Was it possible--he was up on his feet in the surging act of
madness--was it possible she could hate and love him in the same way?
He could not understand.
His mind must have flown away, missing the interval, the second of
decision. But she was here. She was down. It was over.
She had screamed once, he thought, like a human thing; his ears held
something of the strangled cry. More of the moment returned, her flaring
mouth receiving the point in mid-air, her own driven weight spitting her
upon it. It could not have happened.
It had happened, and she was down, and it was over, and he could
remember his own backward staggering at the impact while all of him
tightened down on that center of existence where his hands grasped the
green ash spear. There followed some wave of elastic power in his legs,
and all the force was then flowing the other way until it was over.
Simple butchery remained. He must follow with the spear her agonized
writhing, hating no longer. No danger. Her failing paws threshed and
tore at the shaft of the death she had swallowed. Her blood fumed out
around it from a pierced lung.
It was all over.
* * * * *
"Thursday night we came away--remember? That was the night you fell
sick, and was burning and tossing all day Friday. Saturday you was
better, but once or twice you didn't know me. It was the Friday night
when the wolves came."
"Are they still about? Nay, they can't be on so fair a morning. I feel
washed clean, Ru. Weak, but--oh, I could do anything."
"Weaker than you know. It'll pass. I saw the wolves last on Saturday.
They scented something, I think, and drifted away."
"It's all so still under the sun, and warm--what? I thought this was
Saturday."
"This is Monday, Ben. Yesterday was the Sabbath. I hadn't thought of
that till now, when you began asking me about the time. It was yesterday
your fever broke for good. These three days have been a hundred years.
I've had much time to think, when there was nothing else I could
do--mind the fire, gather more wood, then either think or go mad, but
I've not gone mad. I have not prayed, Ben, since before dawn on the
Friday morning."
"I don't know what I should say about that. Father said, just before he
died--did you hear?--said that God is far away."
"And Mother's last prayer was not answered. She prayed, 'Deliver us from
evil.' And mine have never been answered."
"But we can't know that."
"I can't say that I know anything, anything at all, except that I'm here
with you, and the air has turned warm, and the Bay Path road must be
somewhere a mile or so over yonder, and tomorrow we shall try for
Roxbury."
"And that thou hast killed a wolf.... Ru, if I didn't see that carcass
under my nose----"
"I never lied to you. Oh--tales for your fancy now and then."
"I know that. What did you do with the hide?"
"Flung it out to the cannibals. The entrails too, and the head. They
were delighted."
"Puh! What's this part I'm eating now and enjoying so?"
"Have you swallowed it, Mr. Cory?"
"I have, and you needn't try to make me puke."
"A puppy. She was carrying young--six. I had one whole, when you was
still in the fever."
"Ow-ooh!"
"Oh, ay, your ears'll turn furry any day now. I say, Ben, when we're
dirty-rich and famous, let's keep a few wolves on hand--you know, so to
have roasted pups for guests of distinction."
"Now you sound like yourself."
"Do I?... Ben, I--something happened that night, Friday night."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know whether I can tell it.... When I dragged the carcass to
the fire I was crying like a fool, I don't know why. Sat there crying
with her bloody head on my knees, some-way I couldn't make it seem she
was only a piece of meat. Later I could, later it didn't matter. And
then--well...."
"What is it, Ru?"
"I found my britches were wet. Nay, not what you think, and not her
blood neither, though that's dried all over 'em and I declare we both
smell like the Devil's own. Remember you told me how some time soon,
whenever it happened, I'd be spending the seed?"
"Oh--of course."
"Ben, I didn't know it when it happened. It must have been the moment
when I was killing her. I didn't know it could happen that way."
"I didn't neither."
"Is something wrong with me?"
"No, no."
"You see, I already knew how it feels. I did confess to you about
that--long ago, remember? That was the time when you told me, about the
change, and the seed."
"Yes. Well, they say it's a sin to bring it on, but I think it must be
venial, Ru, for Jesse said once that every man's vessels are alway in
need of it. The dreams don't help. Nothing's wrong with you."
"But why didn't I know it when it happened?"
"Oh, the excitement--why, you must have been white-hot, to stand up to a
wolf with nothing but a little stick. I didn't know it could happen that
way, but I think it's not so strange."
"Jesse Plum.... Why did Father never speak of those things?"
"I don't know, Ru."
"Did he to you?"
"No, he never.... Look: I remember I spent once, merely from lifting a
big rock. And--oh, tree-climbing, things like that. So you see--anyway
there's nothing wrong with you, brother, nothing."
"Do you have those dreams much, Ben?"
"Not too often. You?"
"Oh, they...."
"You will. You'll be dreaming about girls, and----"
"I ... You'll be strong enough to go on tomorrow, Ben. One thing: we
needn't fret now about anyone following from Springfield. That snow will
have covered everything. I hope they found the turkey blood before it
began a-falling. We can go slowly, rest as soon as we come to another
fair shelter. This morning might be the start of another thaw, even an
early spring--only look at the tears of that spruce, how they fall in
the sun! We'll find more food some-way, now that you're well. There must
be towns between here and Roxbury, where we could work for a few meals,
a few nights' rest."
"Why, sure, we'll make it.... What happened to your jacket?"
"My--oh, the wolf."
"But the wolf did not reach you, brother."
"I dragged her."
"And so got your jacket torn and muddy on the inside? But I found it
wrapped around my legs yesterday when I woke with a clear head, and you
slipped it away, but I knew. Last night when it turned a little colder
you put it around me again, thinking I was asleep, and I was silent,
wishing to speak but too stupid."
"No need. You'd have done the same. Don't speak of it now."
"Very well. But----"
"Thou owest me nothing. I've been forced to think of these things--so
many hours, Ben, when I--nay, but how could there be any owing or
standing beholden between thee and me?"
"I think I owe thee everything."
"No! Pray understand, Ben. It's not a thing to be measured--why, it's
not a thing at all, but--oh, like a region one travels through, an area
of light."
"Love, a region?"
"What else? Can you own it or give it or take it? It came to me, Ben,
that we only dwell in it, as in the sun, or this morning air."