Abalone leads the way through several more turns in this markless maze until we come to an apparently blank wall. Now she finds her grin again and pushes aside a heavy canvas curtain. I gasp—it is so perfectly painted that I must touch it to reassure myself that she has not somehow transformed stone so that it will bend.
“Head Wolf made it,” she says, again with the touch between her breasts. “He calls it tromp le eye.”
She gestures me past her and I step onto a narrow platform that extends over Chaos. Abalone is beside me in a moment and she gestures down.
“That’s the Jungle—Welcome home!”
I cannot move. I cannot speak. I can only look down and, as I do, the colors resolve themselves into shapes and people.
Abalone has brought me to a great cylindrical room made all of metal welded along lumpy seams. Electric lights ring the middle heights, illuminating all but the highest curve.
There are holes scattered randomly and some of these are patched. Others lead to wooden platforms like the one on which we perch. Ladders of rope and wood and metal cling more or less firmly to the sides. Heavy ropes and cables web the cylinder’s heights. From some of these, hammocks are suspended, with people asleep in them or swinging gently back and forth.
On the ground level more people mill. Some are eating; others are singing around a small camp stove. Along one edge, a three-quarters-naked couple wrestle, oblivious to the action around them. I guess that there must be three or four dozen people within the cylinder and that most are adolescents.
To one side, with a cleared area around it, is a small domed tent, beautifully painted with lush jungle foliage and bright, impossible flowers.
Abalone tugs me and half leads, half drags me to the nearest ladder. Knees shaking, I follow her to the floor. She does not pause to praise me, but simply walks directly toward the painted tent.
Overwhelmed, I clutch my travel bag and, with my eyes downcast, walk behind Abalone. Even so, I see little things that tease my curiosity: an ebony recorder with the loving polish of hundreds of hands, a worn doll, a pair of new shoes with the tag still on them, again and again, the wolf emblem. I hear soft comments as we thread our way to the tent, but no one addresses us directly. Sometimes, only Abalone’s strut tells me that we are the center of many eyes.
We halt before the tent and Abalone motions for me to keep silent.
Then she squares her shoulders, thrusts out her little breasts, and proclaims: “We be of one blood, ye and I!”
Her words have barely been completed when the tent’s door-flaps open and a young man walks out. He is dark-haired and dark-eyed, with brown skin and fine features like those of a Hindu doctor at the Home. He wears nothing but a loosely wrapped bit of cloth around his slender hips. His skin is lightly beaded with sweat and I smell clean, male musk.
He is trailed out by a petulant-looking girl with pure white hair and slate grey eyes, wearing nothing at all but a wolf tattooed on one buttock. As she walks across to get water from a tap, I see that the wolf chases a doe tattooed on the other buttock.
But this is peripheral, for the man is speaking to Abalone and with his words, chatter and song melt into silence in waves around us.
“What have you brought to me, Abalone?”
“One of the people from the Home. A woman. Her name is Sarah.”
“Sarah,” he tastes my name, “from the Home. What do you have to say for yourself?”
His black eyes meet mine and something like lightning flashes through me. I have seen such eyes time and again in the Home. Always the clear, piercing gaze was dulled sooner or later by drugs. The Head Wolf is mad—utterly and completely mad, but it is a glorious madness.
Almost too late, I recall that he has demanded a response from me and I struggle to find one.
“I celebrate myself, and sing myself, and what I assume you shall assume, for every atom belonging to me as good as belongs to you.”
As Abalone had, Head Wolf stares at me. Then he smiles and gracious lips curve in a gracious smile.
“A fine reply, Sarah. Do you mean what you say?”
“Head Wolf wants to fuck you,” the white-haired girl snickers. “Do you know what that means, fruitcake?”
Without turning, Head Wolf backhands her. His eyes never leave me.
“Edelweiss is correct. I would like to fuck you. You are strangely beautiful, Sarah. But I think that you need food and sleep more. I will wait, for now.”
His too-brilliant eyes leave me and turn to Abalone.
