Forest World (12 page)

Peter joined them, and lovingly patted Manni's back. “He was the leader, I'm sure.”

He turned to see the stable door standing wide open. “So, friends,” he called to the horses and the donkey, “you can move back into your palace again. And here, Lisa—you too, and your calf. Well, Babette,” he smiled at his wife who walked behind the cow, “all's well again, you see.”

Babette smiled sheepishly and slapped the cow on the flank. “She was even more scared than I was!”

The three trudged back to the house. Glowing a wonderful red, the sun rose into the heavens.

The animals re-entered the stable.

“What a mess!” exclaimed the stallion.

“It certainly isn't very pretty,” the mare agreed.

“Everything's wet,” Lisa grumbled.

Manni quieted her. “It'll soon dry.”

“Soon dry!” Devil mocked him. “What's the good of all this water?”

“To put out the fire,” Manni patiently explained.

“The fire! That wasn't bad,” the stallion snorted.

“And how it smells here!” the mare complained, her nostrils wrinkling.

“Disgusting!” Devil was indignant.

“The smell will disappear,” Manni said earnestly to soothe them.

“Disappear!” raged the stallion. “
You
ought to disappear, you know-it-all!”

“What did the Hes do here, after all?” Witch inquired.

Manni said, “They saved us and the barn.”

“What do you mean—‘us'?” snorted Devil. “We weren't in any danger. Not for a second!”

“Then why did we go for them?” the donkey demanded. “Why did we call in front of the house until they woke up and came to our aid?” He looked at the cow. “Why was the mother here in such a panic? Why is she now so sure of herself again? Why are you just as calm? Because we still have our living place even though it is a little wet. Because we owe great thanks to our two-legged friends for their quick help. Why don't you admit it?”

The stallion flamed furiously, “Must you
always
be right?”
Frothing, he kicked out blindly and hit the donkey on the throat close to his head.

Manni collapsed to the floor. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth.

Terrified, the mare neighed.

Lisa lowered her horns threateningly at Devil. “You cruel fool! I'd like to gore you!”

The calf begged, “Don't, mother, don't!”

Manni was whispering faintly in a choking voice, “Forgive me, I don't always have to be right. Forgive me . . .”

But Devil stood stony, desperate, lost. Then he timidly bent over Manni, who was breathing heavily. “
You
forgive
me.
Friend! Good, gentle friend! I didn't want to hurt you. You know how idiotic I am when I get in a rage. But I'm not really bad. Never! Does it hurt much?”

“No,” the donkey said in a weak voice, “only at first. . . .” Blood still ran from his neck.

“Can't you stand up?” Devil asked worriedly.

“I'll try, if you wish.” Manni could only whisper. He threshed his legs and had to lie on his side. Then he lost consciousness.

“He's asleep,”
said the stallion, slightly relieved.

But Lisa declared, “He's more than asleep. It's almost like death.”

Devil did not dare utter another word; his ears lay flat and dejected.

“This comes from your always getting excited.” Witch began to reproach him. She spared him not at all, listing all his outbursts of proud and stupid fury. Lisa chimed in feelingly.

The stallion kept silent, filled with a sense of guilt.

Finally Witch said, “And what if you've killed him? Suppose he dies now?”

“Then—then—I don't want to live either,” stammered Devil.

But after an anxious hour, Manni breathed more easily. The bleeding had stopped and he awakened. With great effort he got up shakily.

They surrounded him, Devil with them. “Are you well again? Have you any pain? You're not bleeding any more, are you?”

“Get well,” the stallion begged him. “Please get well and I'll show you how much I love you.”

“We all love you!” the others chorused.

Manni was deeply moved. “This is rich reward for a trifling injury, but I've learned my lesson. In the future I'll be careful. It's dangerous to be too wise. It's even more dangerous to talk wisely before you're asked your opinion.”

T
HE SUMMER SUN BLAZED FROM the heavens. So glowing hot were the days that the air seemed to boil. And the nights were steaming.

In this orgy of sun the forest creatures enjoyed increased well-being and a mounting joy in life. From the very break of day the pheasants clucked, the magpies and jays chattered, the woodpecker hammered more industriously than ever. The glittering kingfisher zoomed like a flash through the air. The water wagtails,
with their long narrow bobbing tails, rocked themselves in low flight or else strolled elegantly on the banks of the streams with friendly nods.

High in the blue above the fields where crops were ripening for harvest, the jubilant larks trilled without stopping.

In the forest the cuckoo called out his roguish challenge, luring the female who flittered coyly around him.

The oriole flew from the tree, uttering his short glad song. The finches sang their beautiful poem, punctuated by their mysterious
Psst! Psst!

The blackbirds hacked and drilled after earthworms, but found none because of the drought. Disappointed, they tried out various new cadences in their morning and evening songs.

The squirrels dashed gaily along the branches, gathering beechnuts and hazelnuts. They gobbled greedily or else added them to their secret reserve supplies, which they later often forgot.

The roebucks began courting the does. Here and there one pursued the doe he was wooing across a
meadow and through the thicket. The does fled, sometimes in earnest flight, sometimes coquettishly. Yet here and there one of them sounded her delicate, longing peep because she was lonely and wanted to let her suitor know where she was.

