by John Smelcer
“He’s breathing,” he said, after listening for a sign of life.
Johnny’s lips slowly returned to their normal pink, and he opened his eyes.
“What . . . what happened?” he asked in a daze.
“You were huffing gasoline, you stupid moron,” said Silas. “You were pretty much dead.”
Everyone knew that huffing was a big problem in every village. While alcohol and weed was hard to come by, gasoline was readily available, used in outboards, snowmobiles, four-wheelers, generators, and chainsaws. Kids, sometimes as young as ten or eleven, would pour gas onto a rag and hold it to their face, breathing in deeply to get high. But gas fumes are deadly, and many young people had died in the villages, some the first time they huffed. You could sometimes tell who was huffing by their chronic cough from the damage to their lungs.
“I’m freezing,” said Johnny.
Silas and Norman helped Johnny to his feet and guided him back into the house and sat him on a chair near the wood stove. Denny put a blanket over him. The village EMT stayed for a while to keep an eye on Johnny, checking his vitals every ten minutes and giving him some pills for his massive headache.
“Your vitals seem okay, but you need to cut that crap out,” he said sternly. “I’m not joking, Johnny. The next time could kill you.”
“Big deal,” replied Johnny, throwing his head back to swallow the pills.
Late Sunday morning, Denny hooked up the dogs and headed into the wild. She could feel the difference without Kilana; the loss of the one dog robbed the sled of a little power and speed. She felt it most when the team pulled the sled up into the hills. It was like having an eight-cylinder truck that ran on only seven. She wondered how well she would do in the race without a strong eighth dog as a leader.
Barely a couple miles out of the village, Denny turned around and saw the black wolf following the sled as he had done before.
She smiled.
For many miles, the extraordinary band of dogs, wolf, and girl made their way up into a narrow valley, flushing a large flock of ptarmigan on the way. Finally, at the edge of the tree line, Denny called for the team to stop. It took her longer to unhook the team without her grandfather’s help. As usual, she built a fire to warm the water for their dry food. The wolf sat beside a nearby tree, watching her as she labored to feed the dogs. The dogs paid the wolf no notice, which seemed amazing to her.
When she was done, Denny spoke to the wolf.
“Hello again. We haven’t been properly introduced,” she said in a disarming tone. “My name is Deneena. But most people call me Denny for short.”
The wolf swiveled his shaggy head.
“Your name is Tazlina. It means swift. I’m gonna call you Taz for short.”
The wolf licked his lips.
“I know, I know. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Hold your horses. I’m going to try something, and you have to promise to be nice.”
The wolf blinked and licked his lips again.
Denny had brought some old moose meat. It was freezer-burned but not spoiled. Before leaving home, she had thawed a roast of it, trimmed the ruined edges, and cut the roast into chunks. She took off her gloves, opened the plastic baggie, and pulled out one piece, holding it up so the wolf could see it.
Tazlina stood up, his blue eyes riveted on the meat.
“You want this?” Denny asked, and she tossed the chunk pretty close to the wolf, which gobbled it up. She threw another piece, but not as far, making the wolf take a couple steps forward to retrieve it.
“That’s a good boy,” she said each time he looked up after eating a piece.
Denny tossed each succeeding piece so that it fell closer and closer to where she sat. And each time the wolf fetched the meat, she praised him. With every piece closing the gap between them, the wolf became more unsure and nervous, pacing to and fro. But his belly urged him to come ever closer to her, until finally he was so close that Denny held out a piece as far as she could reach, and the wary wolf crept forward and gently took it from her hand and ate it.
“You’re a very nice wolf,’ she said, taking the last little piece of moose meat from the bag. “I’m afraid this is the last one.”
Taz cocked his head and licked his lips.
“You have to earn this one,” she said, as she sat the piece of meat on her knee.
Tazlina stood for a minute, glancing at the meat and then at her. A squirrel chattered in a nearby tree, and the wolf turned his head sharply. Seeing that it was only a squirrel, he turned his gaze back to the meat lying on Denny’s knee. He took the last step with glacial deliberation. With one eye on her face, he took the piece. With one hand, Denny gently brushed the top of the wolf’s head, her fingers gliding over his black fur and along his grayish ear.
Tazlina took a quick step back, staring into her eyes, unflinching.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said. “Thank you for not biting me or anything.”
The wolf walked back to the tree, where he turned in a circle twice, lay down, yawned, and watched as Denny got up to throw some wood on the fire and to pour herself a cup of piping-hot coffee.
The wolf followed on the way home.
To Denny, the hardest part of mushing came on arriving home after a long ride on the trail. Cold and tired as she would be, she would always want to go straight into the house to relax, warm up, and get something to eat. But she couldn’t just leave the dogs hitched to the sled outside. Instead, she had to unhook each dog and tie him or her to the appropriate doghouse chain. She had to put away all the rigging, being careful not to tangle it. She had to put away the sled and her survival gear. Most importantly, she had to feed the hungry dogs who had burned all their energy running on the trail.
