. Turning the pup onto her back, I start rubbing her belly. Her head tilts back, little arms and legs hanging limp, she stays stubbornly unconscious while I tickle her. Once in awhile she flicks her paws in response to a dream, or my affection. I can't help, but smile at her innocence and sweet demeanor; she lifts the remaining weight of yesterday’s confession off my shoulders.
I lightly touch her mind with my own, and in a flash of pictures she shows me that she is chasing a rabbit through the trees. But that can’t be right; she has never been outside the cabin, and has never seen trees … or rabbits for that matter. Looking down I see the huge paws of an adult wolf, and then Lune crosses our path, racing off after the hare with incredible speed … Ahhh, she is watching the hunt through Ursa’s eyes. Warm and welcoming, I can feel Artemis turn her consciousness to my presence; she is giving me the acknowledgment, the love of a pack member.
The screaming whistle from the kitchen pulls me out of the little one’s mind, and I look up to see that it has also woken up Michael.
“How’s your neck? I can’t imagine sleeping in that position is very fun to wake up to. Why did you sleep down here, man … the bed upstairs has got to be more comfortable than that chair?”
His short hair sticks out in swirls on the side of his head, and his eyes swim while I am talking to him. He doesn’t answer; his mind is still too lethargic to think of a response, much less speak one. I hand Artemis to him and walk into the kitchen to make some black, liquid energy … and something more substantial in the energy department. After handing him a mug, I feel a smirk developing as I watch the big man with the still slumbering pup. He is just as much a sucker for her as I am.
Returning to the kitchen, I decide to make biscuits and gravy with the elk sausage I have stored away in my freezer. Searching through the cupboards, I find that my potato stash is starting to sprout, needing to be used right away, so I add them to the menu, in the form of cubed hash browns. Setting them to fry in the skillet, I add onions and diced chili peppers to the mix. Then making the biscuits and placing them in the oven, I start the elk cooking while I make the white sauce with milk, cream, flour, and the bacon drippings from breakfast yesterday.
Michael comes wandering in to the kitchen and sits down at the table, Artemis in one hand and his coffee in the other. He looks content, as he points out again, how much he likes breakfast. “Smells good. Thank you.”
“No problem. When do you have to report back to work?”
“After we eat, I’ll head back to my place and get cleaned up; I was planning on reporting in at about ten. Are you going to be okay here? I’ll check back in on you, guys, tonight. If you need me to pick up anything while I’m out, just text my cell.”
“I think we’ll be fine … I’m fine, I just needed a minute, or a day, to gather my thoughts and recoup. Sorry, I left you hanging yesterday.”
“That’s fine, kid, I understand … as long as you’re okay. I don’t really know when I’ll be able to get back, but I’ll try tonight … if it’s too late I’ll check in tomorrow.”
I can see the truth of his statement forming in his head: he really does want to keep an eye on us. He is more concerned about me than he is willing to let on, and he feels comfortable here … it surprises the hell of him, but he is comfortable here. I can also see that he is bogged down at work, and is expecting to return to a mountain of paperwork.
“Michael, don’t worry about us … just catch up on what you need to do, and let me know if I can help in any way.” He nods over the top of his mug.
It feels good to get back to business as usual and put yesterday behind me. I know I am going to eventually finish telling my story; I feel that I need to justify myself to Michael, even though he doesn’t think any less of me. I know Ellie is right though; I need to find some sort of resolution.
Eating in relative silence, I can feel the comfortable peace resting over us. I’ve only know one other person that made me feel this comfortable ─ my grandfather, and his thoughts were as honest and pure as Michael’s. Befriending their minds gave me glimpses at the untainted possibilities inside every man … right when I thought I had lost the ability to appreciate humanity’s potential. If I hadn’t had my grandfather in my life, I doubt I would understand how grateful I should be to have found a friend, a mentor that shares Grandpa’s ethical strength. Both men have not only seen, but conscientiously chosen, to fight amoral influences. They would never claim to be innocent, or even remotely perfect. Both have been victims to their anger and passions, yet they take on everyday as a new opportunity to try and protect innocence. Michael takes great pride in protecting the land and its animals, building relationships with people in the area, and providing support whenever possible. My grandfather served his country in the Marines, and then helped raise his oddball grandson, while also being a philanthropist, donating his time and money to many worthy causes. If I could just remember to listen with more than my skepticism, I might be able to learn that we always have a choice, mistakes are made, and life goes on. Maybe, I’ll even learn to forgive myself.
