So the next section is going to be one of these little fairy
tales.
And I'm going to read it to you, not only because it's next,
but to give you a sense of these little interspersed sections.
And there are also--
those were the only sections that my six-year-old
was hearing when I Skyped into Kate's class last year.
[LAUGHTER]
And my child would not leave the room.
And I was like, well, there are about seven pages
that you can read in this book.
And here they are.
[LAUGHTER]
Once upon a time, there was a sweet, darling, young wolf
who lived alone in the forest and loved pretty things.
Now this wolf was a strange wolf, quite small,
maybe part coyote on his mother's side.
Or, maybe his father was a fox.
No one knew.
The pack had reared him after his mother
died as the pack does.
But he knew they did not mind his absence, found him easier
to miss than accommodate.
Out on his own the young wolf had been lonely at first,
but also happy to be in the center of such beauty.
The wolf loved the little violets
that grew in the grass, the dappled sunlight
on the soft pine needles, the sharp shiny icicles hanging
from the trees, the little thatched cottage where
the old human woman lived--
maybe even the old human woman, herself.
He studied her every day admiring her soft furless skin
like fallen leaves.
Her silver and red hair, so like his own handsome coat.
Her raspy bark.
How she gestured delicately with those thin little paws.
He watched her read her books by the fire soaked
in her clawfoot tub, meet occasionally
with a bad smelling woodsman.
[LAUGHTER]
What did she think about, he wondered.
Why didn't she do the things she did?
The young wolf struck up a camaraderie
with an old fox who also lived near the cottage.
Sometimes the old fox and the young wolf
watched the human woman together with no discussion.
Did they love her?
Want to eat her?
The wolf didn't know.
One morning after having gone out
of his way to avoid the bad smelling woodsman,
the wolf found himself near the loud, bland human path
through the undergrowth.
He snacked on a few blackberries here and there,
and made one desultory pass at a too quick rabbit
as he wandered pleasurably through the undergrowth.
As he neared the path the wolf smelled something disturbing,
human adolescent co-mingled with old milk, dead meat, smoke,
and yeast.
He could hear the blundering human sounds--
crunching footsteps, a low song.
He crept closer to look, and a child, really a maiden, passed.
It was a younger version of the old woman, a sort of pup,
draped in a gorgeous, expensive-seeming blood
red cloak.
The wolf thought he might like to wear that cloak.
He felt mysteriously compelled to reveal himself.
But he did not know how to do so without frightening
the human maiden, and so stayed hidden.
He consulted with his friend, the fox.
"Ah, yes," said the old fox, "hmm.
There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there?"
"I don't know," said the wolf sadly.
"I don't know what I am."
The old fox smiled a dangerous, toothy smile.
"I will try to teach you," he said.
"You may learn.
You may not."
After many days and nights the young wolf
did learn some small measure of the old fox's teaching.
When the maiden next came up the human path,
the young wolf knew mostly what to do.
He revealed himself.
And when the maiden went still with fear,
the young wolf pounced right into her just like that.
The young wolf stroked his furless, soft hands,
cuddled into the long floor velvety red cloak,
and set off weak, but tall, to meet
his beloved, old human woman.