Lake's novel raises questions of in the heart of every devoted citizen: Does political correctness ever trump law? Should safety ever be compromised for the sake of inclusion? Are big government and judicial systems tools to create order, or do they provide chaos?
Lake's novel raises questions of in the heart of every devoted citizen: Does political correctness ever trump law? Should safety ever be compromised for the sake of inclusion? Are big government and judicial systems tools to create order, or do they provide chaos?
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Overview
Lake's novel raises questions of in the heart of every devoted citizen: Does political correctness ever trump law? Should safety ever be compromised for the sake of inclusion? Are big government and judicial systems tools to create order, or do they provide chaos?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781935251101 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | BenBella Books, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 05/11/2008 |
| Sold by: | SIMON & SCHUSTER |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 224 |
| File size: | 863 KB |
About the Author
Paul Lake is an English and creative writing professor at Arkansas Tech University and the poetry editor of First Things. He is the author of Among the Immortals, Another Kind of Travel, and Walking Backward. He lives in Russellville, Arkansas.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Shep walked through the empty farmhouse, claws clicking on the hardwood floors, till he reached the back of the house, where a scent of peppermint and tobacco wafted from a flannel coat hanging on a wooden peg by the door.
Shep squeezed through the swinging flap at the door's base and emerged on the other side into crisp autumn air.
A breeze ruffled the fur at his neck as he looked across the barnyard where chickens and geese were already bustling about, preparing for the night's entertainment.
Suddenly, a tall gray goose ran flapping across the yard, honking excitedly in his direction.
"Better come, better come. There's been a breach in Sheep's Meadow. Hurry, hurry, hurry," she called.
With a flutter of wings, Gertrude pulled up in front of Shep and gasped, "Better get out there. There's blood, blood on the ground. The sheep are starting to panic."
Shep eyed the goose calmly. Gert was a fierce protector of the barnyard, but like most geese, prone to excitement. He gave her a moment to gather her wits, then turned toward the distant meadow and sniffed the air.
The wind was blowing from the east, bearing a trace of damp wool and sheep droppings. No trace of blood, though. Still, Shep thought, he'd better have a look, or Gert would worry him silly.
"I'll check the pasture," he said. "Keep the gates clear. I've got to bring the sheep in for the pageant."
Gert arched her neck and gave him a searching look. "Well, I must say, you're taking this calmly. Nothing to worry about. Sorry to bother. Perhaps it's only a bear."
She turned abruptly and waddled away, still honking and shaking her head.
Shep nosed the breeze again, then bounded off toward the pasture. Skirting the garden, he rounded the orchard, where a few shriveled apples lay rotting on the ground beneath rows of bare-limbed trees.
As he passed the orchard, two pigs suddenly emerged, still chewing half-rotten apples.
"Where ya off to?" asked Barlow with a friendly smack of his lips. His chin glistened with sticky juice. "The wife and I were just having a little repast before the evening's festivities."
Shep wrinkled his nose but maintained a polite demeanor. Pigs were filthy animals, if left to wallow in their sty. The trick was to keep them busy, working the farm and tending to their chores. As a result of such efforts, Barlow and Bertha were rather lean and tidy, as pigs go. Still, they bore looking after.
"We've had a breach," Shep said. "I thought I'd have a look. And anyway, the sheep will need a nip or two to get them in on time."
"Poor dim dears," Bertha sniffed. "Haven't got the sense to come in out of a hailstorm. Bless their hearts."
As the pigs ambled away toward the barnyard, Shep headed toward the cattle pasture, where a few scattered Herefords were grazing on the last remnants of autumn grass. Garth, the large bull who ruled the herd, stood humped in the center of the field, silent and still as stone. Despite his impressive size and curving horns, he was a dull fellow with an exaggerated sense of his own importance. To avoid him, Shep edged along the barbed wire fence, scouting for trouble and marking fence posts as he passed.
At a place where a giant oak overreached the fence, he paused to look at a sign nailed to the trunk.
NO TRESPASSING.
