Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection

by Persun, Terry

  When I awoke, I jumped up and looked around quickly. I had dreamed that a wolf had entered my camp and was going through my things, looking for the key item that would define me. There was so much stuff around: Advertising posters were nailed to the trees, books stood along the water bank held up by rocks as book ends. My bed was there, but I wasn’t sleeping in it. A hawk and an owl perched on each corner post at the headboard. My personal belongings—clothes, shaving kit, briefcase filled with folders—were strewn all over the ground, some of them burned in the fire. In the dream, I did nothing. I felt almost honored that the wolf was there, and secretly hoped it would find my definition. Instead, I awoke.

  “The fire was almost out and the darkness beyond its feeble reach was opaque. Something stirred and I stood still. It sounded like a raccoon shuffling along the ground, or an opossum. Anxious without knowing why, I stoked up the fire and sat close. I knew this was my final day, that the whole ordeal would be over before nightfall, so I decided to make the most of it. I didn’t know when the sun would rise, how many hours remained in the night, but I decided to remain awake, listen to the noises of the forest, and stay close to the fire.”

  Wolf stirred and twisted in his chair, crossing his legs. “Many things came into my head during those hours, but what I remember most were thoughts of Julie and Michael and how I’d failed them. Some of my clients, too, with loud voices, asked for apologies. I took out my wooden box—you’ve seen it—and chanted for them, over and over. I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t see Running Wolf until his moccasins entered my peripheral vision. He said nothing. I motioned for him to sit with me. My chanting session, I knew, was not complete. Running Wolf sat approvingly as I continued.

  “I felt no embarrassment, no shyness, nothing. Something inside me guided my actions. When I finished chanting, there was a long silence in which the forest sounds became loud and active. Before daylight, Running Wolf began to chant. He did so for at least forty-five minutes. When he stopped, it felt sudden, as though his chant was a direct statement, and it taught me to be sure and confident with my own chant which, until that time, I had always ended quietly. He had given me permission to be declarative. Another long silence proceeded, then he looked up and said, ‘I am Running Wolf.’ I knew what was expected of me, and I had earned the right to say it. ‘I, too, am Wolf,’ I said. He held out his hand and I extended mine. We gripped one another’s forearm and held tightly for a moment then let go. I felt honored.

  “In relative silence, we cleaned up camp and I led us out by following the creek. Running Wolf followed behind me. Up stream, the light was brighter as the trees opened to the sky. Rocks sparkled and blinked like so many bright eyes, almost as though the light they gave off came from within, not reflected from above, much like our vision of God. That thought entered my mind, and how we always look up when we speak to Him, when, in reality, He is inside each of us, shining outward.

  “‘Interesting,’ Wolf said to himself. ‘How often is it in nature we are offered the truth? And how often do we hear it?’” He shook his head, considering the questions before going on.

  “Well, we followed the creek along its banks, which rose and fell as did the mountains it had cut through. We stopped and ate lunch, more fish, plus tea that Running Wolf had with him. I built the fire; Running Wolf brought back four large fish. Bass, this time. He did it in no time. His ability to call-out was greater than mine.

  “We ate well, then started out on foot once more. Two hours later, we came by a place that looked oddly familiar to me. Amazingly, we were on the opposite bank of the creek in the area where I had bathed just days before. The creek surged over rocks and I couldn’t see any way across, so I began to walk on when Running Wolf grabbed my shoulder. He pointed to a boulder that teetered on the bank. If we pushed it into the rapids, it might provide enough of a break for us to leap onto it and, from there, leap over to the other side. We’d try.

  “It took us another hour to remove enough dirt around its base that we could shove it down over the bank. Using all our strength, we pushed and rolled the rock into the rapids. I couldn’t help but think that had we traveled further on foot we would have found a crossing point. Yet, I understood that working on the boulder was significant, even if I didn’t know what that significance was.

  “It was necessary to leap onto the boulder from quite a distance. I went first, not knowing if the rapids would roll the rock downstream over me or not. There was no space on the rock to step out more than once, so I’d have to make a quick stop.” Wolf laughed.

