Jackal and Wolf

by Shen Shixi

  Fate can be cruel to wild animals. The grey wolf had not eaten the boy-pup; just killed him. This is what wolves do: they kill their prey, and leave it. It was a warning. The wolf wanted Flame to leave . . . now.

  Flame was heartbroken. She sobbed and sobbed. The pain cut right through her. There was nothing she could do.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, Flame dragged her weary body through the forest. She was preparing to leave the area, and had never felt so alone. It was a jackal’s paradise here: with the mountains, rivers and dense forests; rich in food, perfect in climate, and far enough away from human civilisation. But it was spoilt by a wolf who was determined to turn this paradise into a jackals’ graveyard. If Flame stayed, she would spend all her time avoiding the wolf. It was a hopeless and frustrating situation.

  Filled with painful memories, broken dreams and grief over the death of her pups, she followed the Guna River upstream.

  Unexpectedly, she came across a lamb with an injured leg – another good lunch for little effort. She gobbled down the rich meat, hoping that by stuffing food into her mouth she might ease the pain. Her stomach swelled, but the pain did not subside. Her teats were engorged, a cruel reminder that she was a new mother with pups just a few days old. The wolf had killed them, and yet she had all this milk. She found a smooth stone and rubbed herself against it, expressing the milk, and feeling relief as the pressure subsided.

  As she was doing this, she heard the autumn wind blowing through the trees, then a heavy groan. Was it the sound of a wolf? She pricked up her ears, and flared her nostrils. Yes, that was definitely the stench of a wolf. Instinctively, she crept forwards through the bushes. Did this wolf have magic powers? Was it going to follow her everywhere? Would she never be able to hide?

  After a while, she sensed there was nothing moving behind her; it seemed the wolf hadn’t caught up with her. She stopped and caught her breath. Again, the wind caught the sound of the wolf. It seemed to be moaning and sobbing at the same time.

  Flame was anxious and on edge. All thoughts of running away vanished. The awful sound kept stopping and starting, coming and going. What was going on? Was the wolf in some kind of trouble? Flame thought about heading over to the next hillock to take a look. It shouldn’t be too dangerous in the valley.

  Fired with curiosity, she summoned up her courage, made her way through the bushes and up the hill, and looked out over the valley. She could not have imagined the scene before her. There in the valley, on an open stretch of grass between the bushes, lay a wolf with purple-grey hair, beady eyes showing more white than black, teats bulging on her chest. It was the same wolf that had murdered her pups the day before, the very same evil she-wolf, but devoid of all power. Alive, but as good as dead. No, it was a thousand times worse than being dead; she would never be able to get up again.

  Flame’s vision was good and, even at this distance, she could see quite clearly that that she would not have to share this land with the vicious wolf for much longer. It was caught in a trap and couldn’t move. Two wolf pups, one golden, one black, were by her side, suckling.

  Although Flame had never been caught in a trap herself, she knew how dangerous they could be. A year ago, she had been out in the grasslands looking for food, when a male jackal came charging through the bushes wanting to be her mate. He was a lot older than her, his whiskers were all black and wiry, his teeth had yellowed, his breath released a sour putrid stench that suggested he had a mouth full of ulcers or rotting teeth, and there was a patch of ringworm on his back. He was repulsive and Flame didn’t want to have anything to do with him. She dropped her tail, leapt away to the side, and used jackal body language to signal her refusal.

  But he was persistent. He kept winding his way around her, planning his assault. She hissed through her teeth at him, and wanted to break away into the thick forest and run to her den. But the wanton old rake was not giving up, and would not leave her side. They were just by a chestnut tree when a massive bang burst out of nowhere, as though the gates of hell had opened. There was a flash of light in the grass and a plume of smoke – in an instant the old jackal was pinned to the ground, screeching in pain.

  When the air cleared, Flame saw the rectangular iron trap secured to the chestnut tree by a crude chain. Its monstrous jaws were clamped round the jackal’s hind leg, its triangular teeth cutting deep into the flesh. Terrified half out of her mind, Flame ran as fast she could.

