Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection

by Persun, Terry

  “Wolf is the pathfinder and the teacher,” Running Wolf said. “He shares his medicine with the clan. He does not abuse his family, does not cheat them, but helps them.”

  “Don’t wolves hunt and kill?”

  “All animals, including humans, kill for food. We should not kill for sport, but only for sustenance. All life is sacred and must be treated as such. Pray for your food, that it be given freely, out of love for all kind.”

  “What does a wolf teach?”

  “The way.” Running Wolf kneeled, then sat back on his haunches.

  “What way is that?”

  “Wolf goes out and learns about the great mystery of life. What must we do? Where must we go? How must we act? Wolf must be part of the pack, yet maintain independence. In this way only can he teach what he has learned.”

  “How do I know what to learn?”

  “You must find the teacher within you.”

  Lew fell silent for a long while. He had lost touch with himself. That was why he had come here. His anger subsided as he took renewed interest in Running Wolf ’s words. “Will I be able to do this?” he asked.

  “That is up to you.”

  “And, well,” Lew lowered his head, “how have I done so far?” He figured he knew the answer to that question, but asked it anyhow.

  “It is time to sleep. We rise early.”

  Lew lay down near the fire. Wearing only his vest and jeans, he expected to get cold during the night. Running Wolf threw him a small square of cloth, very thin. Enough to place over his chest and shoulders. Lew placed it over himself, then remembered what he had been told before. Just before dropping into sleep, Lew imagined removing a bright coal from the fire and placing it into his own chest. That night he did not wake, and he did not get cold. He slept well.

  Before sunup, Running Wolf ’s movements woke Lew from his deep sleep. He had been dreaming of a fight, but couldn’t remember with whom he fought, only that it was violent and exhausting.

  Under the square cloth, Lew’s shoulders were warm, even though his face and legs felt cold. His hands were folded across his chest like a dead man’s. He opened his eyes, saw Running Wolf with the teacup, and waited. It was still very dark. A fresh log had been placed on the fire, and it flamed brighter. The cloud-filled sky hid the stars and the moon. Lew wanted to know what time it was, but didn’t want to move his arms out from under the cloth to look at his watch.

  Placing the teacup into the coals, Running Wolf looked over at Lew but said nothing until the tea was hot. “You drink now,” he said.

  “I’m cozy here, can’t I just rest a little longer?” Lew closed his eyes.

  “Sure you can,” Running Wolf said.

  Lew opened his eyes at the unexpected response. Then he turned onto his side, removing the cloth. He held its corner and stood, stretching his arms to his sides in the shape of a cross. The cloth dangled from between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “If I sleep longer, I stay longer,” he said, remembering the conversation of the previous night.

  “You are beginning to listen.”

  Lew held the cloth out to Running Wolf. “In your quietness, you speak very loudly,” Lew said.

  Running Wolf nodded and handed Lew the teacup, using the cloth as a hot pad.

  Lew shivered after he took his first sip. “This warms the insides,” he said. He sat cross-legged on the ground as near the fire as he could take. “Tell me,” he said, “why do I have to fast?”

  “Fasting weakens the ego.”

  “This’ll let my true self come through, then, right?”

  “Your spirit.”

  “Sounds vaguely religious,” Lew said.

  “It is sacred. All journeys here are sacred. They are spirit journeys.”

  “Then what about our egos and bodies, how’s all that fit in?”

  “I am told that the ego comes with the instrument of the body. Like music through an instrument, it resists spirit from passing through smoothly. Some egos make good music, some do not. Also, it is like a pencil that you push along the paper. It resists. That is the way of this world. If you are the spirit behind the pencil, you must overcome the pencil’s ego-resistance in order to write your name into the world. If there is enough resistance, or if you push the wrong way, the lead breaks.”

  “So, pencils have their own egos, too?” Lew laughed, minimizing what Running Wolf had said.

  “All things are the same. Do you know differently?” Running Wolf questioned.

  Lew looked at the Indian and saw his seriousness. “No, I don’t know any different.”