Daydreaming about Ellie, while sitting in the safe embrace of my grandfather’s memories: I can see her in front of me, our last day together, explaining the mindset of a survivor. “There are worse things in this world than someone taking your life, and after you have lived through that realization, you savor simple pleasures, and treasure loved ones.” Ellie’s philosophy reminds me of a story that my grandfather told me about Jewish prisoners in a Nazi concentration camp. When the Americans liberated the camp, they came back telling stories of physically broken human beings exhibiting more strength than the American soldiers had ever seen, or will ever see. Men and Women, some walking, some carrying others, they were naked and starved … they didn’t move to take revenge on their captors. They didn’t really even care to take clothes or boots from the German guards, because those kinds of amenities weren’t nearly as important as their dignity. Heads held high, carrying a menorah they had made out of nails from their barrack’s floorboards, and caring for one another, they walked out of that camp gracious and proud. Had those prisoners committed atrocities while under the guards’ thumbscrews? Yes. Did they give up that one last little bit of their humanity? No. Their strength came from hanging on to the realization, even if the price for that comprehension was their life; they understood freewill wasn’t about physically resisting. Physical resistance isn’t always possible … it is mentally, emotionally, and spiritually withstanding the pressure to forget humanity’s potential for kindness over cruelty. Choosing to accept consequences while still holding your head high, vulnerable and naked … you are stronger for the pain.
Ellie had lived through England standing on its own, cut off from any allies during World War Two. She had not physically survived the bombing of London; yet with what she had left, as an ethereal spirit, she chose to share compassion and love for humanity in general. She has a consideration for her fellow man; friend or foe, that she rarely witnessed in her former life ... Ellie’s empathy gives her the gut-wrenching gift of understanding the feelings of even her enemies. I feel like an idiot, feeling sorry for myself, and letting my mind be crippled by guilt. Even berating myself now, is an insult to the memories of my grandfather and Ellie. Time to pick myself up and start living again … the time will come when I have to finish my story, but that time isn’t now. For now, I need to care for my little family, and try to give back to the world that has given me so much.
I pull back from my thoughts in time to pick up the breakfast dishes, let in Ursa and Lune with their fresh kills, and help Michael pack up his belongings. Michael sets out with plenty of time to get ready for work, and I make sure to thank him repeatedly for his help over the past few days. He just nods his head humbly, not seeing his role as anything extraordinary. Then he looks at Artemis, and once again I can see that he feels she is as special as I do … neither of us know why, but we know she needs to be protected.
**~~**
Time passes in a comfortable routine of days watching Artemis growing in strength, and Michael checking in regularly. I am grateful for his nonjudgmental company; as we both feel compelled to care for this pack. Michael has become the closest thing to a brother I think I’ve ever known. The nights are still cold, but as spring makes itself known, I have taken to sitting outside. Artemis would lay in my lap, with Michael in the chair next to us, holding a beer, and Ursa and Lune sitting between us looking content.
The whelping pen was taken down last week, and Artemis, now the size of a basketball, and just as round, has started sleeping on my bed with her parents. Completely weaned at seven weeks, she is still just a pup … but large for her age, even compared to a wolf. Ursa showed me images of average wolf pups; even she is surprised by the growth of her daughter.
Her coat is still pure white. When I let her outside, she disappears into the snow. Her eyes, finally losing their deep blue from birth, are showing a mixture of Ursa’s yellow and Lune’s ice blue. They are mesmerizing: swirls like the colors in an agate stone … never quite mixing into a cloudy green. The stark separations in the colors make me think of an alien planet viewed from outer space, the borders of land and sea clearly visible.
I help out Michael at work whenever he asks; luckily it is an uncommonly slow time of the year. He catches up on paperwork, and I don’t have to become involved in any cases. As a way to get out of the cabin, once in awhile, I accompany him on ride-a-longs, and take Artemis to socialize her, giving Ursa and Lune some time alone. Ursa is going back to the pack soon, and I can tell Lune is dreading the day when our agreement with the wolves will come to pass.
Ever since Ellie’s departure from Colorado, and our time in Vegas, Lune’s attitude has changed. I get to see glimpses of his old playfulness when he’s out with Artemis, but for me … he’s all business. I hope he allows me to be there for him after Ursa leaves. Some wolves are known for taking lifelong mates … I'm starting to believe that spirit guides are the same.
