The Eye of the Wolf

by Daniel Pennac

  “They’re dirtying the snow,” complained Black Flame.

  They watched them from the top of the highest hill. They could see them walking on two feet at the bottom of the cauldron. But what did they look like close up?

  “Grey Cousin, you’ve seen them close up before, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve seen some of them, yes.” Grey Cousin didn’t talk much.

  “What do they look like?”

  “Humans? Two legs and a gun.”

  That was all they could get out of him.

  And Black Flame told them stories they no longer believed in now they were grown up. “Humans eat everything: the grass that caribou eat, as well as the caribou themselves. They’ll even eat wolves if they haven’t got anything else to fill their bellies!” Or, “Human beings have two skins: the first is naked without a single patch of fur, and the second is like ours.” Or, “What is a human being? A human being is a collector.” (Nobody understood what she meant by this.)

  One day, while they paused for a moment to catch their breath, someone asked, “Why is it always the same band that’s after us?”

  Grey Cousin licked his bruised paws. “They’ve heard about a little she-wolf with golden fur—”

  Black Flame cut him off in mid-sentence with a withering look. But it was too late. All the Redheads were looking at Shiny Straw. And Shiny Straw was looking at everybody else, her ears pricked up.

  “What do you mean? They’re looking for me?”

  The sun chose precisely that moment to burst through the clouds. A ray fell on Shiny Straw and everyone glanced away. She looked stunning: a golden she-wolf with a black smudge on the tip of her muzzle. Her nose was so black against the gold, she seemed to squint a bit.

  She’s simply gorgeous, thought Black Flame. My daughter is gorgeous. And then she added, But a complete dreamer. She sighed and a voice deep down inside her whispered, Honestly, Great Wolf, why did you have to give me the most beautiful she-wolf the world has ever seen? Don’t you think we’ve got enough to worry about?

  V

  “What do you mean? They’re looking for me?”

  The strange voice in which Shiny Straw asked her question hadn’t escaped Blue Wolf’s ears.

  “They’re looking for me?”

  Don’t be so silly, of course they’re not… But it was worrying, all the same…

  Blue Wolf didn’t know what to make of his sister. She was a beautiful she-wolf, of course. So beautiful she took your breath away. And as a hunter she was in a league of her own. She was much quicker than the Redheads, who were no mean hunters themselves. She had a better eye than Black Flame. A better ear than Grey Cousin. And, Blue Wolf was forced to admit, a more sensitive muzzle than me. She would come to an abrupt halt with her nose in the air and say, “There’s a prairie mouse!”

  “Where?”

  “Over there!” She would point to a specific spot three hundred metres away. When they reached it, they would find a family of red-backed prairie mice as plump as partridges tucked underground.

  The Redheads could never get over it. “How did you guess?”

  “My nose,” she would reply.

  Or in the summer, when they were hunting ducks… The Redheads would swim soundlessly towards their prey, with only the tips of their noses sticking out. They never made a ripple. But nine times out of ten the ducks would fly away from right under their noses. Shiny Straw would stay on the river bank, flat as a cat in the yellow grass. And she would wait. The ducks would take off heavily, skimming the water. When the fattest duck flew over her head – action! One leap, one snap of her teeth.

  “How did you manage that?”

  “My eyes!”

  And when it was time for the caribou to migrate and the herd was spread right across the plain… The wolves would climb to the top of the highest hill, and Shiny Straw would say, “The sixth on the right from the big rock is sick.” (Wolves have a rule that they only eat sick caribou.)

  “He’s sick? How can you be sure?”

  “My ears! Listen,” she would add. “He’s having difficulty breathing.”

  She could even catch polar hares – something no other wolf had ever managed before.

  “My legs!”

  But despite these feats Shiny Straw missed the simplest opportunities. For instance, she’d be chasing an old caribou that was huffing and puffing, when all of a sudden she’d switch her attention to a snow partridge flying overhead. Looking up, she’d trip over her own feet. Then her face would crumple and they’d find her rolling around on the ground, shrieking with laughter like a baby cub.

