CHAPTER ONE_Wolf Stay Away from my Door

WOLF! STAY AWAY FROM MY DOOR!

By

Ron Walters

This book is fiction. Nobody is real, only guesswork. If you know of someone in this story who resembles somebody, it is an accident, or he is a wolf and doesn’t know you because you are not real either.

To a redhead and two brunettes with a sigh

Of victory and love so sadly gone... too bad... too damn bad!

Chapter One

There has been this big wolfy beast howling on my doorstep for as long as I can remember. He’s had my door chewed almost down a number of times, although he hasn’t made it yet. But I guess he’s as close now as he’s ever been. At least the kids think so. They’re pretty worried.

I’ve been near enough to him several times to smell his rancid fur piece. But the good Somebody, so far, has stepped in and run him away, before he had a chance to sink his dirty yellow fangs into this weary Homo Sapiens he calls steak.

I say he, when I speak of this old wolfy character, but to tell you the truth I don’t really know whether he’s a boy or girl. One time I thought he was a bitch wolf, at least he had the eyes for it. One or two other times he looked powerful enough to be a wrestler, but I’m still not sure. Hell! Maybe he’s one of those things with a split personality or a herniated bisexual. Who can tell?

All I know is that he’s been bowling around so long that I don’t dare stop listening for him. He is a worrisome thing, and he does make me nervous.

I can remember the first time that old spooky bastard howled loud enough for me to hear his love call. It was way back when in the winter of ’35.

My mom and dad and I were shuffling up to the dinner table one Sunday afternoon. I was too short to sit in a chair to eat in those days, so I had to stand and belly-up to my vittles the hard way.. Anyway, there were only two chairs, and mom wouldn’t allow any crates at her table. Besides, I was smart enough to know I could lick a spoon quicker than everybody when I was standing with my arms free, swinging or otherwise.

But, getting on with it, no sooner had dad finished saying the Sunday blessing, than mom began raising holy hell with tears in her eyes. There wasn’t much more than two or three tablespoons of warmed-over potato soup in the pot, and that was mostly lard. There wasn’t any bread either.

Mom got to chewing dad up pretty bad because the pantry was empty. And dad kept telling her back how he couldn’t help it, because there wasn’t no jobs for a workin’ man in them days. Well, to boil it all down, dad taught me how to face up to the old wolf and made me a born optimist himself, but he could move when mom diddled with his dander.

Just as soon as mom got done with him, he turned straight to me. “Hank, son,” he said. I guess it’s up to me and you to get some grub on the table. You take yer club over to the south forty and see if’n you kin catch up to a rabbit and bust it a good one. Get two, if’n you can. I’ll go on down to the Jeseric place myself and see if’n they got a boar or two that need’s castratin’. Rocky Mountain oysters and fried rabbit would fit real good in our bellies tonight…huh, boy?”

“Why, John –“ mom said.

Then dad looked at her real stern and sage like.

“You got enough lard to fry up the bringin’s, Marsha?” he asked.

“Yes, John,” mom grinned back at him sweetly.

“But, paw,” I said. “Why can’t you jest get your shotgun out and bust some rabbits the quick way?” I could hear that old wolf howling so loud outside that I was shaking. But, come to think of it, maybe I was just trying to stay inside where it was warm.

“’Cause I ain’t got no shells to shoot, Hank, son. Things are pretty bad for buyin’ shells these days. But mind what I tell you. They ain’t nothing ever so bad what a hard workin’ man can’t get hisself and family something to eat.”

See what I mean about my dad teaching me to be an optimist? I know that he could hear the wolf as good as I could, but he was big enough not to listen.

I also remember that I got my legs wet clear up to the tukhus in the snow that afternoon. But I busted two rabbits like my dad told me. And he brought back the cuttin’s from some pigs – they were small ones, but tasty. My belly was too growling full that night to worry much about the wolf scratching at the front door. I just fell right off to sleep and never gave the old mange another thought for a day or two.

But old yellow fangs was cagey in those days... foxy too. He dad his tongue cocked for a quick meal just like everyone else. He prowled ad howled constantly. And…

-------

“Dad!”

“Yes Harry,”

“Hey dad. Can I have a sandwich?”

Excuse me for whispering to explain this, but Harry’s the oldest of my three boys. He gets pretty ancy at times. But I guess all twelve-year-olds are like that, especially when they’re short of breath after running home from school. And I believe in being careful with how you talk to kids. You know...all the stuff about frustrations and psychological jazz.

“Of course you can, Harry. You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Can I turn the light on first?”

“I don’t care, Harry. Turn it on if you want to.”

“Hey dad!”

“Yes, Harry.”

“There ain’t no bread. No meat either.”

“Don’t use ain’t, Harry. You’ll get in trouble at school if you do.”

“Okay. But what’ll I do about my sandwich?”

“Eat some peanut butter and crackers.”

“There ain’t no crackers!”

“Well, just eat the peanut butter.”

“There ain’t no peanut butter.”

“Lick the jar, then.”

