The Healer

by Daniel P. Mannix

  Abe Zook was standing beside him. The old braucher looked at him strangely.

  "Did you do that?"

  "Me? I was standing here the whole time. I never moved."

  "Your mind did not move? You were not willing the boy to fall?"

  Billy hesitated a moment, and Zook nodded.

  "I saw you. Your mind had left your body. You were calling on the werewolffen to strike one of those boys for you. That is hexerei."

  Billy felt a wonderful surge of power. "Is it bad?"

  "Unless you are a very great braucher, indeed, someday the werewolf comes for his payment. His payment is always your soul, and you will run with him for eternity. That is why I never practice hexerei."

  "Perhaps someday I will be a very great braucher."

  "Many have thought that, which is why there are werewolffen. Now we will see how badly the boy is hurt."

  They joined the crowd around the areaway. The boy seemed more frightened than hurt for he limped off with his friends.

  On the long ride back to the farm, Billy dreamed of being a great braucher who could strike down his enemies by black magic and who lived alone in the woods with Dracula and Wolf.

  Billy would have liked to have had his weekends to himself—to go hunting with Dracula, play with Grip, or wander through the woods looking for Wolf and Blackie, but Abe Zook would have none of it. "Even on Saturdays, you work still," said the old man, so Billy only had Sundays off. In the early mornings as soon as it was light, he and Wasser had to run the trap line. This was a task that Billy hated. He was afraid of the traps— there was always the chance that one would go off unexpectedly and catch his fingers—but worst of all was killing the trapped animals. They flung themselves the length of the chain, turning a somersault when they came to the end, and lay panting with desperation, waiting for the blow that would put them out of their misery. Then in the evenings was the delicate and laborious work of skinning and preparing the pelts.

  For a long time, Zook refused to allow Billy to go to the woods alone. The boy knew that Wolf and Blackie were still about, since on several occasions the animals had learned the location of the trap line and visited the traps during the night, killing and eating any animal they found there. In addition, Wolf was an expert at digging up the traps and stealing the bait. Billy said nothing of this to Abe Zook as he was afraid the old man might use poison. But when he found that in some places not only the trapped animals but also the traps were disappearing, he reported it to Abe Zook.

  The old man started out at once and returned an hour later in a mood of cold fury. "It is that Swamenburg. He has been stealing my traps and my catches. I went to him but he is lying about it. He is one who does not believe in powwow and thinks he can do this to a braucher. I will show him otherwise. Do you feel to go to the woods again?"

  Billy knew Swamenburg, a fat, disagreeable man who had a large dairy herd. "I don't mind going to the woods, but there's no herbs yet."

  "You think I am not knowing that? Get me some droppings of the wolf. The wolf, I say, not the dog. Can you be doing that?"

  "I guess so. You want them for a charm?"

  "For one kind of a charm, yes. Try down by the swamp once. There is an old stake in the field where the wolf puts his mark. Also, he comes there to steal muskrats from the traps. Yes, yes, do not be looking so surprised-like. I know that and I know many other things, as Swamenburg will see."

  When Billy returned from school he went to the swamp. Although it was still cruelly cold, the days were growing longer and there was still light enough to see when he reached the marsh. The setting red sun shone pink on the ice-covered swamp and the dead cattails threw long shadows. In the shallows the ice was white; in the deep water, dark blue. A month before he had walked over the ice to the lodges of the muskrats, for then everything had been frozen steel-tight, but now he hesitated to trust himself far from the bank. The swamp was a lonely, desolate place and if he fell through the ice, he would drown long before help could come.

  A spring bubbled up at one spot and here no ice ever formed. Billy went to the spot and checked for muskrat signs. The muskrats had been out to feed on what was left of the marsh grasses; he could see their dung on stones and the chewed reeds where they had fed. His traps were set on a floating log. There were two advantages to this type of set. When a muskrat was caught, it dove into the water, where the weight of the trap quickly drowned it, so Billy was spared the hateful task of killing the captive. Also, the muskrats were then safe from Wolf and Blackie who, for all their cunning, were not capable of pulling up the trap chain to get the catch.

