Wild Girl Running, page 5
Yet that hollow feeling didn’t stop at her head. It hovered, too, around her heart and sometimes down her stomach. Especially when she looked at the spirit, the first spirit, who had found her in this place. Especially when he looked back at her in return.
Now that she was less afraid of him—at least, convinced that she was not in imminent peril when she was near him—the wild girl could look at him with abandon. As he spoke with his companion she stared intensely into the features of his face. It occurred to her that he resembled her reflection as presented in puddles and easy-going streams. At the very least, he had two lovely blue-laced orbs that flashed between his conversational partner and the wild girl. He had a mouth that made sounds and ate food, and two ears that, she imagined, permitted him to hear as well as she did.
But then there were so many differences. There was something hard about his face, something pleasing. These hard features and the low timbre of his voice were what made the wild girl relate him somehow to the father and brother wolves of her old pack, fur on his jaw aside. She loved to look at these features of his—these high cheeks, this strong brow, this softly graying dark blond hair that was brighter atop his head than it was upon his face.
Was it as coarse? She cautiously touched his mane and smiled a little when this made him laugh. To her pleasure, the spirit leaned toward her to permit her exploration. Beaming ear-to-ear, the wild girl petted his fur much as she did that of her brothers and sisters, all the while making a noise of delight to find that the pelt atop his head was much softer than the one upon his chin.
The spirit called Jason made a few noises in a funny sort of tone. Ulysses scoffed. Upon uttering a few sounds of his own, he leaned back from the hand he gently removed from his head with a tender pat. The touch seemed to linger. The wild girl studied her hand before busying herself by carving meat off of the leg.
It turned out that both spirits ate just as she did. They slept, too. She had just been wondering when they would try to take her away when Jason yawned, stretched, made a few noises to Ulysses, and gestured out of the campsite. Ulysses nodded his head and said something in an agreeable tone while the baffled wild girl watched.
To her further confusion, Jason waved a hand at her again, said something while gesturing to the leftover meat still warmed by the fire. Then he got up and left the clearing.
For whatever reason, relief swept over the wild girl. It seemed much easier to deal with one spirit than with two, and she liked the furred spirit very much. Not just because he was the first who had come to her, either—she liked him very much because of the way he looked at her, and the way he looked to her, and the way he moved so gently when he was around her.
And, of course, he had given her those funny berries.
Ulysses made some noises that she didn’t understand, but she did know his tone was even gentler now that his friend was gone. She tried to find some meaning in them but, after deciding the pattern of sounds didn’t repeat in any way she could discern, the girl simply let them wash over her like water over the edge of a muddy bank. After seeing that the wild girl more or less stared into space at him amid his constant sounds, the spirit fell silent and looked around himself.
Aha! An idea brightened his face. He patted her knee before he clambered to his feet, stretching a bit and muttering some noise under his breath while striding over to the den. There, he stooped and delicately picked up the red box he had most recently given her. After returning to her side, he sat down again and opened the box.
What had happened before was now repeated; only now, instead of touching his chest while repeating a sound, he touched the box. This sound was longer than ‘Jason’ and either as or more complex than the sound ‘Ulysses.’ She couldn’t help but wonder at the invention of such sounds—was she capable of making such sounds as that, inventing them from out of her head?
She was distracting herself. She tried to focus. The girl had the sense that he wanted to teach her something. Seeing she wasn’t fully understanding, Ulysses opened the box and pointed to one of the berries inside. He repeated the complex sound and she frowned, trying to repeat it.
“Chocolal,” she mumbled out, looking up at him uncertainly. To her relief, he chuckled even more warmly than he had when she petted his head. After producing a few amiable sounds, he plucked up the chocolal and offered it to her.
“Chocolate,” he repeated, adding emphasis on the ‘t’.
“Ah,” said the girl, “chocolate.”
