The lone wolf, Raouf Ochi, fable tunisienne

The Lone Wolf
Tunisian oral literature transcribed by Raouf Ochi
© Ochi 2020

Once upon a time, there was a lone wolf* who wreaked havoc wherever he went. He ruled over a territory of about ten kilometers around, which he considered his own kingdom. It was a green valley surrounded by mountains and crossed by a river that fertilized the farmers' land with its floods. All the farmers in the region complained about his attacks. Every day, he would go after a herd and carry off a lamb as his daily ration. The farmers' dogs watched him without daring to attack, because he would show them his sharp fangs like knife blades while bristling his fur. All their brave Sloughis were gutted by the 'devil's fangs.' That's how he ended up being called that. Every time a sloughi was sent after him, he quickly caught up, but just as it was about to bite him from behind, he would flip onto his back and gut it in one bite since the sloughi couldn’t stop in time when leaping over him: it was this trick and fighting technique that made him unbeatable.

So, the peasants, confused and not knowing what to do, went to complain about their situation and ask the local wise man for advice. He immediately understood that their enemy was a lone wolf, which could only be defeated by a lone sloughi. The wise man, having traveled a lot across the country, told them that he knew a shepherd who, after losing his entire family in a flood, had gone to settle on the heights of a neighboring region three days' walk away, living with his lone Sloughi, the only companion he had left.

Immediately, one of the farmers set off without the slightest hesitation. When he arrived at the shepherd's tent, the shepherd warmly welcomed him by offering some hot tea, and the farmer told him the story of the lone wolf that was attacking their flocks and eviscerating their Sloughis. Then, the shepherd from the highlands called his Sloughi, Skhab. He was a Sloughi with a light sand-colored coat and a solid, bony build, with three blaze marks on each of his front legs and a cross on each flank. His master gestured for him to sit next to him and asked his guest to repeat his story in front of him, which he did gladly. Skhab listened closely, and every time the storyteller said the word 'wolf,' he perked up his cropped ears, and his amber eyes, wide and sharp, seemed to say he understood everything. Once the story was over, the shepherd offered his Sloughi some ground barley soaked in goat's milk and olive oil, telling his guest that if he ate the meal, it would mean he couldn’t be relied upon. On the other hand, if he didn’t eat, it would show he was upset, angry, full of defiance, and eager to deal with that wolf. Luckily for the farmer, Skhab didn’t even look at the food, stayed frozen in place, and stood at attention to show he was ready to follow any order.

The next day, the shepherd from the heights whispered in his Sloughi's ear that he had to go with their guest to kill the lone wolf. Picking up the pace, the way back suddenly seemed miraculously much shorter than the way there: "Enthusiasm gives wings," as they say. The big day came, and they saw the wolf come out of the bushes where it had been napping. It came, as usual, to take its lamb. But this time, Skhab was there. He saw it from afar, let it come, waited until it wandered into a wide field with no bushes or shrubs, and then sprang after it like lightning. The wolf strutted along peacefully, its silver fur shining in the sun. It was calm and confident, knowing it had nothing to fear. But as soon as he spotted a long-legged figure, like the shadow of a large solid mass carried by the wind, approaching him, a sudden fear gripped him, chills of anxiety ran through him, and he started running at full speed because deep down he knew that what he had seen was not a sloughi like all the others.

Indeed, brave Skhab had quickly caught up with him and was already running neck and neck. He wasn’t running after him like the other Sloughis did. He was right beside him, staring him down. The wolf repeatedly turned on his back to try to gut him, in vain. Skhab, flexible and agile in his run, knew how to slow down at the right moment every time, stopping next to him and growling to force him to straighten up and start running again. The peasants watched the scene with great attention and delight.

At some point, the wolf was tired and out of breath. Skhab, persistent in his run, realized that it was the right moment for his fatal strike: He grabbed it by the neck and threw it with all his strength behind him. The wolf took a small flight and landed on the ground with a broken back, unable to get up, lying there with its mouth open as if begging its formidable enemy to finish it off. For the brave Skhab, the fight was over and his mission was accomplished. He crouched next to his defeated opponent, waiting for the farmers and their dogs to arrive, rushing to take revenge on the fierce beast.

And so ended the story of the lone Sloughi against the lone wolf. The sage had spoken the truth: 'A lone wolf can only be defeated by a lone Sloughi.'

*Note: The lone wolf* *By 'wolf,' we mean jackal in Tunisian Arabic, and 'lone' is used not only to describe a wolf living alone, away from the pack, but also, and especially, to refer to a wolf that is very strong and unbeatable, being the only one of its litter and having drunk all its mother's milk alone.*