  A few days later, when Flame passed the tree again, she found the old jackal dead in the trap. He had struggled to break free: his leg was so ripped that the white bone was showing, and his mouth was a mess of shattered teeth and congealed blood – the result of trying to bite through the chain. Flame knew she had had a lucky escape. It was sheer chance that the old jackal had been closest to the tree. It could so easily have happened to her. She had shuddered at the thought.

  Looking down into the valley, Flame could barely believe that the same evil wolf that had killed her pups the day before was now caught in a trap. She hated the wolf and although she had wished the wolf were dead, right now she felt nothing but loathing for the hunters who had laid the traps. Man was the enemy of all jackals and wolves.

  Flame viewed the scene carefully. The wretched she-wolf was locked tight in the trap and could not move. Is there anything more powerful than man’s iron trap? Even a strong brute of a wild boar would surrender to the resilience of those iron jaws and chain.

  Relieved and empowered, Flame bounded down the hill towards the wolf. The trap had snapped shut on the wolf’s belly. Wolves have strong skulls and legs, but their bellies are soft. Its iron teeth had pierced through her skin and flesh, and in all likelihood had broken her back. Flame came closer, pausing behind some bushes, to take stock of the scene opening up before her. Peering through the leaves, she could see the wolf’s insides spilling out in a mess under her tail. Even if the magic spirit Abo were to come and release the trap, the wolf would still die. There was no doubt of that.

  The two wolf pups were so small, just a week or two old, and still wobbly on their feet. There was an old tree nearby, with a vast trunk and moss-covered roots creeping over the ground.

  The large hole between the roots must be the wolves’ den, thought Flame.

  Flame imagined the grey wolf waking early on this beautiful morning, and bringing her pups out to play in the sunshine. The sky was blue with thin wisps of white cloud, and the grass was glistening in the golden sunshine. They had just arrived in this clearing in the forest, when all of a sudden there was a thundering clang as she stepped on to the trap.

  There is a very fine line between life and death, good luck and disaster. In just one second, a life can be changed forever; it can happen so fast.

  The little wolf pups couldn’t know their mother had only hours to live. They probably hadn’t eaten that morning, and had snuggled up to her for a feed. They were so hungry that she had beckoned them to her. She would not live long. She was already slipping away; death would come for her soon. But her pups were hungry and she had manoeuvred herself so they could come close and suckle. Mother wolves have ten nipples. The trap around her belly had rendered the six at the back useless.

  Flame watched as she pushed her chest out to try to make the front four available to the pups, knowing it would be the last time she would ever feed them. She licked their backs tenderly, choking back tears at every breath.

  This scene of motherly love did not move Flame. How could it? This mother wolf had killed her two precious pups, and Flame felt nothing but bitter revenge raging inside her. She swaggered out of the bushes and howled a few times at the glorious misfortune before her.

  The grey wolf recognised her, shot the jackal a fierce glare, and let out a pained howl as she struggled in the trap. Given the chance, she would probably leap at Flame and kill her. But it was all she could do to clang the trap a few times.

  You’re wasting your time, thought Flame. You won’t be able to get up on your feet,
and it won’t be long before you’re just a dead wolf in a trap. Not much to be cheerful about for you!

  Flame strolled over to the wolf, leaving a safe couple of metres between them. She snorted, spraying the wolf’s face, a disdainful, mocking, insulting snort, that said something like, ‘Yes, I’m the jackal you looked down on, and humiliated, and if I spit in your face, there’s nothing you can do about it, is there? You’re nothing more than a living corpse. You don’t scare me!’

  The wolf’s eyes were red as fire. She could feel the killing impulse stirring within. She would have kicked up a raging storm, if only she could kick. Her lips curled up at one side, ready for the kill, but she could only snap at the air around her. She pawed frantically at the ground, damaging whatever wild grass she could reach.

  Go on, thought Flame, get angry, vent your fury, feel the pain. You have done so many evil things, you deserve the harshest punishment.