With pleasure, the spirit praised her again. The wild girl smiled in pride. Only at his slight gesture with the ‘chocolate’ did she understand he wanted her to take it. She carefully extended her palm and cooed as he dropped it in her hand.
Chocolate! Was that what these berries were called? Well, whatever they were called, she loved them more than anything else she had eaten. This second encounter with them sealed that opinion. What tree in the forest produced these delicious little fruits? What bush sprang with berries the spirits called chocolate? Her mind whirred desperately. If she had sounds with meanings she might find a way to ask. How frustrating! How did spirits learn these sounds? How did they learn to make them to each other?
“Ah.” The girl pointed at a bush, hoping to get the message across.
Ulysses followed her gaze and uncertainly asked, “Jason?”
Though she was momentarily confused—did Jason mean something she didn’t actually understand?—soon she realized she had pointed in the same direction the other spirit had gone. Ulysses thought she wanted to know about it, apparently. No, not really. All she wanted to know now was how to get more of that delicious chocolate stuff.
“Ah,” she repeated, now gesturing to another bush.
Ulysses hummed in consideration, trying to get her meaning. Eventually she had to scramble up and slap a few leaves of the bush with her open palm. “Oh!” Laughing, he told her, “Bush. Bush.”
“Bush,” repeated the girl, the word bursting out of her somewhat violently. “Bush…chocolate?”
Again, it took a few seconds for her meaning to come through clearly. When it did, he laughed in a merry way and shook his head. More words flowed through him; she didn’t understand them. Finally, when they had finished, he picked up another chocolate berry and extended it for her to eat. “No chocolate bush,” he said, repeating a word she’d heard him use a few times, ‘no.’ She had little experience with it, yet still managed to piece together the disappointing reality easily enough. Frowning, the girl leaned forward and, using her mouth, took the berry from his hand without thinking of it.
Ulysses gasped softly as her lips brushed his fingers. “Oh,” he said, drawing his hand away as though in shock while looking into her uncomprehending face. A few meaningless noises flowed from him—meaningless to her, anyway. She worked on chewing the berry and, just as she was going to indicate her desire another, he put the whole box in her hand with a few more noises.
He got up.
He put on the object that had been set aside, that he wore the way she wore mother wolf’s old head.
He made another noise and turned to leave.
Panic fluttered in the wild girl’s heart. No! He couldn’t leave. If he left, she’d be alone again. Alone with one antler. Looking at him, sitting beside him, it were as though she had two perfectly-matched, towering antlers: tree branches rising from her head and her heart. Hurriedly setting the box aside, the girl sprang up and caught his hand.
“Ah,” she protested before remembering, “U-lysses—Ulysses—”
A noise fell from his lips. The spirit turned to look at her, somewhat surprised, then all the moreso when she threw her arms around his waist and held him as close as she could.
For reasons she didn’t understand, her eyes filled with tears. Maybe it had something to do with the thought that she was more willing by the second to leave her life behind—or maybe it was more. For some reason she was not just saddened at the thought of the spirit leaving, but also afraid. Afraid that something might happen to him. Then she would never see him again.
And oh, how she wanted to see him again! He was so kind. Kinder than she would have expected for something that had taken mother-wolf in the night like that. With a gentle coo, the spirit wrapped his arms around her. The wild girl inhaled sharply the curious, complicated scent of his warm body. She had never been held by anything that resembled herself before. She had petted wolves and snuggled up with her litter-mates; she had roped deer that she then wrestled to the ground; she had even had a close brush with the black bears before she got into the custom of leaving them scraps far from camp. But never had she been held, touched, petted by a being in return. Certainly never with so much kindness.
Tears welled rapidly in the wild girl’s eyes and spilled over twice as fast as they did when the teacher mushroom showed her so many brilliant things. The girl made a noise of longing—a noise of hope that he might stay with her in the safety of the camp and continue holding her like this. Why, after all, did the spirit need to go back whence it came? Why did it need to take her? Couldn’t it stay there in the camp?
