The Beasts: A Winter's Tale

Requiem

James B. Strauss did not particularly remember his father, Byron. In many ways, he did not remember family history the way others said they did. To him it seemed as if the Strausses had taken his grandfather Steiger in, though it turned out they had a very long history with the Freys, and that Pamela, whom so many had said they feared, had only had a kindness and a certain warmth for his grandfather. This was how old she was. She had known Jim’s old grandfather since he was a boy, and Jim remembered the year she died, coming into her little living room in the coach house, He remembered the white lace curtains and the old rugs and the strange statues, the warmth of the fire, and her soft accent that carried the remnants of Bavaria. By then she was bone and skin as thin as onion paper, and all the time she told stories. She loved the German stories, the Volsungasaga, the Niebelungied, that’s what others said. But he was so young she told him the tales from Grimm, and he remembered once she told the story of the seven kids.

There was, once upon a time an old goat who had seven little kids, and loved them with all the love of a mother for her children. One day she wanted to go into the forest and fetch some food. So she called all seven to her and said, "Dear children, I have to go into the forest, be on your guard against the wolf, if he comes in, he will devour you all - skin, hair, and everything. The wretch often disguises himself, but you will know him at once by his rough voice and his black feet."

The kids said, "Dear mother, we will take good care of ourselves, you may go away without any anxiety." Then the old one bleated, and went on her way with an easy mind.

It was not long before some one knocked at the house-door and called, "Open the door, dear children, your mother is here, and has brought something back with her for each of you." But the little kids knew that it was the wolf, by the rough voice.

We will not open the door," cried they, "you are not our mother. She has a soft, pleasant voice, but your voice is rough, you are the wolf."

Then the wolf went away to a shopkeeper and bought himself a great lump of chalk, ate this and made his voice soft with it. The he came back, knocked at the door of the house, and called, "Open the door, dear children, your mother is here and has brought something back with her for each of you."

But the wolf had laid his black paws against the window, and the children saw them and cried, "We will not open the door, our mother has not black feet like you, you are the wolf."

Then the wolf ran to a baker and said, "I have hurt my feet, rub some dough over them for me. And when the baker had rubbed his feet over, he ran to the miller and said,

Strew some white meal over my feet for me." The miller thought to himself, the wolf wants to deceive someone, and refused, but the wolf said, "If you will not do it, I will devour you."

Then the miller was afraid, and made his paws white for him.

So now the wretch went for the third time to the house-door, knocked at it and said,

Open the door for me, children, your dear little mother has come home, and has brought every one of you something back from the forest with her."

The little kids cried, "First show us your paws that we may know if you are our dear little mother."

Then he put his paws in through the window, and when the kids saw that they were white, they believed that all he said was true, and opened the door. But who should come in but the wolf. The kids were terrified and wanted to hide themselves. One sprang under the table, the second into the bed, the third into the stove, the fourth into the kitchen, the fifth into the cupboard, the sixth under the washing-bowl, and the seventh into the clock-case. But the wolf found them all, and used no great ceremony, one after the other he swallowed them down his throat. The youngest, who was in the clock-case, was the only one he did not find. When the wolf had satisfied his appetite he took himself off, laid himself down under a tree in the green meadow outside, and began to sleep.

Soon afterwards the old goat came home again from the forest. Ah, what a sight she saw there. The house-door stood wide open. The table, chairs, and benches were thrown down, the washing-bowl lay broken to pieces, and the quilts and pillows were pulled off the bed. She sought her children, but they were nowhere to be found. She called them one after another by name, but no one answered.

At last, when she came to the youngest, a soft voice cried, "Dear Mother, I am in the clock-case." She took the kid out, and it told her that the wolf had come and had eaten all the others. Then you may imagine how she wept over her poor children.

At length in her grief she went out, and the youngest kid ran with her. When they came to the meadow, there lay the wolf by the tree and snored so loud that the branches shook. She looked at him on every side and saw that something was moving and struggling in his gorged belly. Ah, heavens, she thought, is it possible that my poor children whom he has swallowed down for his supper, can be still alive?

Then the kid had to run home and fetch scissors, and a needle and thread and the goat cut open the monster's stomach, and hardly had she make one cut, than one little kid thrust its head out, and when she cut farther, all six sprang out one after another, and were all still alive, and had suffered no injury whatever, for in his greediness the monster had swallowed them down whole.

What rejoicing there was! They embraced their dear mother, and jumped like a sailor at his wedding. The mother, however, said, "Now go and look for some big stones, and we will fill the wicked beast's stomach with them while he is still asleep." Then the seven kids dragged the stones thither with all speed, and put as many of them into his stomach as they could get in, and the mother sewed him up again in the greatest haste, so that he was not aware of anything and never once stirred.

