Jackal and Wolf

by Shen Shixi

  Flame wanted to leap up and show her vicious side, bite one of the swans on its neck and kill it. That would deter the rest of the flock and turn the situation around. But when she could barely stand, there was no chance she could do that. As the last sliver of red sun disappeared on the horizon, the dark mantle of night rolled out over the earth. Visibility was diminishing all the time. Black swans are not so easy to distinguish in a black sky. It was not easy for Flame to retaliate. She lay on the ground, gnashing her teeth at everything. She bit at the black feathers, but caught nothing. As the swans realised the futility of her actions and her lack of fighting spirit, their arrogant clamour increased, and their attacks became more brutal.

  Black swans have always been food for jackals. Who would have thought that a jackal would one day be at the mercy of them? It’s natural for jackals to eat swan, but swans killing a jackal? It was the revenge of the weak.

  It was infuriating to be a jackal being bullied by swans. ‘I’ll bite your head off, bite your legs off, bite your wings off. I’ll feast on every precious part of your precious body.’ Flame’s cries were so loud, her throat was hoarse, almost torn.

  But the swans ignored her threats, and continued attacking as a flock. If this went on much longer, they would tear her to pieces. She would be swan food. A flock of black swans killing a jackal! This was unheard of, there was no precedent in the history of animals. In fact, Flame was lucky to be alive. But if this carried on, these crazy black swans would pluck every hair from her body, and she would be an ugly, bald-chested jackal as well as a lame one. She had to get away. She had to remove herself from this situation. There is a time and a place for everything, and this was not the time and place for Flame right now.

  She managed to stagger out of the ditch and crawl her way back across the marshland, treading carefully through the water to the bank. The black swans followed close behind as she tripped and slipped. Black swans are water birds. They are not afraid of water, no more afraid of water than they are of the sky. They attacked Flame from the air and from the water. They attacked from above and below at the same time, whipping up waves and splashing water everywhere. Flame kept losing her balance, choking on the water, flailing about all over the place, getting more and more worked up.

  She was about two-thirds of the way home, when Goldenbeak swooped down from the sky again, thrust his webbed feet down on her neck, and sent her rolling through water about a foot deep. When she got up, she had a mouthful of mud. She was surprised to find him gliding along beside her on the water. The sky wasn’t completely dark yet, and she could see that he had one wing folded up like a sail, and one foot stretched down into the water. He was circling round in agony, and he was making quick panicky sounds.

  Flame’s first thought was that Goldenbeak must have been too vicious in his attack when he swooped down from the sky and thrust his feet at her neck, or had hit one of the rocks or grassy hillocks under the water, and was hurt. Her second thought was that Nature had shown mercy after all, and given her a chance to turn defeat into victory. She was so close to Goldenbeak, close enough to bite his bottom; it would be a wasted opportunity if she didn’t. Flame’s legs weren’t quite in the right place, but she was so close, she was almost guaranteed to land on top of him. His neck was long and slender, the best place to target her attack, because one bite – one crunch – would be enough to break it, to kill it.

  If she dealt with Goldenbeak like this, not only would she scare the other black swans, she would be able to escape this dire predicament of being beaten up. She could get her revenge, and vent her frustration at being bullied by the swans. Even more important, she could catch one of them and take it back to Buddha Belly Cave. Her efforts would not have been in vain, and she would have enough food to last for between three and five days.

  There was nothing to hold her back. She leapt at the swan as hard as she could. As planned, she landed right on the swan’s back. But there was a slight drawback. She had bitten into the feathers where the wings and neck meet, but had not managed to bite exactly on target. Her two back legs had caught hold of the swan’s backside, and she slipped her good front leg under the swan’s wing. She was trying as hard as she could to keep her balance, as she prepared to push forward. Another couple of inches would do it, and she’d be able to deliver that lethal bite to the swan’s neck.

  With her full body weight pressing down on the swan’s back, she pushed Goldenbeak under the water. The other swans watched the disaster unfolding, and cried out in terror and panic. One of the pens – the female swans – flew back to the reed bank. This was a prelude to victory, a prelude to triumph.

  And then the unexpected happened. Goldenbeak’s contorted wing and crooked foot suddenly twisted back to normal, he stretched his neck as straight as a pencil and called out in excitement as though his injuries had never existed. He was confident and imposing, flapping his wings furiously, and beating the water with his feet, in a peculiar fashion that was half-flying, half-swimming.

  Flame was still on the swan’s back. She’d been about to move forward when Goldenbeak had suddenly moved. Her centre of gravity was affected; she would not be able to move up now. Instinctively, she held her bite on the feathers between his wing and neck, and held her three-legged grip of the swan’s body, to stop herself from falling off.

  Goldenbeak slid like a rowing boat across the surface of the water to the depths of the marshes. You might think that riding across the water on a swan’s back is a wonderful experience. But this was no pleasure ride for Flame. It was a matter of life or death. She looked up and saw the vast grassy marshes ahead of them, every so often belching out a string of fetid black bubbles. She realised what he was doing. He was taking her to the most dangerous stretch of the marshes where the grass is sparse and the bubbles burst at the surface.

