Theft
Page 23
Christina gives me a look. I give Raymond a look.
“Yeah, she was hauling the this-and-that’s left over after glamorous folks have sucked and clipped themselves to bodily perfection.” He slaps the side of a carton.
I punch his arm like a high school kid ribbing a friend. “You’re shitting me.”
“I would not shit you about human flesh.”
“So she’s going to tell Mike to shove someone else’s ass up his own ass,” Christina says.
“Many someone else’s asses. Yup.”
Somehow, the absurdity of it all makes us laugh harder than we should. We laugh, trying to keep the sound quiet on account of Ciela, and that just makes it harder to keep it in. We laugh till we’re holding our guts and physically worn out and tired. We still have no idea where we are or what time of day it’s getting to be. And in the aftermath of our levity, all three of us are silent, a little stunned, I think. In this odd place, life begins to feel comfortable again.
We can feel the truck slowing down now, heading off the highway onto a dirt road. A few minutes later, Brenda opens the doors to a dusky desert evening just beginning to come down.
Brenda hasn’t taken us to the wolf reserve. These wolves, Raymond says, have found their way back to this land that is close to his home and a good distance from the WWA designated area in Días de Ojos. He had argued all along that they had never left here, and now, this is where Ciela and Hector’s pack has returned. It makes sense to release them here, whether it’s legal or not. We know the risks and the rewards.
Now, there’s no laughter, no talk. We work together. We lower Ciela’s crate from the truck and onto the ground. She scuffles inside it, and it rocks the balance, but the four of us hang on. From here, we have a short trek to the release spot Raymond has picked out. He saw the pack here last month, he says, and has monitored them off and on since then. He knows this is part of their territory. He knows they’re thriving on this land.
By the time we get to the spot Raymond has picked out, the muscles in my legs burn, and my gloved hands are creased from the crate and cramped from holding one position. I’m grateful for it all. With these crates, once we loosen the latches, we can step back and pull on two heavy ropes to break the entire contraption apart. There’s no way for a wolf to retreat back inside, and we’re far enough away for our own safety and for the safety of the wolf.
It’s grueling work, every muscle of your body tight with emotion and physical strain. It also feels like prayer, this quiet work we do, but it’s a type of prayer that’s neither dependent on an answer or a god. It’s deeply holy. With the release cage set up, the latches loosened, the ropes in our hands, and our positions taken, we’re ready. Raymond gives the word. We pull. The crate breaks apart, and Ciela runs. Her long legs stretch out as far as they can, a wide open gait, and then she is gone.
That trapped bird in my ribcage—it flies every time we do this. It flies again and again, and there’s a soreness from the release and an emptiness in my chest, and I’m filled to the brim with it all.
CIELA IS OUT OF sight now. It’s past twilight, the crepuscular hour when great horned owls start up and coyotes yip and the pinon and sage turn to silhouettes and shadows. The horizon softens, then fades away completely. Soon, we’ll only be able to see a few feet in front of our faces—no city lights here, no street lamps. Just stars and a crescent moon that’s already high in the sky, made more visible by the darkness.
We gather the pieces of the crate and haul them, one by one, back to the truck. We can’t help looking back to see if she is anywhere in sight. The biggest part of me wants to see her as she runs away. But I know it’s best if I don’t. I pray for her safety in this territory. There’s always the chance that Hector will have already chosen a new mate, that Ciela will be rejected. If that happens, I know she has only a small chance of survival.
These are the things I’m thinking as we pack up. They layer with the events of the past week. This twilight, this time in-between, it seems like a gap between two worlds, as if we—all of us—are walking on that seam now, and sometimes it opens to us, and we see something beyond what we thought was possible, and we enter it, and we know. Because in the end, this is possible:
Across the land, one wolf howls. There is a gap of time when there is nothing. And then, another wolf answers. They go back and forth like this, the howls like brushstrokes hollowing out the night with sound.
No one moves. The four of us stand silently, together. Even our own breathing nearly stops.
