The Trace of the Wolf

by Siegfried Wittwer

  The men in the barracks laughed out loud. Tima also tried to smile, although he could not hide the fact that the fall had hurt him.

  Igor stretched out his hand to him as if he wanted to help him get up. But when Tima was almost on his feet again, Igor pushed him back. The boy hit the edge of the bed with the back of his head and groaned. But he was still smiling.

  "Stop smiling so stupidly, weakling!" Wolodin mocked him. Then he kicked his foot against the Bible so that it flew across the barrack room.

  "No!" Tima Bekow yelled out. "Not the Bible!"

  The men around roared.

  "What did you say, weakling?" Wolodin wanted to know. He bent down to the boy and exposed his yellow teeth. "Are you trying to tell me what to do?" He kicked Tima Bekow's elbow, so the boy fell back.

  Now it was Mischka's turn. When men fought fair fights or ridiculed each other, he didn't mind. In such a camp one simply needed a valve for aggression or boredom. It was also their business how they dealt with each other. But when someone attacked a weaker man, his blood pressure rose.

  "Enough men!" he shouted, and his voice betrayed authority. "You've had your fun. Leave the boy alone!"

  Astonished, Igor and Wolodin turned to him.

  "Are you now also a member of the Club of the Pious?" Igor wanted to know. "Are you going to tell us what to do? You must need a whipping!"

  Mischka looked at him only contemptuously and turned to the men around him, eagerly waiting to see how he would react.

  "People," he said, "I can't get rid of the suspicion that we have one or two informers among us. Every time the political officer tries to spy me out, he tells me what was spoken among us. Who told him that? Where's the leak?"

  He took a meaningful break to heat the men up. "What mean dog is ratting us out to that scumbag?"

  Mischka looked around. The men stared at him expectantly. In their faces he saw questions, anger and disgust.

  "Who is it, Mischka?" Nikita shouted from the background. "Tell us so we can shut that pig up forever."

  "I don't know myself, friends. But I know one thing. Here Igor and Wolodin have just finished off a boy against whom the political officer is powerless, whom he has not yet been able to turn around and put on party course. This stinks so badly!"

  "Son of a bitch!” Wolodin shouted at him, and Igor also clenched his fists and set about throwing himself at Mischka.

  "You see, men, now they want to attack me too, the favorite enemy of the political officer. Well, if that isn't a coincidence!"

  Igor tried to hit him in the face. Mischka moved to the side only slightly. The attacker's fist slammed against the bedpost. Igor cried out in pain. Mischka hit him in the face with his flat hand and at the same time lifted the front leg away. Igor fell to the ground like a wet sack. His nose started bleeding. He got up and stared at his opponent. Wolodin stepped by his side.

  "Man, don't make things worse than they already are!" Mischka rebuked them. "You don't have many friends here anymore. Just look around."

  Wolodin and Igor looked into the round. The men around them made serious faces. Fists were clenched. Threats filled the air.

  Wolodin tried to smile. He failed.

  "Now don't panic, people," he tried to appease the bystanders and raised his hands in an evocative manner. "We do not make common cause with any of the camp officials. We just wanted to have a little fun."

  He didn't seem very convincing.

  "We'll figure that out," Semjon was now heard.

  The men mumbled in agreement and looked questioningly at Mischka. Igor and Wolodin took advantage of this moment and hurriedly disappeared from the barrack. Mischka looked around and said, "Let them go. We'll know the day after tomorrow at the latest."

  On the same day, Igor Lukin and Wolodin Moisejew were accommodated in another barrack at the end of the camp street on the orders of Lieutenant Colonel Wdowetschenko.

  ◆◆◆

  Mischka remembered exactly this incident, as if only a month had passed since then. Yes, the men had been rough. But most of them seemed more honest to him than those who guarded them.

  Three weeks later the temperatures rose slightly. The wind had died down and the sun was shining over the horizon in the southeast. After the biting cold of the past few days, the air appeared almost spring-like. Mischka therefore decided to go hunting. His meat supplies were coming to an end. Aljoscha had confused the food planning for the winter days with his big appetite.

