Qu'est-ce que le loup mange

In the french countryside, where small hamlets still rest in the shadows of great castles, and rows of vineyards are worked as they have been for centuries, where aristocratic families still lay claim to large swaths of land, and where life seems to go back in time, a Hongqi L5 limousine speeds along a forgotten road. Not far is its destination, a small gypsy camp concealed in the outer edge of a forest. A concentration of four or five tents, and one large tent just off from the rest, the limo comes to a stop where the road ends and horse path begins.

A gorgeous light skinned African woman, dressed in the traditional attire of a proper chauffeur, steps from the driver’s side and walks around to the boot.



She opens it and removes a majestic dark fur coat, then shuts it lightly. She moves to the rear door, stands at attention, and opens the door crisply. She waits for the passenger to exit, positioning the coat so as to drape it around the shoulders.

The passenger, who’s face is obscured by the position of the car door, rises and turns, allowing the driver to place the coat around her shoulders. Her face now obscured by the upturned collar of the coat, she takes several steps towards the big tent. “Dois-je vous accompagner?” The driver asks in perfect french.

The woman in the fur raises her gloved hand, her back to the driver. “No. Attendez ici.” She replies, her french no less manicured than that of the driver.

“Vous ne pouvez pas faire confiance à ces gitans.” Says the driver, a note of concern in her voice. “Il est plus sûr si je vais avec vous.”

The woman in the coat stops and considers. “Je ne crains pas pour ma sécurité.” She replies confidently.

“Ma famille a été juré de protéger le vôtre pour un siècle.” The driver insists, closing the door to the limo.

“Et vous êtes un héritier fidèle à cet héritage, Marie.” The woman replies. “Mais vous devez aussi vous rappeler que le loup est mon tuteur.”

“Même le loup ne peut pas être partout.” The driver replies.

“Le loup est toujours avec nous.” The woman in the coat assures. “Même lorsque nous ne le voyons pas.”

“Oui, madame.” The driver replies obediently, nodding her head a bit as she does. “Le loup.”

The woman walks on to the tent, the driver warily watching her go. She reaches the folds of the tent and brushes them aside, slowly entering.



“Vous êtes de retour.” Says the gypsy woman seated at the table.

The woman slowly sits across from the gypsy, crosses her legs regally, and cocks her head. “Je veux savoir mon avenir.”

The gypsy shakes her head. The woman raises her hand. “Ne secouez pas votre tête à moi, gypsy.” She says curtly. “Rappelez-vous qui est propriétaire de la propriété sur laquelle vous vivez.”

“Je vis sur ce qui appartenait au loup.” The gypsy replies calmly.

“Le loup est mort. Maintenant, tout ce qui était son est à moi.” The woman growls. “Y compris vous, gypsy.”

“Même son langage est pas le vôtre.” The gypsy replies coldly.

“Then let’s speak in mine.” The woman replies.

“If you prefer.” The gypsy nods. “Mademoiselle…”



“…Cooper.”

“You will call me by my husband’s title.” She demands. “By my husband’s name.” The gypsy tarries. Indicates she won’t acquiesce. “You know well what he made me endure so I could have that title. So I could have that name.” The gypsy nods slightly. “Tell me, gypsy, have I not earned it?”

“Very well.” The gypsy sighs. “Marquise Louvetier.”

Buffy Cooper, the last surviving member of the House of Louvetier, smiles proudly. “Now, gypsy, as you did for my husband, so shall you do for me.”

“And what was that?” The gypsy asks innocently.

“As you made him wealthy, as you made him powerful, as your clan has advised his for centuries, so shall you now advise me.” Buffy orders. “The magic that you used to make this family great, I command you to use and make me great.”

“With every session there is a cost.” The gypsy warns. “A piece of yourself you must surrender for my counsel. That is how all Louvetiers were made great, and how my clan has survived. Are you willing to pay this price, Mademoiselle?”

“I have paid with my humanity.” Buffy replies. “I have paid with my innocence.” She nods. “Whatever price you demand is no greater than what I have already surrendered.”

“As you desire.” The gypsy places three cards in front of Buffy, face down. She reaches for the one on her left. “The past” she explains, as she flips the card over.



“The Tower.” The gypsy nods solemnly. “In your past there is a fortress. A fortress you were never able to breach. Before you may become great, you must first destroy that fortress.”

Buffy stares at the gypsy. “What is this fortress? Where might I find it?”

The gypsy raises a finger and points at the next card. “The present” she says, before flipping it.



“The world.” She reads. “The fortress lies across the water, in another land. A land you once called home, but is now foreign to you.”

Buffy nods, the picture becoming clear to her. The gypsy points to the last card. “The future.” She flips the card.



“The hanged man.” Says the gypsy, taking a deep breath. “Inside this fortress there is one you must defeat, must destroy. For in destroying this one, you will destroy yourself. And only then…when you’ve destroyed yourself…can you be reborn.”

“Destroy how?” She asks.

“The hanged man does not always mean destroy. It can simply mean…change.” The gypsy thinks. “The one who is like your past…is the one you must change into your present.” The gypsy explains. “Only then will you have a future.”

Buffy shakes her head. “Meaningless. Riddles. Gibberish.” She slams her hand on the table. “Meaningless!” She stares at the gypsy coldly. “My husband, the last male heir to the Louvetier name, promised me that in his death all that was his would be mine! He promised me that all the powers of the ancient ways…the powers that you, gypsy, were meant to control…would work for me!” She leans forward. “I gave that man everything he wanted. I let him treat me like a whore…and worse…all for the promise that the legacy of the wolf would be mine. And this is all it is? Crazy riddles and old tarot cards?”

The gypsy shakes her head. “Every word I have said to you is true, madame.” She smiles. “That is my power. But determining what they mean?” She shakes her head. “That is what is required to control the legacy of the wolf.”

“Tell me what I must destroy and I will do it!” Buffy pledges.

“You must destroy…” the gypsy closes her eyes, “…one who is close to you, but unknown to you just the same. One who you have loved, but loves you still. One…who is…” She raises her hand to her head, concentrating. It seems almost painful. Then she says ominously “Ce qui nourrit le loup.” She sighs. “That on which the wolf feeds. That is the one you must destroy.” The gypsy breathes a bit, seemingly exhausted.

Disgusted, and perhaps disheartened, Buffy rises to leave. Before she can go the gypsy calls to her. “Mon paiement?” She asks, holding her hand forward.

Buffy gruffly removes a diamond bracelet from her wrist and throws it on the table. “Hardly worth it.” She growls, before leaving the tent.

Moments later we find Buffy in the back seat of her limousine, staring at the road passing by. Lost in thought, brooding, disappointed, finally she speaks to her driver. “Marie?”

The driver glance at her through the rearview mirror. “Oui, madame?”

“Qu'est-ce que le loup mange?” Buffy asks.

Marie considers. “Le loup mange le lapin.” She answers matter-of-factly.

“Le lapin?” Buffy asks.

“Oui, madame.” Marie confirms.

Buffy leans back. She brings a finger to her lips. “The wolf eats rabbit.” She considers.

“Oui, madame.” Marie confirms again. “Ra-beet.” Then she chuckles. “Comme des dessins animés américains.”

“Animés américains?” Buffy asks, not getting the reference.

“Oui, madame.” Marie explains. “Bugs Bu-nee.”

Buffy’s blood run colds as she realizes. Then she lets out a low whisper…

“Bunny…”