“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the Autumn moon is bright.” – Maleva, the gypsy in “The Werewolf” with Lon Chaney. The photo above shows my wolf-headed cane and the mice in the recycling bucket.
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First, I should say that I got this werewolf cane from a British artist who was and is, like me, haunted by the hapless Lon Chaney Jr.’s touching and powerful (to a child) story of Lawrence Talbot, a kind and good man who was bitten by a wolf in rural England and whose horrified father was compelled to kill him with a silver cane when his son turned on him.
Some stories get in your mind as a child and stay there. This story is always close in my mind.
I vividly remember this movie – “The Werewolf” – the Talbot character and Maleva, the gypsy (played by Maris Ouspenskyaya), who saw Talbot being attacked in the forest by the wolf and tried and failed to help him.
As a Dyslexic, I sometimes forget to spell some names correctly. But I have never forgotten the gypsy’s name or her warning. Talbot’s father learned the truth too late.
“You’re the gypsy filling his (Lawrence’s) mind with the werewolf noise, Maleva…” Talbot Sr. told her. Talbot had returned home from a long absence to take over the family estate.
Talbot’s father, Sir John Talbot, refused to believe in the werewolf tale. He dismissed it as a foolish peasant myth when he encountered Maleva in the forest after Lawrence realized an awful spell had been cast on him.
In perhaps the movie’s most memorable scene —the “Heaven Help You” scene—Meleva calls Talbot into her tent and warns him that once bitten by a werewolf, a man will become a werewolf.
She gives the horrified Talbot a Pentagram necklace to protect him from the werewolf’s spell and says, “Heaven help you,” as he flees in horror. Chaney’s performance was almost shockingly sensitive and intuitive for a horror film; I still vividly remember the movie and Talbot’s dread at the thought of killing someone.
It took me months to get a werewolf cane, a replica of the one in the movie. The craftsman who lives in the forest where the movie was filmed took two months to make it and ship it to me. It is always in the same spot, right by the back door, ready to use. I was thrilled to get it.
But what does all of this do with our farm and us?
Last night, Bud alerted us to a mouse that had somehow climbed up into a plastic recycling bucket we keep in the pantry. The mouse was trapped and was scrambling to get out.
We didn’t hear it, but Bud, our conscientious Boston Terrier, who was dozing in my lap, as he does whenever I watch a mystery, took off like a rocket. We feared the rat had returned, but it was only a tiny mouse.
Minutes later, Maria spotted another one climbing up the stairs to escape Bud. She threw a cloth on it and captured it.
I told Maria I would take care of it (she doesn’t like to kill any living thing), and almost without thinking, I went and got my werewolf cane. I love it but rarely use it. My brace has eliminated the problems with my foot; I walk without assistance.
As a kid, I often dreamt of using a cane just like it to kill a werewolf. This was one of the favorite fantasies of a frightened child whose father thought him a “sissy.”
The tiny mouse was hardly as menacing as a wolf, but using it came right to mind. Interestingly, our dreams and fantasies can be so large, but life often brings us down to size.
Since the werewolf in the movie could only be killed by a silver bullet or a silver-headed cane, I grabbed the cane and took the bucket outside to kill the two mice. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it felt good.
I don’t like to kill animals either, but mice and rats get no clemency from me once they enter our house; I’ve seen the damage they can do. If they get in once, they will get in again.
When Maria said they were especially young and “cute,” I quickly took the mice and the cane outside and killed each one using the metal head (not silver). It was sculpted to be just like the one in the movie. I can’t deny it; Talbot and the cane that killed him came to mind.
I heard the Maleva voice quite clearly: “Every man who is pure in his heart and says his prayers by night can become a wolf…” I do not have a pure heart, rarely say prayers, and cannot be turned into a wolf. The nice were not werewolves, but the story kept going through my head. I knew what I had to do.
And I brought the cane head down on each of the mice, killing them both instantly. All I can say is that I felt strong.
I noticed Zip, our barn cat, appeared out of nowhere in the dark and almost danced around the bodies. It was strange. I left him alone with them, cleaned the cane (they both died instantly), and put the cane back in its position by the front door.
Then I thought of the rat. I can’t wait for that rat who ravaged through our kitchen to return. My cane is right nearby. The cane is waiting for him.
I laugh at this in a way but feel something mystical in another. This story has been inside me for many years, and a piece of the werewolf in me howled a bit last night.
That’s all I can make of it. Life is full of crisis and mystery.