  “You laugh too much,” Blue Wolf would complain. “You don’t take anything seriously.”

  “And you’re too serious; you never see the funny side of things.”

  Blue Wolf didn’t like this kind of answer. “Why do you laugh so much, Shiny Straw?”

  She would stop laughing, look Blue Wolf straight in the eye and reply, “Because I’m bored.” And she would explain. “Nothing ever happens in this stupid country; nothing ever changes!”

  And then she would repeat, “I’m bored.”

  VI

  And it was because she was bored that Shiny Straw wanted to see something new. She wanted to see what human beings looked like close up. One night she finally got her chance. The same band of hunters was still hot on the family’s trail. They had pitched camp in a grassy basin three hours away from the lair. Shiny Straw could smell the smoke from their fires. She could even hear the dry wood crackling.

  That’s it, I’m off, she said to herself. I’ll be back before dawn. I’ll get to see what they look like at last. I’ll have a story to tell to make life more interesting for everyone. I’m the one they’re looking for, after all…

  She seemed to have plenty of good reasons. And off she went.

  She had already been gone an hour when Blue Wolf woke up in the night, sensing that something was wrong. He guessed straight away. She was crafty enough to dupe Grey Cousin, who was on watch, and she would have headed off towards the men.

  I’ve got to catch up with her, he thought.

  But Blue Wolf didn’t manage to catch up with her.

  When he reached the hunters’ camp, he saw the men dancing in the firelight around a net tied with a thick rope to a sort of wooden gallows. Shiny Straw was caught in the net and was furiously gnashing her teeth. Flashes of gold glanced off her fur in the darkness. Dogs jumped up and down in a frenzy of excitement below the net. They were yapping and yelping. The men let out great cries as they danced. They were clad in wolfskins.

  Black Flame was right, thought Blue Wolf. He paused. If I bite the rope, the net will land in the middle of those dogs. She’s too fast for them, and we’ll make our getaway.

  He had to jump over the fires, which is something wolves don’t like doing. But it was the only way, and it had to be done quickly. There was no time to be scared. He had to catch them by surprise.

  He was already high in the burning air, above the flames, above the men (whose faces looked very red in the firelight) and above the net. He ripped the rope with one tug of his teeth and shouted, “Run, Shiny Straw!”

  The men and their dogs were still looking up in the night air, confused.

  Shiny Straw hesitated. “I’m sorry, Blue Wolf, I—”

  And then it was pandemonium. Blue Wolf drove two dogs into the flames. “Run, and look after the family!”

  Blue Wolf saw Shiny Straw take an enormous leap. Then he heard those thunderclaps. The snow around her was splattered with little craters. Missed! She disappeared into the night.

  Blue Wolf didn’t have a second to celebrate. A bear-sized man was standing in front of him waving a flaming branch. The blow came as a shock. Blue Wolf felt his head was exploding. Then there was darkness. It was a darkness filled with stars, and he was falling, falling, falling and spinning round.

  VII

  When he woke up he could only open one eye. They hadn’t killed him. His fur h
ad been too badly damaged in the struggle to be sold, so he ended up in the zoo. Or rather, in several zoos. Over the next ten years he stayed in five or six. Sometimes the ground was concrete and the roof was made of corrugated iron. Sometimes the ground was bare earth and there was clear sky above. He’d been in small cages and behind thick bars, in large enclosures and penned in by wire meshing. His meat was thrown to him from a distance. People came to paint him on Sundays; children were scared of him. The seasons came and went…

  He was all alone. Surrounded by animals he didn’t know, who were also caged off.

  “A human being is a collector.”

  Now he understood the meaning of Black Flame’s words.

  He was all alone in the world. Until the day they introduced Perdrix, a she-wolf, into his cage.