  The two traps had disappeared. Billy could see where the staples fastening the trap chains to the log had been torn away. Swamenburg must have found this trapping spot. Billy knew that Abe Zook would be furious, and he did not look forward to telling the old man such bad news. He would have to find some of Wolf's dung for the charm, if possible. He cut across the field toward the stake.

  Like a dog, Wolf was in the habit of urinating on certain trees, bushes, and even large stones, especially if they were isolated and stood out from the rest of the surrounding area. Abe Zook had told the boy that Wolf did this to mark the boundaries of his range, like a man putting up "No Trespassing" signs. Any other canine smelling one of these scent posts would know that this area was already taken up and would keep away unless he was prepared to fight Wolf. Zook had assured Billy that a dog could tell a large number of things from the scent: how big Wolf was, whether or not he was in good health, whether he was well fed, and how often he checked the boundaries of his range. As with many of Zook's stories, Billy was not sure how much to believe of the old man's tales but he liked to think that animals had amazing powers.

  He was in luck. Wolf had been to the stake that day and had left some dung there as well as his usual squirt of urine. At least, Billy thought the dung had come from Wolf. Blackie had been there too, for her tracks showed plainly in the melting snow that was soft as porridge, although it would freeze solid during the night. However, Blackie never paid much attention to the scent posts, so he felt safe in poking the droppings into a glass jar that Zook had given him and screwing on the lid.

  As he straightened up, he saw two forms moving down the ridge toward the swamp. He knew instantly that they were Wolf and Blackie.

  The animals were trailing him. Not only that, they were stepping deliberately in his footprints as though careful to leave no trail of their own. Billy wondered if they were doing this simply to avoid slushing through the soft snow. Then with a little spasm of fear, he wondered why they were trailing him at all. This time he had no axe.

  The delicious thrill he always felt when he saw the two animals tingled through him. Suddenly he felt he was entering into the minds of the animals and becoming one with them, while still keeping his human identity. He felt as if his soul had gone into Wolf's body and he seemed to smell the faint, moist, half-frozen odor of his own scent as the coyote picked it out from the tracks. The scent was growing stronger now, and he saw the coyote raise his head to look for him, and at the same time Billy was astonished to realize how low Wolf was to the ground and how this limited the coyote's vision. No wonder that whenever possible Wolf and Blackie kept to the ridges, often jumping on fallen trees or even on post-and-rail fences so they could see farther. Billy had never realized before why they did this. Even more surprising, the world had suddenly gone into black and white, with a large gradation of grays. Billy remembered having heard that canines cannot see colors, but even so, he turned— shifting back into his own mind for an instant—to look at the remains of the sunset. Yes, the sky was still red, but when he seemed to re-enter the body of Wolf, it turned black.

  Billy tried to organize his sudden power. He somehow knew that it would last only a short time. He was sure that he could enter into Wolf's mind or, by concentrating on Blackie, he could enter hers. Yet all the while he was still himself, mad with excitement at the strange gift that had descended on him.
Which animal should he concentrate upon ? He could not concentrate on both at the same time. Should he let himself become entirely identified with the coyote? If so, he could not retain his human faculty of reason. Already the power was slipping from him. As he struggled to hold it, the faculty began to shred away. In the few seconds it still remained with him, he felt that he had entered Wolf's mind. Instantly he was aware of a world of odors, as bewildering an experience as a blind man suddenly granted sight. The scents rushed into his head, all mingled and yet he could identify each one. He could select one scent—in this case the odor from his own footsteps—and magnify it above the others. It was somewhat like seeing trees, fences, sky, and the road and yet being able to concentrate on footprints. But there was an important difference. The odors sang to him, as though they could talk. His body odor was not merely a means of identifying him; it conjured up an image of himself—much taller than he would appear to human eyes, a potential menace yet not really frightening—and above all an intense curiosity about himself. The curiosity surprised him, for it was a very powerful, compelling emotion that he never suspected in an animal. It made him thrill with excitement and drove him on to take risks that were foolhardy.

