The Wolf Gift (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 1)

The silence was filled by sadness. They were united in sadness. Reuben said, "Do you think Teilhard de Chardin could have been right? That we fear that God does not exist because we can,t spatially grasp the immensity of the universe; we fear that personality is lost in it when maybe it is a superpersonality that holds it all together, a superconscious God who planted evolving consciousness in each of us - ." He broke off. He,d never really been good at abstract theology or philosophy. He hungered for theories he could understand and repeat when he needed to repeat them, in which every single thing everywhere in the seemingly hopeless reaches of space had a meaning and a destiny - even Reuben himself.

"Reuben," Jim answered, "when you take the life of a single sentient being, innocent or guilty, you go against that great redeeming power, whatever it is, however it might be described - you annihilate its mystery and its force."

"Yes," said Reuben. He kept his eyes on the oaks that were fading into shadow as he watched. "I know that,s what you believe, Jim. But it doesn,t feel that way when I,m the Morphenkind. It feels like something else."

Chapter Twenty-Four

REUBEN HAD PUT the lamb shanks on for supper before he,d ever gone out in the woods. The meat and vegetables were simmering in the Crock-Pot all afternoon.

After Laura made a particularly luscious salad, of lettuce, tomato, and avocado tossed in the most delicate olive oil with herbs, they sat down to dinner in the breakfast room and Reuben, as usual, devoured everything in sight while Jim touched a little of this and a little of that.

Laura had put on what Reuben thought was an old-fashioned dress. It was made of yellow-and-white-checkered cotton and had sleeves with carefully sewn cuffs and white floral buttons. Her hair was loose and shining. And she smiled spontaneously at Jim when she drew him into conversation about the church and his work.

Conversation between them became easy; they talked about Muir Woods and Laura,s research on the "understory" there, that is, the floor of the forest and how to prevent it from being destroyed by the constant foot traffic of the thousands of people who, understandably enough, wanted to see the unbelievable beauty of the redwoods for themselves.

Laura spoke not at all of her past, and Reuben certainly didn,t feel he had the right to move the conversation into the dark waters, and Jim spoke with enthusiasm about the St. Francis dining room and the number of Thanksgiving meals they hoped to serve this year.

In the past, Reuben had always helped serve on Thanksgiving at St. Francis, and so had Phil and Celeste and even Grace when she could.

A heavy gloom fell over Reuben. He would not be there this year, he sensed it. And he would not be home for Thanksgiving either, when the family gathered at 7:00 p.m. for the traditional meal.

Thanksgiving had always been a sparkling, convivial event in the house on Russian Hill. Frequently Celeste,s mother joined the family, and Grace thought nothing of asking any intern or resident working with her, especially if he or she was far from home. Phil wrote a new poem each year for the occasion, and one of his old students, an eccentric genius who lived in a Haight-Ashbury flophouse, frequently wandered in and stayed until someone inevitably challenged him on his intense conspiratorial views of society being destroyed by a clandestine organization of the rich and powerful, after which he would storm out.

Well, Reuben was not going to be there this year.

He walked Jim to the car.

The wind had come up off the ocean. It was dark at six o,clock, and Jim was anxious and cold. He agreed to tell the family Reuben needed this time alone, but he begged Reuben to stay in contact.

At about that moment, Galton drove up in his shining pickup truck and announced jubilantly, as his feet hit the flagstones, that the mountain cat that killed his dog had been "got."

Jim, in his inevitably polite manner, showed great interest in what Galton was saying. So Galton pulled his collar up against the wind and told the whole story of the dog again, how the dog had once read minds, sensed danger, saved lives, worked miracles, and turned off a light switch regularly with its paws.

"But how did you find out the big cat is dead?" Reuben asked.

"Oh, they found her out there this afternoon. She,d been tagged by the university four years ago, tagged on her left ear. It was her, all right, and whatever got her gave her what for! There,s a bear out there in those woods, now you be careful, you and that pretty girl."

Reuben nodded. He was turning to ice, but Galton seemed impervious to the cold in his goose-down jacket. He railed against the mountain cat. "They should have given me a depredation permit to shoot that sucker," he said. "But oh, no, they were going to wait till she killed a human being and, believe me, she would have, too."

"What about her cubs?" Reuben asked with a little bit of concealed glee. He was gloating inwardly that he had slain the cat and half devoured it, and it gave him a sinister pleasure that Jim knew this, because he had told Jim, and Jim could say nothing, and Galton would never know. He felt ashamed of these feelings, but mostly he remembered the cat, the feast, the bower in the trees, and he was gleeful and that was all.

"Oh, those cubs will scatter now and find new territory. Maybe one of them will hang around here, who knows? There are likely five thousand of those big cats in California. One come into town and took a walk in north Berkeley, right past the shops and restaurants, not so very long ago."

"I remember that," said Jim. "Caused a little panic. But I,ve got to run. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Galton, and I hope to see you again."

"So you have your very own priest in the family," said Galton as Jim drove his old Suburban towards the forest, the taillights soon disappearing in the dark. "And you drive the Porsche, huh, son, and he drives the old family car."

"Well, it,s not as if we don,t try to get him a decent set of wheels," said Reuben. "My mom bought him a Mercedes, and he lasted with that about two days. He just took so many wisecracks from the homeless in his parish, and then he brought it right back."

He took Galton,s arm. "Come inside," he said.

At the kitchen table, he poured Galton a cup of coffee, and asked what Galton had known of Felix Nideck.

"What kind of a man was he?"

"Oh, the finest. An Old World aristocrat, if you ask me. Not that I know a hell of a lot about aristocrats. I guess in truth I don,t. But he was larger than life, if you know what I mean. Everybody out here loved him. There never was a more generous man. When he left these parts everybody was the loser. Course we didn,t know we,d never see him again. We always thought we would."