It was almost an hour after Delia first heard the dogs outside before Denny walked through the door, her eyelashes thick with frost.
“We already ate, but I’ll bring you something to eat. Sit down,” said Delia.
Denny took off her boots and parka and sat down at the table, rubbing her hands together to warm them.
Her mother brought her a cup of hot tea, a bowl of fish-head soup, and a plate with two pieces of pilot bread—a hard, round unleavened cracker popular in villages for its durability. While Denny was eating, Delia placed the newspaper beside the bowl, tapping her finger at a small story on the front page. Denny leaned over to read. The story was about her and included a photograph of her holding her trophy from the race she’d run.
Teen Rookie Enters Race
Sixteen-year-old Deneena Yazzie is the youngest contender in this year’s starting line-up of the greatest race on Earth. Earlier this winter, Deneena placed third in a regional race among a field of some of the best mushers in the state, qualifying her for eligibility. Her grandfather, Sampson Yazzie, trained her since she was 13. Tragically, Mr. Yazzie died on his way home from the race. He was 76. Deneena plans to use her grandfather’s handmade sled. She works after school every day to train her team and to raise enough money to transport them to the race start. This is certainly one to watch!
After supper, Denny cut out the story and taped it into her notebook, all the while wondering who had talked to the newspaper reporter about her. When she was done, she closed the notebook on her lap and looked at her mother and grandmother, both sitting on the couch quietly sewing.
The race is in less than a month, she thought. Will I be ready by then? Will my team be strong enough?
Denny casually opened the notebook without looking. When she looked down, it was open to the page she had sketched of the wolf, his keen eyes staring into hers.
11
T’aede kae tikaani t’uuts’
The Girl with the Black Wolf
It seemed like everyone in the village had read that newspaper story about Denny. During English, Ms. Stevens enthusiastically announced her idea th
at the class could create a blog site about Denny on which they, and anyone who was interested, could track her progress during the race.
“Imagine,” she said, “anyone in the world could go to our blog to read how Denny’s doing and see any photos that we post. She could email us on the trail whenever she’s at a village with Internet access to tell us any news and what she’s thinking or feeling.”
Everyone agreed it was a good idea. Besides, it beat using classroom time to learn about adverbs and prepositions. After using the entire period to discuss how to create the site and what should go on it, Ms. Stevens pulled out a digital camera from her desk drawer and handed it to Silas.
“During lunch, go with Denny to her house and take a picture of each dog. We’ll post each one with its name. And make sure to take some close-ups.”
Later, while Silas was taking the pictures, Denny went inside the house to get a photo of her grandfather.
“We’ll scan this and put it on the site, too,” she said, showing Silas the photograph.
Silas nodded.
“Let’s get a picture of you hugging one of the dogs,” he said.
After taking a couple pictures, Denny and Silas walked back to school.
“Are you nervous?” asked Silas, while they were walking past several ravens raiding a garbage can.
“About what?”
“The race, dummy. What else do you think I’m talking about?”
“Not really,” replied Denny. “I know my grandpa’s spirit will be with me.”
“You mean his ghost?”
“No. Not like that,” laughed Denny. “Here, in my ciz’aani—in my heart.”
That afternoon, Denny nearly tripped over two large boxes when she walked through the door to her house after school.
“What’s this?” she asked her mother.
“It’s your grandfather’s clothes. I convinced your grandma that it’s time to get rid of them.”
“Why’d you do that?” asked Denny.
“It was making her sad every time she opened her closet and saw his things hanging there.”
Denny looked down at one of the boxes. Her grandfather’s favorite flannel shirt was folded on top, the one he always wore when the two of them were out on the trail. He had been wearing it the day he died. Denny picked it up, held it to her face, and breathed in.
It smelled like her grandfather’s aftershave and campfire smoke.
“What’s Grandma gonna do with these?” she said looking at both boxes.
“We’re going to donate them. I was just going to load them in the truck.”
“I’m keeping this,” said Denny, clutching the flannel shirt to her chest.
“It’s a man’s shirt.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s too big for you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Suit yourself,” said her mother, realizing that she had no choice but to agree or get into a big argument.
While her mother and grandmother were delivering the boxes of clothes, Denny darned a small rip in the sleeve of her grandfather’s shirt. She found his wristwatch in the pocket, left there by her grandfather since the last time he had worn the shirt. Though it was maybe fifty years old, it wasn’t a particularly expensive watch. The black leather band was falling apart. She carefully pulled the stem and wound it, careful not to over-wind it. The second hand began to move.
She put it on.
It was hers now.
That weekend, Denny ran the dogs up to the small cabin in the hills, the one where she had first seen the wolf. As she had hoped, Tazlina emerged from the trees just outside of the village and followed her up the trail. When she arrived at the cabin, Denny ran a tether line between two trees and tied each dog to the line, spacing them, as always, far enough apart to avoid conflicts over food. Afterward, she went inside and built a fire in the stove. When she looked out the window, she could see the wolf lying in the snow near her tethered dogs.
None of the dogs was barking or growling at their natural enemy, having grown accustomed to his presence.
