The Wolf at Twilight by Kent Nerburn

Author:Kent Nerburn
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: New World Library

I LEANED BACK AND STARED INTO THE BLUE vault of the midday sky. Great, billowing clouds were moving like dreams above the rolling landscape, casting shadows that raced like phantoms across the hills. It was a beautiful day, and I wanted to appreciate it. But I had become so fixated on Grover’s absence that I was not giving as much heart to Dan’s musings as they deserved. I was worried about Grover, and I was worried about my car. The day was turning toward afternoon, and I was concerned that we wouldn’t have enough time to get up to the school and do whatever it was that Dan felt compelled to do.

But none of this seemed to be on Dan’s mind. It was as if he lived in a constantly moving present that was alive with the ghosts of the past and the generations of the future but had no connection to the obligations and responsibilities of the moment. As Wenonah had once said to me years ago, “When you’re here, you’re here. When you’re not, you’re not.”

For Dan, I was here, Charles Bronson was here. Grover would be here when he got here; until then, he was completely absent from Dan’s consciousness.

I was about to say something about Grover when I heard the telltale whine of the little four-cylinder Toyota engine in the distance.

“I told you,” Dan said, as the sound of the approaching car grew louder.

“Say,” he added. “Do you think maybe your worrying made him come back faster?”

“No doubt in my mind,” I said.

He let out a little chortle. “You’re a good boy, Nerburn. A little slow sometimes, but a good boy.”

“Not much boy left in me.”

“Oh, yeah, the boy is in all of us. That’s why we got to be good to the children. The boy always lives inside the man.”

In a moment the familiar form of the gray Toyota wagon emerged from between the hills and crunched into the gravel parking area.

Bronson, too, had heard the sound and was sitting upright in anticipation. He had already learned the distinctive sound of the Toyota’s motor.

“Bronson’s got a good ear,” I said.

“I told you — he’s a rez dog,” Dan answered. “He knows how to listen.”

Grover wheeled across the parking lot and came to a stop right below where Dan and I were sitting. He stepped out carrying two white Styrofoam cups of coffee. It took every bit of willpower I had not to ask him about the reason for his long absence. But I didn’t want to sound like I had a clock in my head.

He handed me one of the cups. I took a quick sip. The coffee was so hot it burned my tongue.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked.

“Got it with the cigarettes, right down the road at the grocery.”

“You must have had to wait a long time until they opened,” I ventured, hoping to get some information indirectly.

“Nah, they were open as soon as I got there.”

Clock or no clock, the temptation was too great.

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