GoldenEars

by Jane H Wood

  The two men had rented the same place they’d stayed in previously. Granted, the cabin wasn’t anything special to look at, certainly old and rustic, but it contained the basics: two small bedrooms, a living room area with a log burner, and a kitchenette extending along the side of one wall.

  Residing deep in the forest, the cabin didn’t have the luxury of running water or electricity, and cooking facilities consisted of a small stove, fuelled by a gas cylinder that stood on the floor beside it.

  The owner, Morgan, had attempted to modernise the cabin, adding a chemical toilet and washroom to the small extension built on the side. The new facilities were very welcome, providing some much-needed privacy and a little extra comfort.

  A few yards away stood a wooden shed, specifically erected for guests to store supplies and equipment. And obligingly, inside, Morgan had left a further three gas cylinders, which Sam had agreed beforehand would be sufficient for their duration there.

  ‘Nearly there, Ed. You’ll love it when you see it. The cabin is set in a clearing with beautiful trees all around it, including some magnificent pine and fir specimens,’ encouraged Sam.

  He wanted his son to enjoy it and not ruin the vacation with his unsociable behaviour.

  ‘There’s a river not far from the cabin, Ed. We have fishing rods; how about we try for a catch?’ Bert suggested cheerfully.

  Edmund didn’t answer; he was scuffing his feet and kicking the odd weed as he walked. Both men looked at each other, and Sam shook his head sadly.

  It was late afternoon when they arrived, and the sun was low in the sky, casting hues of gold through the trees. The cabin came into view. It was the same old ramshackle building, friendly and inviting to Sam’s and Bert’s eyes. The two men mounted the couple of steps leading onto a small wooden veranda. The roof looked a bit dodgy, the timber panels along the front had gone pale and a few had begun to split.

  Inside, it was the same as they remembered – basic but comfortable. They dropped their backpacks on the floor.

  Edmund entered slowly; it was worse than he had imagined. He stood just inside the doorway, a morose expression fixed on his face while he stared in disgust at the shabby room. He watched his dad and Bert unpack the supplies and stack tins and packet foods away inside the cupboards. They were happily chatting to each other as they continued their task.

  ‘Your bedroom is over there, Ed,’ said Sam, finally turning to look at his son. He pointed to a door in the corner. ‘Bert and I will share a room, give you some space.’ He was trying his best to appear unaffected by his son’s moodiness.

  Without a word Edmund made his way into his room and closed the door behind him. He stood there, taking in the tiny space that would be his home for the next eight long weeks. Along the far wall was a bed, nicely furnished with a bright orange cover and pillow. At the foot of the bed stood a wooden chair, shabby and forlorn, staring at him. His bed faced the window; the view was as expected: thick forest, with dark towering trees appearing to lean over the cabin. Alongside the window stood an old, slightly wonky, wardrobe. On the opposite wall from his bed was a small chest of drawers in a similar run-down condition. He sighed scornfully, deciding he’d try and make the most of it. Dropping his bag on the floor he began putting his clothes into the drawers.

  ‘Is he all right?’ asked Bert. ‘He’s been in there a while now. Should we go in?’

  Sam stopped what he was doing.

  ‘No, let’s leave him be. I’ll make some coffee and maybe we can sit out on the step and relax for a bit.’

  The coffee made, the two men wandered outside and sat down on the top step. They drank in silence, appreciating the quietness of the forest. Sam’s eyes drifted over to the mountain range in the west.

  ‘Look at the mountains, Bert! It’s hard to believe anything happened. Must be… what… about four months ago now, wasn’t it?’ he asked casually.

  Bert frowned… then remembered.

  ‘Ah, yes. I read about it in the newspapers. Weren’t they going to send someone out to investigate what caused that disturbance? The ground shaking like that…?’ He stopped, clearly puzzled, as he sipped his strong black coffee.

  ‘Yeah, weird,’ replied Sam slowly, pondering the incident.

  Edmund had finished putting his belongings away and came out of his bedroom. Unexpectedly he found himself alone in the small living room. They had left him! Feeling panicked, he called out.