Now the mothers seemed to lose all interest in their children. The abandoned young tripped through bushes and meadow plaintively calling for the once faithful guardians who had so bewilderingly failed in their duty. They had no idea why they were deserted. This was their first bitter experience of life.

Even Arilla, who still mourned her husband—the dangerous murderer with the long daggerlike horns whom Peter had destroyed—even Arilla was courted now by new swains.

“Come with me,” one of them offered. “You mustn't be sad.”

“Be mine, Arilla,” urged another. “I love you.”

“Listen to me,” begged a third. “I admired you even when your ruffian was alive.”

“Don't say such things to me,” whispered Arilla.

“Why not?” they demanded. “This widowhood must end. Everyone will laugh at you. You're being silly. Be gay, Arilla! We're just as good as he was. No—we're
better
!”

“You're wrong,” Arilla countered softly. “I don't want any of you. No one can replace him.”

She had hardly finished saying this when a mighty buck stormed up like a hurricane and took her away before him.

Gone was Arilla's sadness. She thought nothing, resisted no more, felt only happiness that a new master now dominated her. Soon she followed him obediently, away from the others.

With her children, Genina was wandering indifferently along the familiar trails. Yet in her heart there still beat longing for Rombo: the wish that he might again be with her as he had been long ago.

Hah-ah-hahaha-ah!
came the melancholy song of the great gray owl. Soundlessly she flew close to the heads of the three roes.

“Greetings. How are you?” asked Genina, glad to be diverted by conversation.

“Oh,” answered the owl, “now that I'm away from Him, I have nothing evil to fear.”

“Away from Him? But you were so friendly with Him!”

“But
you
left Him too.”

“Yes,” Genina admitted, “because spring came. Because we longed again for the forest. But we didn't leave for fear of evil!”

“Then you were lucky.”

“And what happened to you?”

The owl snapped her beak angrily. “Nothing! I was lucky too, I must say. Lucky and wise. Listen. One morning I was coming home to my quiet little place, and what do I find? Everything full of smoke, smell and fire! No horses, no donkey, no cow, no calf. The entire place empty. It was a trap for me—you see? But they didn't get me. Not me! Oh, He's treacherous and tricky. You can't trust Him.”

Genina said with surprise, “Really, I can hardly believe that!”

The owl insisted, still snapping her beak, “You can believe me all right!”

Genina objected: “He was always good and kind to us.”

“Yes,” the owl continued with sage nods. “He pretended . . . but only to win our confidence. And then—”

“You see, mother,” Loso said, “I was right to be afraid.”

“And my fear,” Mena added, “wasn't so foolish either.”

“See what happened,” Loso continued triumphantly, “to the good owl.”

“Always listen to children,” said the owl. “They have a sure instinct. Farewell!” And she flew away.

Genina stared after her, confused and troubled. Then suddenly she saw Rombo approaching, slowly, looking friendly. Love and resentment struggled in Genina's breast.

“Rombo!” she whispered rapturously. “Rombo!”

Loso and Mena stood still, except for their ears which waggled joyfully.

Genina recovered herself. “Don't you pay any
attention to your father,” she ordered. “No greeting. And don't move from my side.”

Rombo strutted toward her, his legs lifting nobly. “Greetings, Genina!”

She made a sulky face and was silent.

But Loso called out, “Greetings, father!”

“We've been waiting for you so long!” Mena said tenderly.

Genina looked at them in annoyance.

But Rombo was very gentle. “How pretty they are, those two! My compliments, Genina.”

She was still silent.

“Why don't you speak to me?” Rombo said softly. “The children are nice to me, but you—”

“You don't deserve friendliness,” she retorted. “You faithless—”

“I was not! I was only hurt—”

“You behaved badly, Rombo. Very badly.”

“Because you abandoned me, Genina.”

“You should have been happy to see me again.”

“I was. But I didn't want you to know.”

“And now suddenly you do?” Genina was skeptical.

“Yes, Genina. I'm not angry with you anymore. And you must forgive me.”

“Must you talk in front of the children?” she asked, already half won over.

“Be off with you—immediately!” he commanded the children. “I want to be alone with your mother.” Frightened, Mena and Loso rushed away. “They're almost grown up,” he declared. Then he spoke firmly: “Now it's just as it used to be. We're together again. . . .”

I
N THE AUTUMN THE STAGS had shed their crowns. Many a helpless hazel bush, many a young birch and ash had lost their bark under their butting blows. First the naked wood stared out, white-yellow; then it was veined with red, and finally it showed open and discolored wounds. Many a bush and a few trees died slowly from the scars made by the stately stags' antlers.

During the shedding season, Debina had waited at a little distance from Tambo.

Now she admired her chosen one's superb violence and the growing beauty of his new crown. It had fourteen ivory-colored points.

It was the mating season again, and Debina's presence embarrassed Tambo. She still followed him modestly and silently, pacing behind him on his secret winding paths, sleeping nearby when he rested, rising when he rose. She never realized she might be intruding, never thought she might be a burden to him.