“Ah, it’s nothing, it’s nice that you think we need to organize a rescue operation, but, man, what sense does that make? What are the chances that she is still alive?”
“I’m afraid Wells is right,” I said. “The wolfgoat has most likely eaten Maruša by now, and even if it hasn’t because, let’s say, it wants to take her to its lair and make her its mate, like King Kong did with Jessica Lang and then later with Naomi Watts, let’s say she’s alive. How are we going to find that lair? And even if we did – how are we going to set her free from that terrifying wolfgoat?”
Keret asked to speak: “What you say is true, I myself am not filled with optimism. Maruša’s chances with the monster aren’t great. I agree, however, with Blaž – this is a matter of honor and I’m all for going after the monster. I spent two years in the army and I know a thing or two about tracking. Let Tanja and someone else head for the cabin and contact the rescuers. I’m going after the monster, who’s with me?”
“I am,” Blaž Perković was the first to reply.
Our eyes fixed to the ground, Wells and I raised our hands almost simultaneously.
“You go with Tanja, I was a boy scout,” I hear myself say as if these were someone else’s words, not mine.
“I was a boy scout too,” Wells said.
“Nice, if this were Oregon or some such place, I’d be glad to give you my place. You go get help with Tanja, the wolfgoat is my quest.”
“And why wouldn’t the two of you go to the cabin, it seems I’d be more useful in the hunt. After all the wolfgoat is the creature of hillbilly legends and, as you know, I’m a hillbilly gal…”
“No, no way,” Blaž interrupted Tanja. “You know the way to the cabin and you’ve operated the two-way.”
“It’s not rocket science…”
Keret put one hand on Wells’ and the other on Tanja’s shoulder. “Go, the two of you go together,” he said. “We count on your swift feet, the three of us go after the wolfgoat.”
The Israeli’s calmness and resolve did their thing. We exchanged hugs with Tanja and Wells and headed each in our direction.
“Hey, motherfuckers!!!” Wells yelled after us. “Go kick the wolfgoat’s ass and bring us the poetess alive and well!”
Keret, Blaž and I raised one clenched fist into the air which meant something like: Yes, no problem. That’s what we’ll do.
Deep in our hearts none of us had much faith in a happy ending.
***
We followed the wolfgoat’s tracks. Actually, Keret was the one doing all the tracking, while Blaž and I followed him. Every couple of steps, the Israeli paused noticing broken blades of grass, cracked twigs and other tiny things the two of us would never even register.
“It seems it has a clear course,” Keret concluded.
“At one moment it’ll reach its goal or it has already reached it,” I said. “And then it’s time for a showdown. Do we have a plan or we’ll think about it later?”
“We’ll launch a full-blown attack,” said Blaž, being heroic.
“We each have a knife and these sticks. I’m afraid that’s too little, the wolfgoat’s gonna eat us like when an orphan eats an Oreo, it’ll throw us around Velebit without a problem,” I moaned like an old woman predicting we were all in for a heroic death.
“Direct attack is not the smartest option. We’ll see where it’s nested and then we’ll decide on the tactics. If Maruša is still alive, maybe we’ll manage to save her without engaging into a fight with the wolfgoat,” Keret said.
“Well said, my Israeli friend, a direct attack would lead into a certain death. When we’re at it, Blaž, when you saw it, you said it was a wolfgoat. How come?” I asked.
“I’ve heard stories, legends about a creature that could live somewhere on Velebit. And, as you’ve seen, it seems it really does live here. But I’ve never seen it before today. Incredible.”
At one moment Keret read the footprints and concluded that the wolfgoat had abandoned that track and headed for one of the peaks. “It’s only logical, I expected its lair to be somewhere high.”
We began to climb. Goodbye Zagreb, goodbye civilization, we’ll never see each other again. Most likely I’ll die in this wilderness. I just hope my death will not be slow and too painful. It wouldn’t be fair. I have, after all, exhibited a degree of heroism when I signed up for this meaningless pursuit. Does the fact that I’ll perish in this heroic feat offer any consolation? I thought a little and concluded: Nah, there’s not a grain of consolation here. The wolfgoat is going to slaughter us like pestering flies. It’ll slay us all: Gandalf Perković, that brave tracker Keret, and me too. Maybe I’ll be the first to perish so I won’t have to witness their suffering and imminent death. The members of the Mountain Rescue Service will find our mutilated bodies somewhere among the rocks. Maybe, who knows, maybe one day some poor little school somewhere in the suburbs will be named after me. Sebastian Shamsky Elementary. Children, the teacher will ask her first graders, do you know who was Sebasitan Shamsky? Our school was named after him? Do you know, my dear children, who he was? We don’t, the children will say. Sebastian Shamsky was a lesser-known Croatian writer, he will be remembered after his heroic death on Mt. Velebit. Do you know, my dear children, how he died? You don’t, do you, well, I’ll tell you: he died when attempting to rescue the Slovenian poetess Maruša Klemen from the claws of the ruthless wolfgoat.
“Fay Wray, are you listening?”