  “The idea looked scary as hell to me. But, at that point, my faith in Running Wolf, was greater than my fear. So, I jumped. When I hit, I fell forward across the rock and whacked my chin hard. That’s where the cut and bruise came from. I felt like my skeleton had shaken loose. Thankfully, the boulder didn’t budge. My next jump would not take me as far as the shore, but into a pool about waist deep. I crouched down and leaned back, hoping to step forward and push off the side of the rock. My body hurt from the fall, and I could feel it protesting even before I jumped. I landed in a shallower spot than I’d hoped, and, for the second time, fell forward, this time into the water. It was a softer fall, but my ankle twisted when I hit and ached now. The loud rush of the rapids eased in volume as I waded across to shore. I turned back and watched as Running Wolf took a running start from the bank, leaped into the air, but instead of landing on the rock, he used it as a boost, pushing off with his right leg, back into the air and well into the tide pool. His left foot never hit the rock. He bounced right over it. With my body aching and my ankle in pain, I thought that I could have done the same.

  “Running Wolf, placed his hand on my shoulder. Holding it there heavily, he laughed. ‘You are no gazelle,’ he said. He was right. Graceful I was not. Whether it was the relief of surviving the past days or the camaraderie I felt, I don’t know, but I hugged Running Wolf and began to laugh like I’d never laughed before.”

  Wolf told Gary he was almost finished with his story, but Gary remained silent.

  “When we stumbled into camp, everyone looked up in unison. I must have looked pitiful: I still limped a little, and had not shaved, showered, or brushed my teeth for a week. I felt thin and tired, as though the fatigue could be seen in my face.

  “Night Walker stood up and walked toward us. The air was warm, the sun bright, but not brighter than Night Walker’s beaming face. He shook my hand and helped me into camp. Leela stood and hugged me. I felt I had done something extraordinary, as if I had been away at war or been missing for years. There was so much warmth in their reception that I had forgotten how tense it had been between Running Rabbit and me. He, too, shook my hand and hugged my shoulder, as did Strong Elk.

  “I sat down and took a pan of stew Running Rabbit handed me. ‘Do I look that hungry?’ I asked. They all laughed. Then Running Wolf told them I’d done well. ‘Not alone,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, each of you, and I really, truly appreciate what you did to help me through it.’

  “No sooner did I finish saying my piece, than I recognized their puzzled faces. Night Walker spoke first, saying, ‘We have not left camp since you began your journey. If you were helped...’ He looked toward Running Wolf who held up his hand in rejection of the thought. ‘You helped yourself,’ Night Walker finished.”

  Wolf put his hands together and un-crossed his legs. “I tried to tell them what I saw, but Leela cut me off saying, ‘Whatever was familiar.’ I remember swallowing very hard. That’s when I began to doubt what I had done. All those things I’d seen, felt, experienced. I suddenly wondered who I was. I felt different, as though I’d lost the old Llewellyn Smith out there. The angry one, yes, but the one I’d known all these years. And you might say that the new one, Wolf, was a better man, but a man unfamiliar to me.

  “I spent the rest of the day writing down what I’d gone through so that I’d remember it. I wanted to know what had happened to me out there. Where did the little wo
oden box come from? How was it that the hawk dropped that snake into the circle? Who did I fight? Was it really me? Why the dog? Why the spider? The ant? What did I really feel inside the circle? And the tree, God, that tree that showed me who I am: What about it?”

  Wolf sighed. “The next morning, by the time I got up and ready, the camp was pretty much gone. While I ate quietly, the Indians cleared up the rest of camp. Leela sat with me for a while. ‘You’re upset,’ she said, and I told her a little about what I was going through. She said that it was normal, and just to accept whatever happened, illusion or reality, as an experience—which it was. She told me to trust it all, and myself, for I had come back a different man. She talked to me for a long while, but I’m afraid I didn’t respond much. It was like a wave of depression had swept over me. I heard what she’d said though, and it comes back to me sometimes. Like now, when I feel like I didn’t do it, I remember her telling me to trust my innermost feelings. When I look inside, I want to plead not guilty. Yet, immediately after that thought, I am reminded how out-of-it I was. With all the hallucinating, anything could be possible. I could have killed a man and not known it.”

