by Thom Reese
It was during this meal that Oskar returned. “Oh, no, no, no, my young friend. This is not right. We must talk, you and I.”
Dolnaraq tore another piece of hindquarter free and chewed.
“What are you, my friend? I know you are not a werewolf as Wilhelm proclaims. But what are you, really?”
Dolnaraq cocked his head. The man was addressing him as one human would address another.
“You do understand me?” ventured Oskar as Dolnaraq spit fur from his mouth then swallowed a tough length of flesh.
Dolnaraq stared at the man. His grasp of the German language had increased with his time at the carnival and he comprehended most of what Oskar said. “You say it is wrong that I eat the cat. Why?” Dolnaraq’s words were slow, some of his pronunciations poor, but his sentence was coherent.
Despite the bloody scene before him, Oskar managed a wry smile at the first true sentence uttered by Dolnaraq in his presence. “The cat was…not for eating,” he replied, obviously a bit dumbfounded by the question.
“You bring me meat every day. You consume meat yourself. Why was this meat forbidden?”
“The cat was your friend, your companion.”
“I did not ask for a companion.”
“True, but often we do not have the luxury to choose our companions. We must make due with those we are given. Often we find camaraderie where none was expected.”
Dolnaraq tore free another length of flesh. He had no reply to this.
Despite the grizzly scene, despite the recent attack on him by Dolnaraq, Oskar stepped closer, his eyes narrowing, his lips pursing into a peculiar frown. “Your face has changed. It looks…” he stammered, apparently formulating the thought even as he spoke. “It looks familiar, rather like… My young friend, what did you do to me? I thought that I would die.”
“You might have,” offered Dolnaraq between bites.
“But your face, in some small way… No. I am delusional. Forgive me.”
With that, the little man shook his head as if in confusion, then turned and ambled silently away. This was fine with Dolnaraq. He was still eating.
* * * *
Oskar returned two days later, in his arms he held three tattered and worn books. He set these on the dusty ground, held up one finger indicating that Dolnaraq should wait, disappeared around a corner, and then returned with a short gray metal stool. Seating himself on the stool beside the books, he said, “It is time you made some progress.”
Dolnaraq was leaning against one of the two wooden walls of his cage thinking of his carefree times with Tresset and wondering if the two would ever reunite. He cared little for what the man was saying.
“I suppose,” said Oskar. “That we should begin with names. Mine, as I’m sure you know, is Oskar. What is yours?”
Dolnaraq stared at the opposite wall.
“What do you call yourself?”
Silence.
Oskar sighed. “All right, then I suppose it best that I myself give you a name. In youth I had a dear friend named Otto. I believe I will call you Otto.”
Dolnaraq picked a piece of rotting flesh from between two teeth and flicked it across the cage.
“Now…Otto. If you are ever to live beyond the confines of a cage, you must be civilized. We cannot have you behaving like an animal.”
Dolnaraq lulled his head in Oskar’s direction. “I am not an animal.”
“No, I don’t believe you are. The very fact that we can converse attests to that fact.”
“Still I am caged like an animal.”
Oskar sighed. “Wilhelm thinks you a beast. He also seeks to become rich by owning you.”
“And you? You could free me and yet you do not.”
“You…” Oskar hesitated, apparently searching for words. “You are a threat,” he said finally. “I sense a fine intellect, but you behave as a beast. You have attacked me twice since your arrival. On the morning of your capture, you had apparently slain several people in the nearby village. The attacks were savage—animalistic. Wilhelm lied to the villagers, convincing them that he had slain the werewolf. Otherwise, they surely would have tracked you down and slain you. I cannot, in good conscience, release you while I still believe you would behave as such.”
Dolnaraq stared forward at the chipped paint of the wall before him, not meeting Oskar’s gaze, not responding to the statements. Apparently the villagers believed there had been only one “werewolf.” Good, perhaps Tresset had escaped.