  Mischka grabbed his weapons, took spear and slingshot with him and climbed out of the cave. Aljoscha followed him immediately. He was an extraordinarily clever animal and knew what his friend was up to. Outside, he romped through the snow like a sheepdog. Mischka grinned broadly. He could understand the animal. He also felt liberated after the days in the dark cave. Although sunlight and snowy landscapes dazzled him, the clear, dry air gave him a feeling of freshness.

  He put on his homemade leather snow goggles, went down the mountain and walked through the valley to the lake. His legs just sank knee-deep into the powder snow. Mischka was glad that in this part of Siberia the climate was dry and only little snow fell. That made his journey less arduous.

  Mischka found fresh hoof marks on the shore. In terms of size, they had to be moose. Aljoscha immediately picked up the trail and disappeared between the spruces. Mischka followed him with his arrow ready to use.

  He hadn't walked five minutes when he heard the sounds of a fight between the trees, the scratching of hooves, snorting and wild growling. Aljoscha must have found the moose.

  Mischka stalked his way closer. Suddenly an elk cow broke out of the spruce stand and hunted to the lake shore, Aljoscha on her heels. With presence of mind Mischka lifted the bow, pulled the arrow up to the corner of his mouth, aimed and let it shoot from the tendon.

  The front legs of the animal buckle as the arrow drove into its side. Nevertheless, it rose again and tried to escape. Mischka stormed off, grabbed the spear, hooked it into the slingshot and threw it with all his might into the flank of the moose cow. Two seconds later the wolf was hanging from her throat.

  Panting, the animal fell to the ground. Once again the runs twitched in a last rebellion. Then the body stretched out and lay still. Mischka pulled out his knife to gut the animal. But Aljoscha turned to him and snarled at him warningly, as if he wanted to say: "Hold back! That's my prey. You take after me." Then he went after the animal.

  Mischka accepted the will of the wolf and in the meantime began to collect firewood. While Aljoscha was filling his stomach, he lit a fire on the lake to melt the ice cover. A quarter of an hour later, he could hit a hole big enough to lay small pieces of meat on fishhooks.

  Soon Aljoscha was full and left the rest of the booty to his friend. Mischka hurried to skin and gut the cow before it froze stiffly. From the fur he could make himself a warm sleeping bag. Then he divided the animal into four parts and hung it over the strong branches of a beech tree.

  In the meantime, a large whitefish had also bitten. Mischka pulled the bluish-green fish out of the water with his silvery belly and threw the hook out again. Work had made him hungry. So, he fried the fish immediately and ate it for lunch.

  While Aljoscha wandered through the area, Mischka built a snow cave, the opening of which he closed with the stiff frozen elk blanket. With a tallow light, the air temperature in the snow cave would rise to zero degrees, so he didn't have to be afraid of the frost. In between he fished other fish from the ice hole, which he hung up on branches to protect them from predators.

  Shortly before it got dark, he went hunting again. He was lucky to hunt that day, because he killed a two-year-old stag at dusk. He also gutted him, took off his fur and hung the pieces of meat on beech branches at his camp. Tired but satisfied with the hunting result Mischka went to sleep in his snow cave without waiting for Aljoscha. He first had to let off steam and would surely return the next morning.

  Despite the cold Mischka slept deeply and dreamless and woke
up only at dawn. Aljoscha hadn't been seen yet. Therefore, after a short meal, he made his way to the cave with part of his prey. To make his work easier, he transported the meat on the frozen elk skin like on a sled. On top of the mountain he stored his supplies again on the branches of a beech tree. As long as the frost lasted, the flesh could not spoil. So, he didn't have to dry or smoke it like he did in summer to make it durable.

  Down at the lake he met Aljoscha again. He had probably killed a prey himself, for he lay on the shore of the lake like a day thief, blinking sluggishly at his friend. After he had loaded his sled a second time, Mischka opened the ice hole and laid out fishing again.

  In the afternoon he did not hunt for another animal, but caught several fish that had swum to the air hole and hungrily fallen over the lures.

