The wind was vicious that day, howling across the city from the north-northwest. Even the top of the Eiffel Tower swayed. Up on the observation platform, a woman lost her hat, a woman lost her wig, a man his toupee, a man his identity. Someone struggled with an umbrella. Someone grabbed a railing in despair. Gustave Eiffel could feel the delicious quivering of his towering metal phallus in his bones, deep down in his ancient tomb, as if it were aching for the sky, for a cosmic penetration. The city shuddered with the wind.
Darcy Levine was there to get away from the persistence of the wolves. He could already hear them howling in the wind. He braced himself against one of the girders, hoping they would blow past him in the tumultuous air. There was a time when he could dream of entering any cave and wallow in the mysterious darkness of the rocky womb. There were never any wolves. Yet when he found a cave of his own on one of his walks in the forest and stepped up to the gaping mouth, there they were, massed in the darkest recesses of the cave. Their furs bristled, their eyes glowed like embers, their shadows trembled. They bared their teeth at him and growled, unmistakably. He couldn’t understand what had happened to the cave.
From then on, they were always there whenever he attempted to penetrate a cave, as if they were guarding some primordial secret he wasn’t allowed to know, some forbidden pleasure they didn’t want him to see. He couldn’t even dream of entering caves anymore. It was for that reason that he chose the phallic tower in the heart of the city to get away. He was sure it would give him the strength he needed to recreate himself. Yet he couldn’t even escape them there. They were coming closer and closer in the wind. He knew they were, with every fiber of his body, even though he couldn’t see them yet. Their presence was palpable in the air.
He climbed up on the railing next to the girder. They were already snapping at his heels. He pretended he could fly when he let go of his final security to free himself once and for all. The wind carried him through the blustering air for a while and he rejoiced, but then the deafening howling of the wolves drowned out all other sounds. The tattered umbrella ended up getting ripped to shreds, even though there was never any rain.