If the spirit had really come for her, couldn’t they be together there instead of elsewhere?
The tone of his voice still as gentle as anything she had ever heard, Ulysses made a series of melodious noises—the same singing that had lured her back to the clearing when she’d abandoned it in her fright. Her breath hitched sharply, then froze. She shut her eyes and listened, not just to the spirit’s voice but to the sound of his beating heart.
“Ah,” cooed the girl softly, looking up into his face. It almost hurt her to look at him so close for so long! A hard hurt to explain. There was no wound in her, but there was still a terrible ache—a flame in her chest burning brighter every second she spent admiring him.
The longer he looked at her, the more his singing faded. He looked on her silently, somehow troubled.
Did he feel the same ache?
The girl rested a hand upon his chest, that same spot that so ached in her. The spirit once more gasped as though she were the frightening one. He gently patted her hand, then unwound his other arm from her body.
How she loved to be held! She wanted the experience again; longer. As much as her chest burned, her flesh tingled with the tangible memories of that tender touch. In search of it again, she caught him by an elusive hand and attempted to draw him back into the camp with her. Maybe they could sit under her roof? She wasn’t sure the spirit would fit, but if it meant he would stay then she would have happily slept outside in the cold—she would even have given him the fantastic fur that she was now certain he had left.
Finally, with a look around, the spirit extricated his hand from hers and made a gentle noise. He lifted one finger and the girl’s heart dropped, not understanding the gesture. Somehow she thought it was a kind of negation and, though he then eased both open hands toward her as though urging her to stay in place, she couldn’t help but worry and take one step after him. “Ulysses,” she said again.
But the spirit only repeated its gentle noise and vanished into the trees.
A sad cry lifted from the girl’s lips—the cry of her aching heart. She watched him go, hand on that pained organ, and wilted upon the ground like a flower in the dry season. Oh, come back! His gentle hands upon her had given her such a sweet feeling of symmetry—a bright inner glow of fulfillment that normally only came with hard things, like crafting sharp weapons or taking down a great animal. His touch reminded her of the safety of the den: being snuggled with her family while waiting for the hunters to return.
The wild girl glanced at mother wolf, then realized with a start of shame that she had not offered any of the sweet chocolate berries to her.
Oh, mother wolf! Bring the spirit back, bring Ulysses back! Hurrying over to the box still resting on the forest floor, the girl selected one of her favorite colors of berry and rushed back to offer it. She had just knelt to kiss the wolf’s s bony paws when, to the joyful surge of her heart, a few leaves cracked in the night.
Ulysses reappeared from the trees.
ULYSSES WAS PROFESSIONAL. He was a trained anthropologist who had spent years in school. He had come to America with grant money awarded to him by Cambridge. He had written many books and was well-respected within his field.
Yet he had to ask himself, as he returned to the wild girl’s camp, what exactly he thought he was doing. Jason asked it aloud when Ulysses found him and informed him that he would be spending the night in the clearing with their subject.
“You’d better leave this part out of your book,” was what the guide suggested wryly while Ulysses left him for the night.
Maybe so. But he had noble intentions, Ulysses. He had a scientific interest in the girl, and he had to gain her trust. If they were really going to convince her to leave with them the next morning, the doctor had to assure her that she could rely on him—that she wouldn’t be abandoned in the middle of the woods.
And, anyway…she had been so terribly, heart-wrenchingly sweet. His name slurring from her lips, the tight embrace of those arms packed with lean muscle but smooth to the touch.
The pain in her face at her obvious understanding of his intention to leave.
No. He hadn’t been able to leave such a sweet girl alone for the night. Not when she wanted him to stay.
But now they were alone together. The terrible male fear of being left alone with a beautiful woman gradually crept over him: an abstract pressure weighted upon him, the urgings of nature combating with the wisdom of human consciousness. He was grateful that the girl in all likelihood did not fully understand the origins of animal life, let alone the recreational aspects of the process. If she had shown such interest in him, the anthropologist might not have been able to resist her.
