Jackal and Wolf

by Shen Shixi

  As he crowed, the gleaming white on the horizon developed into a red blush, the colours slowly transforming – rose, orange, gold – the magnificent early morning glow seeping across the land.

  As the rooster crowed, Flame crept over to the foot of the haystack. A rooster’s reactions are slow; it really doesn’t know when danger is approaching. The pile was three metres high at the most, and it was shaped like a steep-sided pyramid. It would not be difficult for a jackal to leap up.

  The master of the morning was not content to crow just once, but performed seven or eight times before it stopped. It put all its energy into the crowing, half-closing its eyes in concentration, focusing on its throat and vocal cords, until that moment of relaxation came. That was exactly the moment he would be easiest to catch.

  Flame had already planned to creep round to the back of the haystack, and quicker than lightning she would close her ears to the racket and pounce. She would go straight for the bird’s neck, and snap her jaws together, so her captive would have no way of crying for help. It would be a dead chicken. Even if a dog heard anything unusual, it would not be able to see anything from the ground because the killing would take place three metres up. Flame would wait until everything was calm, then jump down with the rooster in her mouth, slip into the drainage ditch, run round the edge of Doufuying and, while the sky was still the colour of ash, she would race back to Buddha Belly Cave.

  Her plan was meticulous; the actions were resolute. When the rooster lifted its head ready to crow for the second time, Flame leapt on to the haystack with a whoosh, and exactly as she predicted, the fancy-tailed rooster fluffed up its neck feathers, totally absorbed in its joyful announcement of the sunrise. It hadn’t noticed any strange sounds coming from behind. This was all expertly done. But when it came to the last stage in finishing off the attack – namely, sinking her teeth into the rooster’s neck – there was a bit of a hitch. Flame’s right front leg wasn’t able to hold down the rooster’s right wing, and when she went for the rooster’s neck, it flapped so madly in front of its neck that Flame couldn’t get close enough. When Flame bit, she missed and her sharp teeth bit into the shoulder between the neck and the wing.

  She had targeted carefully where she should aim, and though she had missed by only an inch, it was a crucial inch, the difference between life and death. One bite to the rooster’s neck would end its life, and the crazy chicken would fall silent; it might struggle for a second or two, but then it would drop to the ground, paralysed. But the bite to the shoulder had only torn the wing.

  Flame realised what she had done and tried to rectify the situation, but it was too late, the fancy-tailed rooster was clucking and crowing and shrieking at the shock, flapping its one good wing as though its life depended on it. In the quiet calm of the dawn, the din was ear-piercing.

  Cluck, cluck, the wicked jackal is attacking me, help me, save me!

  Doodle-do, the evil thing wants to carry me off, look, on top of the haystack!

  That stupid fancy-tailed rooster wasn’t just sounding the alarm, it had spun round and was now attacking Flame’s face with its beak. Flame let go of the rooster’s wing, made another vicious attack, this time right on target, in the middle of the rooster’s neck. With a couple of bites, she gnashed straight through the bone. The rooster’s eyes went white, it struggled a couple of times and then its body went limp.

  But the raucous din of the killing had already woken the village of Doufuying. It seemed that the bird held a very illustrious position among the chickens. When it cried out for help, it put all the chickens in the nearby coops ill at ease, and they cried out too: cluck, cluck, cluck, doodle-doodle-doo, as if mourning in unison for the rooster. And the dogs started barking as well: woofing and howling, jumping up, barking madly, creating an atmosphere of chaos.

  Amidst all the barking there was one bark that was particularly clear and excited, and when Flame looked up she saw the dog with the big ears, barking madly as it raced over from the sheep pen to the threshing ground. Another dozen or so dogs came running after it, hurtling into the threshing ground. It was even more terrifying to see the lights going on in the thatched houses. Flame could hear people shouting.

  There was no time to lose. She took the fancy-tailed rooster between her teeth, leapt off the haystack, and ran as fast as she could towards the drainage ditch. She would follow this curving route out of the village.