Once, when two hunters and their dogs had strayed onto the farm, Shep had accompanied Grover to this spot to confront the intruders. Pointing to the sign with his gun barrel, the old man let them know just what it meant. Today, when the valley's farms were failing all around them, hunters no longer strayed onto their property or fired guns in the surrounding woods.
Still, every animal on the farm knew what that sign meant and would risk its hide or feathers to enforce its message.
Shep followed the fence line till it dipped into a gully where it crossed a stream that snaked through the meadow into the treecovered hills beyond.
The stream was a great asset to the farm, assuring it a steady supply of water, but was a constant threat to security. Erosion undermined the fence posts, and floods battered its wires with floating debris. When the stream was low, a gap formed between the fence and waterline big enough for a bear to crawl through.
Today its muddy banks were etched with fresh hoofprints. As Shep approached, he smelled the rich scent of deer. He leaned closer to get a better sniff, and his nostrils caught the coppery scent of blood.
Gert was right, they'd had a visitor. A doe — young but seasoned, and but for her wound, in reasonably good health. Shep could gather that much from spoor and blood. He tracked the scent up the bank into the meadow, then circled back where it vanished in the stream.
Wounded or healthy, the doe posed little threat. Though a small herd could soon deplete a field, a lone deer was just a nuisance. If she returned, the cows could drive her away. Shep galloped beside the fence across the pasture till it turned north, then abandoned it to round up the scattered sheep.
Bounding across the grass, he yipped sharply to alert them of his intent. Then he swept in fast and low and nipped at a few heels to startle the flock into motion.
"Come on, ladies, no dawdling, step lively there."
To a border collie, a flock of sheep was like a mound of wet clay, to be molded into whatever shape he chose. Shep darted across the grass, flashing his teeth and feinting toward stragglers, till he had the whole flock moving with a single mind.
"Step lively, or I'll leave you out here with the coyotes. That's right, follow the leader. Single file."
"Ca-ca-coyotes or not," bleated an indignant ewe, "you don't have to nip. We're moving along rather nicely now."
No coyote had ever been seen in these parts, but the thought put some life into reluctant hooves and haunches. Within minutes Shep had the whole flock galloping across the fields on a track to the barn.
When they reached the barnyard, the sheep scattered among the crowd of spectators jockeying for position near the stage.
This was the first harvest festival they'd ever held. In their last summer meeting, the Animal Council had decided to hold it this time each fall to celebrate the harvest and commemorate their heroic victory. Now that the day was here, the animals were milling about, unsure what to expect.
A large gray stallion named Kit stood near the back of the crowd, flicking his tail, while Mara, May, and Moll, his three mares, shuffled about, complaining of the delay. Eudora and the other cows stood beside the pigs, Barlow and Bertha, who lay on their bellies, chatting with passing hens.
At last, the crowd settled and the actors took their places. The young colts, chicks, and goslings stood in a semicircle facing the audience, waiting for the director's cue. At a nod from Gert, they stood up straight and put on solemn faces. Then to delighted oohs and ahs, a tall black calf stepped forward and boldly addressed the crowd.
"This is how the animals of Green Pastures Farm became free and self- governing citizens. This is how we learned to farm the land and protect our sacred borders."
CHAPTER 2"First," bawled the calf over the heads of the crowd, "Evelyn, the gray- haired mother, passed away and was taken to the land of the dead. As the days passed, our caretaker Grover grew weak and infirm, drawn by sadness to the earth's breast like a child. Instead of two legs, he walked on three. Then he stopped walking altogether and stayed in the man- house, not rising to tend the animals in his care.
"When he passed from the land of the living to the dead, no men or motors came to take him away, so Mara bore him from the house on her strong back, and we made a hole in the earth and laid him in it.
"Then one moonless night, the lights on the farm went out. The windows became dark pools, the house was silent. It was as if night had come to stay forever. Fear descended on our hearts like dew on summer grass.
"A tumult of wild voices rose from barn and stable. The air echoed with lamentations. In our sorrow and despair, confusion reigned."