Thank God, the girl was wholly innocent, and her intentions toward him quite wholesome. He had returned with his bed roll and, seeing him arrange it along the fireside, she produced a pleasurable chirp and hurried to her lean-to. First she removed the mink coat he had left for her—he tried not to cringe while she lay it temporarily upon the ground, but the situation was soon rectified. From within the lean-to she removed a wolf’s fur and, after kissing it with all the sweetness of a child for her favorite doll, the wild girl arranged this more clumsily-produced but still admirable fur upon the ground beside his bedroll. Over this, she pulled the mink like a blanket. Then, with a thoughtful and happy sound, she demonstrated that the mink could fit over both the wolf fur and the bed roll. Ulysses strove to see only her innocence, her generosity of spirit.
“Yes,” he said at her gesture toward the bedding, “yes, that’s very nice…thank you, my dear. How thoughtful.”
She had no comprehension of his words, but she could understand his tone very well. She smiled at his praise and then, happy as could be, flopped down amid her furs with the box from the chocolatier.
“Ulysses,” she said, patting the bedroll to encourage him to sit. With a chuckle, he slipped off his shoes and did. While she once again opened the box, she surprised him. Rather than nibbling on the chocolate she selected, she instead held it out to him.
“Oh,” he said, laughing in surprise. “for me? That’s very kind—”
He had not been expecting her to press it straight to his lips, but…well. He supposed one had to expect boundaries to be rather different for an innocent creature who had no social contact. Obediently opening his mouth, Ulysses let her push the chocolate in upon his tongue and—rather amazingly—didn’t even think about her grubby fingers. They were lovely fingers, lovely hands. Lovely wrists, lovely eyes. Eyes that gazed into him, oh! How she stared—like an owl, like a cat. His heart gave a queer flutter even as he chewed the chocolate.
“Delicious,” he told her once he swallowed, yielding a giddy smile from her happy lips. The girl picked up another chocolate and attempted to feed him a second time, but he laughed and gently pushed back against her hand. “No, no, that’s enough for me. They’re for you. The chocolates are for you.”
“Chocolalate,” the girl mumbled thoughtfully, glancing into the box and eating her selection herself. It was funny—she was wild, of course, or at the very least uncivilized. But she was so careful with things.
Perhaps because she had to be. She turned the little chocolate all around, pinched between her fingers, examining it in the firelight before taking it into her mouth. A squeal of pleasure rose from her lips as the chocolate burst to release its fudgy center. She grinned, more eagerly masticating the candy while giving the box a happy shake.
Interestingly, the girl had some sense of conservation. She shut the box back up and held it to her heart, then set it upon the earth beside their bedding.
Then—again, to his surprise—she turned back to lean against him, sliding beneath his arm with a sweetly animal coo. “Ah,” she said with a pat of the bedding. “Ah, ah!”
“Yes,” he agreed, not knowing what else to say, “yes, it’s a very nice bed.”
She bit her lip. He wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at. “Ah,” she said again, folding his arm around her body and inspiring a surge of absolute adoration.
Oh, she was so sweet to touch! So good to hold. The girl fit in his arm as though made for it; the weight of her head upon his shoulder seemed like something out of a dream he had once had and then forgotten at the moment of waking. Even that earthy scent of her hair, a far cry from the florally perfumed locks of European and even American women, filled him up with simple pleasure. He breathed of her deeply, paying no mind to thoughts of fleas or lice or ticks or dirt or grit. She was perfect, perfect to him, and it saddened him very much whenever he had to remind himself that she was the subject of research and not a potential lover.
There was no reason he couldn’t be kind to her, however—couldn’t be fond of her. At her encouragement, he took up gently petting her arm, smiling at her sigh. “Isn’t that nice? You must have been alone for a very long time.”