“Marty already done that.”

“Oh.”

“Dad, can you hear me all right?”

“Yes, Harry, I can hear you. But why whisper so mysteriously? You’re not that worried, are you?”

“A little I guess. Do you think the wolf snuck in on us and got all the food? There ain’t a bit left in the house.”

“Don’t sound so downcast, Harry. No, the wolf hasn’t got inside yet. Old yellow fangs doesn’t like peanut butter. He’s a meat eater. And quit sighing so much.”

“You’re sighing. Things are pretty bad, aren’t they, dad? I mean, there’s not even a can of soup in the house, and the rest of the kids will be home from school in a couple of minutes. They’ll be hungry, too.”

“Harry...there isn’t but one thing to do.”

“Yeh, dad. What?”

“Now you’re sounding like and optimist. Find yourself a club and go bust a couple of rabbits in the head.”

“Aw, dad. You know there ain’t any rabbits in the city.”

“That’s right, I forgot, Harry. We’ll have to think of something else.”

“But what?”

“You know, Harry, my daddy always told me that things were never so bad that you couldn’t find something to eat. Say! I’ve got it—“

“Yeh, dad. What?”

“Why don’t you take the lawnmower and see if you can make a dollar or two that way. That ought to be enough for some bread and baloney.”

“Aw, dad. You know I can’t do that. We hocked the lawnmower five weeks ago. Besides, it’s snowing outside, and nobody wants their lawn cut in the snow.”

“You’re right there, Harry. I can see what you mean. But two heads are always better than one when it comes to mealtime. Grab a snow shovel and go clean some walks.”

“We ain’t got a snow shovel.”

“Anyone who want’s his walk cleaned off ought to own a snow shovel.”

“You’re right dad. I’ll go see what I can do.”

I’ll tell you right now that sometimes it’s hard being both a mother and father to five kids. It seems to me that a problem in the kitchen like Harry just had would best be answered by a woman. I’ve got to confess that I’ve been doing the work of both man and woman since Marty “he’s the youngest) wasn’t much more than a baby, but there are just some things a man can’t do right when a mother’s talk is needed. The kids have never complained, though. And we have always been affectionate to each other. That’s something I’m really proud about.

------

But getting back to this wolf business again. As I was saying, he howled and prowled and chewed at the door constantly, even when he was too tired and weak from hunger to sit up or lie down to do it. Dad used to say that the wolf was like everyone else in thoose days...just so plumb near starved to death that he didn't have the strength to make much progress. But he kept on trying. You can believe that.

While my mind is still recalling that infamous turning point in my personal story, as I recall, we never had anymore of that potato soup stuff for Sunday dinner after that. Dad would pick up a dime here and a nickel there, and everytime he did he would buy a shotgun shell and go hunting. Between his shotgun and my club and slingshot, it got so we had a steady diet of squirrel, rabbit, pheasant, quail, and pig-nut cuttings. When we couldn't get those, we filled in the menu with snapping turtle, catfish, and wild muchrooms. It was simple food, but it sure beats hamburger, chili, and peanut butter all the to hell.

And just to show you what a prophetic optimist my daddy really was, it hadn't hardly turned off warm the next spring when we got out first relief order from Uncle Sam. We had plenty of beans, potatoes, prunes, rice, raisins, flour and cornmeal to go with our meat, even if the flour and cornmeal did have bugs and bold worms in it.

But dad always said that a body shouldn't turn down the makin's for good vittles...especially when they was foffered for nothing.

Yes sir! We ate good for many years after that. And I guess that the old hairy animal with the wide open mouth found out that we were too fat and sassy to catch-up to and went hunting someplace else where the pickings were better.

After that winter, my daddy never talked about the wolf again for a long time, and I never worried much about him neither, because he wasn't making me so nervous. Besides, things were so bad in those years that followed that my daddy spent most of his time talking politics and the affairs of Washington up along Main Street with the reast of the rich people (everybody was rich in those days because everyone was so poor that they were on equal footing).

We little folk -- I thought I'd just toss that in so it would sound good in writing -- that is , the kids in our town had it pretty easy most of the time, especially when we had our chores done for the day and plenty of energy left to play on. We didn't have to look forward to going to college or stuff like that, nor worry about getting ahead in this world. Our folks taught us early that the best thing we could do was know our place and stick to it. Just think about eating and sleeping and working and playing and keeping ourselves clean and honest. If a job did come along, we were taught not to take it for granted and to take it without questioning the pay, because if the money wasn't enough, there was always Uncle Sam to step in and help out over the humps.

Then along came '41 and the whole system of poverty and circumstance and happiness kind of got all bunged up. The first thing I knew was that the old wolf came charging for our house so hard that he tore screenwire and all getting his snout thrust into my daddy's affairs. That time, my daddy didn't say a word about him neither. But I'd swear, when I saw him then, that the old bitch-bastard had grown to be ten foot tall. He plumb scared the hell out of me for good, with his elephant-tusk fangs and whorish red eyes and greedy mouth.

