The Loop (44 page)

Celia laughed. ‘That he’s gone
woo-woo
? Absolutely not. But seriously, Helen. Courtney’s the best thing that ever happened to him. You know what he said to me last night? He said, “Courtney has given me the secret of life.”’

‘Is he going to share it with us?’

‘He said, she’s taught him to “
be
”.’

‘To be what?’

‘Don’t joke. It’s important. Just to
be
. To live in the moment. And you know what? She’s dead right. And if anyone in the whole world needs to do that, it’s you.’

‘You think so?’

‘I
know
it. So. As your sister, therapist and Buddhist counselor, I say, give yourself a break. Have a little fun. Just live in the moment and let things be. Go back to Luke and, well, you know . . .’

‘Fuck him?’

‘Helen, you’re impossible.’

Helen’s room was on the end of a long, two-story building. It had a balcony with a view of the bay. That night, after the party was over, she left the doors open and lay listening to the swish and draw of the waves on the beach. She toyed with the silver wolf around her neck while she thought about her sister.

It had been a revelation. Helen felt guilty for having always underestimated her and a little daunted at finding herself so accurately understood. What Celia had said about her ‘tragic destiny’ and self-indulgent wallowing had the cold truth of a scalpel.

As to her advice about Luke, Helen was less sure. Celia had offered it flippantly, but Helen knew she meant it. The problem was, it was based on only half the picture. It took account of Helen’s needs, but not Luke’s.

In all Helen’s relationships with men, until now,
she
had always been the one waiting to get hurt and rejected. It seemed to be her life’s allotted role. And, without fail, it happened, time and again. It was probably self-fulfilling, she thought. Men seemed to sense these things. Now, though, with Luke, all this had changed.

Perhaps it was simply because of his age, she didn’t know, but she had not the slightest foreboding that he would hurt or reject her, only the other way around. Yet when she had tried to warn him, he had told her he didn’t care. So why should she? Was it not enough simply to love and be loved? For she did love him, she knew, and not simply for rescuing her from despair. She loved him for himself, but in a way that was new to her and oddly liberating.

Furthermore, to her own surprise, she found that she wanted him, physically, almost as much as he clearly wanted her.

On that last night in the cabin, she had let him unzip her dress and kiss her breasts and, instead of being sensible and gently stopping him, she had wantonly unbuttoned his shirt and led him to the bed. And deliberately blocking all admonishing thought, she had guided his hand between her legs and unbuckled his belt and held him, hot and hard, in her hands. And he’d come in a rush and then been all ashamed and she’d kissed and cradled him and told him not to be. It was beautiful, she’d whispered, and wonderful for a woman to feel so wanted.

Outside now, the palm trees stirred and clattered and the rhythm of reggae music floated on the warm breeze from a party somewhere along the bay. Helen turned on her side and shut her eyes, wishing Luke was lying there with her and picturing him, three thousand miles away, in the cold and the snow until she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

 

Luke had never heard more than a few bars of opera in his life, usually on public radio when he was looking for another station. In general, he had nothing against classical music. Some of it was okay. But the idea of people singing to each other instead of talking had always seemed to him a little dumb. Sometimes they talked as well, which only made it funnier when they burst into song again.

Since he’d been staying on his own in the cabin, he had gotten into the habit of putting on some music when he came back from tracking. Normally he chose one of the albums Helen normally played, Sheryl Crow, Van Morrison or Alanis Morissette, which all somehow made him feel she was there. But today, looking for something different, he had found her box of opera discs and out of simple curiosity put on the first that came to hand,
Tosca
.

He lit the lanterns, got the stove going and put some snow on to melt for a hot drink. After a whole week, being with Buzz in the cabin almost seemed normal, though scarcely a minute went by when he didn’t think about Helen. She had called her voice mail on Christmas Day and left him a long message, telling him lots of things about the wedding and her new stepmother. She’d ended by saying how much she missed him and wishing him a merry Christmas.

