THE WOLFGOAT

THE WOLFGOAT

THE WOLFGOAT


“We can only guess. It’s key we remain calm and don’t do anything rash.”
The wolfgoat has a home field advantage. We’re just intruders here. Our place is in cities, see what happened to Blaž. He lived here for a while thinking he belongs here. A man must stick to cities and villages, and leave the wilderness to savages, wild creatures that feel at home here.”
“There’s truth in what you’re saying. We distanced ourselves from nature and we understand it less and less.”
“Eh, if we had two machine guns and a couple of grenades, oh, wolfgoat, I’d ask you a question or two…”
“What question would you ask it?”
“It’s just an expression. But, listen, my Israeli friend, you haven’t met Maruša before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Me neither. So – she’s nothing to us, neither kin nor relative. The real question is then why do we even put ourselves to risk trying to rescue her? Here, we’ve shown our good will, we’ve lost a man along the way, and she most likely is no longer among the living. Why don’t we simply climb down and wait for the reinforcements?”
“Heh, good question. Unfortunately, from the very beginning this is the question of honor, and after Blaž’s death we practically have no choice. His sacrifice cannot go in vain. If now we gave up on our search for the poetess Klemen, it would be like we pissed on his grave. Look deep into your heart and you’ll see I’m right.”
I obeyed and looked. There were all kinds of things in my heart, I dug and I dug, and really – deep down, under layers upon layers of all that crap, I found a smallish clot of responsibility and honor that made me feel alive. I was surprised by this discovery, surprised and somewhat saddened. I wasn’t aware that under particular circumstances I was ready to die for nothing.
“Let’s go, we have a case to close.”
“This way, please,” Keret said and led the way.

***

Step after step, stone after stone and we’d already climbed to the first peak. It wasn’t particularly high, but when I finally dared to look down, I felt a lump in my throat. The Israeli gave me a sign to be quiet and started sharpening his stick with his knife.
“Just in case,” he whispered.
I sharpened the point of my stick too. All we had were those two pitiful spears and a knife each in case of a close encounter. Hand to hand combat with the wolfgoat – I didn’t even dare to think what would be the outcome of that clash.
“You stay here, I’ll look around.”
“It’s a deal,” I whispered back to him.
I wasn’t complaining. Let the man go, I thought, reconnaissance is the mother of success. I hid in the shade of a massive rock and sat down. The sun had already reached its highest point and it slowly began descending westwards. Are there any mountain vipers here, nervously I wondered, or giant spiders? I didn’t feel like sitting anymore. I stepped out of the shade anxiously expecting something to come crawling out of one of million cracks. Life in the city has its flaws: the air is polluted, it’s noisy, people sit in buildings and watch television so that they don’t go crazy, yet every minute someone goes crazy nevertheless, thousands of cars crawl down the streets, trash stinks up the pavements, in summer it is incredibly hot, and in winter cold sneaks up in your bones, children scream in parks, parents scream after them, dogs piss and shit all over the place, and owners follow them and collect that shit, or they don’t and when you add it all up – I understand people who at one moment, just like Blaž, lose it and move somewhere else.
But not here, by God, not in the middle of nowhere. A life in the mountain is definitely not a solution.
I heard something and took a couple of steps back. I clutched the knife in one hand and a smallish spear in another. The Israeli. I felt relief.
“I’ve found tracks, I think I know where the monster lives.”
“Where?”
“Follow me.”

AuthorZoran Pilić
2018-12-13T12:09:33+00:00 November 10th, 2016|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 110|0 Comments