His part completed, the calf stepped back to rejoin the chorus behind him, and a half-grown lamb stepped forward to resume the tale.
"But in the midst of confusion," he baa-ed softly, "a wise cow named Eudora admonished the others, saying, 'This time of fear and confusion must come to an end. We are not beasts of the forest who live alone and rely on chance for survival, but wise domestic animals who know the comfort of a stall and the wisdom of herding together. We have lived among men and women and grown tame at their hands. We are wise in the ways of living. We know that to eat in the winter, we must sow seeds in the spring and gather their fruit in summer. Let us put our heads together and think how to maintain ourselves and preserve the life of the farm.'"
"So an assembly was formed in the barnyard," said a gosling, stepping forward with a timid bow. "A council was chosen from among the wisest and, after consultations, said to all, 'Let us do the work ourselves that was once done by men. Though we have no strong machines and lack men's hands and cunning, we are strong and tireless in our labors. Working together, a hundred beaks and hooves and paws can match the might of a man and his machines.'
"And so when winter passed and the animals had eaten the corn and hay stored by man's hand, they plowed the ground with hooves and beaks and claws. They planted the seeds that had been stored by human hands and waited through days and nights for them to ripen. With unceasing vigilance, they guarded their fields from crows, groundhogs, and rabbits. When their time came and crops hung heavy on stalk and vine, they gathered their harvest from the fields with their great strength, dragging sacks and sledges and filling sheds and silos, to store against winter's famine."
"And in their f-foresight and wisdom," stuttered a nervous little piglet, "they saved some seeds and grain for the next year's planting. They dried apples in the sun and gathered sacks of sunflower seeds, then hid them in metal b-bins where the mice couldn't find them."
With a sigh of relief, the piglet stepped back into the chorus.
Then Gert took center stage, stretched out her wings, and proclaimed her words like a trumpet.
"But a terrible danger waited beyond our borders. No man-smell remained to deter the wild beasts there. The terrible thunder of man's guns was now silent. Beyond the borders of the farm, banditeyed raccoons and scheming groundhogs waited for us to falter in our tasks. Ravenous weasels and sharp-toothed foxes prowled our borders, dreaming of a festival of blood. Only our watchful eyes and loud alarms prevented their daily incursions. Only the thunder of our stamping hooves and wings drove them back into the dark where hunger dwells.
"But a day came," she said more darkly, dropping her voice to a hush, "when our vigilance was not enough to save us. A new terror descended on our fields and pastures. From out of the dark forest, a young bear came. Dashing fence rails aside like twigs, he entered the pasture, thirsting for blood and hungry for living flesh."
In the front row, a mother hen squawked and nearly fainted as a half- grown pig shambled forward on the stage. Coated from head to toe in a layer of mud, he reared back on his hind legs and staggered forward, mimicking the awkward gait of a bear.
"But the farm animals were equal to the occasion," Gert continued in a voice now quavering with emotion. "Garth, the brave guardian of the meadows, sounded the alarm. He circled the cattle behind him and stood at their front with his great curved horns aimed at the foe. A battalion of sheep galloped from the neighboring field to reinforce the cattle. ..."
As she spoke, a flock of chicks fluttered across the stage to represent the fiercely charging sheep.
"Then the geese and pigs, the rooster and hens came running from the barn with deafening battle cries. From the stables, Kit, the stallion, charged the foe with his stampeding herd of mares.
"By itself," Gert continued more softly, "no animal has the strength or courage to face such a foe.
"But together," she proclaimed, stretching her enormous wings for effect, "the animals formed a living battlement. The cattle snorted and stamped and tossed their spear-tipped heads. The sheep and feathered flocks formed a spearhead to arrest the bear's advance.
"Yet despite this impressive display of courage, the bear flashed his dagger teeth and sneered at the herd, doubting their might and resolve. His mighty shoulders rose up, and he pawed the air, lusting for blood and battle.
"Then suddenly Kit leapt forward to meet his charge. The stallion reared up and beat his hooves in the air like summer lightning. Garth pawed the earth and advanced with lowered horns. The dogs snapped at the bear's furry flanks, to confound and confuse him."
