Forest World (11 page)

“What about the others with you there? Aren't they free?”

“No, not at all. They don't even know what freedom is. They
belong
to Him. Even the tomcat, who thinks he's free. They must all obey and serve their master.”

“Obey? . . . Serve? . . . Master? . . .” Heads lifted questionably.

Genina shook her ears helplessly. “I don't know how to explain. It's—it's something strange and—terrible. They have no wills of their own.”

“What about Him?” demanded the oldest roe. “Is He dreadful?”

“No—and yes,” Genina said reflectively. “We shuddered when He came close to us and
touched
us.”

“With the thunder-stick?”

“No! He had no thunder-stick. He touched us very gently. With His hands.”

“How horrible!”

“Yes, it was horrible. But He didn't harm us. On the contrary, He was very good to us. The most terrible thing is His smell. It drives sorrow and fear into your heart. Flight is your only feeling then.”

“But still you
didn't
flee,” the oldest roe pointed out.

“We often wanted to. At least—
I
did—” Genina grew confused again. She hurried on. “But in the middle of winter we couldn't. We feared the choking danger in the forest.”

“You poor things!”

“Yes, we had to control ourselves. It took a long time until we could even halfway endure that gruesome scent.”

“Tell us more!” urged some of the younger roes.

“Later, perhaps. Now we must go on alone.” Genina made a lithe leap and called, “Children!”

Mena and Loso, who had been listening demurely, jumped to their mother's side. She ordered, “Forward!”

Swiftly she galloped around the clearing, circling back to their starting place. Breathlessly the twins followed her.

“Ah! That was magnificent, wasn't it? I haven't done that for a long time.
You
never did. Shall we do it again?”

“Yes! Yes!” cried the youngsters.

Again they galloped across the clearing, crisscross, back and forth. Loso and Mena enjoyed the running. They breathed lightly and rejoiced in the young strength of their nimble limbs. They were so caught up by the momentum of their running that they had to spread their forelegs to stop when Genina came to a sudden halt.

From out of the wilted grass the leek pointed its new green leaves. Mena and Loso wanted to get at it; the strong smell tempted them.

“Don't eat any of it,” their mother ordered; “it'll make you sick. We'll nibble the fresh shoots at the edge of the thicket instead.”

The twins abandoned the leek to stalk slowly behind their mother along the edge of the forest, picking at hazel and elderbushes. They were hungry.

The return of the mother and her offspring was the big event of the forest. Roes joined them one after the other, wanting to hear the tale.

“No more today!” answered Genina again and again. “We're tired. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Suddenly two hares sat before them. Their ears high, they begged, “Genina, tell us how it was.”

The roe sniffed at them. “And who may you be?”

The hares' ears fell back. “You don't know us?”

“I haven't the slightest idea who you are.”

“We were your good friends!” One of them sat up straighter, his mustache hairs almost touching Genina's nostril. “We were
good
friends.”

“Anybody can say that,” Genina murmured.

Loso and Mena stared at the hares, amazed, for they
could not remember ever having seen them before.

“Have you become proud—snobbish?” the hares demanded.

“No, I'm not proud. I'm just tired,” Genina said. “The children and I must eat our fill. Sorry. Please leave us to ourselves.”

Timidly the hares made a few long leaps, crouched again and looked back. Their ears played excitedly. They could not understand their dismissal.

“It's just too much,” Genina muttered loud enough for them to hear, “to have to answer
every
question.”

Tambo stepped out into the clearing. He was some little distance from the roes. They had not yet noticed him and he hesitated to approach them. He still had his yellow-brown winter coat, and his crown, which promised to become mighty, protruded only half-grown. A little behind him was Debina, not daring to come forward.

Perri had told Tambo the amazing tale of Genina and her children. And now he had decided to talk with her himself.

But somehow he felt shy about it. He told himself
how improper it would be to address a stranger. The next moment he took heart and said to himself, “But none of us are strangers to one another.” He came up softly and carefully.

When Genina did catch sight of him, she gave a cry of fright and sprang blindly into the bushes. “
Ba-uh!
Quick, children, run away!
Ba-uh! Ba-uh! Ba-uh!  
”

In their high little voices Loso and Mena screeched,
“Ba-uh! Ba-uh!”

Three in a row they plunged through the thicket, driven by blind terror.

“Ba-uh!”
cried Genina. “
Ba-uh!
Did you see him?
Ba-uh!
One of our big cousins!
Ba-uh!
They're dangerous.
Ba-uh!  
”

She could not calm herself. For a long time Tambo could hear her cries of fright. He stood embarrassed and ashamed.

“I'm a fool,” he thought. “It was my own fault. I should never have surprised them. I should have known it's impossible for one of our kind to talk with the little relatives. They always dash away in fear. Too bad. We certainly don't want to harm them. They're so nice.”

He moved into the forest depths where the bushes grew thickest. Now he was not aware of his imposing appearance, nor of Debina who adored him. He had only the humiliation of feeling shunned. Every far-off cry of Genina's increased his depression. When finally she fell silent, he was relieved.

Genina herself was soon to taste the feeling of being rejected.

Rombo appeared suddenly before her, and as suddenly ran away. The louder she called after him, the faster he went. Resentment flashed through her.

“Stupid buck!” she muttered. “Run, for all I care. Some day you'll want to talk to me again and then
I
won't be in the mood!”

Gently the morning dawned. Through the grill of treetops the sky shimmered a light gray.

“I'm tired,” Mena complained.

