Ellen Datlow - The Beastly Bride

I don’t say anything. What do I know?

But suddenly here’s the boy. First he says, “What are you doing out here?” And then he sees me and gasps.

I’m still dressed, head to toe. to almost toe, but even so I’m too much for him.

“What are you?”

I say, “Bigfoot.”

Right away he looks at my feet. Then he laughs. And we all laugh.

He says, “I don’t believe in you.”

I say, “Nobody does.”

And we laugh all the more.

He decides not to go to school — after all, Molly isn’t going either — and invites us in for breakfast.

He keeps staring at me as he cooks us pancakes. And he keeps spilling things.

He says, “You’re a nice color,” and, “I didn’t think a Bigfoot would be so attractive,” and, “You have nice eyes,” until I’m a little worried. Though he could be trying to make me feel good about myself. I suppose I should appreciate it.

He says, “I don’t think you should go back with Molly. I think you should stay here where you have a nice barn to hide in.”

Molly looks relieved.

I’d really rather be back in her little playhouse, but I don’t know how we can get me there.

Then he says, “We could go horseback riding,” and I think, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here. I’m learning so many new things. Including rolling over in a car. Horses would be nice.

Molly’s father comes by in a rented car. He barely stops, honks, opens the door, and yells. I guess he’s really angry. She looks at us, scared, then rushes out. There’s no way I could have gone with her even if I’d wanted to.

The boy’s name is Buck. He changed his name, too. I didn’t know everybody could do that. He used to be Judson. He says, “Judd isn’t so bad but I like Buck better.”

He goes to put on his riding clothes. He has the whole outfit, cowboy hat and boots and all. I’ve seen pictures. I think he’s trying to impress me. And maybe himself. He does look as if he likes himself a lot in these clothes.

He brings a bag of stuff for a picnic, and we go out and saddle up. First he has to brush the horses so there’s no dust and stuff under the saddle. He shows me how, and I help.

I feel funny, getting up on something I just talked to and

petted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Buck heads us up into the hills and pretty soon we’re in the trees. He makes us canter even though he can see I’m bouncing and hurting. Trotting isn’t much better. He doesn’t say a word about what to do. It looks as if he likes to see me not knowing how to do it. He’s got this funny little smile all the time. He’s laughing at me.

We get to a nice shady spot and get off and tie up. He spreads out a blanket, he says, for our picnic.

He takes off half his fancy cowboy outfit. And then he takes off even more. Is this what people do?

But I start to know what this is all about. I remember things Mother warned me could happen. I wasn’t listening, but some of it must have gotten through.

He’s a lot taller than I am and stronger, too. He tears Molly’s father’s shirt practically in two. I have to really fight and I’m losing.

Finally I grab a stone and knock him away.

He says, “What difference does it make? You’re just an animal. Why should you care?”

“I’m not an animal, or if I am, I’m only half. My mother was your kind.”

He comes after me again but I run. uphill. I’m thinking of getting back to our cabin and maybe finding out what happened to Mother.

I’m way faster than he is. I guess from all my hiking around the mountains. Pretty soon he gives up. From way above I see him put on his costume, mount up, and ride away, leading the other horse.

I sit down and catch my breath. I feel like crying, but I’m angry, too. Molly didn’t think I was an animal. Or am I? I wish I was back with her.

I’m glad that, up in the mountains, it’s always just mothers and children off by themselves. I was thinking I wanted to meet my father someday, but now I’m not sure. And he’d be more of an animal than I am. Though if Mother liked him he couldn’t be that bad. Or maybe she didn’t like him. Maybe she couldn’t fight him off.

And then I think how Mother’s little book is in the pocket of my shorts back in the little house. I have to get back there.

I walked there once before, I guess I can walk there again. I’m going to stay in the foothills and walk mostly at night. I’m pretty well covered up with Molly’s dad’s shirt, even though it’s torn and has lost some buttons, and the slacks are okay. I don’t have the hat anymore.

I wonder what Molly is expecting to do about me. She might try to come and get me. For sure not driving a car. I wonder what she’ll do when she finds out I’m gone. I wonder if she knows about how Buck is. Except maybe he’s only that way with somebody who’s an animal.

I’m too impatient to wait for dark. I start heading back toward the town, but I keep well away from any roads or houses. I suppose it’s pretty far, considering how fast Molly was driving. I don’t even know the name of the town, but it has a special smell. I’d recognize it right away.

Later, when I come to a river and a nice pile of brush next to it, and berries, I decide to rest there until dark.

Except I can’t rest. I’m too angry and upset. I need to talk to Molly. I keep on across the rocky foothills.

I should have stayed and rested.

At first I think they’re wolves, but then I see it’s a pack of all sorts of dogs. I climb a juniper. They’re making a terrible racket.

Practically right away, here comes a man with a rifle. He shoots toward the dogs, and they run off. Then he comes to see what they’ve treed. He stares. Walks all around the tree to look at me from every angle. The shirt and slacks don’t hide that much. My Bigfoot-big-bare-fuzzy-feet are just above his head.

He isn’t dressed like Buck, though he is wearing a cowboy hat. He has a bushy mustache that’s mostly gray. He’s a lot older than Buck. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. He might, all the quicker, take off his clothes and grab me. Is he going to climb the tree and pull me down and then try to do what Buck tried?

“Can you talk?”

Why does everybody ask me that? Do I look so animal? I guess I do.

“Of course I can.”

And I climb a little higher.

“Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. I won’t. I promise. Are you hungry?”

Yeah, lure the animal down with a little bite of food.

He sits under the tree and takes off his hat. He’s got a very high forehead. I’ve seen pictures of that. That’s being bald. Maybe when I’m older I could get bald all over.

He takes out an apple and a sandwich and begins to eat. He’s in no hurry. As he eats, he keeps looking up at me and shaking his head, as if, like Buck, he doesn’t believe in me.

“I’ve heard tell of your kind, but I’ve never seen one. Where did you come from, anyway?”

I don’t know what to say.

“Do you have a name?”

What does he think I am? Well, I know what he thinks.

“Of course I do.”

“Mine’s Hiram. People call me Hi.”

“Mine’s Sabine.”

“I never knew a Sabine. Is that from your people?”

“My people?”

“Your kind of. Whatever you. ”

I never thought about being “a kind.” Was he going to say, your kind of animal?

For a minute we just look out at the view of the fields far below us with the sprinkling of black cows, both of us as if embarrassed. Then he says, “You might as well come down. You’ll have to one of these days. It might as well be now as later. When I leave those dogs might come back. You can have half my sandwich and this apple.”