When the wolf at length had had his fill of sleep, he got on his legs, and as the stones in his stomach made him very thirsty, he wanted to go to a well to drink. But when he began to walk and move about, the stones in his stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then cried he,

"What rumbles and tumbles
Against my poor bones?
I thought 'twas six kids,
But it feels like big stones."

And when he got to the well and stooped over the water to drink, the heavy stones made him fall in, and he had to drown miserably.

When the seven kids saw that, they came running to the spot and cried aloud, "The wolf is dead, the wolf is dead," and danced for joy round about the well with their mother.

“So they got the bad wolf,”Jim had said.

“They got the wolf because the wolf was part of them,” Pamela had said.

Jim had not understood this and the confusion must have been plain on his face.

“There is another story, of a god, a great Titan who ate all of his children or most of them, but who was given a great potion and threw them up, and so they did something like that to him. When you eat a real meal, then you chew it up, gobble, gobble gobble. But the Titan and the wolf were simply swallowing up something that was part of them. Sometimes a thing that is part of you can take all of you, and you can lose control of it. That is when the Mother Goat comes and rescues you, brings you back to yourself. When the Wolf comes to swallow you, remember that, Jimmy, and set yourself free.”

All these years later, Jim wondered, had she called him Jimmy because, in her old age, she had confused him momentarily with her brother, his grandfather? But one thing he knew now, as he sat in Kris’s room drinking coffee beside his estranged cousin, she had known what she was talking about. Pamela had been warning him.

“This is….”

“The worst coffee you’ve ever tasted?” Jim said.

“Actually, it’s a pretty good cup,” Kris said, looking out of the window of the kitchenette that looked down on Dimler Street from the third floor of Strauss House.

“I was going to say that this is the damnedest day.”

Jim only nodded.

“I’m…” Kris started. “I’m happy. You know. I feel sort of at peace, even with those leafless trees and that grey sky. And then I think, but Dad is dead. We’re on our way to his funeral. You know? And I have to remember to be torn up again. Only, I feel weird. But not torn up.”

“I don’t really know how I feel,” Jim said, half into his cup, while he looked out onto the street.

“We have to stop this,” Kris said. And then he said, “I mean, I have to stop. Being an ass. I want to stop. The way I… the stuff I said to you. The way I’ve acted toward you.”

“It’s okay,” Jim put down his coffee cup and took one of Kris’s cigarettes.

“No,” Kris said, “it’s not.’

“You were going through some stuff.”

“We were all going through the stuff, and anyway, I haven’t been going through it for thirty years. It’s just,” Kris shook his head. “Fuck, you make it look so easy. You make it look easy to… lose your parents and everything, and I seem to not be able to get happy. And so I just…” Kris shook his head. “I ended up being a real dick to you, and I don’t know if I can stop. No,” Kris corrected himself, looking at Jim, his cigarette hanging from his hand. “I don’t know myself another way. I… want to be the fun person. I want to be the guy with the jokes. I want to be that person. Even Peter can be that person, the one who throws his arm over someone’s shoulder. Or Myron. Myron makes an ass of himself on a daily basis and doesn’t even seem to realize it.”

Jim laughed, “Remember when he led the liturgical dance team at Saint Ursula’s?”

Kris snorted and muttered, “Oh, shit.”

“You remember that. Him and six other boys in leotards, and the girls in the white robes, and they were just doing kicks and pirouettes and shit, up to the altar during Communion.”

“Yeah, and then Aunt Maris leans into Grandma and whispers about one of the dancers, ‘I can see that girl’s panties.’”

They were both laughing now and Jim said, “How do you think Myron will handle…. Being what we are?”

“A werewolf?” Kris said baldly, frowning and shaking his head.

“It’s going to be hard telling him. He won’t believe it.”

“Maybe it’s not so bad to be the grey cloud at the party,” Jim suggested. “I just thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you, Jim!” Kris said quickly. “I could never hate you. You’re my brother. And you are my brother,” Kris insisted, “No matter what I said after Christmas. I’m just not good with my emotions.”

“You’re very German.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. But so is Myron, and he’s still a wackjob.”

“You’re more like, Nietchze German.’

Kris, who had been looking mildly regretful, suddenly burst into a laugh again.

“Well, if you see me crying over any dead horses, check me into a sanitarium before I hurt myself.”

“You’re so cold,” she told him. “You’re so cold and I thought you weren’t. I thought I saw something in you, but I was just fooling myself,” she shook her head, “Beth was right. They all were.”

Peter Keller is sitting in his first car, his hair in his face, but he doesn’t want to push it away.

“I offered to go with you. I WANTED to go with you.”

“And I didn’t want you there,” Terry says. “I’m so glad you weren’t there.”

“Do you want me to come over tonight?”

They are outside of her house on the far south side, near Rosary High school where she goes.

“Did you not hear me?” she says. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Terry gets out of the car and walks up the steps to the little shingled bungalow that is like all of the shingled bungalows on Monroe Street, and Peter sits in the car looking up at her until the door slams.

