Wolves were once abundant in Greece, but their numbers declined dramatically in the twentieth century and they were officially declared extirpated from the Peloponnese by the end of the thirties, mainly due to hunting. However, there was a legend that between the two high mountains of Kyllini and Chelmos in the northern Peloponnese, one last pack of wolves remained late into the forties. The pack was still active and observed by locals in the beginning of that decade and the wolves' final distraction is said to have taken place during the Civil War (1946-1949), by which point they were all shot during the adartopolemos (a Greek version of a Guerrilla Warfare). The adartes (rebels) had taken over the small villages on the two mountains, driving the families away to towns and other villages towards the shore, and used the houses, churches, sheepfolds and all resources for their cause. The rebels and the members of the army would locate the wolves by their howls and would shoot them on the spot while they were howling. According to the legend, the wolves became wiser for it, as they heard howl after howl followed by shots, so that the last few remaining wolves are said to had become a silent lot, moving around like shadows, creeping to uncover some morsel of food, unwilling to communicate with each other, so that they finally became solitary, detached from their fellows and behaved in uncharacteristic ways, defying their nature.
Kir.Vassilis lived in a small village on the mountain of Kyllini and he made his living by cultivating the land. He was mainly growing the typical produce of the area, walnuts, apples and cherries. He would exchange these or sell them at the markets in the villages by the shore once a month. He cultivated in small quantities his own onions, garlic, strawberries and potatoes. When he exchanged his produce, he was able to get oranges, tomatoes and cucumbers from the producers of the villages by the sea shore, which he turned into jams and pickles for the winter. With the money he made at the market, he bought olive oil and hard cheese. His brother was a shepherd in the same village and so he was often presented with off cuts of meat for stocks and occasionally with whole legs of lamb, which he dry cured in his larder. Kir. Vassilis had built his small house with the help of the other villagers, as was common at the time. His toilet was a small wooden structure outside the house, as were all toilets in the village. The villagers had dug out a square hole, where all the waste would go into, and that was the last thing they did after the main house and toilet structure were built. Kir. Vassilis had thought at the time that the latrine was far too small, so he had dug a second squarish hole by himself next to the first one, with the intention of joining them when the time came. This digging had caused him to suffer from a very stiff back for the next week and his wife had been very unhappy to find him in such a condition when she moved into the new house. Kir. Vassilis and his wife had two children born in that house.
When the rebels reached the village in autumn 1947, the locals expected to be robbed of their shot guns which they had for hunting and maybe of their food resources. Many locals tried to hide or offer (depending on their convictions) their guns and most hid their food resources in their attics. Kir. Vassilis used his second, still empty latrine near the outdoors toilet to hide two large tins of oil, a cured leg of lamb, four small heads of hard cheese and numerous jars of jam and pickles. He covered the hole with a wooden panel and then replaced the shoveled turf to hide the latrine. When he did this, Kir. Vassilis believed that he would be recovering the food items within hours, as no one thought the rebels would be stopping in this small village for long. In reality the rebels took over the village the same day they arrived, throwing the people out of their houses and establishing themselves within them straight away. People had to make their way on foot, downwards towards the shore villages, with only what they were wearing on them, leaving behind livestock, food, guns and their households. The rebels used the houses for a bit to begin with, removed all food and all necessary items, and then moved deep into the mountains, from where they often returned to the village to re-establish themselves and fight with the army members, who were by now after them.
The situation at the villages by the shore was saturated. Many other mountain villages faced the same luck and people's relatives and friends took them in. But the food soon run out and was not enough to feed everyone. The fishing in the winter was hard and there was not enough fish to go around. Soon the kids got weaker and the smaller ones ill. Kir. Vassilis often thought of the second latrine and was sure all food was still in it. It pained him to think of his kids and nephews going hungry, when there was enough food in the latrine to last them a month. He talked to his wife about going to retrieve it one night, but she would have none of it. It was too dangerous and risky and there was no guarantee the food would even be still there. Kir. Vassilis thought of nothing else each night, and the more his stomach ached the more his determination to go back to the mountain grew. One night he got up and using his candle, tip-toed out of the room they were sharing with eight more people and went to the outdoors toilet. There he put together a bundle using an old blanket, with a rope inside, a flask of water, bread and a small gun of his brother in law. He hid this outside behind a bush. His heart was pounding and he could not get back to sleep that night. The next night Kir. Vassilis stepped out with his candle, retrieved his bundle and using the house's only torch, left for the long walk up to the mountain.
