The Beasts: A Winter's Tale

THE TALE TELLS THAT Sigmund thought Sinfjotli over young to help him to his revenge, and will first of all harden him with manly deeds; so in summer-tide they fare wide through the woods and slay men for their wealth; Sigmund deems him to take much after the kin of the Volsungs, though he thinks that he is Siggeir's son, and deems him to have the evil heart of his father, with the might and daring of the Volsungs; withal he must needs think him in no wise a kinsome man, for full oft would he bring Sigmund's wrongs to his memory, and prick him on to slay King Siggeir.

Now on a time as they fare abroad in the wood for the getting of wealth, they find a certain house, and two men with great gold rings asleep therein: now these twain were spell-bound skin-changers, and wolf-skins were hanging up over them in the house; and every tenth day might they come out of those skins; and they were kings' sons: so Sigmund and Sinfjofli do the wolf-skins on them, and then might they nowise come out of them, though forsooth the same nature went with them as heretofore; they howled as wolves howl, but both knew the meaning of that howling; they lay out in the wild-wood, and each went his way; and a word they made betwixt them, that they should risk the onset of seven men, but no more, and that he who was first to be set on should howl in wolfish wise: "Let us not depart from this," says Sigmund, "for thou art young and over-bold, and men will deem the quarry good, when they take thee."

Now each goes his way, and when they were parted, Sigmund meets certain men, and gives forth a wolf's howl; and when Sinfjotli heard it, he went straightway thereto, and slew them all, and once more they parted. But ere Sinfjotli has fared long through the woods, eleven men meet him, and he wrought in such wise that he slew them all, and was awearied therewith, and crawls under an oak, and there takes his rest. Then came Sigmund thither, and said—

"Why didst thou not call on me?"

Sinfjotli said, "I was loth to call for thy help for the slaying of eleven men."

Then Sigmund rushed at him so hard that he staggered and fell, and Sigmund bit him in the throat. Now that day they might not come out of their wolf-skins: but Sigmund lays the other on his back, and bears him home to the house, and cursed the wolf-gears and gave them to the trolls. Now on a day he saw where two weasels went, and how that one bit the other in the throat, and then ran straightway into the thicket, and took up a leaf and laid it on the wound, and thereon his fellow sprang up quite and clean whole; so Sigmund went out and saw a raven flying with a blade of that same herb to him; so he took it and drew it over Sinfjotli's hurt, and he straightway sprang up as whole as though he had never been hurt. Thereafter they went home to their earth-house, and abode there till the time came for them to put off the wolf-shapes; then they burnt them up with fire, and prayed that no more hurt might come to any one from them; but in that uncouth guise they wrought many famous deeds in the kingdom and lordship of King Siggeir.

THERE WAS A RAP AT THE DOOR that jolted Marabeth out of the room where Pamela sat, absorbed in the story of the Volsungs. She looked up and saw Joyce standing there, her hair disheveled.

“I debated telling you this,” Joyce said, sitting on the bed, “not because there’s anything I ever don’t want to tell you, but because… Peter.. I mean, I’ve been with him. It’s wrong, I really think it’s wrong to tell about things that happen with a person you’ve been with… well, a couple of times by now. And I like him, Mara, I really do like him. I more than like him, and that’s foolish, but…”

“Joyce,” Marabeth held up a hand, “is there something you plan on telling me?”

“He knows,” Joyce said. “He’s knows everything. Well, some things.”

“I thought he did,” Marabeth said. “We determined that last night, me and Kristian, that he knew.”

“He changes, Marabeth.’

“What?” Marabeth looked at her.

“Those pills, the medication, it really is to prevent the Change. All the men in your family take it around puberty, after it’s seen if they are going to change or not. Except for Myron, I think they started him early. But Peter doesn’t always take them. He Changes when he can. He has a part of the basement in his house where he secures himself to… make the Change. I couldn’t keep it from you, and I told him I couldn’t so you have to see him. He knows I’m telling you. I told him I couldn’t keep anything like this from you.”

“Well… Well, shit,” Marabeth said. “Well, is he home now?”

“He’s at his office.”

“Fuck, I hate that. He’s so official looking at his office. But, I need to see him.”

She stood up.

“Will you take me there? And then can you finally take me back to my house? Is that too much?”

“This whole thing is too much,” Joyce said, standing up. “How soon do you need me to be ready?’

“Five minutes,” Marabeth decided. “That’s what I need.”

PETER KELLER LOOKED, frankly, annoyed when Marabeth entered his office. He had known she was coming, He had to. His offices were downtown six blocks away from her apartment in the white tower by the courthouse, the old building with the marble façade on the first floor and the old elevator with its brass doors that rolled up sedately to the seventh floor. There was a secretary to warn him, the bitch who asked her if she had an appointment and seemed wary when Marabeth had said she was his cousin. And of course, Joyce had told him that she would have to know. He couldn’t have been surprised. And yet, he was, and here it all was, this old thing between them.