“You have done well, sister wolf. You may have beer and pizza enough for you and Sarah. Let her sleep in a hammock near yours or if she fears the Heights, you may claim lair rights for her on the ground. Guard her well and bring her to me next twilight and we will teach her the Law of the Jungle.”
He reenters his tent. Minutes later, Edelweiss follows him, the handprint still bright against her pale cheek.
Abalone brings us pizza and beer. She doesn’t laugh when I feed some to my dragon.
I find that I can sleep in a hammock and with daylight the electric lights are turned off and the Jungle lapses into a sleepy lull. Despite the novelty of sleeping twenty feet above the ground, I am exhausted enough that I sleep until the electric lights come on again.
When Abalone sees me moving, she climbs over and takes me below, where I can wash. She even helps me to comb my hair. Then we climb back into the Heights and study the Jungle while we await the time to meet with the Head Wolf.
“Careful, Sarah,” she cautions me when I get overbold. “We’re up a bit and there’s no net to catch you.”
“Life,” I say with a shy smile, “is performed daily without a net.”
She smiles her blue smile. “That’s the spirit, Sarah. You’ll like it here in the Jungle if you really think that way. You must be burning up with curiosity, but can you ask questions?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I offer hesitantly.
“Right, but cats like it in the Jungle. Cats and dogs and children, all of us strays, but we’re happy here.”
She sits next to me and shows me how easily the hammock becomes a swing. I put Betwixt and Between on my lap so that they can see the panorama of the Jungle come to life.
“Hey, Sarah.”
Abalone’s voice is tentative and already I know enough about her to feel surprised. I turn to look at her face and realize that she is blushing. I raise one eyebrow and she blushes more.
“Sarah, about sex—fucking. Do you understand it?”
I search for a reply.
I am hardly a virgin. The first man to empty himself into me was a psychiatrist brought in by the Home to discover if I really was mute. When he decided that I was, he raped me. It was easily done—all I was wearing was a paper gown. He finished, cleaned himself up, and then me. When someone commented that I seemed distressed after the session, he dismissed it as trauma related to the testing. I was twelve.
Later, other men and a few women discovered what can be done to a mute. When I learned to speak—in my fashion—the assaults diminished some.
Abalone, I realize, is fearful for my presumed innocence. I wonder what this fire-haired girl has seen.
“Man, biologically considered,” I reply at last, “is the most formidable of all the beasts of prey, and, indeed, the only one that preys systematically on its own species.”
Abalone laughs. “Oh, it’s not that bad.”
“The evil that men do lives after them,” I parry feistily.
“Yeah, I guess you’ve seen a bit,” she says after a moment’s reflection. “Head Wolf isn’t too bad and he won’t fuck you unless you ask him. Some of the others…They know the Law, but still, watch out.”
Motion from Head Wolf’s tent distracts her. She begins to climb to the nearest ladder.
“Follow me, Sarah. We can’t keep Head Wolf waiting.”
I follow, afraid to go again before those mad black eyes, yet tingling with anticipation. This time, when Abalone s
tops before the tent there is no shouted challenge. Head Wolf is waiting and with a toss of his head he gestures us to a cleared open space where many of the other Jungle residents are gathering.
“This is our Council Rock,” Head Wolf says. “Here we give our Law. Some of the Pack must go out and hunt, but the rest have stayed this little while to help me teach you.”
He puts out his hand and a tattered green book is put into it. The oversized cover is dark, forest green, painted with a beautiful young man seated beside a wolf, a black panther, and a bear. Head Wolf holds up the cover so that I can see it.
He smiles. “What do you see, Sarah?”
The Jungle becomes silent. I can sense that how I answer will shape all my interaction with these people. Frightened, I tighten my grip on Betwixt and Between until the spikes along their back dent my hand.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest one of all?” I stammer.
Someone chuckles. Abalone kicks out. My eyes never leave Head Wolf. Will he understand me?
“What is the mirror, Sarah?” he asks softly.
I point to the book, my finger just touching the beautiful boy.