By this time there was only one wolf remaining in the mountains. The wolves had been shot while howling as they were so hungry they were approaching too close to the army and the rebels. The final few turned skeletal and silent and were found dead and frozen, curled up like small puppies in ditches. The last wolf standing had once been the leader of this remaining pack, he was a large animal, with broad shoulders, tall, strong legs with prominent, bony joints and a loud, deep, echoing howl. Despite his size he had a very light and silent padded walk like that of a cat's, and although both rebels and army had caught glimpses of him sniffing around the village, he was gone into thin air by the time the rifles were lifted to take aim. The night Kir. Vassilis was climbing the mountain to reach the village and his house, the wolf was lurking about. Even after months had passed, the wolf was still able to smell the sheep and the goats and pigs and the faint odours of food being prepared, stuck around the house walls and coating the rocks where animal fur had rubbed against. But however strong the smells were, the wolf was unable to find anything to eat. Kir. Vassilis reached his house completely exhausted from his walk, his calves trembled and his feet had swollen in his boots. Despite that he was overcome by a great thrill, his house was quiet and dark, there was no one around, and in the dark it could almost be like any other old day when he went out to use the toilet. The turf on the latrine looked completely undisturbed and the ground was covered with a thin layer of ice.
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He looked by the corner wall where he kept his rake, shovel and forks in a large empty barrel. They were not there. He used an old roof tile that was lying around and tried to lift the frozen earth as neatly as possible. The ice and ground cracked like porcelain and echoed sharply into the night. Kir. Vassilis looked at the bright moon above that shone on the ice and lit the back of the house. When he reached the wooden panel his hands were frozen and his fingers stayed bent and crooked. He put them in his pockets, he blew on them and tried to rub them in frustration. He finally moved the panel and looked inside the hole. Everything was exactly as he had left it, the white cheese heads were illuminated like pearls by the moon and the oil tins shone gold. And he felt such a divine relief and gratification, he wanted to jump in the hole and hug all the things. He had to choose what to take with him. He took out two heads of cheese, three jars and one of the large tins of olive oil. Anything more and he would risk not being able to return safely. He replaced the wooden panel, he replaced the turf and only then did he stop and breathe, realising he had been holding his breath and clenching violently his jaws. And then Kir. Vassilis froze. There was someone behind him and he could hear, or rather he could feel their breath. A warm sensation reached the back of his neck, his hair stood up and he stopped breathing again.
He tried to prepare himself for a shot. The shot did not come. Then he remembered the gun which was still in the bundle that lay out of reach. Then he turned his head very slowly, his left eye straining out of its socket and from that owl's head position he saw a wolf. The wolf was showing his teeth in a menacing, horrifyingly silent, stuck in time, eternal growl, his head was lowered between his over sized skeletal shoulders and his orange eyes burnt deep into his. His front legs were slightly stretched forwards and Kir. Vassilis thought that he was going to jump on him and tear him apart at any given second. But the wolf remained in that position. Kir. Vassilis twisted his body to bring it slowly around where his head was, and with very shaking movements brought the bundle closer to him. The wolf still remained at his position. Kir. Vassilis took slowly the gun out, but was unable to bring himself to lift his arm and shoot in case the noise brought the rebels or the army to him. He thought of using the blanket of the bundle as a silencer and was about to start folding it when the wolf moved a step closer. Kir. Vassilis took a piece of bread that he had for himself out and opening the oil tin, spilled some oil all over it and some fell to the ground. His eyes burnt as he saw the oil spill on the frozen ground and he cursed his luck louder than he had intended. He took one bite of the oiled bread and felt such a warmth down his throat and belly, he felt as if his strength had instantly returned. Then he threw the rest of the bread to the wolf. In his amazement the wolf ate the bread at once and locking his gaze with Kir. Vassilis' eyes he moved even closer, lowering his head to the ground.