“How about you?” the mother asked Loso.

“I'm sleepy too,” he admitted.

“We'll go home, then, to our own place,” Genina decided.

On their way they met many other roes and exchanged brief greetings with them. But nobody stopped, for all were bound for their resting places.

Clapping their wings, awakened pheasants swung from their sleeping-trees to the ground. Their loud
gocking
sounded as if they were trying to crow like roosters, and as if their throats would burst with the effort.

Mena and Loso heard these sounds with surprise. They marveled at the pheasants' magnificence of color, which they had never seen before.

Just before they reached their bed they saw something so disturbing that all sleepiness abruptly left them.

A large pheasant cock was ambling leisurely among the bushes. Suddenly a red hunter sprang on his back, pressing him to the ground. The dying bird lay twitching with powerless wings outspread.

Quaking, the roes slipped by, taking care not to look as the wild one feasted. They hoped he wouldn't notice them.

“Mother, who is that enemy?” Loso asked when they were safe, his voice quivering.

“Is that the fox?” Mena wanted to know. She too still trembled with excitement.

“Yes, children. That's the fox.”

“He's horrible!” Mena choked.

“He's powerful—probably the most powerful of the small enemies in the forest.”

“And he's beautiful too—” Loso shuddered. “I can't help thinking that.”

“Remember what he looks like, children,” warned Genina. “Pointed head, sly cruel eyes, bushy tail. Did you breathe his heavy scent? Yes, remember his scent too. Never forget it! And never try to cross his merciless path.”

It was broad daylight when the three roes reached the hollow where the twins were born. The magpies chattered, the titmice whispered, the woodpecker hammered, as mother and young ones bedded themselves down.

For a long time they discussed the horrible scene they had witnessed.

Then sleep enveloped them.

I
T WAS TOWARD MORNING WHEN pungent smoke wakened the animals in the stable.

Manni sniffed deliberately while Devil and Witch stamped anxiously.

“What's this?” gasped Devil.

“Fire!” said Manni, trying to control his excitement. “In the hayloft over us!”

Panic seized Lisa. She swayed back and forth in her stall, bellowing and pushing the calf from one corner to the other.

“All of you get out in the open!” ordered Manni. “Let's fetch the two-legged ones!”

He pressed through the swinging doors, the horses behind him. Even Lisa obeyed him, calling her calf. Outside, pale dawn announced the approaching day. From the stable eaves little blue and yellow flames licked out. At the sight Lisa lost her head completely and made an about-face to run back inside.

Manni blocked her way. “Are you crazy?”

The cow threatened him with lowered horns.

“No farther!” shouted Manni. “Not a step! Go ahead and gore me, for all I care. But you're not going back into that fire!”

The stallion stepped between to stop the calf who had become even more panicky than the mother and was trying to reach the stable door. Devil snorted at them both, “Be stupid whenever you want. But not now—understand? Forward—with us!”

He pushed his forehead into Lisa's flank. She trembled, seeming to change her mind and have no will of her own.

“Quick—quick!” the donkey commanded.

Shepherding the cow and calf between them, they galloped to the Lodge.

“The two-legged ones are still asleep,” said Manni. “We must wake them up!”

Then the cow and calf bellowed, the horses neighed and the donkey brayed.

Up in their rooms Martin, Peter and Babette leaped out of their beds in alarm.

“What's up?” Martin called to Peter, who was looking out the window while pulling on his clothes.

“The stable's on fire!” Peter shouted back.

“Fire?” Martin cried. “How? What caused—”

“Never mind that now, sir,” said Peter. “Let's hurry.”

Hastily Martin slipped into his trousers and shirt.

Poor Babette suddenly began to act like Lisa the cow, screaming in terror.

Peter shouted at her. “Quiet! Quiet! Control yourself!”

He and Martin were already among the animals and on their way to the barn.

While the stable creatures had been sounding the alarm at the Lodge, the owl had returned from her nightly hunt to seek her accustomed nesting place in the barn. The flames and the sharp biting smoke frightened her badly. Over the gusts of smoke she floated in soundless flight and disappeared toward the forest hill.

Martin and Peter ran to the barn. Behind them came the horses followed by Lisa and the calf, who were chased in turn by the donkey.

Hastily Peter fetched the hose from the shed, unrolled it and screwed it into the hydrant. Martin turned the water on. A thick stream of water shot up to the roof.

The flames flared up as if to resist, yet presently collapsed and died out. Finally only a few wisps of smoke were spiraling skyward. Then Peter dragged the hose into the barn and drenched the rafters and walls until they dripped.

The hiss of the water shooting from the hose made the horses afraid at first. They reared, then moved a little way off. Excited and nervous, they watched what was going on.

Lisa had fled into the garden with her calf. She could not be seen and only her occasional short groans could be heard. Babette went to calm her. After a while there was silence.

“The fire's under control now,” Peter said finally.

Martin said, “Let's wait another hour or so anyway—just to be sure.”

“I'd better take a look at the hayloft,” Peter decided. He climbed the ladder, and soon he was throwing down bundles of hay, some badly charred, others thoroughly water-soaked.

“Only small damage,” Peter called. “The roof has hardly been singed.”

As he came down the ladder he said, “Spontaneous combustion. That hay was bone-dry. And the sun beating on the roof all day set it afire. Anyway, we got here in time. When the water dries up, things will be all right again.”

“Our good friends here,” Martin said, “rescued themselves and saved the stable.”

He went to the horses, caressed their throats and heads and talked tenderly.