  ‘Dad, where are you?’

  ‘Here, son,’ came a voice from outside.

  Edmund hurried through the open doorway, and stopped.

  This was the first time that he’d actually looked up and taken any real notice of where he was. He stared mutely at the trees, the colours, the dancing shapes as the breeze disturbed the leaves, flocks of birds singing among their branches, and then a butterfly flew past, just inches from his face. He watched in pure fascination; he’d never seen anything so beautiful. Unexpectedly, a squirrel appeared and darted erratically towards the cabin, inquisitive and unafraid. It lingered, surveying them for the briefest moment, before darting up the nearest tree trunk, flicking its tail as it climbed.

  ‘Ed, are you okay?’ asked Sam, lifting an eyebrow in surprise because his son had a strange glazed look in his eyes.

  That was a week ago. Sam was pleased at how much his son was attempting to fit in. The three of them had spent their days fishing in the nearby river, catching some decent-sized carp, trout and yellow perch.

  The daily diet of fish, for Sam and Bert at least, was becoming a monotonous bore. So the next day the pair set about the task of explaining the procedure for using rope snares to catch the abundant small game, such as hares, that resided in the forest.

  ‘Firstly,’ instructed his dad, ‘if you’ve found evidence of hares on a patch of ground, their droppings for instance, then loop your rope using a drawstring knot, placing it in a likely spot concealed under a scattering of leaves, securing the other end to a branch or bush. The unsuspecting animal will hop over it, catching its leg and tightening the loop, holding it prisoner until we arrive.’

  Edmund wasn’t willing to use the snare method of hunting and an argument erupted between them, creating tension in the air again.

  After the altercation, Edmund reverted back to his moody self, unable to dismiss his feelings of anger at the barbaric hunting method. He began to spend more time in his little bedroom. Luckily, he’d brought some coloured pencils and a drawing pad, and made a start on a sketch, his hand working lightly over the paper as the form of the little squirrel gradually materialised.

  He knew his dad didn’t appreciate his drawings or understand why he was compelled to capture an image on paper. His dad hadn’t an artistic bone in his body, he grumbled, aware he’d inherited his talents from his mom. So, for now he would keep the picture hidden under his bed when he wasn’t working on it.

  He knew what this trip was really about; his dad was trying to make a man of him, roughing it in the wilderness. This cabin was a prime example. It was as though it had been chosen for that reason – cold and damp and not the least bit comfortable.

  He’d been told not to go walking in the forest by himself, for wolves, black bears and grizzly bears were known to frequently wander through the forest.

  Wolves could be heard howling occasionally during the day. However, when night fell they would really start in earnest, a sad haunting howl that had the power to send shivers down your spine.

  A fascination for wildlife had developed gradually since he’d arrived there. It had sneaked up on him, uninvited, forcing him to confront issues he wouldn’t normally think about. The more he learnt, the more determined he became in his search for knowledge. His interest in forest conservation and the flora and fauna had ignited a passion within him that his dad hadn’t seen before.

  For the second night running a severe storm had blown up from
the west, and distant thunder rolled around the mountains, gradually drifting eastward towards the hills and forests. The storm intensified as the night wore on, with numerous flashes of lightning coursing across the skies.

  Suddenly water was dripping from the ceiling where rain had penetrated through the cracks in the roof, forcing its way between the wooden tiles. A slow, persistent drip landed on the living room floor, making the cabin feel cold. Without hesitation Sam put a bucket underneath to catch the water.

  ‘It’s good clean water, ideal for washing in.’

  Nothing seems to daunt you, thought Edmund, but this is still a dump, he concluded and sighed noisily, before going to bed. It was just another thing they had to put up with. He was feeling fed up, trying to sleep, when he remembered his squirrel drawing and retrieved it from under his bed and sat up to finish it by flashlight.

