Written for an exercise in Neil Gaiman’s Masterclass.
“This being our first session together, can you tell me a little about your background?”
“I’m from here but originally, my family was from farming country in the east. Let me volunteer that I’m from a long line of hunters.”
“Really? Well actually, I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that.”
“Yeah, just look at me. A born hunter. As were my parents and their parents before them. Constantly hunting and moving. Over the years, that’s how the family ended up here in W- State. Each generation eventually finds and settles in its own territory but this is a fine place to end up in.”
“Agreed. Lovely place.”
“Oh yeah. These constant mountains around us and the ever-shifting weather. What a combination. Especially if you are the type that hungers for the outdoors. Nothing like sleeping under a sky filled with stars, rising the next day to go hunting for a meal. Imagine having that kind of freedom generation after generation.”
“I can only imagine what you’re describing. That is some life.”
“You should try it. You’re local right? There’s no law against hunting.”
“Hunting just isn’t in my blood. But it certainly appears that you have a really adventurous life. Such unfettered freedom. So why did you come to see me today ?”
“Things are fine, generally. But I’ve had something gnawing inside me for years. Its affected my health. My diet’s been uneven over the years.”
“Please go on.”
“You see things are not as pretty as I mentioned.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a hunter but the truth is, that’s only been a mantle I put on when I needed to. I can do it naturally. In truth, I’m a vegetarian. Been so for years. I don’t blame your look of surprise Doctor. Let me explain how it came to this. As I said, we’ve only known a life as hunters. Sure, over the years, some of my – shall we say -species have migrated into the suburbs, gradually learning to live in locations with greater and more varied populations.”
“There was a lot of your family from out of state too, I believe.”
“Still are. When the valleys get overcrowded with farms and farm animals, things are good for a while. Then farmers get angry and come at us with guns and traps. We move elsewhere, up into the mountains, to newer fields. Eventually, even the mountains get a little too crowded and competition is always bad. We’ve learnt to move with the times. You don’t see many of my kind here in town but there are cities on this continent that are popular habitats for my kind.”
“Did your diet change because of the movement to the city?”
“No. Not at all. A lot of these fellows nowadays -take 90% in any city -go vegetarian partially because its fashionable and the other 10% is because of what they say are ‘humanitarian’ reasons. They avoid meat because it’s no longer fashionable. I got no beef with that. I’m fine with the directions that migration has taken us. I get that overpopulation and climate change impacts all of us, every single species on the planet. If that means less of us prefer to hang out under the stars at night and hunting day by day, even less of my species finds hunting attractive, that’s fine by me. My own problem started long ago, long before these city fashionistas and their diets and their first pinpricks of conscience. It started when I was just out of my teens, ambitious and hungry, full of hope for the future.”
“What happened?”
“In return for a species-transcending act of unnatural compassion on my part, I was betrayed. I became an outcast among my family and friends.”
“I thought wolves were fine with a life of solitude.”
“Yes we are, but we still find mates and settle down eventually. We have our own dens. I say we, but of course, I never did any of those normal wolf things.”
“Why?”
“Like I said, I became an outcast due to a particular incident in my youth. I’m not sure if you’d heard this but where I come from -“
“How long ago are we speaking about ?”
“This was nearly forty years ago. Where I come from, my story is legendary in a negative way. It’s become a folktale, a cultural warning. I’d gone hunting in the mountains and found a trail of piglets followed closely by human shoeprints. I figured it could be a farmer tracking his escaped animals.”
“You followed them.”
“Of course. The easiest and most natural thing in the world for a wolf to do.”
“What happened?”
“After some time, I heard distinct squeals. I moved as silently as I could and came upon a clearing in the forest, where I saw the farmer brandishing a crudely fashioned stake, poking and prodding at three pigs, who were trapped in a makeshift wicker cage. They could not have been more than piglets but they looked well fed and had rosy cheeks. Now they were frightened and dirty. He’d caught up with his escaped animals.”
“What did you do?”
“I was overcome by a strange compulsion.”
“You attacked the human?”
“Not at first. I don’t kill for sport. Or social justice. But the man was prodding and poking a little too deliberately, and I could see that the stake-end was reaching its mark with every wild cry and a few spots of blood appearing on the bodies of the pigs. I felt a strange, new compulsion to me then and gave in to it. I attacked him from behind.”
“Out of compassion, as you said? This was the species-transcending act.”
“Yes. Yes, that was it.”
“Did you attack the human since he was threatening to kill your meal?”
“That’s how I explained it later to my family and acquaintances – unsuccessfully I admit – when I was asked to justify my actions. At the time, it felt the right thing to do. It felt right to me to stop the pain the man was inflicting on the little pigs.”
“What happened to the man?”
“I killed him as soon as I embedded my teeth into his neck.”
“Then?”
“I freed the pigs.”
Silence.
“They asked for help. I’d killed the human., their farmer. They asked me to free them and help them get safely off the mountain.”
“And you freed them? Why?”
“I don’t know. That felt like the right thing to do as well. We left the bloody farmer’s corpse. I led them down the mountain. When we came out into a meadow, they asked me to help them further.”
“Help them how?”