Kir. Vassilis saw at once that the condition of the wolf was not good. He ribs stuck out and he had sores on his back. His fur was falling out in patches and his gums were white. His eyes were still burning and were so intense that he had no other choice but to give him more food. He left all of his remaining bread covered in the oil and he also broke a piece of cheese from one of the heads. He threw them to the wolf and sat there watching. When all was gone the wolf still remained at the same position. Kir. Vassilis felt a welling sensation rising to his eyes and did not want to give anymore of the precious food to the wolf. Daylight was breaking and he had to leave now or risk getting caught. He slowly sat up, and in a semi crouching position wore the bundle with the rope over his back. Without looking back, he took small steps and slowly moved away from the house and reached the path he had taken to get to the village. He was prepared for the claws on his back, for the enormous weight pushing him to the ground, for the ice sticking to his face and for the sharp teeth digging in his neck, but the wolf never moved from his position, only looked at him leaving, licking his jaws with his white tongue.
Kir. Vassilis was afraid of his wife's reaction when she saw the food and realised that he had gone to the mountains despite her objections, but after a halfhearted pretend at anger, Kira Vassilena was so overwhelmed by the new-brought supplies that she did not question him at all. No one commented at the chunk of missing cheese, as they assumed he had eaten it after his long walk. He did not mention the wolf to a living soul and although he did not think of him during the day, at night he felt his eyes burning at his back and turned abruptly in his bed as if hit by a current, only to headbutt his wife who grunted in her sleep. The food only lasted a week. This time there was no protestation from his wife and Kir. Vassilis found himself preparing his bundle in broad daylight. As soon as night came he was once again on his way. When he was approaching the path that led to the back of his house, he felt his heart pounding at the excitement of seeing the wolf again. To his immense surprise, the wolf was sat a few meters away from the latrine, by the toilet shed, in the shadow of a cedar bush. It almost felt like he had never left the back of his house for a whole week. The wolf sat up, stared at Kir. Vassilis, lowered his head and then sat down again. Kir. Vassilis tried to ignore the wolf and approached the latrine. He used the same roof tile to remove the turf, lifted the wooden panel and took out three more jars, and the cured leg of lamb.
The wolf was staring with the same burning eyes, but was not moving. Kir.Vassilis fancied he saw a deep shame in the wolf's eyes or more he felt the shame himself, for how had a creature like that ended up in such a condition if it was not for people like him. Immediately as he had made this thought he felt a new cold wave of shame, for how could he be thinking of a wolf when his fellow men were killing each other, brothers killing their brothers, fathers their sons. At that thought, he made up his bundle, secured it with the rope and without stopping to eat his bread or looking back, he head for the path back. The wolf was blocking his way. His front legs spread apart, his immense shoulders sticking out, his head lowered between them. The most excruciating silent growl was produced by his jagged jaws, his teeth shone in the moonlight, his lips trembled and his eyes spat fire. How he had moved and found himself in front of him, Kir. Vassilis had no idea. He sat down on the spot. He thought that he was going to lose control of his bladder. The cold found a way in, and his elbows gave away, dropping the bundle to the icy floor. Locked in that confrontation for what felt like hours, Kir. Vassilis eventually moved and undid the knot to the bundle. He took out the leg of lamb, looking at the wolf the whole time. The wolf remained in his position, silently growling at him. Kir.Vassilis used a piece of broken slate to cut a small piece of meat. He threw it to the wolf. The wolf ate it and resumed immediately his position. He cut one more piece and threw it. Then one more. Now one third of the lamb leg was gone. Kir. Vassilis started to cry, silently in the beginning, but then heard his own sobs as loud as screams in the frozen night, he dropped the lamb leg on the floor and hit his head on his bent knees repeatedly, digging his nails around his neck. When he looked up, ages after it felt, the wolf was gone.
