by Gene Wolfe
“What about you, madam?”
Here it was.
“Will you give us your name?”
Janet stood, conscious that her knees were trembling and perfectly certain that the lecturer knew it. “Of course I will. That was why I came. I’m … You said that—that Ms. Bishop’s ancestor … Or her husband’s. So I ought to tell you I’m not married anymore, and it’s my maiden name. I’m Janet Woolf.” She paused, floundering mentally. “You know. Like Virginia Woolf? With two o’s. Does that matter?”
The lecturer shook his head. “All such names are merely variants of Wolf. I take it you’re not Jewish?”
“No, I’m a—no.”
“If you were, your name would indicate membership in the tribe of Benjamin. Since you’re not, you’re presumably descended from someone called Wolf or Vulf—”
Janet wanted to protest, but did not.
“Someone who exhibited the courage and ferocity thought characteristic of wolves.”
Too softly she murmured, “I don’t think so.”
“I might note that though the various forms of wolf are unusual as first names, they remain in use. The Irish patriot Wolfe Tone is an example, as is Jack London’s fictional captain, Wolf Larson. You’re shaking your head.”
“I don’t believe any of that.” Janet took a deep breath. “I think my name—” Louder! “Belongs to the same group as that other woman’s. That it’s really a servant name and maybe even a friend name, because back then a servant wasn’t just somebody who cooked and cleaned, he was somebody who went out and fought for you when that was what you needed. I think that we were John and Joan and Jane Who-serve-the-wolves, once.”
The lecturer started to say something, but she raised her voice again, overriding him shrilly. “I can’t prove it, but I feel it. You’ll make fun of me, I know, but half the time I was listening I was laughing at you. You’re so sure you know everything that went on back when people like us were savages with bows and spears. Where everybody lived. What everybody did.”
The audience was buzzing; she had to shout to make herself heard. “But I know what I feel in my heart! And I don’t believe you know nearly as much as you think you do!”
She dropped back into her seat, her face burning. Somewhere high overhead, the lecturer was saying something—something presumably crushing. She did not hear it.
As she left the lecture hall, a tall, gaunt, gray-haired woman edged closer to her. Mentally Janet snapped her fingers. Margaret Bishop.
“Wolves! Take the crosstown bus.”
Abruptly, Margaret Bishop strode ahead and vanished into the crowd.
She’s crazy, Janet thought; but there had been something so urgent and compelling in that whisper that she went to the bus stop, all the while worrying frantically about her little Geo in the parking lot. There were two men at the bus stop; both looked tired, and neither so much as glanced at her. No, she thought, Margaret Bishop’s perfectly sane—I’m the one who’s crazy.
When the almost-empty bus arrived, Margaret Bishop was sitting by herself in the last seat. A slight motion of her head and something welcoming in her eyes indicated that Janet was to sit beside her.
Janet did. “I guess I went to the wrong stop. I thought that was the closest.”
“It is.” Margaret Bishop spoke under her breath. “You’re a godsend, Janet. Is it all right if I call you Janet? You’re gold and diamonds and rubies to me. Do you have some kind of big car, a van, or a minivan? Anything at all like that? Don’t look at me when you answer.”
Responding to the last, Janet said, “Yes. All right.”
“I knew you would!” There was heady exultation in Margaret Bishop’s whisper. “You listen, you follow instructions, and you don’t ask questions. You’re perfectly wonderful!”
I’ve often tried to be, Janet thought. Maybe this time I’m succeeding.
“We need somebody to transport three young wolves. You’ll do it. I know you will.”
“Wolves?” She nodded. “I’ll certainly try.”
“We’re trying to re-establish wolves throughout the United States. Maybe you’ve heard about us?”
“I’ve read something, I think.”
“They call us wolfers, and there are a lot more of us than they think. Ranchers who doom thousands of cattle every year,” the whisper grew bitter, “and rent thousands of acres of public land for pennies, are afraid that somewhere, sometime, a wolf may kill a calf. But wolves are a vital part of this country’s ecology.”