  Gritting his teeth, Wolf yelled out, “Don’t you get it? I’m lost in between.” He lifted his palm. “I’m sorry,” he said, then continued. “The Indians drove me to the airport. I stunk. I still hadn’t shaved. I had forgotten who I really was, even though I didn’t want to find the old me and live with him any longer. I wanted a new me, but couldn’t quite find him either.

  “Almost as soon as the Indians dropped me off at the airport, the police picked me up. I had no idea why they were taking me in. I figured that they thought I had stolen the suitcase and briefcase because of the way I looked. I got pissed and began to yell at them that I’d been through enough, that the things belonged to me, and they had no right to confiscate them. I even swung at one of the police, well, not really swung at him, but threw my arm back when he tried to grab it, and hit him in the face with my elbow. It was an accident, but that’s not what they thought. That’s why they said I was violent. Christ, Gary, I had been through so goddamn much by then I don’t know what else could have happened. Anything, I suppose. Anything.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “WELL, IT HAS HAPPENED,” Gary spoke for the first time during the session.

  “I’ve told you everything. Now what do I do?” Wolf lowered his head. They had allowed him to shave and clean up, and to change clothes. They watched him the entire time, guarded him as though he were a criminal.

  Gary crossed the room and turned off the tape recorder. He stroked his chin, then stared up towards the corner of the room. His coat jacket was draped over the chair-back and his tie hung loose around his neck. He said quietly, “Have they shown you a photo of this Charles Owl Heart?”

  “No.”

  Gary removed a thick folder from his briefcase. He flipped through it, then pulled out a photo and laid it in front of Wolf. “There. Do you recognize him?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Do you feel you could have killed him?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” Gary said. “Good.”

  “I don’t feel as though I could have killed anyone.”

  “I know, pal, really I do. I just don’t know what to do with what you’ve told me.” Gary sat down and placed the photo back inside the folder. “The man’s a convicted felon. Bad checks, armed robbery, you name it. He could have tried to attack you. In your state, maybe, just maybe, you fought back. By accident he went over the ledge out there and died. On his own. But if you fought with him, if you pushed him…”

  “And if I didn’t? If he did fall?”

  “I’d like to be able to prove that.” Gary slapped shut his briefcase. “Shit, if I just knew one way or the other.”

  “Or if I knew. Right?” Wolf looked into Gary’s face. “It would help if I knew for sure.”

  “Yeah, it would. But it’s not necessary. They have an old man who saw you in the area. No eye witnesses. That’s on our side. But you can’t talk about this fight you had with your ego. Or anything else at this point. I need to think things through. In the meantime, I’ve contacted Frank.”

  “Frank? Why?”

  “I can’t seem to locate your little Indian tribe, Wolf. No one’s heard of them. The old man claims that you’re the only one he saw up there.”

  “And you thought Frank could help?”

  “Or Frank’s contact.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing so far. Every lead goes nowhere. Even the local private detectives claim to know nothing about such a group. And you said, what? Two Navajo, a Cherokee, a Lakota, and what was the one you didn’t get along with?”

  “Running Rabbit. Apache. And it’s not that we didn’t get along as much as it was just tense between us. He was fire in the wheel. Hot to the touch, so to speak. Symbolically.”

  “Let’s not be mentioning that again, all right. At least not until we find them.”

  Wolf sighed. His shoulders slumped. They had been debriefing in that little room for a long time. His body told him it was late. He longed to see the open sky, to smell the air and the fire. To feel the wind. Wolf felt closed in, but if he focused on being Lew, the advertising executive, the room, its closeness, didn’t bother him as much.

  Funny thing, though, it had become extremely difficult to hold onto the idea of himself as Lew. It would be impossible to explain to anyone, but his identity had changed. He was Wolf. Although he understood the feeling, knew that the change had occurred, he also sensed it would affect his life in ways he couldn’t imagine. When speaking with Gary, he stuck within the realms of what he remembered had happened on his forced vision quest, not on what was still going on inside him. Thoughtful, Wolf stared for a moment into Gary’s eyes.