When he reached home he was in a bad way. He was soaking wet, his joints on his arms and legs were sore and stiff, his eyes swollen and he was overrun by a fever. No one questioned him about the missing piece of lamb, but he thought he saw sideways glances and small murmurs surrounding his person. Kir. Vassilis felt that he did not want to go back to the mountain at first. Anyway, the food he brought back seemed to last much less than he had anticipated. The more they ate they more they seemed to be needing to eat the next time. Within ten days there was hardly any food left. But by that time, Kir. Vassilis had only one thought in his mind: what could he take up with him for the wolf to eat next time he went to the mountains. He took in his bundle some salted dried fish, which he had first soaked in water and rinsed well. He also took the lamb leg bone and rock hard, dried bread. He hid all that in his bundle and was off to the mountains to retrieve the last remaining items. The night was warmer that usual and he arrived to the back of the house with greater ease. But as soon as he reached the outdoors toilet he saw a faint light in the house. There was someone inside; rebels or army he could not tell, but then he also noticed a very fine line of smoke coming from the front chimney. The wolf was not there. Kir. Vassilis felt lost; he did not know what to do. He sat under the shadow of the cedar bush where the wolf had sat less than a forthright ago. He eventually crawled to the latrine and very quietly dug at the turf with the roof tile. He removed the wooden panel and took out the last tin of oil and two remaining cheese heads. He took the wolf food out from the bundle and for a moment was undecided as to what to do; leave it out for the wolf to eat could attract unwanted and fatal attention. Taking it back was impossible as it did not fit in the bundle. Scattering it around on the way home, could be a solution but was leaving everything to chance, which Kir. Vassilis detested doing. He decided, to leave the wolf food into the latrine, soaking the bread and fish with oil and cutting a chunk of cheese off before replacing the wooden panel. On his way back he looked around for the wolf but did not see him.
A great sense of urgency overtook Kir. Vassilis after that. His heart was beating fast all the time, he sweated and was unable to focus on anything. Almost straight away he lied to his wife and said that there were more jars and more cheese in the latrine; he needed to go back. He fretted and rushed about and was on his way back to the mountain within a week. The night had no moon when he set off and he climbed in such a hurry, he slipped and fell repeatedly, the rocks scraping him through his clothes. The faint light was no longer there, but he thought he could see a trace of smoke from the front chimney. The thick darkness was so impenetrable, at times he had to stretch his hands in front of him like a blind man. He felt him before he saw him. He stared at him for minutes till his body started to stand out from the night. When his eyes had adjusted on his form, he moved and started opening the latrine. The wolf's eyes sparkled and then not, and Kir. Vassilis wondered whether he was blinking. He took the food out and placed it on the broken tile. The wolf ate it all, but took his time, his eyes sparkling and then not, as if he was closing his eyelids with the pleasure of eating. Kir. Vassilis watched him and felt his own hunger rise and subside in waves, in tune with the wolf's jaw movements. That night on his way down, Kir. Vassilis felt a satisfaction and a completeness such as he had never experienced before, through his marriage or work with the land, and because of that state of euphoria, he felt light and ethereal so that when the shot hit him on the back, for a moment he thought he had stepped on frozen ice, cracking fine porcelain that echoed in the silence, and had gone flying into the black velvety night. The same night the last remaining wolf was heard all the way to the sea, as he bellowed with the most horrific voice from the rock in the middle of mount Kyllini, his howls heard by hundreds of people and followed by shots.
Kir.Vassilis lived in a small village on the mountain of Kyllini and he made his living by cultivating the land. He was mainly growing the typical produce of the area, walnuts, apples and cherries. He would exchange these or sell them at the markets in the villages by the shore once a month. He cultivated in small quantities his own onions, garlic, strawberries and potatoes. When he exchanged his produce, he was able to get oranges, tomatoes and cucumbers from the producers of the villages by the sea shore, which he turned into jams and pickles for the winter. With the money he made at the market, he bought olive oil and hard cheese. His brother was a shepherd in the same village and so he was often presented with off cuts of meat for stocks and occasionally with whole legs of lamb, which he dry cured in his larder. Kir. Vassilis had built his small house with the help of the other villagers, as was common at the time. His toilet was a small wooden structure outside the house, as were all toilets in the village. The villagers had dug out a square hole, where all the waste would go into, and that was the last thing they did after the main house and toilet structure were built. Kir. Vassilis had thought at the time that the latrine was far too small, so he had dug a second squarish hole by himself next to the first one, with the intention of joining them when the time came. This digging had caused him to suffer from a very stiff back for the next week and his wife had been very unhappy to find him in such a condition when she moved into the new house. Kir. Vassilis and his wife had two children born in that house.
