Full Wolf Moon (2 page)

"You look just fine," she said.
/ / / /
By the end of the meal, Max had control of the chopsticks. He sampled every dim sum in the carts as they were rolled to the table. Mrs. Tebbe had been insistent: "Try this one, it's shrimp in garlic sauce. And this one's pork in plum sauce."
Max worked his way through them, clumsily at first, then becoming more adept at lifting the little dumplings. Foreheads shining from the food trays' pungent steam, the servers tread back and forth to Mrs. Tebbe and Max. Two other tables were still peopled, but by five-thirty, it was clear the owner was ready to close. Short and round, Mr. Yow stood attentively behind the cash register, too polite and business-minded to hint more overtly.
As Max poured the last of the wine, Mrs. Tebbe said, "Captain, you're the fastest student of chopsticks I have had the pleasure to teach."
"Oh, yeah? When does the cramp between my finger and thumb ease up?"
Mrs. Tebbe smiled, pleasant and all business, then posed a question like a newspaper reporter. "So, what can you tell me about yourself?"
"Want me to start with my childhood?"
"How about just telling me the path that brought you to Lakeside?"
"I was stationed in Arizona, but I was only there six months when the Relocation was announced. I requested a transfer immediately. The need seemed more urgent than standard duty. But for most of my career, I was at Fort Bete in Washington state..."
He thought of Annie. But he didn't speak of her to Mrs. Tebbe. It was painful enough, just to think of her. He wouldn't risk the torment of saying her name aloud.
"Fort Bete?"
"It's close to the Canadian border. Very wild country."
The attack came to mind, as inevitably as thoughts of his wife. He could never speak of Fort Bete without either happening. Max was quiet a moment, as reluctant to tell Mrs. Tebbe about the attack as he was to talk of Annie. It hadn't occurred to him he might have to deal with it so soon here at Lakeside. But from time to time, Mrs. Tebbe's eyes flitted up to where the scar, eight months old and still baby pink, jutted past his hairline. It was probably best to just get it over with.
"I even went on a wolf hunt while I was there, near the end of my tour," he said, and reached to the scar. "I got this then, and the white temples."
At least Mrs. Tebbe didn't pretend she hadn't noticed the scar until he pointed it out. Neither did she pretend that she heard such things every day.
"You were attacked?"
"Yep."
"You must have seen your life pass."
Max took a breath. "The wolf had become a man-eater for Who-knows-what-reason. It'd made several kills in Alderquest, near the Fort. Needless to say, the townspeople were in a panic. A few of us volunteered to help the civilians hunt it down."
"Isn't that strange behavior for a wolf? I don't know myself, it's just that I read somewhere..."
"I understand it is. There was a veterinarian that made rounds through the county. He was sure the wolf was rabid." Maxwell smiled. "But the group of old backwoodsmen I wound up hunting with were convinced Alderquest had a werewolf."
Mrs. Tebbe leveled a doubtful look at him. "You can't be serious."
"They were, Mrs. Tebbe. There were four of us... I was the kid there at forty. The youngest after me was sixty-two. They even had special cartridges made up with silver casings..." Mrs. Tebbe laughed and that startled Max, but he managed to smile. "I'm not making this up. These old boys insisted I use them. I figured, sure, what the heck. We were after a man-eater and if silver cartridges gave them a boost in confidence, what could it hurt?"
Then came the image and he lost his humor, he lost his smile. His palms felt slick, as if they were bleeding.
"It was our party that found the wolf. Or maybe it found us. It didn't look ... surprised. We broke into a clearing in the forest and it was just standing there, facing us. You'd think it was waiting..."
Max looked at Mrs. Tebbe but he was only dimly aware of her face, tense with attention. He swallowed and said, "It was enormous. It was the most awful and most beautiful thing I'd seen in my life. And I believe ... no, I know the others were thinking the same thing. The pelt looked like brushed silver, and the eyes... I can't come close to the eyes, how to describe them."