  Gary turned away.

  “What is it?” Wolf asked.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes you scare me.”

  “I’m sorry.” He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise. It felt as though his teeth were bared, yet when he focused on his lips, they were closed together.

  “Don’t be. It’s always been that way. I’ve always thought that you were capable of things I never was. Look, Wolf, maybe I’m not the one to represent you. Our relationship’s always been, well...”

  “No,” Wolf said automatically. “You’re my only hope. You’ve got to believe I didn’t do it. Try. Deep down you must know, even if I don’t.”

  Gary stood thinking for a long while.

  The air inside the room grew stale, more used-up with each recycling. Wolf could smell it. He could smell the whole building, down the hall, in the smoking area, the showers, the front desk. He could smell the metal of the bars, could taste that metal. He coughed. Everything closed in so completely.

  Finally, Gary spoke. “I need to get some sleep, do some thinking.” He shook his head as though to empty his mind. “I’ve got to digest what you’ve told me. I don’t know how to decipher it all. I don’t know what it means.”

  “Okay,” Wolf said. “You think.”

  Gary called the guard in to take Wolf back to his cell.

  Wolf walked ahead of the guard, leaving Gary behind. The fleeting thought of Lynne and him quickly entered Wolf ’s mind. The thought made him sick. Sick of himself. How could he have done what he had? Then he wondered if Gary knew, but no, he couldn’t. His reactions would have been different. Wolf knew people, had grown to understand them, manipulate them. He’d have recognized a difference in Gary if Gary had known.

  “What the hell are you snarling at, Mister?”

  Wolf looked up and saw the face of a young woman being escorted in the opposite direction. Until she commented, Wolf hadn’t realized he was snarling. His lips had pulled back from his teeth as though he were warning people to stay away. He closed his lips, then smiled at her.

  The guard shoved Wolf down a second hallway and into a cell. Wolf ’s nose curled up and his eyes squinted against the strong tas
te and odor of metal and disinfectant. He went over to the cot against the wall and lay face down into the odor of the clean pillow case. He heard the door lock behind him. Tears rushed to his eyes, saliva to his mouth. For a long while he stayed put. There was no reason to move. He knew what the cell looked like, the dark walls and low cot. Being closed inside such a place reminded Wolf of being held down by three larger kids when he was eight. He thought he was going to suffocate. It frightened him. He couldn’t breathe and still they refused to let him up.

  He drew a deep breath, inhaling the smell of clean laundry. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He knew he would dream, so he thought hard on the word help. All that he wanted from his dream lived in that one word, in whatever way it came. He slept.

  In the middle of the night he awoke to the feel of a soft wind moving over his face and chest. It carried the scent of Douglas fir. When he opened his eyes, the close ceiling of the jail cell denied him the open sky. Remembering where he was, Wolf repeated his plea for help and reentered sleep again, hoping for an answer. None came that night.

  In the morning Wolf woke slowly, opened his eyes and swallowed hard. He sat up and leaned back against the wall. It was early. Sighing into the emptiness of the cell, Wolf decided to explore. What else would a real wolf do? So, he began to sniff around, actually getting on all fours, looking for nothing in particular along the cell door, noticing dirt, the unevenness of the iron bars. In one corner a small spider had built a web. Wolf watched its movements for a long while. The dim light reflected off the threads, illuminating small dots along the web. The spider didn’t even notice Wolf. As some god peers down on us, Wolf thought. Like a greater force, a greater understanding would view our plight with indifference. He remembered again the medicine wheel, the power of the circle.

  He sat back onto the floor of the cell and turned his face skyward in question. Didn’t any of it matter to the Great Understanding? It made sense to him that it wouldn’t matter. God, any god, would be much too large, we’d be much too small for any real personal concern on his or her part. Then all that mattered were our interactions with others, Wolf reasoned. How else could we be defined? Like the spider is defined by its interactions with its immediate environment, so are humans. “Perhaps,” Wolf said aloud.