The Wolf Border(77)

Look, she says to Charlie. Look at clever Mr Wolf. What’s he doing? Is he tidying up?

The baby lunges forward and then presses the back of his head against her chest. He kicks. He wants to be down, able to move, but his muscles aren’t yet coordinating. She holds him in a standing position, his tipping feet on her thighs, bounces him up and down. He looks at the screen, and she thinks, it is a nursery story of sorts – the wolf and his bride.

What’s Mr Wolf doing? She asks.

What indeed. Biological theories of behaviour: much is guesswork, or extrapolation. The rising prolactin levels in his mate are motivating him, perhaps. There is still insufficient data to be sure and the implants are not yet subtle enough, cannot measure protein and hormone levels. Ra sniffs the air, continues working. The camera focuses in. He scrapes the ground. The fur along his throat and round his ears is tinted beige. Smuts of grey and even black around his face. The glacial eyes seem colourless, then, in the tilting light, like shale flame. He lopes off.

Later, in the snowy rain, Merle stands next to him with her muzzle resting on his back – a beautiful moment of ritual bonding, all the more intimate for the unedited nature of the film, the lack of narration. Though they are a na?ve pair, Rachel has confidence. It is a natal den. Merle will encourage him, and Ra will work out how to mount her. This is her marker for the project’s success. Not that they should be accepted by the land, as if ascending to a throne; Thomas’ goal was never in doubt. She wants them to be unexceptional, common. They should exist here as anywhere, and in so doing recreate their common selves.

Charlie helps or tries to help the bouncing movement, and chirps with delight.

Look at Mr Wolf, she says. What’s he doing?

The same phrases, repeated a hundred times a day. Where’s Charlie? Say Mama. She sometimes feels like an automaton. But he is learning, and fast.

Gregor comes into the office with a battered duffel bag and a reinforced laptop case.

Hi, Rachel. And if it isn’t bonny prince Charlie, he says, laying a hand on the baby’s head. What a handsome fellow you are.

Charlie cranes back. Rachel pauses the film.

This is amazing. Thank you.

No bother. It’s a bit rough but I thought you’d like it. Just popped in to say toodle-oo. This fellow’s getting big!

Are you flying out this evening?

Wednesday. I’m away up to Dundee first to see my beloveds.

Though he has been camping in the bothy for weeks during the winter, Gregor has gained weight. His full, curly beard is trimmed short, as is the white hair; he does not look as if he has suffered privation. The Annerdale gig has been soft compared to Nepal. A stove to heat food and water, a local pub. He is taking two months off to return to the leopards, and will come back in spring for the final stage of Merle’s pregnancy, should it occur, the early phases of pup development.

Thanks again, she says. Have a good trip. And best of luck.

Gregor nods, tickles Charlie’s belly, and Charlie squeals again.

I’ll bring you back a parasite. Keep watching that – there’s a good bit coming up.

He hoists his bag over his shoulder and heads out the door. She presses play and continues to watch.

*

After Lawrence and Emily’s visit, Rachel becomes determined not to mess things up with Alexander. Seeing their helpless atrophy was depressing. She does not want that part of herself to be vestigial: a withered stump of a heart. She will try to be open and giving. Almost as soon as the resolution is made, she finds herself mired in a series of misunderstandings, as if sabotaging herself. Randomly, he sends her flowers. They did not exchange Christmas gifts – neither one of them felt the necessity – and she becomes immediately suspicious. The note reads, Dear Rachel, looking forward to later. A x They are due to have dinner, then Alexander will probably spend the night. But why send flowers? Is it not a raising of the romantic stakes, a declaration? Does he want something more from her? She broods all day, panics on and off about the meaning of it. The flowers are beautiful, all winter reds and whites, luxurious, expensive; she leaves them under the cellophane wrapper, only taking them out and arranging them in a vase an hour before he arrives.

He makes a casserole, which smells delicious as it bubbles away. She puts Charlie to bed and they open a bottle of wine and eat. She is quiet, toying with the food, not drinking the wine, kicking herself all the while for not relishing what is extremely enjoyable. Halfway through the meal Alexander puts his cutlery down.

OK. What is it? Too much salt? Not enough salt?

No. It’s lovely.

Why are you sulking?

I’m not sulking.

Have I done something to upset you?

No.

Rachel.

No, really.

She tries to smile. The truth is she has been braced all evening. For words she does not want to hear, the slipping of a ring box out of his top pocket, perhaps – wild fantasies based on very little evidence. He is acting the same as ever – chatting casually, telling funny stories. There are flirtatious looks, but he is certainly not mooning. He is not nervous or looking for a right moment.

Sorry, she says. Just an odd day.

How come?

Oh, I don’t know. We had another email from our friendly nutter.

Nigh?

Yes.

Saying what?

Very little that made sense, as usual. But he’s persistent, which generally means there’s something to it – in my experience, anyway. Over Christmas it did cross my mind that it’s Leo.