Christmas at the Calder ranch had been about as merry as it ever managed to be. His older sister Lane had gone to her in-laws, so it was just Kathy and Clyde and Luke’s parents. His father was in a bad mood and locked himself away in his office. The women talked in the kitchen and Clyde got drunk and fell asleep in front of the TV. Luke spent most of the time playing with the baby, until he felt he could make an excuse of having to feed Buzz and check Helen’s voice mail and escaped back up to the cabin. He’d played her message back a dozen times.

She hadn’t called since. He checked for messages again now, but there was only one from Dan Prior. They were going flying in the morning and Dan wanted him at the airfield by seven. He also said he’d at last got the results of the DNA test on the young collared male and that they were interesting because they showed he had different genes from the others, which meant he was a disperser.

By the time Luke had made himself some tea and had a piece of his mother’s Christmas cake, the cabin had warmed up and the opera was in full swing. The Italian lady, who sounded the sort you didn’t mess with, was all worked up about something and really letting rip. Even though Luke couldn’t understand a word, he found himself enjoying it.

He took off his parka and had just sat down on Helen’s bunk to untie his boots when he heard a note which, at first, made him think someone in the orchestra had goofed. Or maybe the CD player was on the blink. Then it stopped. Buzz had clearly heard it too and seemed oddly excited.

‘It’s
Tosca
,’ Luke confided, going back to his boots. ‘In Italian.’

It was only when he heard the sound a second time that he recognized it. He went to the window and looked out. The first stars were just starting to show in a clear, pink sky. There was still enough light for him to see the wolf.

It was the alpha female. She was at the edge of the forest on the far side of the frozen lake where once, what now seemed a lifetime ago, Luke had spied on Helen. The wolf’s white coat stood out against the dark of the trees. He could see her collar quite clearly and, as he looked, she lifted her head and howled. It was different from every other howl he’d heard, starting with a series of barks, just like a dog’s. Luke quickly went to fetch Helen’s binoculars.

Buzz was all in a lather. He gave a little whimper and Luke told him to hush, though it probably didn’t matter because the Italian lady was singing loud enough to drown out everything. Luke gently turned down the lanterns and decided to try and get a better view by gently opening the door a little. He’d barely opened it an inch when Buzz pushed past him. Before Luke could get a hand to him, the dog was outside and heading hell for leather down toward the lake. Luke stepped out after him.

‘Buzz! No!’

But there was no point in yelling. The wolf stopped her howling and stood quite still, with her tail held high, watching the dog draw near. Buzz was probably a goner anyway, but if the whole pack was there, they would surely tear him to shreds.

Through the glasses, Luke quickly scanned the trees. If the others were there, they weren’t yet showing themselves. He started running down the slope, but he broke through the snow to his knees. There was no way he could get down there fast enough to be of any use. He struggled to his feet and looked again through the glasses.

Buzz was almost across the ice of the lake now and the wolf was still standing there waiting for him. What the hell was the dog doing? It wasn’t like he was angry or anything, more like he was going to greet an old friend. He was bounding up the far slope now, only about ten yards below the wolf and suddenly the wolf started slowly wagging her tail. Buzz slowed and went the last few yards getting lower and lower until he was slithering on his belly. And when he got to her, he flipped right over and lay on his back beneath her and the wolf just kept on waving her tail to and fro like a flag, looking down her nose at him.

Luke was waiting for her to pounce and rip the dog’s throat out. But she didn’t. She just watched Buzz grovel. He was hoisting his muzzle and licking at her, as Luke had seen the wolf pups do in the summer, when they were begging food from the adults. Surely he knew he was more likely to be a meal than get one?

Then suddenly the wolf went down, flattening her chest to the snow and putting her head down on her outstretched paws, still wagging her tail. Luke couldn’t believe it. She wanted to play. And as soon as Buzz got the message, she was off, running in teasing circles around him, her tail tucked comically under her and the dog trying in vain to catch her. Then the wolf stopped and crouched down again and Buzz did the same and then one of them made a move and off they went again, only this time it was the wolf’s turn to do the chasing.

