Several Short Fantasies of Werewolves and Other Things

The German, The Wolf, and the Woman

 A German, a werewolf, and a woman in red sat at the table with me. They all knew each other; I was the stranger. The German wore nondescript gray, an inkling of menace showing through the cut of his clothes and the steep frills of his boots; but no clear sign of affiliation, no rank, no insignia, no identity to pin an evil empire to his name. Then, beside him sat the wolf; the only gentle one of the three, clean black fur wrapped in purple. Last the woman in red, black locks curling over themselves in a pinup waterfall over the left side of her face, as if to hide her intentions. I sat across from the wolf, hand nearly brushing the German's, but lacking room on the other side to move away. We waited.

On the table sat a silver cup. Only the woman's reflection could be seen stirring on its edge; the others were like vampires, indifferent to physics. The German was silent, no human breathing to signal any life. He was surely a ghost of something, and his presence was intrusive. He stared intently at the cup, not even shifting his weight.

I reached for the cup first. The woman glared up at me, face curling in hatred; but she didn't stop me. I paused, however, fingers stopping an inch from the rim, watching her. She'd startled me; I knew I was well within my rights to offend her, but I felt too shy to go through with it. I remained there, one hand awkwardly stuck out towards the cup, but not moving. Then the wolf spoke.

"Please," he said, "it won't do any good. I don't want to see this become a war between us. We are already battered, and dusk is coming. What will happen if you reach, and the throne in Heaven that gave us hospice here recoils at your reaching? There's no sense in this conflict, none at all."

I pulled my hand away.

The German then reached forward, in a very smooth, deliberate way, and hovered his hand over the cup. He looked at each of us robotically; right, at me; left, at the wolf; ahead, at the woman. Then he spoke.

"I was chosen first," he said. Then he was silent, and did not move.

The woman and the wolf then leaned in together and began to argue about whether or not the German should take the cup. I couldn't hear what they said; I crossed my arms and slumped back in my chair, waiting for something to happen. I felt impotent.

"Aha!" shouted the wolf, holding his arms in the air. He still spoke to the woman. "You are lying again, and this time with far more at stake than your personal excitations! You are a thief, you deserve no place at this table!" He smacked the table, rattling the cup.

Each of us gasped, holding our breath in fear as the cup wobbled slightly. In the end, it stayed aright; and we began to relax. The German finally retracted his hand. He set it squarely on the table before him, like a fork.

"We should just leave," said the woman. A spot of moisture had started to collect around her eye. I'd never seen her cry before; she was always ice-cold and cunning. "It's no use. There's nothing any of us can do to fix it. Even if the wolf reaches in, he'll be killed. Please, let's just go."

It was true. We all knew it was true, and the reality settled itself on saddened faces. One by one we carefully stood, pushing our chairs back in after we got up—first the German; then the wolf; then me, and the woman last. We paused together, looking down at the silver cup, and then at one another. The woman hugged me. She'd never shown kindness before. The wolf put a hand on the German's shoulder. We began to walk away.

We would have to find another baby, a better one—and I am sad to say it, but, a stronger one. Until then, the silver cup stands. So long as no one enters the room; so long as no one jostles the table, or disturbs the water in the cup, his body will stay visible; and we'll still be able to remember him. It's the best we can do.