When the rebels reached the village in autumn 1947, the locals expected to be robbed of their shot guns which they had for hunting and maybe of their food resources. Many locals tried to hide or offer (depending on their convictions) their guns and most hid their food resources in their attics. Kir. Vassilis used his second, still empty latrine near the outdoors toilet to hide two large tins of oil, a cured leg of lamb, four small heads of hard cheese and numerous jars of jam and pickles. He covered the hole with a wooden panel and then replaced the shoveled turf to hide the latrine. When he did this, Kir. Vassilis believed that he would be recovering the food items within hours, as no one thought the rebels would be stopping in this small village for long. In reality the rebels took over the village the same day they arrived, throwing the people out of their houses and establishing themselves within them straight away. People had to make their way on foot, downwards towards the shore villages, with only what they were wearing on them, leaving behind livestock, food, guns and their households. The rebels used the houses for a bit to begin with, removed all food and all necessary items, and then moved deep into the mountains, from where they often returned to the village to re-establish themselves and fight with the army members, who were by now after them.
The situation at the villages by the shore was saturated. Many other mountain villages faced the same luck and people's relatives and friends took them in. But the food soon run out and was not enough to feed everyone. The fishing in the winter was hard and there was not enough fish to go around. Soon the kids got weaker and the smaller ones ill. Kir. Vassilis often thought of the second latrine and was sure all food was still in it. It pained him to think of his kids and nephews going hungry, when there was enough food in the latrine to last them a month. He talked to his wife about going to retrieve it one night, but she would have none of it. It was too dangerous and risky and there was no guarantee the food would even be still there. Kir. Vassilis thought of nothing else each night, and the more his stomach ached the more his determination to go back to the mountain grew. One night he got up and using his candle, tip-toed out of the room they were sharing with eight more people and went to the outdoors toilet. There he put together a bundle using an old blanket, with a rope inside, a flask of water, bread and a small gun of his brother in law. He hid this outside behind a bush. His heart was pounding and he could not get back to sleep that night. The next night Kir. Vassilis stepped out with his candle, retrieved his bundle and using the house's only torch, left for the long walk up to the mountain.
By this time there was only one wolf remaining in the mountains. The wolves had been shot while howling as they were so hungry they were approaching too close to the army and the rebels. The final few turned skeletal and silent and were found dead and frozen, curled up like small puppies in ditches. The last wolf standing had once been the leader of this remaining pack, he was a large animal, with broad shoulders, tall, strong legs with prominent, bony joints and a loud, deep, echoing howl. Despite his size he had a very light and silent padded walk like that of a cat's, and although both rebels and army had caught glimpses of him sniffing around the village, he was gone into thin air by the time the rifles were lifted to take aim. The night Kir. Vassilis was climbing the mountain to reach the village and his house, the wolf was lurking about. Even after months had passed, the wolf was still able to smell the sheep and the goats and pigs and the faint odours of food being prepared, stuck around the house walls and coating the rocks where animal fur had rubbed against. But however strong the smells were, the wolf was unable to find anything to eat. Kir. Vassilis reached his house completely exhausted from his walk, his calves trembled and his feet had swollen in his boots. Despite that he was overcome by a great thrill, his house was quiet and dark, there was no one around, and in the dark it could almost be like any other old day when he went out to use the toilet. The turf on the latrine looked completely undisturbed and the ground was covered with a thin layer of ice.
He looked by the corner wall where he kept his rake, shovel and forks in a large empty barrel. They were not there. He used an old roof tile that was lying around and tried to lift the frozen earth as neatly as possible. The ice and ground cracked like porcelain and echoed sharply into the night. Kir. Vassilis looked at the bright moon above that shone on the ice and lit the back of the house. When he reached the wooden panel his hands were frozen and his fingers stayed bent and crooked. He put them in his pockets, he blew on them and tried to rub them in frustration. He finally moved the panel and looked inside the hole. Everything was exactly as he had left it, the white cheese heads were illuminated like pearls by the moon and the oil tins shone gold. And he felt such a divine relief and gratification, he wanted to jump in the hole and hug all the things. He had to choose what to take with him. He took out two heads of cheese, three jars and one of the large tins of olive oil. Anything more and he would risk not being able to return safely. He replaced the wooden panel, he replaced the turf and only then did he stop and breathe, realising he had been holding his breath and clenching violently his jaws. And then Kir. Vassilis froze. There was someone behind him and he could hear, or rather he could feel their breath. A warm sensation reached the back of his neck, his hair stood up and he stopped breathing again.