After several moments, Oskar reached down and selected a pale blue book, dusted it off with a few swipes of his palm. “Language, Otto. I believe it best that we begin with language.”
These sessions became a routine. Each day Oskar arrived with his armload of books, settled on his creaky little stool, opened a book, and began his lesson. At the onset, Dolnaraq responded to very little the man had to say. He simply leaned against the wall of his cage, picked at fleas, and listened as the man droned on. For all appearances, it was a wasted effort on the part of the man. But Dolnaraq was listening; he was allowing the words to penetrate his sharp and curious mind. Eventually, his resolve softened and he began repeating words given to him by Oskar and even conjugating sentences aloud. The spoken word held little difficulty for Dolnaraq. He already spoke the native tongue of the reyaqc, a fair smattering of Russian, and now German. But the written word was a peculiar and mysterious thing. The first time that Oskar passed a book through the bars and asked Dolnaraq to read, the reyaqc stared dumbly at the thing, then to Oskar’s horror, ripped the pages free, allowing them to litter the floor beside him.
“No, no, no!” cried the man. “A book is a sacred thing. It is by this means that one generation may pass knowledge to another, that men who will never meet in this world can communicate deep and wondrous thoughts. A book is to be respected above all else.”
Dolnaraq released the book, allowing it to tumble noisily to the floor, but said nothing.
Eventually, though, Dolnaraq did gain a grasp of written language, and in fact, learned he had quite an aptitude in this area. Soon Oskar moved on to other languages, first English, then French, then Italian. Oskar taught from great works of literature from various languages. Dolnaraq read Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov in the original Russian. He devoured a German translation of Homer’s Iliad. He pored over Dickens and Shakespeare in English. Oskar began teaching him world history and discussing with him the politics of the time. Dolnaraq was a quick and able student, absorbing everything, questioning the reasoning of the authors he read, and debating the logic. Through all of this, Oskar would smile, nodding eagerly as the wordplay between them grew to the type that two university academics might enjoy over tea in some austere campus library.
One day, as Dolnaraq sat mulling over Dante, he peered quizzically at his tutor. “You’re a carnie,” he said.
Oskar nodded.
“You obviously have an amazing mind. You speak multiple languages; you dabble in philosophy, politics, the social sciences. You have a rich love for and grasp of literature. How then is it that you tend to the beasts in a run down carnival managed by an inept tyrant?”
Oskar frowned, leaning forward on his bony elbows. “It is as you say. In truth, I am an academic, having spent the better part of my adult life on staff at the University of Heidelberg.”
“What brought you to this place?”
“My younger sister, Frieda. She is married to the buffoon.”
“Wilhelm? Your sibling is his mate?” Dolnaraq had seen the woman only in passing, a slight creature with thinning hair and sunken eyes. At some point she might have been attractive, but now only seemed listless and dull.
Oskar nodded. “My father passed when I was still a student. Consumption took him. Frieda married Wilhelm when she was sixteen. He is an abusive man and I have often been forced to intercede in their affairs. When my mother died four years ago, Wilhelm took my sister’s portion of the inheritance to purchase this carnival. Due to the transitory nature
of carnival life, I feared for Frieda. If I were to have remained at the university, she would have been traveling the countryside with no advocate. Wilhelm is rash, vengeful, jealous of her beauty, and prone to assault her should any other look her way. I knew I must remain nearby lest she be harmed.”
“Why not simply kill Wilhelm and free your sister?”
Oskar seemed astounded. His face crumpled into a peculiar expression and his eyes narrowed so much so that Dolnaraq could no longer see the green of them. “Have you learned nothing of human society in all of our time together?”
Dolnaraq remained expressionless.
“Civilized men do not simply kill other men they do not like,” added Oskar when it became clear Dolnaraq was offering no response.
“I have learned that civilized men do in fact kill one another for numerous reasons; many of which are less substantial than those you’ve just presented.”