After warming water on the stove, Denny fed the dogs while Tazlina watched with great interest. He could smell their food. While the dogs ate, Denny made a special bowl just for Taz. To the dry dog food mixed with warm water, she added some leftovers from home, which included bits of bacon, and a couple chunks of caribou and beaver meat.
With the warm bowl in her hands, Denny slowly approached Taz, speaking softly.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I made this special, just for you.”
Twice Tazlina stood and turned to flee. But both times he resisted the natural urge and stood his ground, his belly winning over his instincts.
When she was less than ten feet away, Denny reached into the bowl and gently tossed one of the chunks of meat to him. He quickly gobbled it.
By now all the dogs had finished eating and were watching the spectacle, pricking their ears when they saw the piece of meat in Denny’s hand.
“Did you like that? Wasn’t that good?”
Tazlina licked his lips, his eyes fixed on the stainless steel bowl in her hand.
Slowly, Denny took two more steps, until she was only about five feet from the wolf. She squatted, holding out the bowl in her hand and placing it on the ground.
But she didn’t move away.
“If you want it, you’ll have to come get it,” she said, realizing the torment the wolf must be going through, torn between instinctive fear and hunger.
But finally, Tazlina inched his way on his belly to the bowl and ate, stopping at moments to look at her, their eyes locked. When he finished, Denny held out a piece of moose meat, which she had saved specially for this moment.
“Look what I have,” she almost sang, holding the tantalizing piece of meat on the palm of her hand.
“Come get it,” she said, shoving her hand toward him.
Tazlina whined and worked his mouth noiselessly, as if trying to tell her to give it to him. Ever so slowly, he stretched as far as he could without taking a step and gently took the food from her hand. Denny stood up slowly, and the wolf did not run away.
That night, before Denny went to bed, she heard a faint scratching sound at the door. Looking out the window, she saw Tazlina standing in the small square of light cast by the oil lamp on the table. She slowly opened the door just a crack, the light and warmth pouring into the cold and darkness outside.
She stepped back and waited.
The wolf stuck his head through the door, but came in no further.
Denny took the last bit of a biscuit she had been eating as a bedtime snack and set it in the middle of the floor, about eight or nine feet away from the door.
“You’ll have to come inside if you want it,” she said softly, while taking a seat at the table.
For several minutes Tazlina just stood in the doorway, but finally, he crept inside with his tail between his legs, a sign of uneasiness or submission. After eating the biscuit, he bravely explored the room, sniffing everything, even the wood stove.
“Hot,” said Denny, as the wolf backed away, furrowing his eyebrows, and without burning his black nose.
Finally, Tazlina turned in a circle, curled up on the plywood floor, sighed, and closed his eyes.
Denny quietly closed the door, stoked the fire, adding a split log, and climbed up the ladder to sleep in the loft, leaving a lit candle on the small table below.
“Good night,” she said, hanging her head over the edge and looking down.
Taz opened his eyes, looked up at her, sighed heavily, and went back to sleep.
Sometime during the night, as the fire burned down and the cabin cooled, a noise awoke Denny. She crept from her sleeping bag and peered over the edge to see the wolf whimpering and twitching and kicking his legs in his sleep, a
s if he were having a nightmare.
The quiet dawn was shattered by a ruckus outside. The dogs were frantically yelping and barking unlike anything Denny had ever heard before. Taz was scratching at the door and whining excitedly.
Denny knew that something was terribly wrong.
She climbed down the ladder from the loft, jumping to the floor when she was halfway, and ran to the window to look outside. In the half-light of early morning, she saw a pack of wolves surrounding her dogs. Tied up as they were, the dogs were unable to run away or to defend themselves.
Denny grabbed her parka and the loaded rifle leaning against a wall. When she opened the door, Taz bolted toward the wolves, running straight for the alpha male, a large gray-and-white wolf, and crashing into him with so much force that he bowled over the larger wolf. But the alpha was quick to his feet and launched into Taz with all his fury. Both wolves moved as fast as lightning, bearing their long, white fangs, each trying to get hold of the other’s neck.
The valley rang with terrible noise.
Both dogs and wolves anxiously awaited the outcome of the contest, the wolves wondering if they would have a new leader, the dogs wondering if they would be eaten by their wild cousins. Denny wondered if this was the same pack that had killed the schoolteacher, or if this was Taz’s old pack and the alpha the leader who had expelled him, banishing him to his lonely existence.
It was soon apparent to Denny that Taz was losing.
Three times from the porch she raised the rifle to shoot the gray-and-white wolf, but she couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t hit Taz instead. Finally, convinced that the alpha might kill Taz, she aimed the rifle above their heads and fired two shots. Instantly, the pack ran into the trees.
After the dogs settled down and after Denny was certain that the wolves weren’t returning, she helped Taz back into the warm cabin where she cleaned his wounds, which weren’t all that bad considering the ferociousness of the fray. Taz licked her hand more than once as she cleaned his wounds. Afterward, Denny made a pot of coffee and shared a breakfast of caribou sausage and biscuits with him.