  They cleaned up camp, and Lew marveled at how well Running Wolf packed in very little time. The teacup, water canteen, two square cloths, and a knife: all items fitted and folded inside one another. The many things tucked into clothing so as to be impossible to notice. Running Wolf spread the fire evenly so its coals would go out with a minimum of dirt kicked onto it.

  Lew thought for a long time, while following Running Wolf into the woods, about how all things were the same. He imagined all the trees, dead and decaying or alive and growing, as having their own spirits, and for most of the morning, it seemed perfectly logical.

  At mid-day, they arrived on the high ridge of the mountain overlooking a great gorge. Below snaked a river and to their backs, the forest. Lew felt a little hazy, but good. Spacey, he would normally have said, but it was different from that; subtler, more introspective.

  Running Wolf drew a great circle in the dirt and told Lew to pay attention. “Here is north,” he said, pointing up-ridge, “East is into the woods, west over this cliff into the gorge, and south, behind you. When it is time, you will be visited once again by the elements.” Running Wolf drew symbols for earth, air, water, and fire into the four quadrants of the circle after separating the quadrants North to South and East to West with two lines.

  “Again?” Lew said.

  “You will return to this place to fast. To release your ego.”

  “I thought I was fasting now.”

  “The final days will be here. You must become completely aware. I will take you into the woods, but you must return alone.” Running Wolf finished creating the medicine wheel, then turned to leave.

  Lew followed, desperately trying to remember the direction they headed. He checked the sun, the look of the land, the trees, anything he thought might help, and placed it all into memory as though he were studying for a test. As often as possible, he snapped a branch or kicked leaves onto a pile. He watched closely the progression of the sun.

  Several hours into the woods and Running Wolf began to speak. “Wolf,” he said, “you are being watched.” Then he chanted, “Hey ya hee hee hey! Nothing you do is not seen. Hey ya hee hee hey! Your gift is what you learn. He ya hee hee hey!” Running Wolf stopped then for a minute or two.

  Lew began to feel very odd. Something about where they were, the chanting—something—made him uneasy in one sense and comfortable in another.

  “Listen to your heart, not your head. He ya hee hee hey! Let the teacher Wolf show you. He ya hee hee hey! What you must and must not do. Hey ya hee hee hey!” Running Wolf stopped dead.

  Lew stumbled to a stop. “What?” He was in a daze, numb.

  Running Wolf removed his teacup and handed it to Lew. The small square of cloth was tucked inside. “Inside the cloth is your herb tea. Drink one cup in the morning and one at night.” He then handed over his canteen. “Sip water when thirsty. Create water when dry.”

  Lew looked to the sky. The sun was far to the West. “I’ll never make it to the ridge before dark.” He didn’t want to be in the woods alone in the pitch black darkness.

  Running Wolf pulled a pack of matches from his pocket. “Here, use these the first night. Only once. Learn to make fire.”

  Lew took the matches, wondering if the spirits approved. “What about protection?”

  “Listen!” Running Wolf, yelled.

  “I’m listening.” Lew began to shake. “What?”<
br />
  “It does not matter when you learn, it matters how.”

  “Okay.” Lew lowered his head and repeated Running Wolf ’s words. “It does not matter when you learn, it matters how.” He looked up, “Please, I don’t want to do this alone. What if I die?”

  “One last thing, before you go.”

  “What?”

  “Collect everything you might need for the time you spend inside the circle, place it all outside, near the edge, then remove your shoes and enter the circle and do not leave until you are through. You may walk only along the inside of the circle and on the crossed lines. Whenever you enter a quadrant, you must pray to that element. Pray from your heart, your desire, and it will be answered.”

  “How long will I be there?”

  Without answering, Running Wolf turned his head as though he was listening to something.

  Lew quieted, then in a moment whispered, “What is it?”

  “The spirits. You must go.” Then, Running Wolf ran quickly away. Lew stood alone, listening to the receding footsteps.

  Lew’s head lowered and his shoulders slumped down. He looked for his first markings, a pile of leaves not far away. He noticed the sun’s position and felt an urgency to move on. He broke into a slow jog, wishing to leave the woods before dark.

