Episode 214 · The Same Woods

The wheels were still turning when Soles reached the tree in sleep. The forest lay below the beds, and Phenom watched from beside his low plant.

Another light had begun among the gray stems. Soles followed it to a small plant with coarse leaves. A name was cut into the stone at its base.

Haya.

No one stood beside it.

Soles touched the coarse leaves.

Cold settled against his wrist.

— Sol II —

By the second winter, the others let Haya choose where they rested. He could find shelter in woods they thought empty, bring a patrol around a roadblock and wait through cold that made younger men careless. They sent for him when someone had to be watched from a distance.

He learned to eat before going out. To keep his hands warm afterward. To answer questions about the ground instead of the men who had fallen on it. The loose strap beneath the birch returned when he cleaned his rifle; he could finish the cleaning while it was there.

When the war ended, he went back to the forest station. Someone had repaired the stove. The roof over the woodpile still leaked at the corner he had promised to mend before leaving.

He bought boards, climbed up and repaired it.

The following autumn, he found the first bear snare above the old charcoal road. A week later there were bootprints beside another, and the remains of a fire beneath an overhang. He took away the wire and began walking the road after dark.

One night, a shot brought him down toward the ravine.

The moon lit the road and the pale cut where it passed between the bank and the stream. Two lanterns stood beside a handcart. One man held a rifle. The other was pulling a rope out from beneath the cart’s wheel. Beyond them, broken willow branches hung over the stream.

He stopped above the road, with a spruce between himself and the man with the rifle.

— Forest service! Put it down.

The man turned. The muzzle rose a little, then stopped.

— We’re fetching our things.

— Put the rifle on the road.

The other man straightened with the rope in his hands. The forester could see blood on its lower length. The willows shook once beside the water.

— Both of you, he said. Away from the stream.

The man by the cart looked toward the bushes. The forester followed his eyes and saw the rope stretching through them. A low sound came from beneath the branches.

They had snared the bear and followed it down here. It had dragged their line into the stream. He could see a patch of dark fur now, moving behind the willow stems, and blood where its body had rubbed the pale bark.

— Come up the road. Leave the cart.

He moved out from behind the spruce to show them the way past him. The armed man took a step backward. His heel struck the lantern. It rolled beneath the cart, spilling light across the underside of the boards.

The bear pulled free of the willows.

For one instant the forester saw the whole animal: wet fur, the rope dragging beneath it, its mouth open. The rifle went off beside the cart. The bear struck the man before the sound had finished coming back from the bank.

The forester raised his own rifle. The cart tipped toward the stream. Man and animal went down behind it, hidden by the boards and one wheel still turning above the road.

The second man ran toward him, away from the overturned cart.

— Up here! Keep coming!

Haya caught his sleeve and pulled him toward the gap beside the spruce. The cloth tore before the man cleared the road. He stumbled into Haya and fell at his feet, leaving both of them in the bear’s path.

The animal came around the cart. Haya fired; it lurched but kept coming. He tried to get behind the spruce, and the bear struck before he reached it, driving his side into the bank and trapping the rifle between them. His face hit earth. He curled his arms over his head as its weight dragged at his coat, lifted him and dropped him against the slope.

He heard the second man screaming below him on the road, then felt the animal’s weight leave him.

After that he could hear water, loud and close, and nothing else.

He lay curled against the bank. The bear was below him on the road, moving beside the second man. The screaming stopped. The animal stood over the still body, breathing in short, harsh bursts. Then it turned toward the stream and dragged the rope back into the willows.

He waited until the branches stopped moving, and then a while longer, to be sure.

His right leg lay at an angle he could not understand. He reached for it and found the torn seam of his pants. Warmth ran between his fingers. He pressed his hand there and tried to sit up.

The road tilted. He lowered himself again.

By the cart, the first man’s face was turned toward the moon. The second lay a few feet from the forester, one arm folded beneath his chest. Neither moved when he called. He waited, watching for a breath. Neither chest rose.

He knew both paths back to the station. The shorter climbed the bank behind him. He tried pushing with his good heel, managed a hand’s breadth and had to stop. His breath came too quickly to call again.

The rope lay across the second man’s boot and disappeared beneath the willows. He wanted to pull it clear of the water. The animal would catch it on something else.

He let go of his pants to reach it.

The warmth spread beneath his leg, and he pressed his hand back. There was earth in his mouth. He worked it out with his tongue, taking small breaths, trying to keep the pressure where it belonged.

The lantern beneath the cart burned lower. He watched its light withdraw from the wheel. When it went out, he could still see the road in the moonlight, but the trees above it had begun to run together.

He tried to draw enough air to call once more. His chest rose a little and settled.

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