**~~**
“Christopher?” I can hear the longing in her voice.
Daydreaming yet again, I imagine my fingers running up her dress, feeling the cotton of the bodice rolling between my touch and her rib cage. I haven’t felt Ellie’s electricity, while I was awake, for over a month now … and she’s even starting to fade in my dreams. During the day, hiking with Ursa, Lune and Artemis, I think I can sense Ellie at the edges of my mind. My heart quickens at the imagined glimpse of dark, auburn hair. I don’t know why I expect her to just stroll out from between the trees … getting my hopes up, only to be crushed by the realization that she still isn’t here.
“Christopher?” Spoken more urgently this time.
Again, Ellie is calling to me from the trees. We always end up hiking for miles, following her call, until poor Artemis needs to be carried … but we never find her.
Climbing up the peak of one of the closest mountain sides to our cabin, I can see the snow resisting the sun … turning the distant skyline white. Today, we find a river formed entirely by run-off; by now, in Colorado it would be reduced to a small stream … the forest floor cracked and asking for more water. Here though, the air is heavy with oxygen and humidity, there will be no chance for this river to fade away into the earth.
The soil is a dark rich brown that smells organic with the moisture and decomposing leaves. Looking around I can see some of the bushes and trees have given up the battle of will against force, and broken, they lie across the stream, their roots relinquishing their hold on the earth, giving in to the rush of the water. I feel akin to this battle … the circle of life feels extremely unfair when you are the one loosing.
Lune follows Ursa into a shallow pool, where they cool their paws and lap up the water. Artemis, now weighing in at about twenty pounds, jumps into the water and splashes her parents. Ursa growls low in her chest. When Artemis tries licking the water droplets off her mother’s face, the wolf snaps, and the pup squeals. Artemis runs up and hides behind the log where I am sitting. Ursa’s face softens as she watches her daughter respond to me with such faith in my ability to provide protection. Lune turns, and starts nuzzling and licking with so much tenderness; it becomes obvious what Ursa must have told him … she has taken this moment to decide to leave us.
Artemis has just passed her eleventh week of life, and I am surprised that Ursa didn't return to her pack weeks ago. She and Lune have developed a connection that surpasses thoughts and dreams; they instinctively understand each other’s wants and needs, as if they were one mind. Her affection toward me has grown as well, as she seems to enjoy trying to raise my spirits. Always knowing right when I need extra attention, she will lay her head in my lap, and look into my eyes. Then wagging her tail, she will find a way to make me smile.
These tender actions make Michael repeatedly remark that of all the unusual traits in Ursa’s and my relationship, our moments of connection between man and wolf are extremely rare. Eye contact held, especially in moments of compassion, is not normal for her kind. The playfulness of her stance, while wagging her tail, should be solely reserved for other wolves. She has unintentionally become one of us, and I don’t think she was prepared for the bonding that has taken place.
Her wild mind answers my questions and revelations about our connection the same way she answers everything else, “This is just the nature of things.” Even with the painful knowledge of pending loss, she will still leave us … because she must.
Looking now, into her yellow eyes, I can envision the source of human fear; she has intelligence and pride intermingled with barely contained predatory malice … in her eyes, she demands respect. In our fear of the wolves, we, as humans, recognize some great understanding that eludes us … something we may have never understood, and I don’t think we ever will. As history writes: the things that we don’t understand, we fear; and, what fear, we inevitably try to destroy. We almost succeeded at destroying wolves, thank god we failed.
Wolves, to this day, are revered by hunters and dreaded by ranchers. The Blackfoot tribe is known for their past hunting prowess, and they respect the wolf’s tracking and hunting to the point of calling them brothers. As time went by, and humans switched from hunting and gathering to cultivation of the land and raising livestock, a prejudice was built towards these noble killers of opportunity. The wolves simply looked at the poor dumb domestic animals as easy prey, a convenient meal … a trait that man exhibits himself. Nothing evil there; but they were labeled demons nonetheless … just ask Red Riding Hood or The Three Little Pigs. Much more than the nursery rhymes I was told as a child, I like the stories that Michael tells. He recites stories of wolves’ wisdom, outwitting hostile opponents, and the merciless protection of their families. They are honorable, even when we perceive them as acting out negative qualities.