  He listened to his own footsteps, imagining himself a wolf, but this time a whole new idea surrounded his imagination, a new experience of wolf that he had not had before. Lew concentrated on his markings and found that his mind became very closely focused, and while so engaged, his body was forgotten.

  PART II: WOLF’S STORY

  CHAPTER 6

  WOLF SAT DOWN at the six foot table in front of him. His head never lifted, but he could see the dark form of the tape recorder to his left, an open briefcase across from him, and could feel Gary’s presence beyond his immediate view, waiting for him to begin.

  “As long as I concentrated only on the trail markings I had made, I progressed well,” He began without prompting. “It was when I began to think about my situation, out there alone in the increasing darkness, that I’d get confused and disoriented. I don’t know if you ever knew it, but I have always been deathly afraid of the dark. I even left the bathroom light on when I stayed at hotels,” he said.

  “Part of the problem I had with my divorce was sleeping in the apartment alone. Suddenly, in those mountains, I found myself totally alone, with darkness arriving quickly.” He raised his hand to stop any interruption. “I know, I know, I hunted in the early morning before sun-up, but I typically carried a flashlight, it was often just beginning to lighten up, and I could choose to put on my wolf persona, so to speak. I pretended. Talked myself into becoming aggressive. The adrenaline rush would fill me. Keep me safe. Alert.”

  He continued talking about how it was for him in the mountains of New Mexico, where there was no feeling of safety. At the time, he did not know his physical location. There was no telephone, no flashlight. Running Wolf ’s words had penetrated his head like a pitch-fork through Jell-O; yet when he tried to remember them in detail, to think about them, he would miss one of his own markings and have to backtrack, wasting even more valuable time.

  “I hadn’t eaten for a long while as it was. Two days. Although I seemed to concentrate well when I wanted to, it was a sort of drugged concentration, almost unreal. At times I wondered how it all worked, my mind felt that loose. As I jogged through those woods instinctively jumping over logs or moving around trees and bushes, my peripheral vision doubled and tripled in capability.

  “I found that if I chanted just as Running Wolf had, I remained clear-headed enough to find my next marking. That was until nightfall. Until the shadows overtook the last patches of the evening glow.”

  Wolf closed his eyes. He could see himself there still. He had fallen to his knees and begun to cry. His mouth had filled with thick, slimy saliva that accumulates after running to exhaustion. He breathed deeply and let the tears fall. The smell, as he remembered it, was magnificent, rich in color and texture as well as odor, like nothing he had smelled before. Each tree seemed to have its own odor, each bush, each stone. He pitied himself, yet felt amazed by the whole of nature that huddled closely all around him.

  In a quiet voice, his eyes still closed, Wolf continued. “My actions disgusted me, and I felt ashamed. Shivering in the cold and immersed in the pool of my own fears, I realized that I had to get a grip. I quieted, rubbed my tears away. Forest sounds suddenly became frightening. I heard things walking, screeching, chattering. Trees rubbed together, creaking like old doors in an empty house, whenever the wind blew.

  “I didn’t feel safe, then laughed at how ridiculous that was. I hadn’t been safe since I left the airport. I heard a sound and looked quickly to my right, then to my left. Like a spooked horse, I reared up onto my feet, but before striking out or running—there was nowhere to run—I waited, let my eyes adjust to the darkness and recognized the piled leaves where I’d knelt. A marker. It wasn’t so dark there either. Stars were out, and behind a few lone clouds was the last phase of the moon, skinny and curved like a discarded toenail.

  “Somewhere near, a night bird squawked and I turned to see that in one area through the trees there was more sky than in other areas. That was where the forest opened onto the ridge over the gorge. Without thought, and I don’t remember any particular words, truly, truly, from my heart, I thanked the creature that had called my attention to the opening. My conscious fear did not drop away, but an inner courage took hold and pushed me onward. With my goal in mind and fear lodged in my throat, I picked up dry wood, logs, sticks, as I made my way out of the woods.”