  Flame walked casually around the wolf. She bit into her leg and ripped off a bit of flesh, making sure the wolf could see her chewing then swallowing. She wasn’t hungry, and wolf meat is not exactly delicious, but she wanted to taste revenge for herself. Well, well, eating wolf meat fresh from a living wolf. What an amazing thought, unheard of in the jackal world!

  All through this the wolf howled madly, like a trussed up pig at the slaughterhouse. Although the wolf seemed possessed by crazy spirits, she had enough presence of mind, Flame noticed, to bring her front legs together and kick-shove the two pups towards the bushes, to try and hide them.

  Flame’s vengeance could not be satisfied with a couple of mouthfuls of fresh wolf meat. The wolf had robbed her pups of their life. She could eat the entire wolf, and sleep under her fur, but even this would not assuage her hatred. She glanced at the little wolf pups. The only way to break the mother wolf’s bleeding heart was to kill them right in front of her. It was the best way of getting revenge. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Flame would have no problem giving the wolf a taste of her own medicine.

  The two pups were now in the bushes. They huddled together, trembling; they seemed to sense the danger in the air. Flame was quite rough in pulling them apart. She wanted to deal with them one at a time. She took the golden pup first, and was just about to sink her teeth into it, when the glisten of the pup’s soft, pale fur caught her eye. It reminded her of the soft plumes of a dandelion clock. She decided to let this one live a little longer. She turned to look at the black one. It was an ugly little thing. It should die first.

  She would go to fetch it from the bushes, and bring it over to the wolf. She would kill it right in front of its mother, so that jackal-pup killer would be forced to watch the same thing happening to her own pups.

  Let her feel the torture of being unable to save them.

  The wolf pawed frantically at the trap and tried to gnaw her way free, howling venomous curses from deep within. Her paws were ripped, her teeth shattered. She could not break free.

  Flame planned to kill the black pup slowly, and started with his tail. All of a sudden, the wolf’s body gave a massive jerk, she released an ear-piercing wail, and spewed out a mouthful of blood. Her neck went rigid. Her eyes closed. She seemed to be dead.

  Perhaps she is faking it, thought Flame, who was all too familiar with the cunning of wolves. She cocked her tail, and searched on the ground for some old leaves to throw on to the wolf’s face. They landed on her nose and mouth and should have fluttered in the wolf’s breath. But they did not move. Flame was still not convinced. She put down the black pup, who was already missing his tail, and walked around the wolf to the leg she had bitten into. She pawed at the open wound that was dripping blood, but the wolf did not respond. Flame felt cheated: the wolf would not have to endure the horror of watching her pup die, slow bite by slow bite. She had just closed her eyes and slipped off to another world, denying Flame the pleasure of revenge.

  The little black pup trailed its stub of a tail along the ground, crying and howling in distress, then climbed on to its mother’s body.

  Well, if you want to go to the yellow springs of death with your mother, I’ll just have to finish you off as well, thought Flame, advancing on the pup. That meant going even closer to the wolf, but there was no life in her now and there was nothing to be scared of.

  She was just about to sink her teeth into the pup’s neck when she sensed something move. She leapt back instinctively. There was an almighty howl as the wolf’s body sprang into life, yanking the iron trap with her. There was an evil glare in her eyes, a nasty grin on her face, and her head was strained forward as far as her neck would allow. It happened so fast. Flame was so close to the wolf she could feel her rank breath on her neck. Thank goodness the chain prevented her from coming any closer. The wolf gnashed and snarled. She caught hold of the hair on Flame’s neck, and, gripping it tightly between her teeth, scratched at the ground with her front paws. She was trying to draw the pups towards her.

  Flame pulled back as hard as she could. This was a tug-of-war, a matter of life and death. She dug her four paws into the ground to hold steady, and with a loud growl, wrenched her neck to the side. The wolf’s teeth were strong, and ripped the hair from the back of her neck. Flame fell backwards and hit the ground rolling.