  Maybe it was coincidence, or perhaps her escape route was too obvious, but when she had darted down towards the ditch, the big-eared dog had also leapt down, albeit from another direction. Unfortunately, it had reached the entrance one step before Flame, and was waiting for her, baring its teeth and growling as it blocked her way. The other dogs came running over. What a dire situation!

  Flame let the fancy-tailed rooster drop from her mouth, and, roaring furiously like a wolf, rushed at the big-eared dog. She didn’t really want to wage war with the sheepdog, she just hoped that some ferocious roaring and a terrifying manner would scare the dog into running away, so she could dive into the ditch and escape. The ditch was dark and damp, and there was only enough room for one jackal or one dog. She knew this ditch well, and once she was in, the dog wouldn’t risk following her into a confined space it wasn’t familiar with. The pack of dogs would gather at the entrance to the ditch, would bark and pace about, filling their heads as they worried about chasing after the jackal. But by then Flame would have seized her opportunity and would have fled from Doufuying.

  It was annoying that the big-eared dog was so determined and so bold. Why didn’t it run off at the first sign of danger? Why did it have to get into a fight? Normally a dog would not have the courage to fight a jackal unless it had its master’s support. Jackals are out hunting and killing in the mountains every day, and by nature they are fiercer than dogs, more stubborn than dogs, better at wrestling than dogs. If a jackal and a dog were to fight, even the elite sheepdog would be on the losing side.

  Flame knew that the only reason the big-eared dog dared to take her on was because there was, at that very moment, a motley of dogs, another dozen or so, rushing over in their direction. If it could hold its own for half a second, it would have the support of the pack, and they would rush up and surround Flame. It didn’t give her much time, she had to fight fast and decisively. She needed to strike before the pack arrived, to win the battle or wound him, then dive into the drainage ditch, otherwise she’d be trapped by the gang of dogs, the humans would come out of their thatched houses, she’d be encircled by a pack of dogs and a pack of humans, and under attack on all sides.

  She roared as loudly as she could, leapt on to the big-eared dog, pressed down with all her weight, stretched her mouth wide and bit it on the back. She got a mouthful of fur and a bit of skin, and could taste fresh dog’s blood on her tongue. Then she loosened her grip and moved to the side, offering the big-eared dog the chance to run off, a way out. Under normal circumstances, a dog will yowl tragically if it’s bitten. Its conditioned response is to jump up, turn and run. That way, Flame could swing her head round, pick up the fancy-tailed rooster, and slip off into the ditch.

  Sure enough, when Flame bit a chunk out of the dog, it yowled tragically, and its eyes glared with pain, but there was no struggle to break free, tear away and run off. It just stood there blocking the entrance to the ditch. Then, when Flame loosened her grip, it seized its chance, thrust its mouth at Flame’s chest and bit back. Flame’s reactions were good; her paws shot up to the dog’s eyes. Terrified of going blind, the big-eared dog let go. An excruciating pain seared through Flame’s heart. The dog had ripped off the teats and she was dripping with blood.

  Of all the places it could have bitten, that hooligan of a sheepdog had gone for her udder! Flame longed to hurl herself at the big-eared dog, rip its skin to shreds, maul its drooping head to a mush, release all the hatred she felt.

  Although these thoughts raced through her mind, she didn’t attack the dog again. She was an intelligent ja
ckal that had already suffered enough hardship. She could read the situation. If she carried on wrestling with this dog, she might not walk out of Doufuying alive.

  The pack of dogs was already closing in on her. A big black dog was only a few steps away, furtively looking for a chance to whisk the fancy-tailed rooster off the ground. If that happened, then Flame would not only have wasted an entire night, there was every chance that she might drop dead in the wilderness out of hunger. Survival is more of an incentive than revenge.