  Wolf opened his eyes and looked up. “My memory may not be completely accurate,” he said matter-of-fact like. “When I broke from the edge of the woods, you’d expect that I would feel better, but I didn’t. The medicine wheel lay in a more vulnerable position than the woods. I thought I saw a dog or a wolf or something run from the circle, its shadow scraping along the ground in the dim moonlight filtering through feather-like clouds.

  “My arms felt heavy with wood of all sizes for the fire. The cup, hanging loosely from my little finger, clanked against the center of one log. I threw the wood down next to the wheel. One twig crossed the line into the circle. It was a twisted piece shaped like a moving snake. The sight frightened me.”

  Still shaken, he had gone back into the woods for more firewood. He didn’t think that every detail mattered. Yet, he remembered that when he had returned to the wheel, the twisted stick was gone. Fear like none that he had ever known had taken hold of his throat. The circle was powerful in its own right.

  Understanding that he had not been perfect throughout his life, Wolf felt suddenly exposed. He knew that the power circle could see the truth. It could move things out of the way, even him if it chose to do so. At that moment, he felt as though he was being watched by the power of the circle itself.

  “Remembering what Running Wolf had said about not leaving the circle once I’d entered, I placed everything within arms reach along the outside of the circle, which extended nearly twice my height. When I began to step into the circle, I stumbled and remembered my shoes and took them off. It felt as though—when I stumbled—someone pulled me back by my shoulders. I know this all sounds nuts, but that’s how it was.” He rubbed his forehead. “Maybe I was hallucinating the whole time. But this is nothing so far, there’s more insanity.”

  “The air had chilled and my feet felt cold and relieved at once. The dirt still held some warmth from the day’s sun. I got close to the circle then, leaned so I could see the crossed lines, and stepped into it. Like a wolf checking its territory, I walked the full perimeter of the circle, then along the crossed lines. My thoughts were not exactly clear and I don’t know how I made the decision where to put the fire, but I built it maybe two feet from the center of the circle on the West line. Then I made tea.

  “My plan was to keep the fire going so that I wouldn’t have to try r
ubbing sticks together, which I had done in Boy Scouts as a kid and had seen Running Wolf do once. I wasn’t sure whether to place the small square cloth over my increasingly cold feet or my chest. I decided on my chest. I lay on the north-south line, head to the north, between Running Wolf ’s symbols for air and fire.”

  Wolf closed his eyes and was there once again. More clouds had accumulated around the sliver of moon. It had grown darker and he began to hear more noises coming from the woods. He remembered concentrating on the crackling of the fire, its rhythmic snaps and breaths, like exhalations. The wind picked up, so he scooted further north to allow his feet to feel the heat from the fire. The cloth warmed his chest and shoulders.

  “As much as I tried to recall the events of the day, much of it eluded me then. I found that the words Running Wolf had delivered before leaving me alone in the woods, and the words Leela and Night Walker had used before sending me on my way with Running Wolf, would come back to me at appropriate moments. But that first night, I was scared to death. The clouds covered the stars and moon, placing a thick, opaque darkness over me. The fire became the only light and as much as I’d heard how fire would keep animals away, I didn’t know it as a fact. What I did begin to believe in that night was in the power of the circle. There seemed to be an energy inside it, a force of some kind.”

  He recalled what had happened to the snake-like stick and shuttered before continuing. “I watched the changing shapes of fire-smoke and saw demons and animals, eyes and mouths. I fell off to sleep in a state of fear, exhaustion, and evil expectations. I received exactly what I’d asked for. My dreams were violent and distorted. They included all kinds of snakes, owls, and rats, badgers and wolves. Only I couldn’t relate to these wolves on any level, even with anger and aggression. And the snakes, I’m sure you can imagine, came from the wood and stick piles that surrounded the circle. They came from all directions. The rats also came from the woodpile. I woke up once, sitting up instantly, and swear I saw several rats running away, over the ledge. I was sweating from fear. The air felt icy cold along my forehead and neck, giving me a headache worse than a hangover. My feet had slid over the north-south line into the water quadrant.