“Shelter. They needed shelter as they’d run off their farm. They did not want to go back. So the pigs gathered grass and leaves and I tried constructing a rudimentary shelter for them. To test it, I blew on the structure and the flimsy house fell in a single breath. Then we tried another, shadier location, where they found twigs and dried branches. Again, when I blew on the structure I’d constructed from different angles, it too collapsed. Finally, we came to an abandoned outhouse next to a burnt shed that local farmers had once used when they took their sheep into the fields and stayed overnight when the weather was poor. I managed to move some pieces of timber and broken bricks around. Another rudimentary shelter but this one was solid. This time, when I blew on it repeatedly. I leaned against it and threw a few bricks as well but the structure stood firm. Job done. That was it. The pigs went into their new home and I turned to go when out of nowhere, shots were fired, narrowly missing me. A handful of armed men came out of the trail leading from the mountain. I went in the opposite direction, losing myself in tall weeds and grass. But I didn’t go far. Worried for the pigs, I stayed close enough to see that they were safe. When the man leading the gunmen approached the outhouse I’d just helped turn into a home, the three little pigs ran out.
I heard them stop in front of a bearded, big bellied man who appeared to be the leader of the group.
“Mr. Y- is dead. We found his body in a clearing on the mountain. How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Kill him!”
“We didn’t do it. That wolf did it. The one that you just scared off! Didn’t you notice the bite marks on Mr. Y-‘s neck?”
And so, the story spread that I’d killed the farmer and allowed the pigs to escape. The tale, told and retold many times, eventually came to the knowledge of my folks, in a form that was far removed from the truth as I’d experienced it. It became accepted wisdom that I, a wolf, had let off three little, succulent pigs after killing their owner, aiding their escape and after building them a nice house.”
“Why do you think the pigs did what they did? You’d saved them and had even helped build them proper shelters. Although, arguably, they did tell part of the truth, it was not the whole story. Did you feel betrayed?”
“Very much so, initially. In fact, I felt wronged for some time afterwards. But eventually, it struck me that they probably had no other choice. By making me the villain, they would escape punishment for being responsible (even if only partly) for their farmer’s death. To be accused of killing a human being is one of the greatest horrors to befall a creature, certainly for a creature that historically is not used to carrying such a burden, unlike say wolves or other predators. I can understand that perfectly, although accepting it with equanimity is another matter.”
“You saved three little pigs and let them get away. You didn’t kill them. “
“No, I didn’t.”
“And you built them a house to boot.”
Nod.
“That is the burden you’ve been carrying. Its affected your relationships and your diet. It’s challenged who you are as a wolf. Your identity.”
Another nod.
“Do you think about this sometime when you’re under the night sky?”
“I certainly do. I wonder if I’d made a different decision along the way. I even think how things would’ve turned out, imagining that I was eating roasted piglets under the night sky.”
“Does that help?”
“No, I’ve given up on meat. I can’t see myself as society’s accepted image of a wolf.”
“Even though the pigs set you up?”
“Yes. That seems trivial. I’ve become a different animal because of my experiences. But I’m not sure if I see myself as wanting to go back to being the cliched wolf that I’m supposed to be.”
“Does that make you feel better instead?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes, instead I feel inadequate. That something is seriously wrong with me. I stopped eating meat shortly after. Imagine how that played in the family and community? My parents thought I needed to see a shrink, that I must be having some serious mental-health issues. The community? I was the butt of jokes and a warning to other young wolves on the dangers of becoming too modern and soft. A wolf that did not behave as a wolf was supposed to. I kept to myself and went away as often as I could.”
“Did you speak to anyone about how you felt?”
“I spoke with a few girls who firstly, did not appreciate a wolf who shared his problems. When they discovered I was a vegetarian – usually by the first date meal – they’d have made up their mind about me. One girl told me she was going no further with me because she couldn’t imagine how we’d raise healthy cubs when one parent was vegetarian. That she couldn’t be expected to carry the burden of hunting and raising the young at the same time.”
“How about friends?”
“I got nothing beyond stock macho advice from them. ‘Its probably only a phase.’ ‘Come with us. We’ll hunt something. A good meat meal will do the trick.’ Eventually, as it dawned on them that I wasn’t going through a phase, they had less time for me or to listen to my problems. I left the place, came over here. I still love the mountains and being out there alone but the suburbs here allow me to blend in. And I’ve been carrying this sense of inadequacy within me ever since.”
“Did you ever come across the pigs again?”
“Those same pigs? No.”
“What do you hope to accomplish now, since this old experience is still there at the back of your mind?”
“Is there any way I can be exonerated?”
“Exonerated?”
“Of the mistakes I was supposed to have made? That might help me.”
“That your act of species transcending compassion should have been lauded if the true story was told.”
“Yes. Absolutely that! That if the truth was made known – that I actually helped them, in a moment of compassion to escape their tormentor. That I led them to safety, built a shelter for these defenseless piglets before leaving – I should have been given a medal for what I’d done. Animal rights organizations should commend me. I should be invited to give talks on doing the civilized thing long before such acts were accepted in most societies. They’re still not accepted in all places. Helping fellow animals instead of reverting to instinctive responses should be recognized as a great act on my part.”
Pause. A smile.
“I’m telling you what I want. It shouldn’t matter what I want. What do you think, as a professional?”
“I think that’s an interesting thing to want. And it’s not wrong for you to desire it, even if its difficult to attain.”
“In my opinion, that’s actually quite a reasonable desire on my part. But speaking with you about it has certainly helped. But, exoneration? You’re right. That’s not in my hands.”
“Perhaps not.”
“But worthy of a medal, you might say.”
“Definitely.”
“Well, I’m glad you feel better speaking about the whole thing. Come back again whenever you want to Mr. Wolf and we’ll discuss further on exoneration.”
Photo from Unsplash.com by Taylor Leopold
