The Taming of Wolf

The Taming of Wolf and Other Fables,

By Alizah Teitelbaum

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Note: We left out what happened before page 1 on purpose, so as not to scare anyone.

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One: The Damsel

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Ever since the Bad Wolf turned into a not-so-bad dog named Wolf, Lori was not afraid anymore, despite the grandma thing.?

In the forest alone, Wolf lunged at her.

“ANIMAL!” She shouted. “No meat.”

Wolf’s ears drooped.

She gave him dandelion roots, to stop crushing bones and be more like a sheep.

Lori wrote on a damp patch of dirt the letter alef. She glanced up and saw that she had Wolf’s attention; he was watching intently, expecting some meat. Well, too bad.

“A Hebrew letter” she said, “can transform an animal into a magnificent man.”?

Wolf was straining at the rope.

“Alef, alef, alef.?Say it!”

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“Aaooo!” howled Wolf.

“Yes!” Lori cheered. “Again!”

All morning, Lori taught Wolf vowels, diphthongs, and gutturals.

Next day the letters had washed away, but Wolf’s bet, gimel, dalet and hay droned on and on and on, and then it was quiet.

Wolf was gone! Still, Wolf had aced the letters. That was something.

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Two: Wolf

Wolf was free at last. The lobes of his lungs, part animal, now part human, fanned the dog’s overheated heart. He could smell the damsel, no matter how far he ran. Would he eat her too??No, no. He wanted to nibble the earlobe, that’s all.?He bumbled ahead, his nerves on edge that he might not find her. And if he did?

Wolf heard the damsel calling, “Wolf!?Wolf!”?He raised his eyes, the better to see her. Wolf opened his jaws and lunged. “Aaooo!?Alf!”

And then, something strange happened. While saying the alef his 42 teeth conflated into a talking machine, more thrilling to his tongue than blood, flesh, and fat.

He was already in mid-jump when an outlandish tenderheartedness touched Wolf.?He suddenly knew that a speck of humanity existed inside him. In the split second between heaven and earth the dog knew that, even if he would eat only earthworms and garbage, he would guard this spark—it was there! With a yap bold, reckless, and believing he steered himself clear of the damsel, though the only alternate place to crash was an old solid oak tree.

And so, Wolf fell into a deep dive that usually ends in a magnificent ascent of the spirit.

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Three: The Prosecutor

Omer the Prosecutor suffered constant squabbles in his house. His wife Lori saw only good, and he saw only bad.

To make things worse, Omer was growing old and still had no children. Most people said it was Wolf’s fault. Lori said it was Omer. Since everything he saw was bad, it was obvious that only bad things could happen to him.

Omer’s finest quality was to keep silent, though he lived with no respect, no money, no work, no friends, no place to go shopping, no schools, and no nothing.

The fact was, he was going to die. It was unimaginable and it petrified him.?He knew he was lonely, and the reason might be that he had never looked kindly on anyone.

Feeling despondent, Omer closed his eyes to see into the past, a knack he’d picked up from his father.?Why didn’t Lori have a baby??Why? Again, he closed his eyes.?Ah. It had slept in her grandmother’s bed; that Wolf was a devil, and still on the loose.

When Omer’s father had left this world, he gave Omer the text of a prayer, a last resort against relentless and unstoppable criminals.?Omer had viewed that ancient bit of mumbo-jumbo as stupid and a bit risky.?He had never thought of using it, until now.

Omer’s feet doggedly carried all the refined, intellectual parts of his body into the forest. He arrived at Wolf’s door minutes before the holy Sabbath, leaving no option but to stay even if he’d suddenly lose his nerve.

Omer waited there on Wolf’s doorstep, steeling himself for the dog to open the door, and then Omer would deliver the biting prayer that Wolf in turn would swallow. Of course he would. It would stick in the animal’s throat. Then the grandmother, with all the other souls and sparks of humanity Wolf had swallowed, would be vomited out. The procedure was unpleasant, but if he wanted a baby it had to be done.

Omer pulled a hood over his ears to protect them from any bad words that might fall from Wolf in the process. He knocked urgently on the wooden door.

A shadow appeared in the window and then the shutters slammed with a bang.

Omer stood in the snow. His heart filled up with rage. That Wolf was an animal…cruel…how could he leave a human being in the cold on the holy Sabbath? Omer opened his mouth to intone the prayer in a puff of steam, and to his dismay the words stuck in his throat, and hundreds of prosecuted souls started to erupt from his throat…stop…stop…STOP!

Omer woke up in a sweat, in a strange bed.

“I am Wolf,” said the gray-bearded man standing beside him. “I know why you’re here.”

For the first time in Omer’s life, he felt, strangely, no need to accuse. Why should he, when the face in front of him shone like the face of an angel?

At nightfall, a crowd of villagers gathered in the forest with torches, peering at the hut.?Omer slipped out the back door and walked two kilometers home to his wife.

Late that summer, a baby boy sprang out in Omer’s image.?People raced to the forest in threes, tens, multitudes, suddenly sure that Wolf was a master of purity and holiness, a miracle worker, a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Then Wolf, the former dog, passed away as hidden men do when someone uncovers their greatness.

And Lori, the Prosecutor’s wife, heard Grandmother’s voice peep from the baby’s throat, a great mystery. Understand well. She named the baby “Wolf”.