When Lune and I found Ursa, injured and alone, I wasn’t sure we could save her. Not only because of her injuries, but because she was so withdrawn without her pack. Weeks went by with me lightly touching her mind, the way Lune had taught me … she refused to respond. She always seemed to understand that we were trying to help; but it wasn’t until I wouldn’t allow Michael to take her to his biologist that she started to communicate with me. Lune hunted and nurtured her back to health long before she showed any interest in returning his attention. Now, they both are going to be hurt deeply by the separation.
Walking with Artemis slightly behind and to her left and Lune directly to her right, Ursa leads us to her pack’s meeting place.
Given the day’s long hike, I'd expect to carry Artemis part of the way. Between her growing strength and her determination to stay by her mother’s side, she trudges along, exhausted, but prideful.
After following Ursa for about a mile, we finally reach another meadow similar to the one near the cabin. This is Artemis’s first visit with the pack, while being big enough to understand what is happening. I had carried her when she was almost three weeks old, so that Ursa could make introductions. Just like then, she now sits timidly at my feet. Ursa on one side of her, and Lune on the other, Artemis instinctively understands she doesn’t belong with the pack. Watching her father, she shows just the right amount of respect and confidence. Pulling strength from each other, they are neither subservient nor threatening; they are just observers, like me. We are the equivalent to a visiting pack: tolerated, even liked, but not one of them. Ursa, on the other hand, is still part of their family, and they greet her with nuzzles, tails up and wagging. They are glad she is back, and welcome her by bowing and nipping, trying to goat her into playing.
Ursa steps back from the attention and, crossing behind me, she pushes her way between Lune and Artemis. She presses her flank against Lune and places her muzzle on top of Artemis’s nose. An intense moment passes as she pours images of love and appreciation into our heads. One last lick on Lune’s face and she walks through the rest of the pack, heading straight to the Alpha who is standing about twenty feet in front of us. She bows her head down as if asking for permission to approach. He closes the distance, and placing his head on top of hers, he approves the request.
They turn away from us, and start walking back into the denser woods, the rest of the pack falling in line behind. I wait, wondering if she will turn, hoping that she will consider running back and staying with our little family. She doesn’t of course; she is finished with this stage of her life. She gave a life for the one we saved … now our stories need to go in different directions. Lune, obviously waiting for the same thing I am, lets a small whine escape with the knowledge she isn’t coming back.
Artemis, so young, so innocent, looks at her father and tilts her head back to look up at me; unanswered questions dance across her eyes. I know exactly when the realization that her mother is leaving forever hits, because her eyes get clouded, and her gaze shifts between us. She wants us to bring Ursa back … and at the same time understands there is nothing we can do. She tips her head back and howls with as much power as her little lungs can muster. Sorrow fills the air as Lune joins in … but there is no answer from the wolf pack.
Starting our trek back to the cabin, Artemis gives up her strong front, and decides to lie down in a leaf bed underneath a tree. I sit down with her, and Lune lies in front of us putting his chin on my outstretched legs. I take off my backpack, pulling out water and Lune’s collapsible bowl. After pouring three quarters of my bottle into their bowl, I finish the rest in one long gulp. Forcing that much water down all at once actually makes my throat burn all the way to my stomach. The dogs lap at the water, but I know they find the same thing I do … nothing is going to reduce the size of the lumps in our throats, or the pain of the loss in our chests.
We were resting, because we didn’t know what else to do. I pick up Artemis and drape her across my shoulders, and with Lune right by my side, we start walking without direction or purpose.
Without meaning to, we make good time back to the cabin: covering about five miles in two hours. The sun is starting to set as I am unlocking the front door, and Michael pulls up in his work truck. Artemis, finding her strength again, runs up to him, bobbing and weaving with, almost, her normal energy.
Michael picks up right away on our funk; taking a quick look around, he asks, “Where’s Ursa?”
I drop my hand to Lune’s mane, and he presses his weight against my leg. He is not only asking for support … he is giving it.
Michael kneels and scratches down Artemis’s ribs. When he reaches her belly she proceeds to do a doggysault, tucking her head under her chest and pitching herself forward into Michael’s legs. He falls back, and she takes advantage of the chance to climb on top of him and clean his face, licking and wiggling the entire time.
Sitting up, and holding Artemis to his chest, he studies Lune’s and my attitude as we continue to stand wearily by the front door.
“She finally decided to go back home, huh?” He phrases it like a question, but he doesn’t expect an answer. He just nods his head, and holds Artemis a little closer to his chest.