Gert paused to take a breath and eye the audience. "For an instant," she said, "the bear seemed to shrink from the hooves raining down from above. He dropped to all fours and looked toward the fence with a wistful, uncertain gaze, then turned and galloped away to the friendly forest.
"As the bushes closed behind his dusty haunches, our cheers rang across the fields and echoed off the hills and mountains. From that day forward, no bloodthirsty beast has ever dared to trespass past the borders of Green Pastures Farm."
Flushed with triumph, Gert retracted her wings and slumped into a bow. She held her pose for several seconds as the audience sat in unresponsive silence.
At last, a hoarse voice shouted from the rear, "No Trespassing!"
"No Trespassing," echoed another. And soon the cry was taken up by the crowd.
The discord resolved itself into a shouted chant that lasted several minutes, dissolving into scattered howls and whinnies that echoed off the dark walls of the night.
CHAPTER 3As the shouting died down and the audience began drifting toward their evening stalls, a disgruntled voice muttered over the noise of shuffling hooves, "Will someone please tell me why the noblest and most sophisticated farm animal was not depicted at the scene of our greatest triumph?"
A large yellow duck, shoulders hunched in a gesture of bafflement, was pacing back and forth in the center of the yard.
"Was I not there, along with my brave mistresses, in the midst of the danger?
"Perhaps I was not at the front," he added sardonically, "among the large mammals, where the opportunities for heroism are more abundant. We are not all fortunate enough to be born with giant hooves and flashing teeth. Yet despite the considerable risk to my person, did I not, from my post at the left rear flank, insist that the enemy leave the farm at once? Did I not recommend that violence be deferred until we had discussed more sensible courses of action? Are my brave efforts at diplomacy now to be forgotten merely because none were wise enough to heed my counsels?"
The duck glared at the indifferent hindquarters of his departing neighbors.
"Instead of resorting to violence," he added more loudly, "we might have signed a treaty with the beast. We might have secured our safety and prosperity not merely for one night, but for future generations. Am I alone in regretting that missed opportunity? Am I alone in deploring such displays of arrogance and jingoistic pride?"
"Oh, shut up, Pierre," growled Barlow walking past. "If it hadn't been for Kit, you'd have been duck soup.
"Go home," he snorted. "There's a full moon tonight. Go home before the owls come out."
"But, but, but —" the duck stuttered with a quick glance overhead.
Then seeing the others drifting away, he gave a final shrug and waddled off toward the distant pond, still muttering over his shoulder.
In the center of the yard, Gert was shooing the young actors away toward their parents and home.
"Great job, Gert," said a rooster, strutting past. "I almost felt like I was back in that field again. Maybe someday our young ones will appreciate your lesson. That was quite a show. Very stirring."
"Indeed," Gert replied with a modest bow. "I had hoped our little play would be instructive. In fact, I'm already thinking about next season. I think I'll compose a little story about the forming of the first Animal Council. Yes, and the founding of our laws. Indeed, indeed, I believe I will," she said, absentmindedly scooting the last gosling toward the barn with a sweep of her broad wing.
"I'll set my mind right to it."
In the distance, Pierre was still quacking to the air, but as the dusk thickened, no one had the patience to listen to his disgruntled musings. Silently, the hens filed toward the henhouse on weary legs. Once inside, they mounted their roosts in order like well-trained troops, then settled down to a night of dreamless sleep, secure in the safety and comfort of the henhouse.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Cry Wolf"
by .
Copyright © 2008 Paul Lake.
Excerpted by permission of BenBella Books, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
What People are Saying About This
A charming and chilling fable that underscores the fragility of a world achieved with great difficulty and so easily undone by good intentions gone awry. (The Rev. John Newhaus, editor-in-chief, First Things)
John Lennon sang "Imagine there's no countries, and no religions, too." In his superb limpid allegory, Paul Lake imagines these very things with terrifying precision. (Les Murray, poet, winner of the TS Eliot Award)