The wolves, though, they move. You can hear them growing closer together, their howls closing that empty gap, Ciela’s howl working its way farther and farther away from us, the distant howl waiting for her to arrive.
resources
THE MEXICAN GREY WOLF is the most endangered mammal in North America. For more information about their natural history and conservation, visit the following websites:Colorado Wolf and Wildlife Center
www.wolfeducation.org
Defenders of Wildlife
www.defenders.org
Endangered Wolf Center
www.endangeredwolfcenter.org
Grand Canyon Wildlands Council
www.grandcanyonwildlands.org
Grand Canyon Wolf Recovery Project
www.gcwolfrecovery.org
Great Old Broads for Wilderness
www.greatoldbroads.org
Lobos of the Southwest
www.mexicanwolves.org
New Mexico Audubon Council
www.newmexicoaudubon.org
New Mexico Wilderness Alliance
www.nmwild.org
Sierra Club-Grand Canyon Chapter
arizona.sierraclub.org
Sierra Club-Rio Grande Chapter
www.nmsierraclub.org
Sky Island Alliance
www.skyislandalliance.org
Southwest Environmental Center
www.wildmesquite.org
The Center for Biological Diversity
www.biologicaldiversity.org
The Rewilding Institute
rewilding.org/rewildit
UNM Wilderness Alliance
unmwa.wordpress.com
Western Watersheds Project
www.westernwatersheds.org
White Mountain Conservation League
azwmcl.org/blog
WildEarth Guardians
www.wildearthguardians.org/site/PageServer
Wildlands Network
www.wildlandsnetwork.org
For more information on Parkinson’s, please visit the following foundations’ websites:American Parkinson’s Disease Association
www.apdaparkinson.org/userND/index.asp
The Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research
www.michaeljfox.org
National Parkinson’s Foundation
www.parkinson.org/
The Parkinson’s Disease Foundation
www.pdf.org
The author is not now and never has been associated with any of the aforementioned organizations.
acknowledgements
FIRST ON MY LIST of people to thank is Lisa Cech. I’ll get back to this.
Huge thanks to Doreen and Joe Piellucci for your unwavering love and support. It is, as they say, simply beyond.
Special thanks to Liz Darhansoff, who keeps it simple, direct, honest, and compassionate. To me, that’s the pinnacle of agenting.
To Kelly Dwyer, the Fairy Godmother of the book: Your insights and intelligence offered a clear turning point twice. Next year in Iowa, the drinks are on me. And huge thanks to Sarah Saffian, Peggy Lawless, Monica Mesa, the Professor of the Canine College, and Loml, who have all read sections of this book and offered essential insights throughout the process.
I also need to gratefully acknowledge the best friend I’ve never met, the writer-biologist Harry Greene for his vast knowledge and meaningful conversation.
To Terry Meyer Stone and the Canadian contingent: You know who
you are, and you know I adore you and your completely weird and inexplicable ways.
Susan Feniger; Liz Lachman; Kathryn, Mary-Gaye, and Queen Mother Mary Kinsala; Beth, Susan, both Barbara Bogn-ers; Patty Delarios; Katie Barak (come home, Katie!); Georgine Balassone; Ellen Newberry; Regina Stewart, and the Trevor Cechs—your support has been a solid foundation for me throughout the years. Thank you all!
The residency programs at the Ucross Foundation, Jentel, and especially Colorado Art Ranch (and Grant Pound) generously offered me the quiet time I needed to work on these pages.
To the editors at Counterpoint: You make me believe that the writing world will retain its integrity far beyond all the bleak predictions flying around the book-o-sphere these days. Your integrity as publishers, your respect for language and for the art of writing, your regard for authors—I have to believe these will be the future of writing, not relics of the past. You’re leading the way. Thank you.
My deepest gratefulness always circles back around to Lisa, without whom this book would not exist. Explanation is the thief of awe, and I never have to explain myself to you, Lisa. That makes you the beginning of awe, for me. Oh, and you make me laugh. What else is there? You’ve taught me to embrace it all.
In gratitude to all,
BK
BK LOREN has worked as a naturalist, professional brainstormer, assistant chef, ranch hand, furniture maker, UPS driver, and college professor. She currently teaches writing at Chatham University’s low residency program, the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, and many other venues throughout the United States and Canada. She is a winner of the Mary Roberts-Rinehart National Fellowship and has also received The Dana Award for a novel-in-progress for Theft. Loren currently lives with her partner, two dogs, and two cats in Colorado.
Copyright © 2012 BK Loren
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
eISBN : 978-1-619-02085-6
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