He had to stop a moment, rub his palms against his trousers. "I suppose it was those eyes that froze us once we'd come upon it. It was on the old man in front of me before any of us lifted a rifle. Like it already knew who to take. I had no idea an animal could move that fast. Not a hesitation, not a glance at the rest of us. Just ripped through and..." Maxwell caught his breath, stopping himself short from telling her what the wolf had done to the old man in a matter of seconds, just before: "It came for me."
"Oh, my God..."
"I'm not sure if I raised my rifle or if it discharged from the force of the blow. But I remember...I remember the inside of the wolf's mouth, feeling its breath on my eyes...then red. Lots of red, lots of noise. I guess I opened my eyes... my head was resting on one of the old men's laps... the wolf was a few feet away with a hole through its chest..."
Maxwell touched his temple. "My vision was 20/20 before the wolf attack. The doctors think it's related to the head wound. The wolf tore back my scalp, cracked the skull..."
Mrs. Tebbe closed her eyes and put a hand to her mouth.
"I'm sorry," he said, quickly. "I don't know why I told you that. You can see the scar, I didn't need to..."
The image of the dead woodsman flashed across his mind again, and he felt a surge of nausea.
"Don't be, Captain," Mrs. Tebbe replied. "Really. Here..." She handed him the napkin he'd discarded on the table. "You're sweating."
Max looked into the mirror and saw the streams flowing down his face. He mopped at his forehead, embarrassed, wondering why he hadn't realized he'd been perspiring so heavily. He pulled off his glasses, polished them reflexively, then gestured toward his eyes and tried to smile.
"Cost me five years worth of favors and the promise of my right arm when I retire," he said, hoping to lighten the mood. "But I managed to convince the brass to keep me."
The attack also cost him the hope of ever getting a truly plum post. But those aspirations weren't important to him anymore. After all that had happened to him, he had acquired a fondness for the remote.
After an awkward moment, it was Mrs. Tebbe who said, "Well. I need to get back. Thank you, Captain, for joining me."
"It's been a pleasure." Maxwell reached for the check but, to his surprise, Mrs. Tebbe was quicker, snatching it up.
"Now, now, Captain. I did the inviting, remember?"
Maxwell's cheeks flushed. "Mrs. Tebbe, how can I allow--"
"Come on, Captain. Compliments of the War Relocation Authority. If you must save your male ego, leave the tip."
"I...well. If you put it that way."
Max stood with Mrs. Tebbe and fumbled in his pockets long enough for her to gather her things and walk toward Mr. Yow, waiting by the cash register. He didn't have any change left and would have to over tip with a paper dollar. He didn't want Mrs. Tebbe thinking he was a spend thrift. He'd given up the last of his coins for the cabby's tip, a roll and half of pennies. The cabby had given him a squinty, perplexed look, something Max had become accustomed to and had even developed an answer for: "Sorry. I couldn't make it to the bank in time to change them."
The truth was, since the attack, he never kept any coins except copper. Just the touch of silver made his skin crawl.
Chapter 2
Tulenar Internment Camp
Twenty Miles North of Disjunction Lake
Eastern California
Morning. Second Quarter Moon.
Doris raised the bow, sighted, took a deep breath and held it...then released the arrow. It struck just short of the bull's eye. The next one struck slightly further from the goal. The third hit the mark true.
Over her shoulder, Doris heard, "Wow."
She turned to Maxwell Pierce, knowing she was hiding her irritation poorly, but apparently, the captain didn't notice. Without asking permission, he walked toward the target until he was close enough to see her shots, one finger to his glasses as he peered at the arrows.
"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked as he walked back.
She returned her attention to the bow. "At Sarah Lawrence."
She sighted, repeated her ritual and fell far short of the mark. Damn, she hated it when strangers watched her shoot. It was what kept her off varsity. She set her bow and quiver on the folding chair she used as a stack table and jacket hanger, then turned to Lakeside's new commander.
"You're here early. How're the first days going? Settled into your new office?" She removed her arm brace and protective half-vest.
"All settled."
"I phoned Eshelmann yesterday to say bon-voyage. He never sounded better."