  When the temperatures dropped again and new storms howled over the mountain ridges, Mischka had enough supply. Aljoscha returned to the cave with him, but disappeared again and again to hunt snow hares and other small animals. Mischka was alright with this, because it meant that his supplies lasted longer.

  The winter months were long and lonely, and often he felt the limits of his mental resilience. But the presence of Aljoscha, the work, the hunting and the thought of his future helped Mischka to get through these days. Soon he'd have to move on. Litschenko and his men would continue the persecution at the latest with the melting snow. The time of rest was nearing its end.

  Basically Mischka was happy about it, because the cave life began to dull him and his now sharpened senses. He longed again for the fresh green of the trees, the fragrance of the flowers and the "wutiwu" of the Pied Flycatcher.

  ◆◆◆

  Spring came just as surprising as winter had come. A lukewarm wind swept over the mountains and melted the snow like cream in the oven. Avalanches thundered down to the valley and the underground stream swelled to a deafening roar. It was time to move on.

  Mischka packed his belongings on a wooden frame made of birch branches, which he fitted with shoulder and hip belts. The hip belt would make it especially easier for him to carry. His luggage certainly weighed thirty-five pounds, but he preferred to be well-equipped and accepted the slower pace.

  Mischka looked wistfully around the cave. It had not only offered him protection, but had also been something of a home. He could now better understand the prehistoric people who had lived like him in the shelter of the caves. He did not even try to cover up the traces of his presence. Any hunter would know at a first glance that someone had lived here. It wouldn't hurt him either if Chrapow and Litschenko discovered the cave. He just had to leave them in the dark about which direction he had moved in. Therefore he wanted to avoid all traces as far as possible in the next two days.

  After a last look he shouldered his luggage and climbed out of the cave. Aljoscha was already waiting outside and followed him as he descended the mountain. As usual, the wolf disappeared again and again between the bushes to hunt.

  Mischka turned east. He wanted to avoid his persecutors and then escape to the west. The north of Tjumen consisted of swamps, lakes and treeless but mosquito-contaminated plains. Therefore, he had to cross this area of about eight hundred miles either in winter or further south. But he would run the risk of being discovered by hunters, settlers, oil or state farms workers. Maybe he could buy reindeer and sleigh from a Tungus. All he needed was a suitable barter object.

  Mischka spent two weeks migrating east. Due to the heavy luggage he only made slow progress. He estimated the distance at one eighty miles. Then he changed direction and marched northeast along the banks of a fast-flowing river.

  He could only guess where he was. He would have given a lot for a map. But he could do it without any tools. The direction of the compass he determined by the moss-covered weather side of single trees or by the position of the sun. At night, he corrected his path by looking at the stars. With these aids, locals were able to orient themselves excellently, and in the meantime he also mastered this art quite well.

  After his last supplies had been used up, he was forced to hunt again in order not to have to live alone from the young plants of the early summer. Aljoscha, on the other hand, took care of himself most of the time. A wolf is dependent on its herd when hunting larger animals, but as a loner it can also feed on smaller animals. That's why Mischka didn't have to constantly consider his friend when planning his food. That saved time and helped him move faster.

  ◆◆◆

  The helicopter made a curve across the valley before landing on the high plateau. Litschenko had left immediately with Chrapow, Karatajew and some soldiers, when the winter withdrew. But while spring had already arrived in Central Siberia, winter had reared up one last time in the west and paralyzed air traffic with snowstorms. So, the departure of the pursuers was delayed by one week. Litschenko suspected that this delay would give the refugee an advantage. But now they had finally returned to the area of their defeat.

  "There!" Karatajew shouted as they headed for the high plateau. He pointed to the hole in the steep face, which was no longer covered by the leaves of the birch bush. "I had a hunch. A cave! He climbed into a cave before our eyes and laughed himself to death while we left like stupid boys."

  Litschenko looked doggedly at the entrance to the cave, while Chrapow grinned gloatingly. As if the lieutenant had guessed the hunter's thoughts, he said: "We were angry and horrified when our men ran into the traps. In such a situation one becomes blind and sees only the superficial. That's exactly what he wanted."

