It would be morning before anyone noticed I was missing, making survival through the night my primary concern, but I had been living in Alaska a long time. It looked like my cell phone was broken, and my Arctic Cat was a pretzel of twisted metal and fiberglass at the bottom of the hill near the trees. I figured it could be worse, but not much.
Someone would find me, eventually. When I’d left Ted’s cabin, my girlfriend, Margie, made me promise to call her when I got home. She worried about me living by myself in the wilderness, miles from Fairbanks, and justifiably so it now appeared, but I like being alone.
I listened to the quiet of the land that now held me in its cold, potentially lethal embrace. The wild Alaska wilderness that I loved was now my adversary. I started to space out, shaking my head to stay alert. I might have lost more blood than I thought.
“Not good,” I said aloud. A human voice, even my own, helped me remain alert. I pushed up my jacket sleeve; it was three in the afternoon – at least my watch had survived. The sun would be setting soon, dropping the temperatures rapidly.
I thought I saw movement on the hill below. Rising on one elbow and looking toward the trees in the fading sunlight, I saw nothing.
“Anyone there?” The rustle of the wind in the trees was my answer. I stared intently at the edge of the forest, concluding it was my imagination.
“Gonna get colder than a preacher’s heart on Gay Pride Day.” My words drifted out into the frigid evening air. I was dressed warmly enough, but would like to have been able to crawl to a sheltered area.
The light was dwindling quickly, causing the leafless tree branches to be silhouetted like black coral against the rainbow sherbet sky. Tomorrow, I’d get a fire started, somehow. Margie would wait to hear from me tonight, and when she didn’t, she would call my sister in Anchorage. By morning, people would be looking for me, and the smoke spiraling up through the trees would hasten my rescue.
This time I was certain something moved. I looked back at the forest line as the shadowy figure of a large black wolf emerged from the trees. I wasn’t worried, knowing wolves preferred keeping their distance from humans. All I had to do was make a little noise, and it would scamper back into the woods, but I liked the company.
The wolf stepped from the camouflage of the trees, standing where the setting sun painted the snow a cotton candy pink. Its golden-yellow eyes glowed like portals into the history of the world.
“Cave dweller...”
The words, except they weren’t really words, materialized in my mind without a conscious effort on my part.
“What the . . ? I must have hit my head on something in the crash. I must be hallucinating.”
“Cave dweller, you are hurt.”
The non-words thrust their way into my head. I was either hearing the wolf’s thoughts, or I was going bonkers.
“What do you want?” My mind answered back, also without me willing it.
“Want? I do not understand want.”
“Aw, man!” I spoke aloud this time, perhaps testing my sanity. “I'm talking to a freaking wolf.”
“You are with Ixarri.”
Whether I spoke out loud, or just thinking to myself, the wolf heard and understood me.
“Ixarri? Your name is Ixarri?” I recognized the word as being Alaskan native, but wasn’t sure which tribe.
“I do not understand. Ixarri is what I am.”
“A name. It’s how we humans identify each other. It gives us individuality.”
“I do not understand.” Ixarri replied.
“Never mind.” I noticed more wolves milling around in the trees behind Ixarri. I could see at least six. He had to be the alpha male.
“What are the others called?” I asked.
“The others are malikkaa.”
“Are they all called malikkaa?”
“There is no need for more than that,” Ixarri replied.
“How can you tell each other apart if you don’t have individual names? Oh, that’s right, you smell each others ass.” This conversation was intriguing, as well as a needed diversion from my predicament.
Ixarri seemed perplexed by all the questions.
“Why are you called Ixarri?”
“It has always been. Leaders are Ixarri.”
I was right about him being alpha. “If you are able to communicate, you must wonder where you came from, or where you are going.” This all felt like a dream.
“We just are; we have always been.
A simplistic, yet somehow sound logic I thought, as I recalled the story of Dr. Doolittle.
"Dr. Doolittle?" Ixarri asked.
"It would take too long to explain."
The rest of the pack was growing restless, their actions and mutterings disquieting.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked.
“We are here.”
“I know you are here!” I shot back. It was cold, and my leg, now with feeling, and back were hurting. “How do you know you are where you want to be?”
Ixarri cocked his head in puzzlement.
“You are here,” Ixarri replied. “We will wait.”
“Wait for what? What the hell do you think you are waiting for?” As I asked, I was already guessing the answer. Wolves didn’t attack humans, but they were opportunists, preying on sick and injured animals. If only I could get to the snowmobile, and my rifle.
Ixarri looked toward the snowmobile, and I remembered he was reading my thoughts.
“Now, Ixarri?” The voices of the others drifted to me over the white mantle separating us.
“Not now,” Ixarri replied.
A reprieve – how frigging decent of him! I nodded off, forcing myself awake again.
“Let’s cut through the crap! I’m supposed to be your next meal, right?”
“The ground is white; food is scarce.”
He was so businesslike that I could almost forget we were talking about my fate, but not quite.
“Well, tell your friends to go catch a rabbit, or a damn mouse. Brian Marshal is not on the menu tonight!” I brushed snow off my coat for emphasis.
Ixarri remained stoic, saying nothing.
It was dark now; the moonlight cast a bluish glow across Ixarri’s body. I couldn’t help being impressed by his majesty, and his patience.
I was certain the wolves were moving now, their howls growing closer. My eyes drooped; I forced them open again. I was feeling warmer, and having trouble concentrating.
“Do you have any sense of your history...?” I slapped myself in the face. Ixarri remained silent, his eyes never wavering from mine.
“Do you think about the ones who came before you, and the ones who will come after you?” I was mumbling, repeating things. “God, what a way to die,” I thought. “I’m going to be eaten by a pack of dogs.”
I waited for Ixarri to reply – nothing. Maybe I had imagined the wolf could talk.
“Has the cat got your tongue?” My voice was now little more than a whisper. I laughed weakly at my joke, wondering if Ixarri knew what a cat was, then deciding he’d probably eaten a few.
I was barely able to lift my head to look down the hill. The snow sparkled like a sea of diamonds in the moonlight, making the black wolf appear to be standing on water. He looked bigger than before.
My eyes closed again, but I didn’t seem to care. I visualized the headlines, “Man eaten by wolf in the Alaskan wilderness”. A fitting end, I thought.
As the serene darkness of unconsciousness freed me from my pain, I heard Ixarri say “now”. I thought of Margie as a warm breath brushed my cheek, and I felt a tug on my gloved hand.
The End
Ixarri won first place in the Seattle Writer's Association, Writers In Performance contest in 2006.