  She could barely believe how base this wolf was; how determined and resilient in the face of death. It was a close shave. If she had not reacted so fast, she would not have had time to jump back. If the chain on the trap had been an inch longer, the wolf would have grabbed hold of more than just a clump of her hair. She would have sunk her teeth right into Flame’s neck, and would not have let go, even if she was dying. Flame could have bitten off the wolf’s head or scratched its eyes out, but there was no way the wolf would loosen her grip. The wolf knew she could not break free. If there was any chance of living she would take it, but if not, she did not want to die alone, and would take Flame with her.

  The wolf had played dead so convincingly. It was a cunning trick that had taken Flame completely by surprise. She had almost fallen for it, and could so easily have been on her way to the next world with the wolf. Flame was livid, her vengeance unassuaged, her hatred intensified. She glanced around, and spotted the little black pup with half a tail weaving its way into the bushes. She charged over, sank her teeth into its soft neck and yanked it up. The pup screeched like a rat, its eyes bulging, its legs flailing in the air.

  The mother wolf howled in desperation, and mauled the clump of jackal hair in her mouth. It was the only way she could vent her fury.

  The pup’s struggle did not last long. His life was over. Flame had intended to kill him slowly, but she had finished him off in a bite.

  It was too fast, she thought. Too fast for the wolf to suffer that unendurable pain, that eternal grief. Not to worry, she would take it slowly with the golden one.

  Flame plucked the second pup out of the bushes. It was a sweet little thing, with its shiny nose, its moist lips, and bright eyes. But soft and fluffy cannot weaken the impulse to kill; a pretty little thing cannot survive the burning rage of revenge. Flame felt no pity. She took the pup’s leg between her teeth, urging the wolf to pay attention as she ripped the leg off her beloved, helpless little pup.

  But something was wrong. The wolf’s eyes were still wide open with hatred, there was no struggle in her body. Blood was oozing from the corner of her mouth, a round ball of red foam, the size of a poppy flower.

  Oh, you’re still playing games with me, thought Flame. You think I’m such an idiot I’ll fall for it again! Flame put the pup down on the ground, and rolled her eyes as she tried to work out how to deal with this ruse.

  Jackals can be just as clever as wolves, and it did not take long for her to devise a foolproof way of testing whether the wolf was really dead or just pretending. She scraped at the ground for a while, scooped up a pawful of earth, then, curling over the tip of her tail, she hurled the earth at the wolf’s face. It was quite a clumsy movement, but it worked.

  She did
this several times, and enough of the earth landed on the wolf’s face for it to form a thin layer of dust over her big round eyes. Like humans, animals can’t stand having anything in their eyes: they can’t help blinking and grimacing, weeping salty tears, or rubbing their eyes. If the wolf was pretending, she would have scrunched up her eyes by now. But they were wide open and covered in dust. She did not even flinch.

  The wolf was dead. Flame was sure of it this time. The wicked beast’s heart had stopped beating, but her eyes were still wide open, too full of hatred to close. Flame regretted that she had not been able to get the total revenge she had planned, but the murderer of her pups had got what she deserved, and that was the main thing. She let out a long sigh.

  The golden pup was stumbling about on the grass, crying and yelping. With an apparent instinct for survival, it was trying to hide in the bushes again. Flame put out her paw and brought her back to the open grass. The wolf was dead, and Flame’s motivation for revenge had died with her.

  Jackals are carnivores, and kill to eat, but they are not bloodthirsty, and do not kill for the sake of it. Flame had just eaten a small lamb; she wasn’t hungry and she had no impulse to kill. But the pup was the offspring of her enemy, and she would not simply let her go. Better to tidy things up, take her back to Buddha Belly Cave and, like any other prey, eat her later when she was hungry.

  This is a beautiful part of the world with high mountains and clear rivers, a land rich in food. It was Flame’s home and she loved it here. The wolf had scared her into thinking she had to leave. But now the wolf was dead, and very soon there would be no wolves round here at all. There was no need to move away; this land was hers again.

  Chapter 3

  Flame carried the golden pup back to Buddha Belly Cave, and tossed her to the back of the cave. The pup was her war booty, her captive. She would wait until she was hungry, then eat her, savouring every mouthful of the freshest meat.