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"White is the color of the light, the innocence, the new and
the pure. When there is white, everything is, for the moment,
unwritten. White is death to the old life and birth into the new
one. Listen to the cry of the white wolf and you will understand."
(Lore of Baba Yaga)
The trapper moved haltingly through the howling blizzard. His
booted feet secure with snowshoes moved with agonized steps; each
step a torture in itself. Every sweep of the cruel icy blasts piled
snow deeper in front of the hard-pressed huntsman; the pull of the
harsh winds caused him to stumble and fall into piled drifts. The extra efforts on his tired sinews were needed to pull his body from
the ensnarement of the deep snow; the fear of frozen death added to
his strength and the need to carry on. He fought desperately against
the harshness of the blizzard with its blinding whiteness.
Suddenly he saw, through his ice caked eye-lids, a small, yet
adequate shelter under the branches of an ancient oak. The packed
earth underneath was partially cleared of drifting snow; the tree's
overhanging spreading limbs was a covering from the driving force of
the wind's fierceness. Relief was in his mind as it signed in his
thoughts as a welcomed bower where he could take refuge from the
storm, and a comfort for his weary limbs.
The trapper trudged through the snowdrift to the shelter of the oak
as quickly as his leaden feet allowed; there he bent his grizzled and
weary head under an overhanging branch and entered the arbor. Underneath
the wind-break he shook his fur coated hefty body from the flakes of the
fallen snow; with gloved hands he pulled roughly the snowshoes from his
booted feet, throwing them aside, but within reach in case of need. He
leaned his trusty flintlock and his heavy pack on the thick trunk of the
tree, and, then, dropped into tiredness against the roughness of the bark.
The trapper rubbed his dark damp beard and took in a deep inviting
breath of air; he filled his lungs with the refreshing draught of the
cool air, exhaling his tiredness in each gulp. Then he removed his
flapped wool cap and scratched his messy black hair with a gloved
hand. He scratched the scalp deeply, feeling satisfaction in each
movement. After a few moments he replaced his thick wool cap,
tightening the flaps on the cold of his hardened face.
"Need fire," the huntsman exclaimed. He cautiously removed the fur
gloves from his chilled hands. He cursed in the vileness of his
tongue on his misery as he clumsily opened and searched through his
pack until he found stone and flint. Then he quickly gloved his
hands to ward off the threatening chill. He reached above his head,
and tore some seemingly dried leaves and twigs from the tree and
placed them between two deep uncovered thick roots. It took a moment
or two before sparks flew from the striking of the flint and stone.
The trapper blew hard on the sparks until there was a red glow, then a
small welcoming fire; more small branches were quickly added till he
was satisfied of the fire's warmth.
Again the trapper removed his gloves and warmed the chill from his
veined chapped hands. Then he replaced the stone and flint into his
pack, and with a bit of searching within its depths found his pipe and
a small sack of coarse tobacco. His hand dipped into the pouch for a
dollop of the weed, which he slowly packed into the charred bowl of
the pipe. He searched for a moment till he found a slim long twig,
lighting its end in the glowing fire. The fire brand charred the
stringy weed as the huntsman sucked slowly from the long stem, tasting
the fragrance of the leaf.
The hunter sat back as the smoke course through his lungs and
exhaled through the passages of his mouth and nose. There was no con-
tentment, only the rumbling in his mind of the fear of entrapment in
the misery of the winter's gale. The storm had come suddenly, without
any sign of warning; the trapper was far from the safety of his log
dugout. He thought of the danger to his body and soul, as he perceived
the threat in the howling of the blizzard winds. Each puff on the pipe
added another moment of anxiety which drummed the deepening thought of
danger.
As the last embers in the pipe slowly died out, the trapper looked
momentarily beyond his bower and saw the drifting snow covering the
entrance. Threatening fear ranged through his mind, and he jumped
from the warmth of his fire, throwing his pipe aside. Panic surged
through the fibers of his body as he saw the white wall close at every
blow of the harsh winds. He grabbed one of the snowshoes and with a
bit of effort tried to clear some of the snow. His ungloved hands were
bitten by the frost and cold, hardening on each stroke.
The trapper's work was in vain as the drifting snow quickly replaced
the work of his efforts of clearing. The fierce winds forced the
sweeps of snow under the bough of the oak, which added to his misery.
Tired and dejected from the futile effort, he tramped through
deepening snow that swept into his bower and returned to the temporary
shelter of the bark. Shivering, through the cold of his body,
he dropped to the warmth of the dying fire. He tried to warm his
stiffening hands over the remaining warmth, and with effort forced
them into his fur gloves. He heaped more leaves and twigs onto the
dying embers, but the fuel was damped by the wetness of the blizzard
and it only weakened the few sparks.