“And what does the mirror reflect, Sarah?”
I move my hand and gently brush his face.
“Very good,” he purrs, “very good. This Book holds our Law. Listen. We will tell it to you.”
He faces his people and I turn with him. For the first time, I notice that each one wears the sign of the wolf. Sometimes it is a piece of jewelry, others a patch on clothing, a few a tattoo proudly displayed.
Head Wolf raises his hand and like a conductor signaling a downbeat drops it. A chant rises.
“Now this is the Law of the Jungle—as old and as true as the sky. And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.”
They go on, verse after verse. Abalone’s eyes are wide and serious. The boy who kneels next to her screws his eyes shut with concentration. A tall black girl beats her hand between her breasts. I search futilely for one face that is less than impassioned. The words burn themselves into my mind. By the end, I know them all perfectly.
“That is our Law,” Head Wolf says with a proud smile for his people. “Can you learn it, Sarah?”
I hesitate. Edelweiss already does not like me. Perhaps I should take care not to gain Head Wolf’s favor.
“Go for it, girl!” Betwixt hisses.
“That memory of yours is the best thing you have going for you,” Between adds.
I draw a deep breath and begin: “Now this is the Law of the Jungle…”
Silence greets my conclusion. Then there is a rustle and a chorus of yips and barks and howls shake the metal walls. Only when I see Abalone’s proud smile do I realize that the powerful cacophony is meant as applause.
The Head Wolf’s brown face is lit with a fierce smile. “Very good, Sarah. Do you understand the words that you just recited?”
“We know in part, and we prophesy in part,” I say, hastening to clarify. “When I was a child, I understood as a child.”
“You understand some, then.” Head Wolf awaits my nod before continuing. “Fine. The Law ends with ‘Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw, in all that the Law leaveth open, the word of the Head Wolf is Law.’ I am Head Wolf and so I have ruled these two additions to fit our Jungle Law. Chocolate, tell Sarah.”
A pretty black boy with dreadlocks stands and bows. “No one shall have sex with anyone, anyway that one don’t want it. Lest they die. No one pushes drugs here. Lest they die.”
Head Wolf grimaces slightly. “Without poetry, but the sense is there. Pretty good, Chocolate.”
“Sarah, since you don’t understand all the Law, you’ll need a Baloo, a teacher. Is there anyone who you would like?”
Betwixt whispers, “You were worried about Edelweiss, Sarah. Here’s your chance to make friends with her.”
I nod, but I am hearing the memory of Abalone’s triumphant cry “Beer and pizza!” She is looking hopefully at me and I point to her.
“Those having torches will pass them onto others,” I state.
Her bright smile is my reward.
After asking for Abalone and me to wait, Head Wolf walks among his people.
Some of the Pack members are clearly dressing—or undressing—for a night turning tricks. Head Wolf pats this one on the exposed cheek of her ass, straightens that one’s hair, sends another to change her blouse. Nor does he shirk the boys. Most of these are groomed to maximize their youth. Head Wolf carefully rouges one fair-haired boy’s cheeks. He sends another to redepilate his beard.
Across the Jungle floor, small teams are donning leather and spikes. I see the flash of blades and hear the dull clank of metal on metal. Many of these are as flamboyantly dressed as Abalone. While the prostitutes wear their wolf signs discreetly, this group has them blazoned on jackets, armbands, and jewelry.
My observations are halted by the return of Head Wolf. He gestures us into the tent.
“Come inside, Sarah. I need to explain to you how life in the Jungle works.”
We duck under the painted flap. The tent floor is thickly carpeted with rugs piled on each other. Pillows are heaped around the edges. Despite fresh air through net windows, the small space smells of sex.
My heart begins to beat faster and I am honestly not certain if what I feel is fear or anticipation. But Head Wolf merely lounges back on some of the pillows. Abalone sits cross-legged on the soft floor and I follow suit, placing Betwixt and Between in front of me.