  The following morning blue skies greeted him as he peered out his bedroom window. He yawned, feeling tired, letting the curtains swing closed. The noise of the thunder and pounding rain had kept him awake, and it was only after it had stopped that he’d finally drifted off to sleep. Then the sounds of wolves had returned early this morning, waking him prematurely. Maybe it was his imagination, but the howling sounded more intense than usual. He wondered if he might catch a glimpse of one, because he’d love to draw a big male or maybe some pups.

  He dressed quickly and wandered out of his room, feeling a pang of hunger. To his surprise the cabin was deserted. They’d obviously gone out early to hunt, leaving him to fend for himself, he thought, aware his feelings on hunting had caused friction among the three of them.

  Distracted, he wandered to the bread tin, lifted the lid and peered inside. A whiff of stale bread drifted out, the yeasty smell stinging his eyes. He groaned in disgust, turning his nose up as he hunted through the mouldy bread, searching for an acceptable slice. Choosing a piece, he helped himself to a banana and, once relieved of its brown speckled skin, rolled the bread around it. Glancing at it with a modicum of interest, he wandered outside, determined not to notice the bits of blue mould as he ate his sandwich.

  Standing on the top step he took stock of the forest. It was peaceful, birds sang in the nearby trees, apparently unaffected by last night’s storm and torrential rain, and unexpectedly he felt himself relax.

  The river wasn’t too far away and he could hear the water rushing downstream, louder than usual. He couldn’t see the river from his position, but the sound intrigued him.

  An impulsive urge to investigate had him reaching for his jacket, and he strode out the cabin door, jumped down the two veranda steps and set off briskly.

  He knew he shouldn’t be going out alone, it was dangerous, but he was feeling rebellious and followed the trail through the trees.

  A few minutes later the trees thinned and he found himself standing on a rocky outcrop overlooking the river. The normally slow meandering river had turned into a torrent of white water, foaming and buffeting against the rocks.

  Edmund stared, exhilarated – it was magnificent. The sight excited him and he turned to follow the course of the river, watching the tumbling fast-flowing waters below him. After a while he realised that he’d walked further than he’d intended, having been totally mesmerised by the beauty and sheer power of the river. He would turn back soon but not yet.

  Spying a flat rock near the edge of the river, he hurried towards it and sat down. Here, the river had widened, reducing the strength of the current, so now it gently rippled past him. Contented, Edmund listened to the birds singing, then observed one dive into the water, making the smallest splash, only to emerge in a flurry of wings and water droplets with a small fish wriggling in its beak.

  Further downstream he spied a hawk circling in the sky, its attention fixed on something in the shallows. He stared, fascinated. The bird descended and hovered near the edge of the riverbank.

  Edmund got to his feet and walked along the bank, but as he approached the hawk flew away. He stood on the sloping bank of shingle and rocks, feeling a surge of disappointment as he scanned the empty skies.

  The gentle lapping of water against the pebbles brought his attention to the water’s edge where small groups of rocks extended out into the river, interrupting the current. Standing in the shallows were clusters of coarse reed-like grasses, their roots submerged in the waters.

  Then something caught his attention, swaying gently back and forth.

  Cautiously he waded out, the water beginning to lap over his boots as he arrived at the spot. Amazed, he stared down in awe at a wolf pup, appearing dead, its head cradled in the grasses. He bent down, studying it closely, when the pup exhaled a shallow breath.

  It was alive!

  His heart quickened in excitement, wondering how it had got there. Removing his jacket, he stooped and picked up the little form, carefully laying it inside. Returning to the bank, he gently laid the bundle on the dry pebbles. The pup, sensing the warmth, began pushing its head deeper into his jacket.

  Edmund stood watching it, relieved it was alive but also wondering what to do. An unexpected prickle of fear made him turn round furtively, because a wolf pup meant a pack might be somewhere close by. Another shape caught his attention, and without hesitation he ran over to it, not caring that his trousers were getting splashed.

  He lifted a second little body clear of the water. It was another wolf pup, but this one was bigger than the first, and he carried it towards the bank, laying it by the side of the first.