They took turns like this for several minutes and soon Luke was laughing so much he had to sit down in the snow and prop his elbows on his knees to keep the glasses steady.

Then, abruptly, the wolf veered away and headed for the trees. Buzz stood there a moment, looking a little lost. Luke got up and called him, but the poor animal was having too much fun and, instead, off he went in hot pursuit and vanished into the forest.

Behind, in the cabin,
Tosca
boomed on regardless. Night was falling fast. Suddenly, the wolf’s game didn’t seem so funny anymore.

 

The wolfer heard the music too. He was higher up the valley, on his way to the place where he’d killed the third wolf on Christmas Day.

For several days, he’d followed the boy’s tracks, taking care to place his skis and poles precisely inside them, so that only a skilled trail reader such as he would know that more than one had passed that way.

There was a pleasing irony about being led to the wolves by one who was seeking to save them. Before, when the woman was around, Lovelace had thought it too risky. Some of these biologist folk could be pretty smart. The boy was only an amateur, but he wasn’t bad. In fact, he hardly missed a thing.

Lovelace could always see where he had stopped to pick up scat or check out a scent mark or something. He had to be careful in case the boy ever doubled back, but it hadn’t happened yet and even if they came face to face, he wouldn’t guess what the wolfer was up to. Most likely, he’d just think him some mad old buzzard out for a walk in the woods. Better, though, to stay unseen.

The boy’s work pattern was pretty much the same as when the woman was around. He worked the same hours, went night-tracking on the same nights and was doing the same kind of work, backtracking to find kill sites and taking samples from the carcass. Not once, so far, had he or the woman returned to the same site. And it was this simple fact that had gotten Lovelace his third wolf.

A pack of wolves could strip a carcass at a single sitting, leaving only scraps for the ravens and coyotes. Occasionally, though, for some reason, they might leave it half eaten or cache chunks of meat beneath the snow and come back later for another meal. It was a kill like this that Lovelace had been hoping to find and on Christmas Eve, unwittingly, the boy had led him to one.

It was an old bull elk. The boy had done what he always did, pulled a couple of teeth, sawed himself some bone and then left. Lovelace found where the wolves had cached some of the meat and set foot-snares on the likely approaches. He’d have preferred to use neck-snares, but even if you crimped a stop on them, they could still sometimes strangle a wolf and he didn’t want to risk killing the collared ones yet.

The place was a little too close for comfort to the woman’s cabin but Lovelace figured it was worth a try. He spent the night, camped a mile downwind and when he skied back in at dawn, he found Santa Claus had been real generous, leaving him not just one wolf, but a pair: a female pup and the young, collared male.

They cowered, watching him furtively while he took off his skis and pulled his ax and two black sacks from his pack. As he came toward them, neither one dared look him in the eye.

‘Hey, wolf,’ Lovelace crooned to the pup in a soothing singsong. ‘Ain’t you a pretty young thing? Ain’t you just?’

He stopped a little way short of her, for a cowering wolf could sometimes make a lunge. He raised the ax above his head and as he did so, the pup looked up at him and something in her golden eyes made him hesitate. But only for a moment. He slammed his mind shut to whatever it was that he’d seen there and with two swift blows, cleaved her skull.

With her paws still twitching, he quickly wrapped her head in one of the sacks, so her blood wouldn’t stain the snow. He took the snare off her leg and stood over her, coiling the wire in his hands, his quickened breath rising in clouds around him. The caw of a raven grated the silence of the forest dawn and the wolfer lifted his eyes and saw two black shapes circling above him in the scaled, fish-belly silver of the sky.

He looked down at the collared wolf.

It was half turned away, watching him from the corner of its eye. It was older, two or three years old, Lovelace figured. It was bleeding heavily from where the wire of the snare had worked into its front leg in its struggle to get free. Once he had killed it, the collar would start transmitting a different signal which would be sure to raise suspicion. Lovelace could smash the thing and get rid of it, so the signal would simply disappear. But that might worry the boy too and certainly worry the woman when she came back. It might make them change the way they worked, start doing things he couldn’t predict.