  "I'm sure he's gone by now," Jossif said.

  "There's no doubt about that," the lieutenant agreed.

  After the helicopter landed, they briefly examined the area. While Litschenko and Karatajew were still leaning over the edge of the rock, the hunter discovered the second entrance in the hollow tree. Michail Wulff obviously hadn't tried to cover his tracks anymore. Why should he? He'd never use the cave again.

  The inside of the cave was a revelation for the men. Even Chrapow showed open astonishment.

  "Man, that Wulff's got a good place!" Jossif exclaimed.

  "Yes, you can see that his subject of study was archaeology," Litschenko agreed with him, looking at shelves, bedsteads and other furnishings. "With his textbook knowledge, he has surpassed even Stone Age men."

  Chrapow knelt down and examined the fireplace. His fingers went through the ashes. Then he straightened up and looked at two arrowheads in the light of the flashlight. "Good work!" he said approvingly.

  Litschenko turned to him and said: "We really underestimated him. By now, at the latest, it should be clear to us that we are not hunting a soft hearted urbanite or intellectual, but a native, someone who can stand his ground in the wilderness and survive in it."

  He nodded to the men. "Comrades, let's move out. I'm sure it won't be a walk in the park. We are dealing with someone who is hard on himself and always thinks one step ahead of all the other escapees we have hunted so far."

  "Now, don't exaggerate, Comrade Lieutenant," Chrapow threw in. "Wulff is just a human being and just as vulnerable as anyone else. We just need to find his weak spots and thwart his plans. Then we'll soon find him."

  "That's easier said than done," Litschenko returned.

  Chrapow did not answer him and climbed out of the cave with a sour face. He felt that the success of the hunted not only weakened the respect of others for his abilities, but he himself began to become dissatisfied with himself. Self-doubt, however, was the first step into failure. He didn't like that thought at all. It was time for this hunt to end.

  For three days, they searched the area for clues, but apart from clues that Michail Wulff must have been a successful hunter, they found nothing to reveal his further escape route. Oljenik Chrapow was also defeated in the end. The snowmelt had covered all traces.

  After a brief consultation, Lieutenant Litschenko and Chrapow decided to stop the search at this location and consider further steps only after informing and questioning the few
inhabitants of the area. So, they were back at the beginning. If they had at least found out in which direction Michail Wulff had turned! But everything was possible.

  ◆◆◆

  It was a warm spring day when Mischka climbed a mountain meadow with his luggage. Aljoscha was left behind in the forest. Probably just tracing mice and other small animals. He was constantly hungry for a few days and ate everything that fell into his clutches.

  Suddenly two fur balls rolled down the slope. Only a few steps away from him they remained lying, rolled apart and ran up the mountain again. Mischka laughed out loud as he watched the two young bears. They didn't seem to notice him and fought like street boys, flipping somersaults, sliding down the slopes as if they were on a toboggan run and screaming up the meadow.

  Mischka could understand them. After the long hibernation, the spring sun had awakened their childlike joie de vivre. They enjoyed, like him, the warm air and the fresh green of the resurrected nature.

  One of the bears started chasing a butterfly. Again and again he tried to hit the fluttering creature with paw blows. When he couldn't, he grabbed the butterfly with his mouth. He behaved so clumsy that he stumbled over his own legs, hit a tree in a somersault and rolled down the mountain. With loud squeaking he banged against Mischka and almost pulled him to the ground with his body weight.

  Shocked, he looked up and stared at the young man with his black button eyes.

  "Don't worry," laughed Mischka, while he laboriously kept his balance, "I won't hurt you. Man, you're quite a chunk already. "We almost rolled down the slope together."

  At the sound of the voice, the young bear turned around on his heel and ran up the slope with loud nagging, from where his brother had apparently observed the scene amusedly. His first encounter with a two-legged friend had panicked him. A roar answered the little one from a grove above the meadow. The mother was coming! Mischka had to get to safety as soon as possible! With an angry mother bear it's best not to tangle with her.