His heart the texture of a rose,
            his tongue a swath of sky,
            his manner delicate-now

            chatting with what many call
            a beast: the look in the eyes rabid,
            black: on the skirts of the village

            devoured sheep and shepherd alike.
            Men skilled with iron were routed.
            Fangs shredded hunting dogs

            like baby lamb. So out he went
            looking for his den, found him
            outside it, from where the animal

            lunged at the sight of him, then saw
            his hand rise, heard him say:
            "Peace be with you, brother wolf."

            The mammal knew thatgesture,
            snapped out of it and froze:
            "Oh, it's you." "Why,"

            asked the man, "must you lead
            this life? The blood your snout
            spills, the grief and terror

            you mete out, peasants sobbing,
            who are children of God...
            Does this please you? Are you

            from hell, or perhaps consumed
            by some eternal ire?" And the wolf,
            subdued, said: "Winter is hard

            and hunger worse in a freezing
            forest that yields nothing to eat.
            It's true: I looked for livestock

            to feed on, and did, and ate
            shepherds too. As for blood,
            the hunter on his horse gripping

            his metal pursuing boar,bear,
            and deer-sheds more. I've seen scores
            of them inflict wounds, torture

            God's creatures. And hunger
            is not what drives them to hunt."
            To which the man responded: "Evil

            exists in humans. We are born
            with sin. But the simple soul of a beast
            is pure. From this day on you'll have

            enough to eat. And you will leave
            the people of this land, and their flocks,
            alone. May God appease

            that side of you. "Okay-deal."
            "As a gesture of faith extend
            your paw-let's shake on it."

            The wolf did as asked and lifted
            his foot. The man wrapped his
            fingers around it, gently squeezed.

            They headed for the village. People
            could hardly believe their eyes: the wolf
            strode behind the man in the robe

            like a family dog, his head bowed.
            Every man, woman, and child
            came closer, until the whole village

            had gathered in the plaza where
            the man began to speak: "Let me
            introduce a new neighbor," he said,

            pointing to the wolf with an open
            hand. "Fear him not. He is
            our enemy no more. In return,

            I'm going to ask that each of us
            do our part and feed him. He is,
            after all, a creature of God.

            The village responded as one:
            "So be it!" The wolf raised
            his head in acknowledgement,

            moving his tail from side to side,
            disappeared through the gates
            of a convent, the man ahead of him.

            For a time the wolf was at peace
            in that place. His ears would fill
            with psalms-his eyes with tears.

            He learned how to move with grace,
            to play pranks in the kitchen.
            When the man whispered his prayers,

            the wolf would pass his tongue across
            his sandals. Out into the street
            he'd go, through the valley, over hills,

            into homes, where people gave him things
            to eat. To them he seemed a docile hound.
            And then the man had to leave

            for a time. The sweet wolf, the good
            and gentle wolf vanished and went
            back into the hills. The howling began

            again. Once more people were filled
            with fear, villages nearby with dread.
            Weapons and valor were useless, the rage

            never letting up, as if something
            burned, smoldered inside the beast.
            The day the man returned villagers

            sought him out, wept their complaints
            about the suffering inflicted-that
            infamous creature was at it again.

            A shadow passed over the man's face.
            He headed for the hills to track
            him down-that butcher of a wolf.

            He found him at his cave. "In the name
            of the Father, who sees it all, what
            have you got to say for yourself?!"

            As if in pain, the animal spoke,
            his mouth foaming, his eyes nearly
            swollen shut. "Don't come any closer...

            Peace and calm were my masters
            these days. Even with you gone
            I visited the village. When given

            scraps to eat, I chewed, swallowed
            in silence, with gratitude.
            But I began to see, in many homes,

            how people treat each other,
            embers of greed, intolerance, lies
            glowing subtly in countless faces.

            The weak were losers, the cruel winners.
            Brother made war on brother. Male
            and female were like dog and bitch,

            and then they began to beat me,
            considered me weak for licking
            their hands and feet. I believed

            you: all of creation were family-
            men my siblings, oxen too, the stars
            my sisters, my brothers worms.

            But they picked on me, drove
            me away. Their laughing was like
            scalding water, re-awakening

            a beast-suddenly a "bad" wolf
            is what I was, yet no worse
            than them. And so the struggle

            to survive took over: to defend myself,
            to feed myself, like the bear does,
            like the boar who, in order to live,

            must kill. So let me remain here,
            wild and free. And you, my friend,
            back to your people, your good

            and tender deeds."The man
            didn't say a word. Deep
            was his gaze. Then he walked away,

            tears on his cheek. His heart,
            touched with desolation, offered
            a prayer only the wind in the forest

            could hear, carrying it skyward.

Copyright © Francisco Aragon, 2005. All Rights Reserved.