  It was impossible to tell how deep and how strong this quagmire was. Even more frightening, there was a layer of thick mud below the shallow water. This is not a problem for the water birds; they can fly off. But it is a problem for animals, even excellent swimmers such as otters. An animal that fell into the marshes here would be sucked down and, the more they struggled, the further they would sink, until eventually they would be swallowed up by the mud.

  Flame jolted as she realised that Goldenbeak hadn’t twisted his wing or his foot at all. It was his way of tricking her. Goldenbeak had wanted Flame to get on his back, so he could take her out to the muddy marshlands. As soon as they reached the marshes, he would struggle and take flight, or simply roll over. Either way he would throw Flame off his back into the marshes, where she would disappear, never to be seen again. This was a death trip. Flame’s tongue burned at the thought of his malicious intent.

  Goldenbeak glided along. The stretch of dangerous marshland grew ever closer. It would be uncomfortable to leap off the swan’s back at this speed, but far better than being tipped into bottomless mud. Flame hadn’t a moment to lose. She closed her eyes, released her bite and her grip, and dived into the water. She let herself roll over a few times, before trying to stand up. That was close!

  She found herself standing just ten metres or so from the marshes of death. If she hadn’t gathered her senses so quickly, she would have been a goner.

  Goldenbeak circled low in the sky, crying in disappointment that his plan had come to nothing. Flame hurried to the bank. She now knew how dangerous a black swan could be and that with her injured leg she was no match for this flock. Even if they chased, pecked or baited her, she would not retaliate or show any interest. She would concentrate on running away, and nothing else. She would soon be out of this bitter experience and climbing the bank.

  But the black swan did not chase after Flame any more – perhaps it was too dark now, and visibility was poor; perhaps the swan was content to have driven out the invader. It circled a few times in the sky, sang out in triumph and returned to the reed bank in victory.

  By the time Flame got home to Buddha Belly Cave, it was already
the early hours of the next day. The swans had plucked a third of the hair off her back, and her whole body was in pain. Exhausted, she rolled over and went to sleep.

  She did not wake until evening, when the sun was in the west. The strange thing was, the sensation of hunger seemed to have disappeared. She watched the sparrows hopping about at the entrance to the cave, but they didn’t make her mouth water. Her body was so weak she couldn’t stand up. She couldn’t even roll over – every time she tried, the movement made her head spin. She had had a good life; she was not used to times of hardship.

  Flame knew she was slipping away, that if she didn’t find food soon, in a matter of hours, she would never be able to get up again. There were now two choices. She could either use whatever breath she had left to crawl out of the cave and look for food, or she could lie here in peace and wait for death to arrive.

  Flame took a while to decide she would stay in the cave. It wasn’t that she didn’t value her life. It was more a feeling that with an injured leg and her strength almost depleted, if she went out to look for food her chances of success would be zero. Better to wait here than to die in the mountain wilderness in the middle of a hopeless attack. It would be more comfortable to die in her sleep, to slip painlessly out of consciousness. And not to have greedy crows pecking at her flesh the moment she was dead.

  She had lost the will to live. She had no illusions about living. Let the rest of her life – whatever was left of it – float away on the river of time. It would release her from this difficult and broken life. Flame lay in the cave waiting to die, slipping in and out of consciousness.

  The smell of rabbit seemed to waft into her nostrils. Instinctively, she stuck out her tongue to taste it, and yes, there was the taste of fresh rabbit. She must be hallucinating. Hunger must be playing tricks on her mind. She was surprised to feel on her tongue the thick stickiness and bland flavour of rabbit. She tried to swallow, let it seep in, to experience that wonderful feeling of food entering her belly. Was this really an illusion? Could it be true? Slowly, she opened her eyes, and in the haziness before her it seemed there was indeed a rabbit! She blinked hard. Her vision became clearer. Yes, there really was a dark grey rabbit. Its belly was torn open, and its insides were lying on the rock in front of her. A rabbit would never present itself like this to a jackal! Nature would never drop a freshly killed rabbit from the sky! Not for an injured jackal whose life was in danger! Well, she would fill her belly first, then ask questions.

  The food had been placed right under her nose, it would be a waste not to eat it. She licked the rabbit’s blood, and took one small mouthful of heart and liver at a time, to remind her starving guts of the pleasure of eating, then started to gobble it down. Within a few minutes, she had packed half the rabbit inside her belly. If life was like a stove, it had been replenished with fuel, and the fire that was faltering – had almost died – was burning with life again. Flame soon felt the blood surging through her body again. Her light-headedness transformed into sharp clarity, her weak limbs filled with strength. She stretched her body in satisfaction, then stood up. It was then that she noticed a dark shadow moving at the back of the cave. She looked round and there was Sweetie!

  It was not difficult to imagine what had happened. As Flame was lying at death’s door, Sweetie had come to Buddha Belly Cave, holding a rabbit in her mouth. Flame had been so weak with hunger, and her senses had been so dull, that she had not noticed Sweetie’s arrival. Sweetie had ripped open the rabbit’s belly, and laid its insides under Flame’s nose, then gone to sit in the dark depths of the cave to wait until Flame woke up.

