The Hunter
It was very early on a cold autumn morning, and the first birds were tentatively testing their territorial declarations: a few chirps here and there at first, and then fully developed songs. Animals scurried in every direction re-establishing their borders and checking for signs of overnight intrusions. Fu Gui awoke from the sounds of these activities.
Before leaving his cover and fully exposing himself, Fu Gui surveyed the area surrounding him from the entrance of his shelter; his eyes darted from familiar object to common scene in a quick and precise assessment of prevailing conditions. He, like the other animals in the area, recognized their level of security by recalling events from experience: they knew nothing of history. Shivering a little from the change of temperature he stretched, yawned, and arched his back quivering to empty his bladder.
Hunter, scavenger or prey: there is a role for each of us in life. Fu Gui was once a perfect specimen of a physical man: long in stature with well developed muscle; character in his face; strong legs and back and an enduring stamina; a perfect hunter in the right environment: aggressive, intuitive and imaginative. He was at his peak at aged 35. Now, slightly handicapped from a fall off some scaffolding; with an injury to his right leg that left him limping from constant pain. His endurance now lacked but like any successful and precautionary hunter he had learned from experience to conserve his energies and to use his time and opportunities wisely.
He was the Hunter; he had instinct, timing and courage and he lived in the same adjacent habitat as the scavengers and prey who shared his environment. He resided on the edges of No. 7 Village, 30 Li from Wei Hai beyond the mountains where there was prosperity, growth and where the streets were paved with gold. But he understood none of that. He knew cold, heat, hunger and fear. He had worked in the city as a laborer in the construction industry but there he felt like prey: always at the mercy of another’s actions and having no control over his life.
The late season leaves were just completing their vibrant transformation and many had fallen since the day before: now crisp, curled and painting the frosted earth with their color. He walked in a circle around his dwelling and took note of any changes in his surroundings. He felt the raw morning air on his face, and looked up to confirm the weather, listening for any sounds unfamiliar or incompatible with his safety. In a visceral gesture he scanned the familiar scene before him, adjusting his sight from near to far and lifting his nose to catch any new scent that may be fresh and lingering. Last night he had heard indistinguishable sounds: perhaps a paw suspended momentarily before being placed cautiously upon a curious new environment full with the sour scent of humans distinctive in their foulness; perhaps a snout, searching, inquiring and cognitive.
There was a miserable fallow garden to the left of his home where in spring and summer he perennially nourished a few stunted vegetables. Each year an old neglected fig tree struggled to produce the last of its kind. The environment was abundant with sustenance but reluctant to give anything up easily. He gathered his fingers together, suddenly noticing the familiar pain. Rubbing and flexing, he tried to warm them with increased blood flow.
He quickly surveyed the inside of his dwelling and in perfunctory attempt at a morning grooming, dry washed his face and hair, scrubbing it; messaging and smoothing it. He had been handsome in his youth; quiet and reticent but willing and friendly. Circumstances dictated that he accept the role of either scavenger or prey but never of the Hunter. A hard life of many mistakes and learning had driven him to these circumstances of isolation, vigilance and expedience. On guard and always cautious; but now he was the Hunter and keenly part of this environment and compatible with conditions surrounding him.
Fetching his ancient gun that he had stumbled upon in the adjacent hills along with both compatible and incompatible ammunition, (for everything had a value even if it was temporarily useless) left over from some past war, and gathering some simple traps, Fu Gui felt sufficiently armed and supplied for his daily task of finding food for his day by day needs. Anything edible, however crude would be eligible as a meal. On his way he passed through the hills where it was said that mighty militant hostilities had been settled: ancient terrible tribes and majestic leaders of primeval times and more recently, during more modern times, the liberation armies who had flushed the enemy from hiding and run them to ground and killed them. Distinguishable by their robes and uniforms in those times, they were faded and forgotten now. They were killed and they killed others. Blood was let. Pain was a common companion: fear and brutality reigned. And the dull eyes of the practiced and experienced, exchanged looks with the wide horrified eyes of the innocent new conscripts; the immature and undecided. But he thought little of that: they were stories to amuse. He had no use for, nor paid little attention to what could not experienced by the senses.
And so he set out to hunt: determined, confident, anxious and vigilant. From habit, he first considered the familiar places where he had been lucky in the past: the old paths; the familiar ways. Tubers, green plants, bamboo shoots were his favorites but today he especially wanted meat. He had been thinking of eating meat these last few days and the notion now was an obsession. A rabbit, a dog, old or young; a bird of any size; rodents of any species: all were suitable candidates.
He recognized some fresh tracks from one predator and one prey. It indicated that there was food in the area and that he had competition, so he headed for a thicker part of the forest which was less travelled and where more shelter would attract those who relied on the concealment such areas provided. He quickly set a trap near a newly worn path close to the entrance to some thickets; a simple snare that had proven to be infallible. He disguised his scent by rubbing rabbit fur on the apparatus and leaving a bit of hair near the bushes.
Ahead and to his left he suddenly heard a familiar rush of sound and he stopped; his eyes challenging the dense bushes. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest. Any other sounds around ceased: all the creatures seemed to be waiting to see if there was any immediate danger to them: if not whatever happened to others did not concern them. The rushing and sound resumed and he luckily caught the distinctive sight of a round rump and the back step of a cloven hoof. It is all he needed to identify the little wild pig in the thickets below. These little pigs were very difficult to catch even for other animals because they could scurry in and out of the smallest spaces and disappear. But the Hunter was hungry with anticipation. He let his gear fall to the ground and brought his rifle to hold with both hands. This prey warranted a precious bullet so as not to lose the unexpected prize. His mouth involuntarily dripped water as he anticipated the chase: the killing, the slaughter and the eating.