“I know,” Janet whispered back. “I’ve read a great deal about them.”
The bus lurched to a stop; a tired-looking man got off and an even tireder-looking one got on, stamping snow from his overshoes. “That’s not one of them,” Margaret Bishop whispered, “or I don’t think so. They’re behind us in a car.”
Janet forgot about not asking questions. “Who are they?”
“Feds. Probably Fish and Game, but it might be the FBI or even the ATF.”
“That’s scary.”
“Of course it is, and there are dozens of those secret police agencies, though nobody’s got the guts to call them the Secret Police. Are you particularly frightened of the ATF? You shouldn’t be, because they’re really all the same. Someone who shows you a United States Marshal’s badge today may show somebody else credentials from the CIA tomorrow.” A slight smile tugged at Margaret Bishop’s thin lips. “Their names aren’t like Woolf and Bishop, you see, Janet. Theirs mean nothing.”
“Young wolves, you said. You want me to take them somewhere.”
“Yes, three. Two females and a male.” Margaret Bishop opened her purse and rummaged through it. “To a certain park in Michigan. There’s a new place in Texas, too, but I’m going to send you to Michigan. I assume you work.”
Janet nodded—almost imperceptibly, she hoped.
“Can you take a few days off work?”
“I already am. I won’t have to go back until a week from Monday. I—do you mind if I tell you something personal? I don’t want to burden you with my problems. I really don’t.”
“I’d love for you to tell me something personal, Janet. I’m eager to get to know you.”
“It was because I was getting so depressed, because of the divorce. I divorced Steve, you see. He didn’t want it, but …”
“You just didn’t get along.” Margaret Bishop sounded sympathetic.
“He was always bossing me, always crowding me. I’d say stop, stop. You’re killing me and you’re killing the last bit of the love we used to have.”
“Yes.”
“And he’d say, why can’t you be sensible, Janet? And then when I filed, it was all my fault and he started talking about the good times we’d had. That was what he said, the good times. Only they hadn’t been good times for me, and I could never make Steve understand that.”
Margaret Bishop’s hand found hers.
“The day he moved out, I threw a frying pan at Wasabe—at dear little Wasabe! She’s the best little dog anybody ever saw, but I threw a great big cast-iron skillet at her. I could’ve killed her.”
“You had been hurt, and wanted to hurt someone else.”
“Yes, exactly. So I explained to my boss and he let me take my two weeks of vacation. I’d been planning to fly to Florida, but I couldn’t because of the dogs, so I thought I’d just stay here at home and go to museums and, you know, cultural things, and get some extra sleep and snap out of it. Only I didn’t. And because of taking my old name back I kept thinking about wolves, real wolves and werewolves and all the rest of it, and getting bluer and bluer, until you came along. But now I’m not depressed at all. When you get off this bus I’ll get off, too—”
“No you won’t,” Margaret Bishop told her. “We can’t let them see us together. Stay on for another two stops.”
“All right, I’ll stay on for another two stops, and then I’ll get off and take another bus back to the campus and get my Geo. That’s not the big car I told you abou
t. It’s just little. The big one’s a Ford Expedition.”
“Perfect!”
“And I can start tomorrow. I will, if that’s all right.”
For the first time, Margaret Bishop turned and looked at her. “If you’re caught, caught with the wolves, you’ll be fined. You could even be sent to prison. I doubt that it will happen, but it could. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I’ll try very hard not to be caught. Kyoto and Wasabe and I will, because I’ll have to take them with me. And we won’t be.”
“Let us pray,” Margaret Bishop had said, and had handed her this piece of paper. At the top was the name and address of the man in Minnesota who had the wolves—and, supposedly at least, cages for them. At the bottom was the name and address of the Michigan man who knew all the back roads around the new park and would sneak the wolves in, one at a time and at night.