  Flame positioned herself ready to bite back at the big-eared dog, but it was a trick, a pretence, like a gun without bullets, and when the dog pulled back ready to spring towards the enemy, Flame span round, picked up the fancy-tailed rooster, and ran off down the road and out of the village as fast as her legs would carry her. The entrance to the ditch was blocked, and the only route of escape now was to outrun the pack of dogs and speed off away from the village. It was a huge risk, but there was no alternative.

  Further down the road, two white dogs leapt out from behind the fence, and ran ahead, aiming to block her way. Flame noticed that one of them had a bulging belly. It was pregnant. Flame made straight for her, shooting terrifying noises from the corner of her mouth, swerving recklessly from side to side, as though she couldn’t stop. Carrying pups inside her, the pregnant dog was not as bold as she might have been, and was not as willing to take risks. She was scared of being knocked about and of harming the pups. She didn’t wait for Flame to come any closer; she picked up her tail and ran back behind the fence.

  The other white dog was not brave enough to face her on its own, and retreated to the side of the road with a loud bark. Flame had managed to find a weakness in the wall of dogs, and sped off like the wind. But when she got to the entrance of the village, a man in a sheepskin coat ran out from a thatched house and hurried after her, brandishing a rifle. Flame tore out of the village like a whirlwind. As a shot fired, an enormous clap of thunder shook the ground, and a lilac plume of smoke rose above her. The dust rose from the ground like a cloud of swarming locusts.

  Flame knew how dangerous guns were, a thousand times more lethal than the sharp teeth of any wild animal. They meant instant death. Quickly, she switched direction and leapt into a water channel at the side of the road. Bang, another shot of the gun rang out behind her. The lilac smoke enveloped her. She felt her neck going numb, as though scalded by fire. Thank goodness the dawn light was still clearing, and visibility was poor. The man had been woken from his dreams, and with his eyes still bleary his aim was not so accurate. Some of the shot had hit her neck, but it had missed her head, and had not touched her legs.

  The bushes at the entrance to the village were thick and dense, with thorns on the branches, but she didn’t pause. Flame dived in headfirst, and ploughed her way forward. Her skin was scratched and bleeding, and was stinging with pain. But the only thing on her mind was the need to get deep into the bushes where the man with the gun could not see her. She may have run from Doufuying, she may have escaped the hunter with his rifle, but the danger was not over yet. Twenty or more dogs had chased her out of the village and were heading right after her.

  Flame ran and ran through the snow-covered mountain landscape. In normal circumstances, jackals have the speed and stamina of dogs, and can spend all day on their feet in the mountains if they have to. They also know the lie of the land better than dogs, and how to throw a dog off track. Although she was holding the fancy-tailed rooster in her mouth, and it wasn’t exactly heavy, and she hadn’t felt at all tired at the beginning, she was now finding it harder and harder to run, and the rooster was getting heavier. Her mouth was beginning to go numb and she was getting out of breath. She was getting slower.

  This stretch of mountain was covered in snow, and wherever she ran she left two lines of sharp footprints, and was unable to use her usual tactics to conceal herself from the dogs. The barking was coming closer. Flame looked round and saw the big-eared dog at the head of the pack, running faster and faster. It was only twenty or thirty metres away. Maybe if she dropped the fancy-tailed rooster, she’d be able to run faster, and escape capture by the pack of dogs, but she was reluctant to do this. This rooster had not come easily, and if she threw it away now, it would be like throwing her own life away. She was struggling to run with the rooster in her mouth, and at the same time, she was trying to think of a way to escape the dogs.

  Straight ahead of her was a precipice, its steep walls covered in a layer of thick snow, and dropping straight down over thirty metres. In the valley below was a dark green forest of fir trees. She had been here before, last winter, also early in the morning, chasing after a bharal, a mountain-goat with V-shaped horns. She’d followed it all the way from Buddha Belly Cave to this precipice, and the bharal was exhausted. Flame was looking forward to eating the rich meat, when all of a sudden it took a flying leap. Flame ran over to the edge and looked down to see the bharal rolling like a red rubber ball down the steep mountain. Flame had assumed it would fall to its death, but no, it rolled right down into the valley, lay still for a few minutes, then jumped back on to its feet, and after a little wobble ran off into the forest. Flame had stood at the edge of the precipice and hesitated for a while, the snowy slope so steep, the valley below so deep. She was a hunter, and she was not willing to risk her life for a bharal dinner.

