Thursday, September 12, 2013

THE SKILLS OF CANINE TAINTED PEOPLE ... 9/13/13

They had an old, crank-up Victrola wedged back in the cave. One of the she-wolves kept the records. Wrapped them in an old cow hide. One or two were Bessie Smith. There was a Caruso. Some jazz by a local boy named Louis Armstrong and one with the label scraped off, but it skipped all the time and all you heard was a raspy voice singing 'Must Be Jelly, 'Cause Jam Don't Shake Like That.'

She-wolf wasn't to articulate. Not that she wasn't intelligent. You should see the tiny bead-work she hand stitched into a particularly tanned and supple human skin. Think it came from like a fourteen year old kid, but I don't know. But her mouth couldn't shape the words. Everything came out real hoarse and garbled. She knew Shimmy Kate liked the music, though. Played it for her all the time. Could be 'liked' is a strong word. She tolerated it. It calmed her. 

The alpha male tried regurgitating food for her, but she wouldn't have it. So every few nights one of the mysterious canids would silently pad down a little road to a village what had a Piggly-Wiggly store. Heater (really just a jumped up pot-bellied stove) had a stack that ran up through the roof. Wolfie people are real good at slippin' through tight spaces. Shoulder joints real flexible. Hip joints too. Pop 'em in and out of place like nobody's business. Stove not used much, 'specially at night, when the store's closed. So it's real easy to play Santy Claus, 'cept wolfie Santy Claus don't leave no presents. Wolfie Santy Claus grab bacon an eggs and skedaddle. Sometime grab an apple too.  Shimmy Kate take it all when they get back. Then she fry it up in a rusty, old cast iron skillet over little flame from collection of them wadded up, mushy candles they make. She don't say nothin', not out loud, but she do mouth a 'thank you.' Young ones like the bacon raw. She don't give 'em none. They just grab it. 

Sometime alpha male take her outside like when she gotta go shit. Betas want a do it, but he don't let 'em. Sometime he sniff her. Sometime he touch her. She try to move away, but he don't pay no mind. Sometime she don't move away. Who knows? Maybe she want him to touch her?

He like lookin' at her nails... her finger nails and her toe nails. Wolfie folk got claws. Nails seem la-dee-dah to them. She let him do it, but she don't say nothing. 

That how they live.... deep in a cave lit by couple messy, little candles. Few bats roost up by the roof. Nobody set under them, 'cause a the guano.

Wolfie woman wanna show Shimmy Kate that she know how to dance. Likes to percolate to jazz record. But it not real dancin'.... more like what a crazy lady would do beggin' for change on a street corner. Shimmy Kate make like she like it, 'cause she don't want no trouble.... Got enough a that already, what with bein' knocked up by a dog-man and livin' in a cave all naked and all.

I 'spects her mama be mighty disappointed. 

Shhh, it dark now. They sleepin', only Shimmy Kate eyes open. She lookin'. She thinkin'. She plannin'. Like, who knows? Maybe she gonna run...

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