Home at last, Janet was showing the paper to Kyoto, the wheaten Scottie, who sniffed and inspected it, and cocked her head wisely. “This is very important information,” Janet told Kyoto. “You’re not to tear it up! Not under any circumstances. Understand?”
I don’t do that, Kyoto said quite plainly. It’s Wasabe who tears things up, and she mostly tears up house plants burying her toy.
“Let me rephrase that. You are not to tear this up unless we’re raided by the Feds. That’s what Margaret Bishop calls them, Feds. If we’re raided by Feds, I want you to bark as loud as you can, and eat it.”
Eat what? Wasabe inquired, interested. (Wasabe was the black Scottie.)
“This is a very valuable paper.” Janet showed it to Wasabe, who sniffed it even more thoroughly than Kyoto had.
“It doesn’t have phone numbers because their phones might be tapped. The Feds might even be putting a tap on our phone right now, so if either of you make a call, don’t speak English. Speak Dog.”
We will, Kyoto and Wasabe declared in unison.
“Tomorrow I’m going to have to see Steve. It will be ugly, I know it will, but I’ve got to do it. After that, we’ll go to Minnesota and get three wolves, fierce big animals that eat little puppy dogs for lunch. Understand? You two have Japanese names so you ought to be polite, but I can’t really say I’ve noticed it so far. You’d darned well better be polite to the wolves though, and keep your distance, too. And so had I.”
Don’t worry, Janet, Kyoto said. I’ll protect you.
They had said hi, how are you, and not listened to the answers, and Steve had invited Janet in. Now she sat on the edge of a chair big enough to hold a man bigger even than Steve, and clutched her purse in both hands. “When we separated I swore I would never ask you for help.”
Steve nodded, his hard, handsome face guarded.
“Now I am. I have to borrow your truck. It shouldn’t be for more than two days, and you’ll have my Geo to drive to work.” She hesitated. “It could be three, I hope not, but it could be. Not any longer than that.”
“It’s not a truck. It’s a sport utility vehicle.”
This was encouraging—he had not said no. “I’m sorry. I really am. Your sport utility vehicle. I simply have to have it. I’ll take good care of it, and I’ll owe you a big, big favor if you let me borrow it. I know that. Will you, Steve? Please?”
A guarded nod. “What do you want it for?”
“Thank you! Oh, Steve, thank you very, very much.” It would be too dangerous to kiss him, she decided, although she wanted to. “Do you remember Rachael’s dogs?”
“With the funny names? Sure.”
“Well I stuck my neck out. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I promised to take some other dogs for another woman, a new friend. And they’re big, really big dogs—”
He chuckled.
“I said I’d take them to Michigan for her.” Janet’s voice fell. “Three of them.”
“If they piss on my upholstery, Janet …”
“They won’t! They’ll be in a cage in back. You’ve seen big dog cages like that. Everybody has. They’ll never get near your upholstery, I promise, and if they—you know—relieve themselves, I’ll clean it up.”
“You’d better.”
“I will Steve. Really, I will.” She paused to swallow; there was the money for Florida, money that she would never use now. “In fact, before I bring it back to you I’ll take it to that detailing place. They charge a lot, I know—”
“It’ll be two hundred if it’s a dime,” Steve declared.
“But I will. It’ll be just like a new car—I mean sport utility vehicle—when you see it again.”
She gave him the keys to her Geo, and he gave her his, which she put in her purse.
“Steve … ?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You need another favor?”
“No. But—but I’d like one. I said I’d be careful with your car? I’ll be twice as careful with this. I want you to lend me a gun.”
“what?”
“I know I never liked them. I know I always complained about your having them. But these are really big dogs, and they’re not nice dogs like Kyoto and Wasabe. Do you know what I mean? And there are three of them, and I’ll have to—to let them out to exercise them, I guess. So will you? Not one of your hunting rifles, the little one, the pistol.”