He tried to prepare himself for a shot. The shot did not come. Then he remembered the gun which was still in the bundle that lay out of reach. Then he turned his head very slowly, his left eye straining out of its socket and from that owl's head position he saw a wolf. The wolf was showing his teeth in a menacing, horrifyingly silent, stuck in time, eternal growl, his head was lowered between his over sized skeletal shoulders and his orange eyes burnt deep into his. His front legs were slightly stretched forwards and Kir. Vassilis thought that he was going to jump on him and tear him apart at any given second. But the wolf remained in that position. Kir. Vassilis twisted his body to bring it slowly around where his head was, and with very shaking movements brought the bundle closer to him. The wolf still remained at his position. Kir. Vassilis took slowly the gun out, but was unable to bring himself to lift his arm and shoot in case the noise brought the rebels or the army to him. He thought of using the blanket of the bundle as a silencer and was about to start folding it when the wolf moved a step closer. Kir. Vassilis took a piece of bread that he had for himself out and opening the oil tin, spilled some oil all over it and some fell to the ground. His eyes burnt as he saw the oil spill on the frozen ground and he cursed his luck louder than he had intended. He took one bite of the oiled bread and felt such a warmth down his throat and belly, he felt as if his strength had instantly returned. Then he threw the rest of the bread to the wolf. In his amazement the wolf ate the bread at once and locking his gaze with Kir. Vassilis' eyes he moved even closer, lowering his head to the ground.
Kir. Vassilis saw at once that the condition of the wolf was not good. He ribs stuck out and he had sores on his back. His fur was falling out in patches and his gums were white. His eyes were still burning and were so intense that he had no other choice but to give him more food. He left all of his remaining bread covered in the oil and he also broke a piece of cheese from one of the heads. He threw them to the wolf and sat there watching. When all was gone the wolf still remained at the same position. Kir. Vassilis felt a welling sensation rising to his eyes and did not want to give anymore of the precious food to the wolf. Daylight was breaking and he had to leave now or risk getting caught. He slowly sat up, and in a semi crouching position wore the bundle with the rope over his back. Without looking back, he took small steps and slowly moved away from the house and reached the path he had taken to get to the village. He was prepared for the claws on his back, for the enormous weight pushing him to the ground, for the ice sticking to his face and for the sharp teeth digging in his neck, but the wolf never moved from his position, only looked at him leaving, licking his jaws with his white tongue.
Kir. Vassilis was afraid of his wife's reaction when she saw the food and realised that he had gone to the mountains despite her objections, but after a halfhearted pretend at anger, Kira Vassilena was so overwhelmed by the new-brought supplies that she did not question him at all. No one commented at the chunk of missing cheese, as they assumed he had eaten it after his long walk. He did not mention the wolf to a living soul and although he did not think of him during the day, at night he felt his eyes burning at his back and turned abruptly in his bed as if hit by a current, only to headbutt his wife who grunted in her sleep. The food only lasted a week. This time there was no protestation from his wife and Kir. Vassilis found himself preparing his bundle in broad daylight. As soon as night came he was once again on his way. When he was approaching the path that led to the back of his house, he felt his heart pounding at the excitement of seeing the wolf again. To his immense surprise, the wolf was sat a few meters away from the latrine, by the toilet shed, in the shadow of a cedar bush. It almost felt like he had never left the back of his house for a whole week. The wolf sat up, stared at Kir. Vassilis, lowered his head and then sat down again. Kir. Vassilis tried to ignore the wolf and approached the latrine. He used the same roof tile to remove the turf, lifted the wooden panel and took out three more jars, and the cured leg of lamb.