  Brothers perhaps, he thought, for they had the same strange ears with yellow hairs on their tips, but unfortunately this one had received a bad gash to the side of its head and hadn’t survived. Unbidden, tears stung the back of his eyes as he surveyed the pup. He didn’t know how old it was but knew it wasn’t fully grown yet.

  He lifted the dead body and, cradling it in his arms, walked up the sloping bank, heading for the shade of a nearby tree. With care, he placed the sad little form among the fallen branches and leaf litter strewn at its base. Working quickly, he proceeded to cover the little body as best he could, hoping it would be sufficient to protect it from hawks or wild animals that might want to eat it. Afterwards he surveyed his handiwork, feeling confident the dead pup was out of sight. He returned quickly to the pup still nestling inside his jacket.

  Luckily, it hadn’t tried to move and looked comfortable lying there. Edmund lifted the precious bundle and set off back towards the cabin. It was then that a deep rumbling rolled across the skies. The ominous sound made him stop to survey the skies. He wrinkled his brows, perplexed, because the sky was still blue and cloudless. But it definitely sounded as though another storm was approaching, he thought, scanning the horizon.

  In the distance he noticed dark clouds were scudding across the mountain peaks, but somehow they looked unnatural, with colourings of mauve and grey merging together around the jagged summits.

  A rush of air blew onto his face as he watched the clouds. The pup stirred in his jacket, and Edmund quickly resumed his journey back towards the cabin before it fully woke up.

  Arriving at the cabin he was thankful to be alone, realising that his dad and Bert were still hunting.

  He opened the door to the timber shed and entered, deciding that this would provide a good place to hide the pup. It was only about ten feet square and crammed with their supplies. Gently he placed the pup on the ground and began moving their equipment to make a pen for it. A coil of rope lay in the corner and he quickly utilised it, tying it loosely around the pup’s neck and securing the other end to a metal ring screwed into the wooden panelling.

  Although the pup was small, only about the size of a young Labrador, it had sharp teeth. Edmund moved cautiously, keeping his distance, but try as he might he couldn’t keep his eyes off it. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  Satisfied with the arrangement of the shed, he knelt down just inches from th
e pup. Its ears fascinated him, and unable to refrain the impulse he reached forward to touch the golden hairs growing on their tips. They felt so soft and silky under his fingers, and he breathed the words, ‘golden ears,’ quietly to himself.

  Slowly Kegg opened his eyes and they swivelled in his direction, holding a steady unblinking gaze into his own. Edmund felt a flicker of fear stir inside as he looked into two pale yellow eyes. He backed away nervously, but the pup didn’t move, just stared at him. Unable to stand, weak and exhausted, Kegg closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep.

  Outside, Sam and Bert had returned; Edmund could hear them talking. He scrambled to his feet and ran out to greet them.

  ‘Hi Dad, Bert. What have you got there?’ he asked, a little too enthusiastically.

  Sam stared at his son, slightly taken aback by his son’s good humour, and looked at him with growing suspicion.

  ‘What have you been up to? Why were you in the shed?’ he asked, dropping four hares onto the porch and sitting down heavily beside them. Edmund stared at the dead animals. He would have to feed the wolf pup, and wondered how he was going to do it undetected.

  ‘Edmund… answer me!’ called Sam, getting annoyed. For his son seemed to be in one of his daydreams again.

  ‘Cleaning!’ said Edmund impulsively. ‘Um… just tidying up the shed. I thought I should pull my weight, Dad. I know I’ve been awkward and moody, and I promise it will stop,’ he said, looking at their stunned faces.

  The meal that evening was fried hare, with mash and peas. Edmund gulped it down, almost choking in his haste to leave the table.

  ‘Not so fast, Ed,’ gasped Sam, fearing his son was going to make himself sick. He was amazed at the change in his attitude, and glanced at Bert, noticing he shared his amusement.

  ‘I’m stuffed. That was great, Dad. Where are the rest of the hares?’ he asked in quick succession, though trying to calm himself down, realising both men were staring at him with suspicion again.