"You two didn't get along very well, did you?"
"No." Doris tossed the leather garb onto the chair, then grabbed her suit jacket. Tugging it on, she asked, "Did Harriet tell you I was out back?"
"I saw you as I left my car."
"How was your drive from Lakeside?"
"It seems longer than half an hour."
"Sometimes it does." As she escorted the captain to the administration building, she said, "Well, come in, Captain, and we'll start the tour."
The C.O.'s driver was lighting a Chesterfield as he sat on the back steps, but he stood quickly and held the door open for them. Doris escorted Pierc through the broad rectangle of building, walking as diagonally as possible through the sprawl of desks and folding tables. The supervisors, the social workers, the secretaries -all civilian, mostly internees- were even more exposed than Lakeside's personnel. Here at Tulenar, the only true office belonged to the Center Administrator.
They were near the main entrance now and Harriet Haku looked up briefly from her typing as they came up behind her, then set back to it. Doris tapped the secretary's desk and said, "Get us a couple of coffees, okay?"
Doris and the captain walked into her barren, wooden office, its walls jutting outside the building's main frame like an afterthought. She was determined to resist the comforts she had in storage until the evacuees had a few comforts of their own. She knew other Center Administrators were not of the same mind, and she considered that poor judgment. Only the necessities were here; desk, chairs, a picture of her late husband and a file cabinet filled with information that would be mundane outside the camp confines.
"Sorry we're so Spartan," she said perfunctorily as she settled behind her desk.
The captain pulled one of the two straight-backed chairs to the side of it. "It's the same at Lakeside."
"It's bad for attitudes, this empty space. Still, I've never seen the government move so fast. Once the Relocation was decided, the camps almost sprang up overnight. They never went into action like that while I was politicking. If they'll only be as quick now for the internees' needs, we might have an element of respect to find from our 'residents'."
She didn't disguise her contempt for that euphemism.
"You have a political career, Mrs. Tebbe?"
"No, my husband did. He was a senator..."
"Not the late Abel Tebbe?"
She reached to his picture and turned it so the captain could see. "The same. And so you can get your focus back, I'll get rid of that question bulging behind your brow. Yes, Captain, there was a twenty-five year difference between us." She turned the picture back to its usual place. "But, even before I married, I was politically active. When I started squeaking my wheel for involvement in the camps, the powers-that-be thought they'd found the perfect spot to keep me happy and out of their hair." She smiled. "'Best laid plans', as they say."
"I'm sorry..."
"Excuse me?"
"About your husband's passing. I'm sorry."
It took a moment for the captain's words to register. The thought of her widowhood seemed to genuinely affect him.
"Well...thank you, Captain, but... if you're familiar with my late husband, then you must know he died almost ten years ago."
She thought Pierce was about to say more, but he didn't. Thankfully, Harriet knocked on the door and entered with the coffee service, setting it on the desk between Doris and the captain.
Doris was already standing, pouring her own cup, as she said, "Grab your poison, Captain, and we'll get started."
/ / / /
From the hills where the Center Administration Building and WRA officials'living quarters perched, the bulk of Tulenar Internment Camp could be viewed. The ground was raw, flat and brown beneath the tarpaper barracks, divided into blocks of fourteen. There was activity at the camp's perimeters, where the fence was being erected, and the M.P.'s motored slowly along their posts in hoodless Jeeps, keeping clear of the construction. The buses with the day's transferees had not arrived yet, so the goings-on in the camp were reasonably languid as people moved about. By eleven o'clock, that would change.
The captain looked amazed as he gazed out at Tulenar's sprawl. "I knew the numbers. I came here prepared for the size of the camp, but...seeing it...it's like a small town..."
Doris nodded. "Almost a thousand souls here already, Captain." She pointed to the closest set of buildings. "Each block has smaller, central buildings that hold the laundry, latrines and lavatories. Most also have at least two buildings that function as churches. Or temples. A lot of the elderly internees are Shintoist, of course, and you might as well know now, Captain. I don't much like the official policy of prohibiting Shinto worship in the camps."