“Hello, Marabeth.”

Peter loved her brother. He adored Kristian. He loved Jim when Jim had no one. He was the oldest cousin. She the second oldest, but he was the head of the boys of that generation. He was relaxed and easy around them, always watching out for them, always chiding Myron for being stupid, and then chiding the others for calling Myron stupid. He was the responsibility of the family and she respected him.

“Peter,” Marabeth began, “I need to talk to you.”

She had been about to say, “We need to talk,” but this sounded much too confrontational.

She respected Peter, but she could never get past the idea that he did not like her, that he did not, quite, approve of her, that she was an annoyance to him, and she was getting that from him right now.

“Yes,” he said in a clipped tone. “I thought we might.”

Must he sit on the other side of the desk like that, in that suit, staring at her, looking annoyed as he scribbled over papers. And, seriously, Joy was screwing him? Out of all her cousins? But then, out of all her cousins it made sense, Marabeth realized.

“Well?” Peter looked up at her, folding his hands together, looking, even in his patience, annoyed. Or was that just her imagination?

And then she realized she didn’t really know what she had to say. That was it, all the way over here in the car, and Joyce was waiting downstairs for her, she had told herself Peter was her cousin, and so she didn’t need to prepare anything to say, but right now he was like the principal and she found herself more uncertain than she wanted to admit. She actually didn’t know what she wanted to tell him. She had planned to confront him and now, in this moment, it seemed like what she should do is make an offering.

“Would you like to read the book? Pamela’s journal?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because… I thought you’d like to know.”

“What’s there to know?” He tilted his head looking, frankly, like an asshole.

“Oh, my God, I can’t believe my best friend is fucking you.”

“What?” Peter snapped, and rounded the desk. “Shut up.”

He closed the door to his office, reflecting that if he’d had any sense, he would have asked his cousin to do this when she came in.

“I can’t fucking believe it.”

“This is my office, Marabeth,” Peter hissed, making shushing sounds. “My assistant’s out there,” he whispered.

“Why does your secretary give a shit who you’re fucking? She doesn’t even know who I am. Let alone who Joyce is. Joyce must see an entirely different side of you, the side that isn’t arrogant and disapproving and looks at me like he’s smelling something funny.”

“Not that’s it’s your business, Mara, but maybe she just sees me?” Peter said.

“Maybe unlike you, who does everything she can to chase her own independence and not give a fuck about this family—congratulations for being able to get away—she actually bothers to look at me enough and see what’s there.”

“Well,” Marabeth said.

“Well, what?”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

Peter said nothing and Marabeth said, “I know you’ve always resented the fuck out of me, and I thought that was why, but at least you said it. It only took forty years.”

“I don’t think I entirely meant it.”

“I think you did,” Marabeth said, “which is awkward because the next set of werewolf babies you make will be my godchildren. I mean, no way Joyce isn’t gonna want that. But—”

“You need to not talk about that again.”

“But the only thing I want to know is why you Change and I don’t. That’s the thing I haven’t figured out yet. I could have gone my whole life never knowing, and from what you’re saying, Aunt Maris and Aunt Claire didn’t change either. And I have to understand what was going on.”

“What do you mean?” Peter said. “All the men in our family…” he walked to the door, put his ear to it almost comically and then came back.

“All of us are… that way.”

“Werewolves,” Marabeth said.

“I’m going to ask you to stop saying that.”

“And the pills you take, that Kris thinks are his crazy pills and his alone, you all take. Like you and Jim and Myron, and eventually your kids. Only you don’t take them all the time because you like to lock yourself in the basement and turn into a wolf to get away from your generally anal retentive nature.”

“Yes,” Peter said. “I am, your brother is. Your father was, your grandfather Uncle Jimmy was, and Friederich was. The men, for the most part.”

“Not all, though.”

“No,” Peter said. “I haven’t figured it out, but some of us don’t.”

“Jim,” Marabeth guessed.

Peter nodded. “Jim never has. And Kate’s boys. But the men in our family are, for the most part…. Men make the Change. Women? No.”

There was a look on Marabeth’s face, and now Peter stopped.

“What?” he said.

“You don’t know.”

Was it surprise? Was it, Peter wondered, triumph even.

“You really don’t know,” Marabeth said.

“What… don’t I know?’

“Pamela—”

“Was some type of witch.”

“Was a wolf.”

Peter blinked at her.

“Um, the wolf got your tongue there. Bad joke,” Marabeth shook her head. “Pamela changed at will. At any time. Friederich changed at will as well, but only at the time of the full moon, or so it seems. He wasn’t like you at all. Something happened when we came to America. The Change does not skip over the women. It is in us as well. It is in me. Only I don’t know how to unlock it, and you don’t know how to control it. Pamela and Friederich were wolves who maintained their minds and knew how to control what they did and when they changed.”

Peter continued staring at her, and Marabeth said, “Now, do you want us to start working together, or do you still want to pretend you know everything, and I’m just the worthless cousin you can’t stand?”