First thing I knew our town was engaged in a fue epidemic. I can still remember getting so sick that --

------

"Dad! Dad! Can you hear me, dad?"

"Yes, Wonderland. I think the neighbors can hear you, too. Stop screaming as though the world has come to an end. It's enough to scare the socks off an old man."

"Sorry, dad. I didn't realize. Is it okay to turn the lights on from up here?"

"Sure, Wonderland, you know it is."

"Dad, I think we ought to get Mrs. Tucker to stop by and see us right away. Think it'd be all right to run and get her?"

"Now, Wonderland, calm down! You know as well as I that Mrs. Tucker is off in Florida somewhere. That's kind of far to run in one evening isn't it? Why don't you come down here and tell me all about it without the hysteria?"

"Okay. Let me check on Laurie first. I'll be right down."

Excuse me for whispering again but I want to explain something right here. Alice -- I call her Wonderland most of the time but she doesn't like it -- is as smart and tactful as they come. Her screaming downstairs about Mrs. Tucker is just her way of letting me know that she has a domestic problem which needs my help. It sounds stupid I know but there are some things that a man can get terribly embarrassed about when he has to explain the facts of life to his oldest daughter. Alice is fifteen now and we have developed this code between us. One thing I have always done is to teach my children to never be afraid about coming to me with their personal problems.

"Dad, we sure could use Mrs. Tucker about now."

"We've been getting along without her advice for a long time now. Why do we need her help?"

"Well, dad --"

"Don't grit your teeth like that, Wonderland, You'll grind them down to nothing if you're not careful. Besides, you know how nervous that makes me. You don't want to wear them out before you're an old woman do you?"

"No, dad, I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Now, tell me...what is it that we need Mrs. Tucker so suddenly for?"

"Well, dad. You know that time about two years ago when I was all bloody down below, and I was crying and thought I was dying and didn't know what to do..."

"Yes, Wonderland, I could never forget a thing like that..."

And you got so excited that you were jumping up and down, and then went flying off into the neighborhood yelling something about Grandma falling off the roof..."

"That was just a figure of speech, Wonderland. Besides, I didn't get any farther than the front sidewalk."

"I know that, daddy. That's because you caught Mrs. Tucker and pulled her back into the house so hard that she was all out of breath..."

"Yes. I guess I was excited, at that."

"And Mrs. Tucker showed me what to do and explained all about it, and then came down to you and told you to stop yelling, 'Grandma fell off the roof.' And you got kind of mad and screamed at her: 'What-a-ya call it? 'What-a-ya call it?'"

"Sure, Wonderland, I remember that."

"And Mrs. Tucker told you to refer to it as 'that time of the month, ' and you said that you were no clock watcher but that you'd do your best..."

"Yes, Wonderland, I remember all that, but..."

"Well, dad, that's why I wanted to get Mrs. Tucker."

"Wonderland, I don't see...you don't mean it's that time of the month and you've forgotten what to do about it, do you?"

"Not exactly."

"Wonderland, I don't see -- "

"What I'm trying to say, dad, is that Crandma just fell off the roof with Laurie. She's upstairs bawling like a baby about it and won't let me help her."

"Good God! March right up there and tell her that I said to pay attention to what you say. If she's got any questions that you can't answer, tell her to come down and ask me about them later."

"Okay, dad. I'll take care of it, but I sure wish Mrs. Tucker was here to help."

I tell you, sometimes this younger generation scares me. Alice is part of it, I guess, and she really isn't a dumb bunny. But like the rest of the kids she seems to lack confidence in making a judgment. Just seems like they have to be told about everything before they act. I know I never had that kind of problem when I was a kid. But then, there wasn't anyone around to give you proper advice to act on.

-------

But let's get back to the wolf and the flu epidemic again. Like I said, I came down so sick with it that I came plumb near kicking the milk bucket in a dozen places.

Old Doc Benjind -- he was the town pill pusher -- came to our house near a hundred times to wipe the sweat of my fever away before he finally lit on the remedy for the stuff. He gave me some great red pills that turned my poop green and my eyeballs yellow, but it sure did drive the flu out of my system, even if most of it went by way of the slopjar.

But no sooner was I up from my sick bed than the wolf came sneaking around, barked once or twice, and mom and dad come down with the same affliction. Old Doc Benind fed they those red pills like they were plum pudding at Sunday dinner. I ran back and forth with the slopjar until my arms almost fell off. But what ever we did, old Doc Benjind and me, wasn't enough.

Old Doc was pretty let down about his remedy for the epidemic, but he reckoned several times "as how when God calls his Angels, they was nothing a mere mortal doctor could do but go along with the plan." He wanted to give me some medicine at the funeral to quit bawling with, but I told him that my dad had taught me how to be an optimist, and I wouldn't need anything to keep me going in the face of God's calling.

I never told him, even later, but when I saw Mom's and Dad's caskets going down into the ground, I came damn near burying my optimism with them, and I sure could have used some of Old Doc's special pills right then.