  Flame’s little pup had left home, but still missed her. She was injured and could no longer catch her own food, so Sweetie had brought her some. She was so thoughtful and caring. It was rare to find a pup who looked after her mother so well.

  Flame walked over to her, and licked her with deep emotion, to show her gratitude. She noticed an obvious change to Sweetie’s smell; she caught a whiff of a male wolf, a stranger. There could be no doubt, Sweetie had found her mate. Sweetie’s affections had changed. She had a mate now and, of course, this was something to be happy about – something to celebrate.

  Seeing that Flame could now stand and walk about, Sweetie gave a long howl – as if to confirm that no matter what happened she would not abandon her, she would visit her and bring her food on a regular basis. And then she whipped up her tail and ran out of the cave.

  After that, every three or four days Sweetie would appear with some food at Buddha Belly Cave: a groundhog, or half a bharal, or the leg of a deer. You couldn’t say it was an abundance of food, and the ghostly feeling of hunger followed Flame wherever she went. But at the end of the day, the food that Sweetie brought, modest though it was, was enough to keep her alive.

  When the weather was sunny, she would limp out of the cave, and look for scraps of food left by other wild animals, or sit and wait for a rabbit to run into a tree stump, or crouch by a hole ready to catch a vole. Spring is a good season for food. The more effective predators – the cougar, lynx and golden cat – are not as mean as they are in winter when food is short and they eat every last scrap. But at this time of year they are more generous. They will eat the insides and the good meat on the limbs, but they can’t be bothered with the more time-consuming fiddly parts, such as the head and the claws. Flame could find something to eat on about one in every ten trips she made.

  The bright spring sunshine is also the time when voles raise their young. Voles are very fertile: they give birth to ten or more babies at a time, and when they are three months old they can start to produce their own babies, starting a new generation of voles. It doesn’t take long to produce a whole army of voles. It’s as easy to catch a vole on the Gamar grasslands in spring as it is to catch a fish in a lake full of carp.

  With Sweetie’s help and her own simple hunting, Flame was able to get through the spring with her belly half-full. She felt luck was on her side; it was a bit like bumping her head on heaven’s door. She was quite content.

  As spring went and summer came, Flame discovered that Sweetie’s belly was starting to swell. There was new life wriggling about in there. Would they be children of love or creatures of evil? Flame did not know.

  Chapter 15

  That afternoon, Sweetie brought a young black swan to Buddha Belly Cave. Before when Sweetie had brought food home, she had put it down, walked round Flame a couple of times, made a few gentle noises to make her feel good, and then left. This time it was different: she put down the black swan, then ran to the entrance of the cave and let out a long melodious howl.

  Flame found Sweetie’s behaviour unusual, so she followed her to the entrance and looked out. There, in the orange light of the setting sun, in the pale green of the bushes, was an unfamiliar wolf, keen with excitement, heading for Buddha Belly Cave. Terrified, Flame immediately ran to hide behind the rocks in the deepest part of the cave. In no time at all, the shadow of this stranger appeared at the mouth of the cave. The pungent smell of adult male wolf wafted in on the breeze. Sweetie was delighted to see him, swaying her tail in welcome, and raising her nose to bare her soft slender neck and nuzzle his face. Such intimacy could mean only one thing. They were mates: he was the father of the pups in her belly. Sweetie must have led him here, and was giving him the warmest welcome as she invited him into Buddha Belly Cave.

  Flame understood Sweetie’s intentions in inviting him into the cave. Sweetie’s belly was big and round. The pups were due soon. Of course Sweetie knew that for miles around, Buddha Belly Cave was the best place for a wolf or a jackal to make its home. It was warm in the winter, cool in the summer, secluded and safe. The steady drip of water down the back wall meant you could drink sweet, thirst-quenching water without having to leave the cave. There were large colourful fan-shaped stalactites that divided the cave into two areas, rather like the rooms in a town house. There could be no doubt: Sweetie was planning to have her pups here. When females are about to
give birth, they do everything they can to provide their babies with a good home that is safe and comfortable, away from the wind and the rain.

  The wolf paused at the entrance to the cave. Flame could see him clearly: a majestic figure, with gold glistening along the ridge of his grey back, and a few red patches on his pale chest, like a row of medals for meritorious service. His tail was well-groomed: clean and smooth. By a wolf’s standards of beauty, he was a handsome wolf of the highest rank.

  Medalwolf inspected the entrance to the cave cautiously, then followed Sweetie in. He didn’t know about Flame. Outside in the evening sun it was still light, but inside the cave it was dark and shadowy. Medalwolf blinked and tried to adapt to the dim light inside. Flame was hiding behind the fan-shaped stalactites. She was thinking of creeping out, head low, ears down, tail subdued and, in this restrained way, express her agreement that he could move into Buddha Belly Cave. She was a lame jackal and lucky to be alive. If Sweetie wanted to bring him inside, Flame could not refuse.

  Flame would prefer not to let an adult male wolf see her at all. But, she could not become invisible, and Buddha Belly Cave was not vast – he would pick up her scent soon enough. It would be better to adopt a welcoming approach, than to wait for him to discover her. Who knows, he might even feel a little compassion for her.