“It is illegal—immoral.”
“And quite common,” added Dolnaraq.
Oskar shook his head. “The point is this: Frieda is the reason a learned man scrapes up manure in this shabby little establishment. I signed on in order to be near to her. Now, I do believe its time you continued with your reading.” Oskar rose, set the metal stool aside, and strolled off to tend to the elephant.
* * * *
The relationship between Dolnaraq and Oskar was more than that of teacher and student. Just over three weeks into their lessons together, long before Dolnaraq had much benefited from Oskar’s teachings, the young reyaqc was, once again, depleted. His energy level dropped significantly no matter how much he ate and drank. His limbs shook and his vision blurred. Oskar approached the cage as Dolnaraq lay huddled in the corner. “Otto, you are ill, my friend.”
“It is time. I require essence.”
Oskar became nervous at this, obviously recalling the last time Dolnaraq had claimed a need for “essence.”
“What is this essence? You’ve mentioned it before.”
“It is…essence. I know no other way to explain it.” The words were slow and difficult to speak. Dolnaraq was weak, and he was not yet fluent in the German language.
“The essence,” asked Oskar. “Did you take essence from me when you attacked me last?”
Dolnaraq nodded.
“This is why your face has changed, why you’ve come, in some fashion, to resemble me?”
Dolnaraq nodded again, cradling himself in his own arms as a bone-deep shiver raced from one end of his form to the other.
“What will happen if you receive no essence?”
“I will die.”
Oskar nodded and paced left and then right before the cage, his hands buried in his pockets, his fingers fiddling with the keys within. “If I should offer you essence, what would become of me?”
Dolnaraq stared blankly at the man for several seconds before speaking. “You would become my giver?” he asked, astonishment oozing through the syllables.
“Giver?” asked Oskar.
“One who gives freely of his essence.”
Oskar nodded, continuing to pace, continuing to rattle his keys. “Again, what would become of me?”
With great effort, Dolnaraq pulled himself across the straw strewn floor and to the bars. “If you were to become my giver, I would become more like you.”
“And me. What danger is there for me? I am told that I was in near coma for three days after your last… After you took essence.”
Dolnaraq stared at Oskar. The green eyes bore both curiosity and fright. The generous mouth neither grinned nor frowned, but seemed taut with anticipation. Both hands were pressed deep in Oskar’s pockets and Dolnaraq could hear loose change and keys clicking together as he worked them round and round the tiny space. The small man smelled of adrenaline, and Dolnaraq sensed Oskar was battling a very strong urge to flee. “If I take from you,” said Dolnaraq. “If I am careful, you will most likely live.”
“If you are careful?”
Dolnaraq nodded.
“And if you are not careful?”
Dolnaraq stared blankly forward.
Oskar rattled his change some more. “How very careful can you be?”
Dolnaraq did not answer immediately, but stared at the man for many seconds before saying, “I will try.”
Oskar jiggled his keys. He paced left then right. Several times it seemed he was about to speak, but then remained silent. Eventually he paused before the cage. “You will surely die without my essence?”
“Yours or another’s.”
Oskar nodded and jiggled his keys.
“Free me,” offered Dolnaraq. “I will seek the essence of another. You will remain unharmed.”
“And that other, will he remain unharmed?”
Dolnaraq answered with a blank stare.
A turn to the left, three steps in that direction. A pivot, three steps back. Jiggle, jiggle. “All right,” said Oskar. “This we will do, but please…” He trailed off, seemingly unable to complete the thought.
“I will take care,” offered Dolnaraq.
Oskar nodded, hesitated, and then stepped to within Dolnaraq’s reach.
“Relax.” Dolnaraq reached out wrapping his right palm around the back of Oskar’s neck. “I will draw it out slowly, and attempt to take only what I require.” With that, Dolnaraq inserted the tiny hollow spines into the back of Oskar’s neck. There was an almost indiscernible pop and then Oskar’s eyes widened, meeting Dolnaraq’s gaze, locking there for several seconds before closing. Dolnaraq withdrew his hand and crawled off into his corner without another word.