  But it was a very different situation now, there was no other way. She wanted to hold on to the fancy-tailed rooster that had been a trial to catch, and she wanted to shake off that mad pack of dogs – she wanted to preserve her life. It looked like she would have to follow the bharal’s example and roll down the steep precipice. If the bharal could do it and escape the clutches of death, then Flame, with her fine physique and nerves of steel that were far superior to those of the bharal, should be able to withstand this tough pounding, this test of survival. She should surely be able to roll down to the bottom of the valley and come out alive.

  With this in mind, Flame ran towards the edge of the precipice. She stretched her neck out over the edge, and couldn’t help gulping in a mouthful of cold air. It was so steep you could hardly say there was a slope between the top of the mountain and the valley below. Halfway down, there were purple-grey rocks standing proud in the snow, like sinister beasts. The incline was so steep it seemed the snow was hanging from the mountainside rather than covering it: a thick curtain of several days’ worth of snow.

  It looked as though it could collapse at any time. If she were to roll off course even a little bit, there was every chance she would crash into one of the rocks, and be smashed to smithereens. And if she had better luck, and managed to roll a smooth path down to the valley without veering from her course, it was very likely that her movement would cause the snow hanging from the precipice to collapse, create an avalanche, and bury her alive. But if she were really lucky, and didn’t hit the rocks or cause an avalanche – just rolling straight down from the top of the precipice – then she’d be so shaken about by the fall that she’d lose consciousness. She would end up lying in the valley unable to wake up, and would turn into a hard corpse of ice.

  The chance of death was greater than the chance of survival. When the bharal had leapt off into the deep, rolled down into the valley, then got to its feet and staggered off into the forest, had it all been down to luck? Was it a one off? Could she repeat that kind of luck?

  She paced back and forth on the edge of the precipice, her heart pounding away, the fear straining at her body. The pack of dogs was closing in on her. The big-eared dog was almost upon her, gnashing its teeth and growling, ready to attack. The faint sound of men shouting from the direction of Doufuying reminded her that she had to be brave. Her muscles were tired and if the pack of twenty or more dogs surrounded her, she would not be able to fight her way out. The big-eared dog at the head of the pack would lead the attack.

  The sound of shouting grew closer; time was running out. The dogs would kill her, the men with guns would kill her, she could b
e certain of that. If she stayed at the top of the precipice, she would meet her end. If she rolled down the precipice into the deep, there was a slight chance that she might be lucky. While all this was running through her mind, she pretended she was going to try to break through the dogs. She surged forward a couple of steps, as though expecting them to step backwards, then suddenly turned tail and ran towards the edge of the precipice, closed her eyes and made the leap. Her body seemed to fly weightlessly in the sky. She felt light-headed for a while, and the wind whistled in her ears. She clenched her jaw and thought about only one thing: she must not let the fancy-tailed rooster drop from her mouth.

  She felt her paws hit the snow, and her four legs thrust in deep as her body landed with a crash. It felt as though her entire insides were being churned about as she rolled over and over, down and down, out of control. She clutched the fancy-tailed rooster to her chest and, tucking her head and tail under her body, curled herself into a ball as she bounced down the slope. The deep snow cracked as she rolled, splitting and spraying all over the place. She tried to open her eyes and look at her body covered in snow, but she couldn’t see anything. She gained speed as she tumbled down the mountainside – a jackal snowball gathering momentum – and all she could see were stars before her eyes. She was convinced she was dying.

  After a while, she wasn’t sure how long, Flame felt herself land with a thud in a snow pit. Her bones juddered as though they were about to come apart. The momentum was gone. She turned over a couple of times more, then stopped. She had rolled all the way to the bottom of the valley.