  He knew now why Wolf was stepping so meticulously in his tracks, but it was impossible to explain in human terms, for it was a mixture of several emotions. Tracking had something to do with it, also curiosity as to why the boy had put his feet just where he had, but basically it was a game. Billy had played "step on a crack and break your mother's back" when he was in the city. Wolf was making a game out of stepping exactly in his footprints. He had never known that animals played games.

  Now that he was sure that he was completely possessed by Wolf, he found the whole scope of his human experience and reasoning powers wiped out. His thoughts came to him in combinations of patterns. It was something like turning a kaleidoscope and watching the changing symmetrical forms. Some of the kaleidoscope forms might be extremely complicated; far more complicated and artistically balanced than Billy could produce himself by moving bits of colored glass around. Yet Billy could make an entirely original pattern, say an imitation of a human face, by making a circle of glass beads with two beads inside to represent eyes, one below them to be a nose, and a line under that for a mouth. Crude as the image might be, no kaleidoscope could duplicate it. Within his head, Wolf carried an amazing variety of patterns which he could combine, superimpose or cut up and piece together, but the pattern had to be there to begin with. Wolf could do many things with his patterns that were beyond Billy's powers, but he could not produce an original idea. Billy found this bewildering, as he had always thought of animals thinking like humans, only not as cleverly. A dog, say, might have the mind of a four-year-old child. He realized now that this was not true. Where Wolf's patterns worked to his advantage, the coyote was "smarter" than a man, but he could not reason or cope with a situation not covered by his pattern combinations.

  The power passed, with Billy clutching at it as though trying to hold dissolving wisps of mist. When it was gone, he tried desperately to remember just how Wolf thought, but already the memory was fading away like the details of a dream. Billy knew that even if he had retained the knowledge it would do him no good. How Wolf thought was something that could not be put into human words or even thoughts, any more than what scent conveyed to the animal could be expressed in human terms. You had to experience it to know it.

  Even when the power had entirely left him, Billy could vividly remember Wolf's intense curiosity and the excitement of tracking a possibly dangerous quarry. He could remember these two traits because they roughly paralleled his own human emotions. He too was curious, although he was not prepared to take the risks to gratify his curiosity that Wolf did. He knew now why he had become Wolf when he watched the boys jumping over the areaway. It was the thrill of danger. If the danger was too real, it was no longer fun. Wolf would never dare to track an adult man who might have a gun. However, he was reasonably sure that Billy could not hurt him. He suddenly realized that Wolf and Blackie, even though they were wild, free animals who could do what they wished, must lead rather boring lives. Even the struggle to obtain food they probably regarded as a chore rather than as an adventure. Both animals, or at least Wolf, were naturally aggressive. It was part of their natures. They could not gratify this drive by killing prey. They felt no more hatred toward their quarry than Billy did toward a beefsteak. Hatred was an emotion reserved for peers. The boy was the closest thing to a peer they had encountered. He had intruded on their territory and was a logical target for their pent-up belligerency.

  The canines came to where he had checked the muskrat traps, and here he knew the scent was hot. Blackie continued to nose around but after a quick check, Wolf stopped and raised his head. He was looking straight at Billy. There was no wind and Billy knew that as long as he stood perfectly still, the coyote could not be sure whether he was alive or not. He could remember enough of how Wolf thought to realize that the coyote could not pick out details of an object and assemble them in his mind as a human could. He could not say to himself, "This thing has a head, a face, a body, and two legs. Therefore it must be a man." Only the general outline registered with him and Billy might as well have been a tree or a stump, unless the coyote could scent him. Still, Wolf knew there was something wrong. Perhaps he knew the territory well enough to know that there was no tree where Billy was standing or perhaps he could reason well enough to know that Billy's outline was somehow wrong for a natural object. He stood frozen into the wonderful show pose—hind legs slightly back, head lifted, ears raised—that Billy found so magnificent.