In this way, Oskar became Dolnaraq’s giver. With time, Dolnaraq grew more adept at withdrawing essence in moderation and Oskar became more or less accustomed to the process, though invariably it left him drained and useless for the following day. These constant infusions from the same source did bring about changes in Dolnaraq. The obvious effect was that with each passing week, the young reyaqc more and more closely resembled his giver. As well, Dolnaraq had not had access to a fox in many months and his animal-like appearance diminished almost entirely.
This infuriated Wilhelm, who stormed about the carnival cursing and stomping, blaming Oskar for the situation. Oskar, for his part, never revealed the nature of his relationship with “the wolf boy.” Truly, there was very little to tell. Dolnaraq had revealed to Oskar only what must be revealed. Never did he mention the word reyaqc. Never did he explain his origin, or the true nature of his species. Never did he even utter his true name. That was a name for the reyaqc. No human should be entrusted with too much. To Oskar, he would remain Otto the wolf boy.
One day, Dolnaraq and Oskar sat poring over a scholarly article about the current politics of Europe. Oskar contended that a rise in nationalism between many European states combined with an ever more complex series of alliances and treaties would inevitably lead to war—possibly a war such as the world had never known. He urged Dolnaraq that if ever he should be free, that he should flee to America, a growing nation across the great Atlantic. Powerful, but not yet fully aware of its potential greatness. “There is much opportunity there. With luck, they will remain detached from the problems of Germany and our neighbors. I fear our dear land, Otto, will be at the heart of the coming conflict.”
Dolnaraq protested that he was not human, and thus not concerned with the battles of men. But Oskar countered, saying, “You live in a world dominated by humans. It will only become more so. You are bright, bright as anyone I have ever known. I have given you my face, the face of a man. You no longer resemble an animal. Adapt, learn, grow. Be who you are and what you are, but understand the world in which you live.”
It was then that Wilhelm appeared as if from nowhere, a bundle of furs beneath his arm. These, he tossed harshly at Oskar. “Glue these to his face and arms,” shouted the lout. “The crowds no longer believe in the beast.”
“I am not a beast!” shouted Dolnaraq from his cage.
Wilhelm marched forward, but to
ok care to remain beyond Dolnaraq’s reach. “You are an animal. I hunted you, I captured you, I own you. No matter what this little man teaches you in his sissy little books, you will always be a stinking animal.”
Wilhelm marched away as Dolnaraq glared at the man’s flabby and disgusting backside.
Two nights later, Tresset appeared.
Dolnaraq sensed the familiar scent on the air and immediately gazed about the darkness seeking his long lost companion. His stomach jumped and a tiny crease of a smile overtook his stoic features. Oskar was with him, but knew none of this. He was once again expounding on the opportunities of America, saying that it was time he took his savings, gathered up his sister, and fled to this emerging giant across the waves. “Otto,” he said. “Perhaps you should accompany us. Aside from that tuft of red fur on your left hand, you now look entirely human.” Oskar paused. “Well, there are the eyes. But dark glasses should cover those. Think of it, Otto. A new life, a fresh…”
And then Tresset slew him.
There was a sharp ripping sound, a hiss of air from the now-opened windpipe. Oskar’s eyes went wide, his tongue protruded, and his useless, bloodied form tumbled to the dirt.
Dolnaraq stared blankly at the corpse for perhaps five seconds, and then met Tresset’s gaze. “The keys to the cage are in the human’s pocket.”
Within moments, Dolnaraq was free for the first time in nearly a year. Filling his lungs, he relished the purity of the air. He knew it was impossible that the air would be any different, for his cage had bars and so he breathed of the same air now as he had breathed before, but nonetheless it smelled fresher somehow.