“The Smith & Wesson?”
She swallowed again. “I guess so. I don’t think I’ll need it. I certainly hope I don’t … .”
To her surprise he nodded sympathetically.
The Smith & Wesson was in the pocket of Janet’s parka as she drove up to the Minnesota farmhouse. The house was dark, the barnyard brilliantly illuminated by a light on a high pole. She switched off her headlights before the Expedition rolled to a stop, jumped out, and ran up the steps onto the dark front porch, joyfully accompanied by Wasabe and Kyoto.
There was no response to her knock. She listened for a time, found the bell and rang it, looked back at the dark front yard and the darker road, watched the silent ghost that was her breath floating in the frigid air, and knocked a second time. Nothing.
Wasabe was sticking close, an almost invisible furry presence around her feet; Kyoto had decided the wolves were probably in the rusty hulk of an old truck on the other side of the driveway, and was investigating. A third knock, as loud as she could make it.
Nothing.
Janet whistled Kyoto to her and went back to the Expedition, sat in it for ten minutes or so watching the front door, and restarted the engine. “Nobody.” She scratched Kyoto’s ears and switched the headlights back on.
“A farm’s not like a house,” she told Kyoto. “You can’t just go off and leave it. Who’s going to feed the chickens?”
It seemed a compelling argument, but as is the case with most compelling arguments, nobody listened. Slowly she backed up and out onto the road again. “Well, I’m not going back to Margaret Bishop and say I tried once but there was nobody home. No way!”
Not us! Kyoto declared. As usual, Wasabe seconded her: Not us, right, Janet?
“No indeed. I’m going back to—what was the name of that little town?”
Thief River Falls, Kyoto declared. Wasabe laid a paw on Janet’s arm. Viking.
“Whatever.” She put the Expedition in drive and glanced at the instruments. “There’s bound to be someplace to stay there. A motel or a bedand-breakfast or something. Tomorrow we’ll come back—”
She hit the brakes as a big man in a red cap and a big red checkered coat appeared in her headlights. The Expedition skidded a little on the icy asphalt and came to a stop.
The man in the checkered coat came to her window and the Smith & Wesson into her hand without her consciously wanting either one of them. There seemed to be little to do with the latter except point it at the face of the former, so she did and said, “I darned near killed you. What do you want?”
“A ride.” He held up one big hand as though its leathery palm would stop a bullet. “You are looking for me? Granstrom is my name.”
“You weren’t at your house.” Janet he
sitated. “Are you afraid they’re watching it?”
“Put that away.” Granstrom took a deep breath. “I get in the car, all right?”
“This?” She glanced at the Smith & Wesson and put it back into the pocket of her parka. “Yes. Get in. You’ll have to chase the dogs into the back.”
He did, settling himself into the deep bucket seat. “Nice car. You come to get my wolfs, ya?”
“Wolves. Yes, I did.”
“All right.”
She waited for him to say more; when he did not, she asked, “Should we go back to your house?”
He shook his head and pointed. “Go slow.”
“Right.” She let the big Expedition drift ahead.
“There.” He pointed again.
“You want to go through all that snow?”
“Ya.”
Her headlights showed an opening in a sagging fence of rusty wire. Cautiously the Expedition edged forward, crossing what might or might not have been cattle bars.
“I say turn off those light, you do that?”
“Ya,” Janet said, and did. Dark pines and white snow, lost in inky darkness when the moon vanished behind snow-laden clouds.
“Go slow.”
It was impossible to go much slower, but she tried. No doubt there was a dirt road under the snow; presumably the Expedition was on it, more or less. “Are the Feds watching your house?” she asked him.
He scratched his head without removing his cap, knocking it to one side. “I don’t think so.”
“But you went outside in this cold to wait for me half a mile down the road.”
“Ya. A certain fellow, he said you would be coming.”
“A friend of yours.”
“Oh, ya.”
“And of Margaret Bishop’s.”