The man lived alone in western New York. He loved wolves. He loved seeing them.
There were no wild wolves in New York, so the man’s days were typically filled with boredom and depression instead of love and joy. The wolves at the local zoo were sickly and mopey. They’d huff and sniff each other and nibble on the food that the keepers gave them. Bothering them enough could get you a side eye, just out of annoyance more than anything. If you were really lucky, you’d get a “whine” or an “arf” or a “hmpf” but never a proper howl. Even if they did howl, you couldn’t hear them with the constant chattering and gawking of the other people at the zoo.
He had never seen a wild wolf in his life. As a child, he would go out into the forest with his dad, and dad, being a wolf enthusiast himself, would always claim to have seen them. “Let me tell you, son, let me tell you, these suit-wearing, university-educated conservationists don’t know a damn thing about the wilderness, okay? I’ve seen the wolves. I’ve talked to them, FED THEM, slept to the sounds of their calls.” These claims were never convincing to the man, and his dad always expressed these stories with a self-conscious and doubtful fervor. Surprisingly, he always looked back fondly on those days, wandering with his dad in the woods near their home for hours looking for them. He’d watch the snakes slipping through the forest, the squirrels chattering away in the trees, and the occasional thumps of woodpeckers looking for their dinner.
They would sleep in those woods. They never used a tent. They would lay their sleeping bags on the crunchy, sloshy, and muddy ground. This spot of ground had no grass, because they slept in this same exact spot every time they came to the woods. The spot was surrounded by paper birches, covered with scratchy, peeling bark. There was a small opening in the group of trees with a view of the sky. You could see the stars. They would listen all night for the howl of the wolves until they couldn’t force their eyes open anymore. When the dad saw that his son was falling asleep he’d scoot their sleeping bags close together, wrapping one arm around his child and holding the pump-action shotgun that his dad gave to him in the other. He would watch the child and the woods around him and swat at the mosquitoes and listen for a while longer before falling asleep himself.
One day, the man came back to those same woods, reminiscing on the memories of exploring them with his dad, who was gone now. He sat under a birch tree, slouched with his face towards the sky. It was cloudy and there was a gentle, cool breeze. You could hear the occasional bird chirp and hum of a wasp zipping by. He just wanted to see a wolf, a real wild wolf.
“You want to see one that badly?”
He looked around for the source of the voice. It sounded close, very close, but he couldn’t see anyone nearby.
“Behind you.”
He turned, looking at the tree.
“This some kind of prank? There a microphone or camera somewhere?”
“You think I am the joking type?” It came directly from the tree, which had no mouth to open, but the man had no doubt that it was the tree that was talking to him. The man rubbed his ears and slapped his face a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or going mad. “You said you wanted to see a wild wolf right? I can help you, but I want something in return.”
The man stared silently. Minutes went by with almost pure silence, only the occasional rustle of animals moving in the grass and the hum of the trees swaying in the breeze could be heard. He wanted to walk away, but if the tree was telling the truth, he could finally have what he wanted for so long. “What… do you want?”
“I want to make a deal. A trade. Something valuable for the chance at seeing some wild wolves.”
“Okay, I’m not exactly rich but I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
“Is this your attempt at humor? I do not care about monetary value. I have been alive for hundreds of years. Trees do not care about shiny trinkets or large sums of money. We care about memories and genuine emotions and history. I want something of sentimental value. Something very important to you. I do not need it right away. Come back later with the item you have chosen and leave it on the ground beneath me. Then leave without talking and come back tomorrow. If I find the item satisfactory you will find golden leaves in its place. Take one of these leaves to the largest birch in this forest and he will help you bring wolves to these woods.”
“And if you don’t like the item?”
“Think about what item to bring, think hard and make sure it is the right one.”
The man stood there for a while, trying to talk to the tree, but it wouldn’t say anything else.
He ran to his car and drove home as quickly as he could. He looked through everything he owned. Clothes and letters from family and pictures and VHS tapes and old stuffed animals. He loved all these items, but he became anxious over which one to bring. He didn’t want to pick the wrong item. He fished through his closet and found a gun. A shotgun. A shotgun that his granddad made and passed down to his dad. Who then passed it down to him. He only needed to look at it for a few seconds before he understood that this was the item he should bring. He looked outside and saw that it was beginning to rain and grabbed his raincoat and the shotgun and ran out of his home. He hesitated as he reached the car. How would his dad feel about him giving away the shotgun? He thought about all the times his dad talked about wolves, the passion and fire in his voice. The way he would trudge through the forest, in rain or wind or snow, just for a chance, just for one glimpse. He put the shotgun in the trunk and drove off to the forest.
When the man returned to the forest the rain was beating down on him. He heard the crashing of thunder in the distance. He hurried to the spot where he talked to the birch. He stood there, looking at the tree, admiring it. He set the shotgun down as the tree asked and walked away without uttering a single word.
The next morning he came back to the spot. He sloshed through the mud, almost tripping a few times, until he reached the birch tree. The sun hadn’t come up yet, it was dark and quiet. He saw them. Golden leaves. Even in the darkness they had a faint glimmer. He picked one up and began looking for the largest birch tree in the forest. It didn’t take long. It was a beautiful, towering beast. It had to be at least eighty feet tall. Its bark was rugged and tough. A root from the tree was exposed and it was the size of the man’s arm. He approached the tree slowly and set the leaf on one of the roots. He heard a faint chuckle.
“You humans really impress me with your determination. You want to see wolves that badly, huh?”
“Yeah, I do. And you’ll help now, right?”
“Yes, that is right. Here is what you need to do. Wait until nighttime and then go to the zoo that you visit so often. The gate to the wolves’ sad den will have been left unlocked. Open the gate and let the wolves out. They will follow you. Do not worry, they will not harm you and there will be no one there to stop you. Once you make it out of the zoo they will retreat into the woods and make their way here. This will be their home and the home of their children and the home of their children’s children. You can visit them at any time, you will be the only one that can find them here.”
The man nodded. He had doubts when he met the first tree but he knew that this plan would work. He left the forest.
That night, he drove into the parking lot of the zoo. He parked in a dark corner and turned off the car. The moon was waning. It was hazy and blurry behind the clouds. He snuck into the zoo and crept over to the wolves’ den and opened the gate and began to lead the wolves out. They followed him obediently and silently. He looked around to see if anyone was there. He could hear the occasional snores and calls of the other animals but there was no other person there. Eventually they made it outside of the zoo. The wolves looked at each other for a moment. One of them howled. A strong and vibrant howl. The other wolves joined in. The man smiled and felt his soul being soothed by this music. Soon, the wolves sprinted off, as one grand unit, into the nearby woods.
Since that day, the man would visit the forest near his home every day. The wolves seemed happy. They were healthy and lively. The man knew a lot about wolves and the ones in this forest seemed bigger, stronger, and faster than any normal wolf could be. They could also seemingly vanish into thin air at will, but the man was convinced this was just in his imagination. He would feed them and sleep in the forest with them and watch them grow old and have pups and eventually die. Eventually, the man passed away. In death, he still wanders the forest, helping his dad take care of the wolves who moved on to the next life and having long conversations with the trees. His dad would joke about how his son gave away the family heirloom to a piece of wood and they would all laugh about that for a while.
The forest has plenty of visitors now. They swear they can hear the howls of wolves at night, but no one has ever actually seen one.
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