When we are comfortable, Head Wolf begins his lessons. “In the Jungle, we follow the Law, as you have seen. And like any wolf pack, we must hunt to provide for ourselves and our people. The Law has several provisions for distribution of the kill. I have simplified these somewhat for our different circumstances.”
Abalone touches my arm. “Is he going too fast, Sarah?”
I shake my head.
“Even if I am,” Head Wolf replies, “Abalone will teach you.”
Abalone nods solemnly, her silver-and-shell earrings rattling softly as she does. Head Wolf continues.
“Simply, each of us must support our own needs. Moreover, I take a payment from each member to maintain the Jungle. With this I buy necessities, bribe police and social workers, and give rewards. New members are carried by the Pack for a week—although most begin to contribute sooner. After that, they must hunt for the Pack.”
My head is swirling with questions that I cannot ask. I want to be part of this Jungle, but how? I still fear the madness in Head Wolf’s eyes. Now he is the gentle teacher, but I sense brutality enforces his Jungle Law.
Abalone pipes up. “I checked her travel bag, Head Wolf. She has one other set of those awful clothes, a bit of soap and stuff like that, a slip that says she’s had all her shots, and this.”
She holds out my credit slip. Head Wolf takes it, inspects the numbers, and hands it back.
“Print coded,” he says. “A fair amount, but not generous. The Pack will carry her for the remainder of the week. After, if you pool your resources with hers, the next week’s fees can be handled. By then, you should find her something to do.”
Abalone nods. “Fair enough.”
Something flashes in the dark eyes at her words and she shrinks back.
Fawning, she rolls onto her back, exposing her throat and her bare breasts. Head Wolf straddles her and bites her throat, worrying the fragile skin. As he does so, he closes off her nose and mouth so that she cannot breathe.
I see Abalone’s hands curl, but she doesn’t whimper.
After a terrifying minute, he releases her. As she rolls upright, gasping for air, I see blunt teeth marks on her skin.
Head Wolf growls at her. “I am always fair.”
“You are always fair,” she agrees.
Trembling, I realize that she believes this.
Three
MY EARLY DAYS IN THE JUNGLE FLIT BY. ABALONE
IS A GOOD Baloo, teaching me the customs of the Jungle. One of my favorite lessons is how to travel the Heights without fear. I am fiercely proud of myself the day that I graduate from the cubwalks to the lines and pulleys that the Wolves use.
Yet, many evenings she must leave me to hunt. All the Jungle awakens in the evening, its coming alive heralded by the chirping of the ‘Tail Wolves,’ as the prostitutes are called. Their preparations take the longest, but soon after they awaken, their protectors—the Four they are called, although there are more than four—also rise, donning leather and weapons.
The Tail Wolves and the Four share each others’ profits, but each pays individual fees to Head Wolf. I see he is careful that they do not become a Pack within his Pack.
Others of the Pack make their way by selling drugs. Some of these fall prey to their own wares. Head Wolf deals with such harshly. When he repeatedly cannot pay his fee, one young man gone into designer dream is declared a hanger-on by Head Wolf from the same Council Rock where he taught me the Law. From my place in the Heights, I watch in horror as Head Wolf strangles the boy in his sleep.
Abalone is neither a Tail Wolf nor a member of the Four. She tells me she has turned tricks only when she has had no other way to earn her keep; something in her voice tells me that this is not often.
What she prefers is stealing. Her flamboyant exterior hides the soul of stealth and her special prey is vehicles. One good strike in a month and she is comfortable. Still, she takes a long time preparing each strike. All I understand of her craft is her oft-repeated phrase: “The days of hot wire and go are gone. Today, more than half the theft takes place in a computer.”
Tonight she has left almost before dark falls to take care of some business. I swing alone above the near silent Jungle, Betwixt and Between in my lap.
“From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs,” I say softly aloud.
“Wondering what you can do?” Betwixt asks. “I thought so.”
“Me, too,” Between adds, then recites, “Don’t want to be a Tail Wolf/Don’t want to be a Four/But no matter what you name yourself/You’re nothing but a whore.”
Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls Page 2