  To begin with, Blue Wolf wasn’t too happy about this. He had grown used to being alone. He preferred his own memories for company.

  The she-wolf wanted to ask a whole heap of questions. “What’s your name?” She had grey fur and a muzzle that was nearly white. “Where do you come from?” Her paws were white too. “Did they capture you a long time ago?”

  She’s just like a snow partridge, thought Blue Wolf.

  “Fine,” said the she-wolf, “don’t answer, if that’s what you want. But I’m warning you: I’ll answer you like a shot when you ask me a question!”

  That’s the kind of thing Shiny Straw would have said to me, thought Blue Wolf. So he enquired, “Where do you come from then?”

  “From the Far North.”

  “It’s a big place, the Far North…”

  “I come from the barren lands, in Alaska.”

  Blue Wolf held his breath. The barren lands? That was the name humans gave to the place where he’d been captured. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

  “The barren lands? Tell me, do you know—”

  “I know everyone back there.”

  “Do you know a little she-wolf with golden fur?”

  “Shiny Straw? The daughter of Black Flame and Great Wolf? Of course I know her! But, for one thing, she’s not a little she-wolf any more – she’s huge. Bigger than all the other wolves. And, secondly, she hasn’t got golden fur now.”

  “Hasn’t got golden fur? Now you’re telling fibs.”

  “It’s not a fib; I never lie. Of course, she used to have golden fur. But not any more. It stopped shining.”

  “Stopped shining?”

  “Exactly. One night she left with one of her brothers – no one knows where they went – and the next morning she came back alone. The shine had gone from her fur; she no longer glowed in the sunshine. She’s just Yellow Straw now! They say she’s in mourning.”

  “That’s what they say?”

  “They say all sorts of things about her. And I know her well enough to be certain that everything they say is true. They say that no wolf has ever been a better hunter, and it’s true. They say that neither she nor her family will ever allow themselves to be captured by humans, and it’s true.”

  “How do you know?” asked Blue Wolf, who felt a huge ball of pride swelling in his chest.

  So Perdrix told him. It happened one summer, when there were three families of wolves gathered round a pond that was swarming with ducks. Shiny Straw’s family and Perdrix’s family were there. Everyone was lying silently in wait, when suddenly they heard something whizzing above them, whoosh … whoosh … whoosh! It was a helicopter. (“Yes, they’ve started hunting us down with helicopters now.”) Bang! Bang! The first shots rang out. Total panic! Wolves were trying to escape in every direction, as if the air current from the propeller blades was dispersing them. Fortunately the hunters weren’t good marksmen. They were amateurs who just hunted for fun.

  The helicopter was losing height. The grass below flattened out. But Shiny Straw was in the grass, although it was impossible to spot her because she was exactly the same colour. Then, out of the blue, she snapped at the pilot’s leg. Ouch! The helicopter rose up again, spun round in a peculiar way and … splash! It landed in the middle of the pond.

  “I rushed towards Shiny Straw. ‘How did you manage that, Shiny Straw? Tell us how you did it.’ And do you know what she said?”

  “‘My eyes!’”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Finish the story first.”

  “Yes, the rest of the story… Well, there was the helicopter in the middle of the pond, and the men were splashing all the ducks – the ducks were hopping mad! – and the wolves were sitting on the bank, laughing so hard they were splitting their sides. You can’t imagine how much they were enjoying themselves. Shiny Straw was the only one who wasn’t laughing.”

  “She wasn’t laughing?”

  “No … she never laughs.”

  VIII

  After their conversation Blue Wolf decided Perdrix wasn’t such bad company after all. She was always in a good mood. They swapped memories; the years went by. And then, last week, Perdrix died. Which brings us up to date. Right up to the present moment, with Blue Wolf sitting in his empty enclosure, opposite the boy.