He figures it’s time to drive away. He doesn’t want any music. He drives up Martin until he reaches Buren, and then heads north for home. The house on Williams is crowded, and Peter doesn’t expect it not to be. Marabeth is sitting on the steps with Amy and she looks up.

“What’s got you?”

But he doesn’t want to be bothered by his cousins, and he feels so heavy, he just walks past them and the girls know to make way. Why does Dad always have to have them over here? Aren’t they supposed to be at Nate’s house? Isn’t that the thing? Peter decides if this house is ever his it will be just that, his, and every damn cousin won’t be dropping by, sitting on the steps, zooming in and out of the kitchen. He goes into his room and shuts the door. Suddenly it’s too much, and he buries his hands in his face and begins to sob. He hopes the door is locked, but he doesn’t have the strength to get up and see. It hurts so bad right now, and no one can know. How could Terry know? And he couldn’t tell her why, or why he was so firm about it. He couldn’t tell her that he didn’t want to do it, didn’t want that at all.

I wish I could die. I wish I could die.

And he has never wished that before. He hates himself.

The door opens and he makes himself stop crying, He hopes that Jim can’t see that, but this is ridiculous. His face is red, his eyes are red, his face wet. Jim closes the door behind him. He’s only twelve. His mom didn’t just wish she could die. Delia really did kill herself about this time last year. Did she feel like this, this bottomless grief? At seventeen, Peter never thought he would feel this way. Jim closes the door and has the sense to lock it. Wordlessly, he sits on the floor with his cousin, and even though Peter is five years older and almost a foot taller, when Jim hugs him and holds him, Peter falls into his arms and begins bawling.

“Oh, Jim. Jim. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

And he just continues to cry.

“I was in college, when it happened to me,” Joyce said.

“When I did it,” she amended. “I guess it didn’t happen to me. But I felt like it did. It wasn’t even for a very good reason.”

“I was afraid,” Peter said, almost shy. “I was afraid of what would be born. I was just learning about what we were, and I promised myself I’d never have children, and so when Terry told me she was pregnant, I just said she couldn’t have it. It couldn’t be born. And then, years later, I had three kids, and now there really isn’t a time I don’t think about that first one.”

“At least you had a reason,” Joyce said, lying on her back.

“Do you know the only reason I told Marabeth is because she was there. It’s not something you tell people, not really. Well, I know someone who does, but she’s sort of morally bankrupt, and then I’m like, if I feel that judgmental, what the fuck am I? I hear that one in every three women does it, and then I’m sort of like, fuck, that’s a lot. And then I’m like, I hope it’s true, because then I don’t feel the way I do. And I’m not exactly sure how I feel.”

“Well,” Peter lay on his side and cocked his head, “Let’s play lawyer. Why did you do it?”

“I…”

And then Joyce started to laugh almost at the seriousness of his expression, and touched the bridge of his nose.

“I had broken up with someone, and I didn’t want him in my life. He had broken up with me, really. And then I found out I was pregnant, and I just didn’t want to be tied to him. In any way. I wanted to kind of just go on with my life.”

Joyce was pulling her hair into a braid and she said, “Do you know, I’ve had years to think about every other scenario, and I think about the selfless one where I should have had a child and put up with having Ronald in my life, and being a single mom. I think about what this woman said at church. When I still went. How, if you’re going to have sex you have to pay the price. But, kids aren’t really supposed to be a penalty, and that baby would have been paying the price for my lack of parental skills.

“And then I think, well, I could have been pregnant for the majority of the year and given up the baby, but the only thing that makes that believable is that it’s almost twenty years in the past. I mean, it’s easy to tell a girl she can do that, but to actually do it…”

Joyce shook her head.

“You did what you had to do.”

“That’s the thing, Peter. I don’t know if that’s true, and you don’t either. Do you?”

“Can we switch the subject,” Peter said, “to something more cheerful than ambiguous abortions we can’t do anything to change?”

“I would love to switch the subject,” Joyce said.

Then she said, “I’d love to be one of those bitches who is unambiguous.”

“Let’s talk about more cheerful stuff,” Peter caressed her hand. “Like… the funeral.”

Joyce turned her head and laughed.

They lay together naked, face to face and Joy said, “You better start getting dressed.”

And then she said, “Actually, you better get home.”

“You’re coming with me. Aren’t you?”

“I.. thought I might be going,” Joy said. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to, or who I would be with. I mean, I couldn’t sit next to Marabeth in the front, and…”

“You’ll sit with me,” Peter said.

“What will people think?”

“People you don’t know? Do you care? I know I don’t.”

And then Peter said, “Unless you think it’s too public. We’re still new. Very new. Newer than new. I wasn’t thinking… If you don’t want to—”

“Peter, I want to.”