The wolf was staring with the same burning eyes, but was not moving. Kir.Vassilis fancied he saw a deep shame in the wolf's eyes or more he felt the shame himself, for how had a creature like that ended up in such a condition if it was not for people like him. Immediately as he had made this thought he felt a new cold wave of shame, for how could he be thinking of a wolf when his fellow men were killing each other, brothers killing their brothers, fathers their sons. At that thought, he made up his bundle, secured it with the rope and without stopping to eat his bread or looking back, he head for the path back. The wolf was blocking his way. His front legs spread apart, his immense shoulders sticking out, his head lowered between them. The most excruciating silent growl was produced by his jagged jaws, his teeth shone in the moonlight, his lips trembled and his eyes spat fire. How he had moved and found himself in front of him, Kir. Vassilis had no idea. He sat down on the spot. He thought that he was going to lose control of his bladder. The cold found a way in, and his elbows gave away, dropping the bundle to the icy floor. Locked in that confrontation for what felt like hours, Kir. Vassilis eventually moved and undid the knot to the bundle. He took out the leg of lamb, looking at the wolf the whole time. The wolf remained in his position, silently growling at him. Kir.Vassilis used a piece of broken slate to cut a small piece of meat. He threw it to the wolf. The wolf ate it and resumed immediately his position. He cut one more piece and threw it. Then one more. Now one third of the lamb leg was gone. Kir. Vassilis started to cry, silently in the beginning, but then heard his own sobs as loud as screams in the frozen night, he dropped the lamb leg on the floor and hit his head on his bent knees repeatedly, digging his nails around his neck. When he looked up, ages after it felt, the wolf was gone.
When he reached home he was in a bad way. He was soaking wet, his joints on his arms and legs were sore and stiff, his eyes swollen and he was overrun by a fever. No one questioned him about the missing piece of lamb, but he thought he saw sideways glances and small murmurs surrounding his person. Kir. Vassilis felt that he did not want to go back to the mountain at first. Anyway, the food he brought back seemed to last much less than he had anticipated. The more they ate they more they seemed to be needing to eat the next time. Within ten days there was hardly any food left. But by that time, Kir. Vassilis had only one thought in his mind: what could he take up with him for the wolf to eat next time he went to the mountains. He took in his bundle some salted dried fish, which he had first soaked in water and rinsed well. He also took the lamb leg bone and rock hard, dried bread. He hid all that in his bundle and was off to the mountains to retrieve the last remaining items. The night was warmer that usual and he arrived to the back of the house with greater ease. But as soon as he reached the outdoors toilet he saw a faint light in the house. There was someone inside; rebels or army he could not tell, but then he also noticed a very fine line of smoke coming from the front chimney. The wolf was not there. Kir. Vassilis felt lost; he did not know what to do. He sat under the shadow of the cedar bush where the wolf had sat less than a forthright ago. He eventually crawled to the latrine and very quietly dug at the turf with the roof tile. He removed the wooden panel and took out the last tin of oil and two remaining cheese heads. He took the wolf food out from the bundle and for a moment was undecided as to what to do; leave it out for the wolf to eat could attract unwanted and fatal attention. Taking it back was impossible as it did not fit in the bundle. Scattering it around on the way home, could be a solution but was leaving everything to chance, which Kir. Vassilis detested doing. He decided, to leave the wolf food into the latrine, soaking the bread and fish with oil and cutting a chunk of cheese off before replacing the wooden panel. On his way back he looked around for the wolf but did not see him.
A great sense of urgency overtook Kir. Vassilis after that. His heart was beating fast all the time, he sweated and was unable to focus on anything. Almost straight away he lied to his wife and said that there were more jars and more cheese in the latrine; he needed to go back. He fretted and rushed about and was on his way back to the mountain within a week. The night had no moon when he set off and he climbed in such a hurry, he slipped and fell repeatedly, the rocks scraping him through his clothes. The faint light was no longer there, but he thought he could see a trace of smoke from the front chimney. The thick darkness was so impenetrable, at times he had to stretch his hands in front of him like a blind man. He felt him before he saw him. He stared at him for minutes till his body started to stand out from the night. When his eyes had adjusted on his form, he moved and started opening the latrine. The wolf's eyes sparkled and then not, and Kir. Vassilis wondered whether he was blinking. He took the food out and placed it on the broken tile. The wolf ate it all, but took his time, his eyes sparkling and then not, as if he was closing his eyelids with the pleasure of eating. Kir. Vassilis watched him and felt his own hunger rise and subside in waves, in tune with the wolf's jaw movements. That night on his way down, Kir. Vassilis felt a satisfaction and a completeness such as he had never experienced before, through his marriage or work with the land, and because of that state of euphoria, he felt light and ethereal so that when the shot hit him on the back, for a moment he thought he had stepped on frozen ice, cracking fine porcelain that echoed in the silence, and had gone flying into the black velvety night. The same night the last remaining wolf was heard all the way to the sea, as he bellowed with the most horrific voice from the rock in the middle of mount Kyllini, his howls heard by hundreds of people and followed by shots.
~