The huntsman was forlorn and his creased face became hardened to the
misery of fading hope for survival. The whiteness of the snow slowly
diminished his sight to a faded blur. He searched out with stiff
fingers for his blanket roll tied on his pack. The knots of the tying
rope was stiffly frozen and despite his efforts remained untied. He
screamed in the agony of effortless work, turning his cries into
pathetic whimpering. And as a hurt child, the trapper bundled tightly
into the warmth of his furred coat and curled into a natal position,
hiding his frosted face in the wide collar.
The trapper could not count the hours of his deep sleep, but when
he awoke he felt warmth throughout his body. The drifting, snow packed
on fur, wool and leather, protected him from the freezing cold of the
howling winds. He lifted his head and he saw through his blurred sight
the whiteness of his cover. Prickles of fear coursed through his mind
causing both madness and terror.
His thoughts raced insanely, forcing screams of fright from his
muffled mouth. He felt trapped, and he struggled to removed the
protective snow, which fell aside to clawing hands. Suddenly he burst
through to the clearness of the bower. He took a welcomed breath of
air as his head emerged from the whiteness. The hunter search about
the confines of his entrapment, mewling and whimpering, and calling to
his kinfolk of his past for salvation.
Slowly the trapper uncovered the rest of his body from the drifted
snow, shaking from the cold of clear air. Through his dimming eyes, he
saw walls of white all about, bringing further threats to his
dementia. Fear rambled through his mind as he attempted to rise. Only
with the strength of his madness, he was able to lift himself stiffly
from the cover on bone-weary legs. The trapper tried to force move-
ment in the aching and tired limbs; he jumped about like a rheumy
drunk until he felt the legs limbering to his efforts.
Suddenly he heard the baying howl of a hunting animal near the
ancient oak; the sound echoed through the clear night air. With raging
fear coursing his mind, the trapper struggled through the piled snow
and with an unknown strength cleared an opening to his shelter. The
hunter opened to a shimmering night, free from the fall of snow and
harsh winds. His maddened eyes, as if by a miracle, cleared and he
was able to see the glittering moon shining on the mysteries of the
forest. Slowly he scanned the white blanket of snow until he saw,
through his crazed mind, a white kneeling figure, framed against the
darkness of the forest.
The form, unknown to him, was a keening white wolf moving his head
slowly up and down as he bayed his howling cry in the semblance of
devoted prayer. The trapper did not see the form of a white beast of
prey calling his growling message to the glow of the moon; he only saw
a white figure bowing and baying out an inviting call. His maddened
thought rumbled in a craze of fantasy when the white form brought into mind a shape that showed in a different image.
The call of the white wolf sounded to him like the loud voice of a forest goddess calling to him, a storied belief remembered from the past. His fantasized sight stole from the recess of his mind in the likeness of an inviting form that might have been, and never was. Slowly the craze of his mind saw an apparition of the mythical deity that appeared from the wide beyond and beckoned him with her call.
Slowly the white wolf diminished his baying howls, and his slavering
white spittle jowls showed his past devotion. With the swiftness of
his breed, the animal jumped to feet; his spread paws set softly on
the white of the snow. The wolf turned his head as he sniffed the air,
catching the scent of man in his nostrils. He growled menacingly as
his twitching nostrils pointed the scent; it told of threatening danger.
But, hunger was its belly. The white wolf cautiously trotted on the
vast whiteness toward the direction of the scent. Every few steps the
animal sniffed the clear air, and searched out the way with the
weakness of his sight. Suddenly he saw a shadowy form emerging from
the depth under the bough of an old oak. The wolf growled menacingly
and the loud yipping of his bark sent out a warning; his body was
ready in an arched defensive stance. Yet the man came closer...
The myriad of spirits of the vast whiteness caused the trapper to
see through snow blinded eyes, demented by the craze in mind, a
radiant figure of fantasy. The hunter's vision only saw in front of
his sight an apparition of a lithe form of maiden and not of a hungry animal. The hunter's mind weaved an apparition of a beautiful girl,
all in white fur, coming towards him on the whiteness of the misty air. All his mind permitted him to see was the purity and innocence of white.
The pureness of the color white carried for him an oracle of
'love-life-death'.
The trapper left the safety of his bower and struggled through
the snow toward the manifestation of his demented mind. His crazed
thoughts saw the girl in all her natural beauty as she lay down in her
nature's covering on the white of the snow. Her ready body was seen
arched and ready for the touch of his love and his welcoming loins.
The white wolf watched and waited as the scent of man came closer
and closer. Hunger growled as the animal glared menacingly at his
sighted prey. The animal circled around and around, snarling at the
approaching man; his claws unleashed on his wide front paws. The
feverish trapper reached closely to the form of his maddened mind;
unintelligible words were uttered.
Both the ready animal and the crazed trapper stared at one another,
each hypnotized in their sight. The trapper struggled closer to his
angelic figure and the animal pulled back upon the threat. The white
wolf arched his back and snarled through the gleam of drooling fangs,
but the man took no heed of its warning. The trapper pushed harder
through the piled snow towards his fantasy; with each step he mumbled
words of entreaty. Then with a burst, the trapper leaped and danced with the white wolf.
------
Norman A. Rubin
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