ジョシュ・ブローリンのインスタグラム(joshbrolin) - 4月1日 10時59分

When I heard the screaming I knew it was the wolf, or I knew it was my brother in the jaws of him. I looked up when an ex-con named Norman made some guttural sounds to distract the attack. I was ten, so that means my brother was six. He had been walking on top of the fence surrounding the garden, and that fence was attached to Lefty’s cage; he must have gotten out somehow. I fed Lefty every day and there was a system: unlock the door, distract with a chicken leg, pull the pin, and throw in the horse meat before he realized what was happening and reached the door, ending your life. That’s just what was expected of you on the ranch. So, now my brother was being dragged around by Lefty, his leg in the wolf’s mouth, and Norman, brave Norman, jumped the fence and ran toward them both. “Me over him”, I could feel him saying to himself. Once he got my brother in his grasp and Lefty let go, all of us ran in the kitchen, blood trailing the whole way, to my mother who had the phone propped up against her shoulder, a cigarette in one hand, and a Doctor Pepper in the other. Norman had thyroidal eyes. I remember them sticking out like Marty Feldman’s in “Young Frankenstein”. “Let me call you back”, my mother said, laissez faire, as if she only needed to kill an annoying sound near her ear, maybe a fly. Jess bled. I looked at my mother. Norman’s eyes were popping out. “Okay, what happened”, was all I remember her saying. He got sixty stitches that day, and from that moment in the garden on tricking that wolf was a whole different monster. I’ve always loved wolves. I had to. Otherwise, I thought, what would happen to me? @paulnicklen

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