Dante's Heart
George Berguno
Parable of the Grey Wolf
There was a man who hated wolves; he had vowed to hunt them to
extinction. One day, he wandered into a forest so dense that the sun could
not penetrate within. Stealing cautiously through the trees, he treaded
lightly such that no twig snapped under his heavy boots. He wandered thus
for many hours without sight of game when, suddenly, he spied a large grey
timber wolf, standing proudly in his path. The hunter raised his rifle, took
aim – and fired. But the bullet missed its mark; the wolf remained steadfast,
gazing at the hunter. Then, before the man could shoot again, the wolf
vanished from his sight.
In the evening the hunter returned to his cabin at the foot of the mountains;
he was weary and perplexed by the strange encounter with the grey wolf.
That night, he dreamed that the door of his cabin was forced open; a tall
young woman with long legs and grey hair was standing in the moonlight. She
leaned over his reclining body, peered into his face and whispered,
‘Beware O Hunter! If you do not love me, you may not kill me.’
At dawn, the man returned to the forest, marching rapidly and with hostile
steps. Throughout that day he saw no game; but as the evening shadows
gathered around him, the hunter saw his prey. And there could be no
mistake: it was the same grey wolf of yesterday. He raised his rifle and took
aim. But as the wolf remained defiantly still, the hunter made a reckless
gesture of unconsummated hatred. Without lowering his rifle, he marched
up to his enemy until his weapon was within an inch of the wolf’s eyes – and
fired. No sooner had he pulled the trigger than a deep sharp pain
penetrated his chest. The rifle slipped out of his hands and onto the earth;
he clutched at his heart and fell to the ground, gasping for breath. All at
once he witnessed an incredible transformation: where the wolf had been,
there now stood a tall young woman with grey hair. She stooped over him,
searching his face with compassionate eyes.
‘You were bold and fearless,’ she sighed, ‘but you did not love me.’
When night fell and the silvery arms of the curious moon filtered through
the branches of the pines, the woman breathed into the hunter’s face, and
with her long pale fingers she closed his eyes.
Parable of the Grey Wolf
There was a man who hated wolves; he had vowed to hunt them to
extinction. One day, he wandered into a forest so dense that the sun could
not penetrate within. Stealing cautiously through the trees, he treaded
lightly such that no twig snapped under his heavy boots. He wandered thus
for many hours without sight of game when, suddenly, he spied a large grey
timber wolf, standing proudly in his path. The hunter raised his rifle, took
aim – and fired. But the bullet missed its mark; the wolf remained steadfast,
gazing at the hunter. Then, before the man could shoot again, the wolf
vanished from his sight.
In the evening the hunter returned to his cabin at the foot of the mountains;
he was weary and perplexed by the strange encounter with the grey wolf.
That night, he dreamed that the door of his cabin was forced open; a tall
young woman with long legs and grey hair was standing in the moonlight. She
leaned over his reclining body, peered into his face and whispered,
‘Beware O Hunter! If you do not love me, you may not kill me.’
At dawn, the man returned to the forest, marching rapidly and with hostile
steps. Throughout that day he saw no game; but as the evening shadows
gathered around him, the hunter saw his prey. And there could be no
mistake: it was the same grey wolf of yesterday. He raised his rifle and took
aim. But as the wolf remained defiantly still, the hunter made a reckless
gesture of unconsummated hatred. Without lowering his rifle, he marched
up to his enemy until his weapon was within an inch of the wolf’s eyes – and
fired. No sooner had he pulled the trigger than a deep sharp pain
penetrated his chest. The rifle slipped out of his hands and onto the earth;
he clutched at his heart and fell to the ground, gasping for breath. All at
once he witnessed an incredible transformation: where the wolf had been,
there now stood a tall young woman with grey hair. She stooped over him,
searching his face with compassionate eyes.
‘You were bold and fearless,’ she sighed, ‘but you did not love me.’
When night fell and the silvery arms of the curious moon filtered through
the branches of the pines, the woman breathed into the hunter’s face, and
with her long pale fingers she closed his eyes.
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