  Blackie started to work out the trail. She passed Wolf and, head down, started toward the boy. Wolf made no attempt to stop her. He never took his eyes off Billy. Blackie came on, completely absorbed by her tracking, and Billy felt vaguely sorry that Wolf made no attempt to warn her that she might be going into danger. Billy felt that the coyote was actually glad that the dog was going on to solve the mystery of this motionless object so he, himself, would not have to run any risk. To Billy, that was a mean trick.

  Blackie kept on and on. She was only a few feet away from the boy when she seemed to sense something was wrong and raised her head. For a moment she hesitated and then, with a startled woof, jumped back. She stopped again and giving a series of alarmed noises that were halfway between a snort and a bark, began to circle him, making short runs. This was too much for Billy to stand. He didn't want to find Blackie behind him while he had to keep his eyes on Wolf. He waved his hands and shouted.

  To his surprise the animals did not immediately bolt.

  Wolf swerved, made a short run, and then turned to look. Blackie ran back and stopped. Not until Billy reached down, made a snowball, and threw it at them did the animals retreat, and then they slowly trotted off, turning frequently to look at him over their shoulders.

  This reaction both pleased and somewhat worried the boy. He was glad that they did not panic because he felt that this meant they might someday get to trust him. On the other hand, it was alarming that they did not fear him. He returned to the farm thoughtfully, often stopping to watch his back trail.

  Abe Zook was delighted with the dung and, without telling Billy where he was going, left the farmhouse as soon as it was dark. Billy was asleep long before he returned.

  A few days later, in school, Mark Swamenburg, the stocky, moon-faced son of the farmer came up to Billy during recess and said accusingly, "Your uncle is a hex putting on my father's cows."

  Billy stared at him in astonishment and then quickly recovered himself.

  "Your father stole my uncle's traps and his skins."

  Mark Swamenburg did not deny this charge. Instead he said, "Putting a hex on is wicked. My father is getting a great braucher from Bird-in-Hand to curse your uncle."

  For an instant Billy felt apprehensive, but he said confidently, "There is no greater braucher than my uncle makes. No curse is touching him."

>   Seemingly Mark was inclined to agree with this boast, for after scuffling with his feet, he turned away.

  As a sorcerer's apprentice, Billy did not dare to ask what was wrong with the Swamenburg's cows, but by pretending to know all about it, he managed to extract the information from some of the other children. The cows refused to enter the barn. If they were forced in, they milled about bawling and could not be milked. Swamenburg had brought in a veterinarian, but the man could find nothing wrong with them. Finally in desperation the farmer had sent for a hex doctor.

  When Billy reported this to Abe Zook, the old man was elated. "I know that man he is bring," he said contemptuously. "He is claiming to cure silly women by putting his hands on them and saying foolish things. Let him put his hands on the cows, once. He knows nothing of herbs."

  "Or of wolf dung either?" asked Billy.

  Abe Zook looked at him sharply. "There are things which are not good to talk about. Forget about the wolf dung. A hex it is and a hex let it stay."

  A week later while they were eating supper, they heard the guineas begin to cackle and Wasser start barking. "Ah, guests we have," said Abe Zook continuing to eat. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. Zook called, "Come!" without leaving the table, and Swamenburg entered. The farmer, usually an arrogant, aggressive man, seemed strangely humble. He was carrying the traps and some pelts. Zook did not rise to greet him or acknowledge his presence in any way. Grip, who was hopping around the floor looking for scraps, minced over to examine the man, considered nipping his ankle, thought better of it, and swaggered off.