The brush was thick and it was difficult to follow the creature without making noise. He did his best, moving slowly and methodically forward. From time to time he could judge the distance between him and the little pig by the sounds made by the diminutive animal. The creature foraged as he travelled which was an advantage to the Hunter. At times, unusual and unexpected movements were apparent on both sides of him but he took them to be movements of smaller animals vacating their interrupted residences. Whenever the Hunter came closer to the little pig he could hear him make a dash to distance himself, for the pursued are sentient of their predators, and there is a distance zone between them that can be tolerated. The grunting indicated that he had found some tuber and was trying to uproot it. As he did, he would take time to eat it and that would give the Hunter an opportunity to advance his position and prepare for a kill.
From time to time he could make out the prints of other animals: prey such as smaller rodents and larger rabbits and predators such as withered wolves or gaunt dogs that abounded in the area. He noted these latter as competition and moved onward. The little pig had stopped and was poking the earth here and there. The Hunter too stopped and made a plan to progress with as little sound as he could manage. He drew his weapon up to his chest to ready himself. His muscles were taut as he crouched low and advanced laboriously. His leg was in pain and he dragged it a bit behind him. He stopped: sweating and breathing quickly with expectation. Doubt and failure and then victory exchanged prominence in his thoughts. He would only have one shot. There was a clearing up ahead and he could make out the rump of the little pig as it dug its snout deeper and deeper into the earth. He wanted a better position but was afraid that the wild pig would flee: he decided to shoot. As he raised his gun to eye level his hands began to tremble. The sweat on his brow dripped into his eyes and he tried to see through it without wiping it away. He fired blindly, with hope. The gun almost burst with the explosive force of the over-charged bullet. The smoke from the discharge necessitated him to have to wait and he rose to advance and see if he had been lucky for he acknowledged that this time his skills had abandoned him. At the sound of the gun discharging there was a commotion all around with birds, rodents and other small animals fleeing in response.
The little wild pig had gone; run away. The Hunter’s throat was dry with the fatigue of disappointment and he felt weak with exhaustion. He had lost his confidence which accompanied the emotional letdown of failure. Now standing erect he went over his actions on what he had done wrong. Strangely, there was a stirring in the bush around him and for a moment he thought of the little pig again in the vain hope of having a second chance. He tried to focus to identify the sound.
His body shot straight and tight; his heart stopped for a moment and the hair on his back and neck stood erect. He instinctively realized the circumstances that he should never have taken so carelessly. Two feral dogs stood before him, one more lay to his left and two more waited patiently behind. To the right was a precipitous high hill providing little hope of escape. He felt lost and foolish to have been caught in such a way. The largest dark colored dog to the left displayed the most confidence and experience. He studied the Hunter with glazed eyes, intent with the confidence of a well laid plan; his legs were stiff and trembling with expectation. The other dogs, of disputable heritage, were skinny, quivering and salivating with indisputable resolve. They would continually look at the larger dog for any change of plan. An attack on humans by these undomesticated dogs was neither rare nor uncommon. The woods were filled with undiscovered and forgotten bones. Severe hunger could drive the weakest and most timorous of animals to consider desperate options.
Fu Gui realized that had let himself be led into what was a perfect ambush: as he had followed the sound of the little wild pig, he had ignored other sounds that may have warned him. The dog’s manipulation of misdirection had guided him inexorably to this position. The conclusion to these events became chillingly clear to him. Still, he fumbled in his pocket for another bullet and floundering, fit it into the breach of the gun. Backing away and gesticulating wildly he looked around trying to determine which dog might be the leader, hoping that if he had time to shoot; taking out the leader would discourage the others. This strategy sometimes worked with packs of domestic dogs, but for hungry animals intent on a kill, it was unlikely to be a deterrent.
The two dogs behind crept self-assuredly closer and testing their line of attack nipped at the Hunter’s heels and calves almost playfully. For they outnumbered him and there is confidence in numbers. He swung around gesturing and yelling hoarsely: his voice had almost deserted him along with his cunning and courage. The dogs in front took on the same tactic as the others and snapped and nipped. The largest dog from the left advanced steadily; his glare fixed on Fu Gui’s eyes.
A sharp, skillful and practiced clip at his heel severed a tendon so that as his body continued to twist he could no longer support himself and he fell to the ground. In an instant the largest dog was at his throat, suffocating the Hunter by crushing his windpipe. Blood quickly spilled. Three other dogs tore at his clothing sensing that beneath lay the tender underbelly of their prey; and the last dog crazily and viciously drove its snout under the clothing and with gaping maw, tore into the soft stomach flesh.
Fu Gui’s eyes were wide with terror. He was aware of an unfamiliar tugging around his stomach and abdomen, though he felt no pain. On his back he looked into the large dog’s eyes and recognized the dull complacence of the victor: there was no hatred or animosity, only success or failure. He looked upward to see the perspective of the surrounding tall Birch reach toward an indistinct vanishing point. He lost consciousness as the last leaves fell near him.
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