  The pair of them stare into each other’s eye. Their silence is framed by the distant rumbling from the town. How long have the boy and the wolf been staring at each other like this? The boy has watched the sun setting in the wolf’s eye several times. Not the cold sun of Alaska (which gives off such a pale light you never know whether it’s setting or rising), but the sun from here, the sun at the zoo, which disappears each evening when the visitors leave. Night falls in the wolf’s eye. First of all the colours blur, and then the shapes get rubbed out. And the wolf’s eyelid finally slides shut over his eye. The wolf stays sitting upright opposite the boy.

  But he’s fallen asleep.

  The boy tiptoes out of the zoo, the way you might sneak out of a bedroom.

  But each morning, when Black Flame, Grey Cousin, the Redheads, Shiny Straw and Perdrix wake up in the eye of the wolf, the boy is there again, standing in front of the enclosure, concentrating without moving a muscle.

  Soon you’ll know everything there is to know about me.

  Now the wolf is gathering together even his tiniest memories: all the different zoos, all the sad animals he’s met along the way who were prisoners like him, all the human faces he pretended not to see (faces that didn’t look very happy either). He remembers the seasons passing by like clouds, the last leaf to fall from the tree, the final glance Perdrix gave him, the day he decided he wouldn’t eat his meat any more.

  Right up until Blue Wolf’s last memory.

  It was the moment when the boy arrived in front of his enclosure, one morning at the beginning of winter.

  Yes, you are my last memory.

  It’s true. The boy can see his own image appearing in the wolf’s eye.

  You really annoyed me to begin with!

  The boy can see himself, standing still as a frozen tree, inside that round eye.

  I used to ask myself, What does he want from me? What’s his problem? Hasn’t he ever seen a wolf before?

  The boy can see his breath creating a white mist in the wolf’s eye.

  I used to say to myself, He’ll give up before I do; I’m more patient than he is – I’m the wolf!

  But the boy in the wolf’s eye doesn’t seem to have any intention of leaving.

  You know what? I was furious. To prove his point the wolf’s pupil contracts and expands like a flame around the boy’s image. And then you closed your eye. Which was a very kind thing to do…

  Everything is calm now. The snow begins to fall gently over the wolf and the boy. The last snowflakes of winter.

  But you? You? What kind of person are you? Who are you? What are you called, for a start?

  The Human Eye

  I

  It isn’t the first time he’s been asked about his name. The other children had quizzed him to begin with.

  “Are you new around here?”

  “Where d’you come fr
om?”

  “What does your dad do?”

  “How old are you?”

  “What class are you in?”

  “Do you know how to play bulldog?”

  The sort of questions kids ask everywhere. But the most common question of all was the one the wolf had just asked silently, inside his head. “What are you called?”

  And nobody ever understood the boy’s answer.

  “My name is Africa.”

  “Africa? That’s not a person’s name; it’s the name of a country!” And they would laugh.

  “But that’s what my name is. Africa.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re joking!”

  “You’re pulling our leg, aren’t you?”

  The boy would look at them in a peculiar way and ask calmly, “Do I look like I’m pulling your leg?”

  And the thing was, he didn’t.

  “Sorry, we were just having a bit of fun…”

  “We wouldn’t want to…”

  “We didn’t mean to…”

  The boy would raise his hand and smile gently to show that no offence was taken.

  “Right, Africa is my first name. And my surname is N’Bia. So I’m called Africa N’Bia.”

  But the boy knows that a name doesn’t mean anything without the story that goes with it. It’s like a wolf in a zoo: he’s just another animal until you get to know his life story.

  All right, Blue Wolf, I’ll tell you my story.

  And the boy’s eye begins to transform itself in turn. It looks like a light being switched off. Or a tunnel going down into the earth. Blue Wolf squeezes into the tunnel, as if he’s entering a fox’s den. The further down he goes, the less he can see. Soon there isn’t a glimmer of light left. Blue Wolf can’t even see his own paws.

  It would be difficult to say how long he burrows down into the boy’s eye. The minutes go by like years. And then a whisper rises up out of the darkness.