Forest World (14 page)

The doctor tapped Manni's lungs, flanks and kidney region. Manni bore it stolidly.

“Now,” said the veterinarian, “I'd like to look into his mouth. Will he stand for it?”

“If I open his mouth, certainly.” Peter took hold of the silky soft jowls. “Now, Manni, now. It'll be all over in just a moment.”

Good-naturedly Manni opened his jaws. The doctor glanced in quickly. “Nothing, not a trace of illness” was his judgment. “As far as I can see, there is not a thing the matter with him.”

“But his condition is pitiful,” Peter complained. “It's strange—and puzzling.”

The veterinarian shrugged helplessly. Both men departed.

“They are stupid,” Lisa muttered.

The stallion neighed softly, “They have the best intentions.”

“What good is that?” grumbled Lisa. “What good is that if one's as stupid as straw?”

The mare was more hopeful. “Now that the Hes have touched him, perhaps it'll go better with Gray.”

Devil agreed. “We don't understand what they do. But they can do so much.”

“They can't do anything, the dumb things.” Lisa was stubborn. “All our misfortune comes from their not understanding us and our not understanding them.”

The stallion agreed with her then. “Yes, giver of milk, that's true. We can only half understand, half guess what they mean.”

“Half?” The cow shook her broad head. “That would be a lot. All we can do is guess a tiny bit, no more. And what do they understand about us? Almost nothing.”

“Oh, you're unfair,” Devil objected. “They probably understand more than you think. They're very good to us, after all.”

“They guess a lot of things, too,” the cow put in, “but it amounts to very little in the end. And
ours
are exceptions. All the others treat our kind brutally. Cruelly! Outrageously!”

The stallion begged, “Don't say that!”

“And don't exaggerate so,” the mare added.

“I'm not exaggerating,” the cow argued. “What I say is true, and only a small part of the truth.”

“If you're right,” the stallion replied, “how very lucky we are!”

“Yes, as long as everything runs smoothly.” The cow's tail whipped her flanks. “But look at Gray and see if you still think we're lucky.”

“It's my fault,” sighed the stallion, “all my own fault.”

“Yes, it's your fault,” repeated the cow. “But now if we could talk with Him—discuss things with Him just as we talk among ourselves—”

“Hopeless,” whispered Witch.

“—then maybe,” Lisa completed her thought, “Gray could be saved.”

Manni was standing with trembling knees, holding groans back by sheer force of will.

“How do you feel, friend?” the stallion inquired for the thousandth time.

“Thank you, quite well,” Manni answered in a barely audible voice.

A
FTER THE EXCITEMENT OF THE mating season had subsided, Rombo became himself again. Though he still was fond of Genina, he began more and more to wander around alone, to graze alone, and to rest alone.

Nor did Genina feel so dependent on his presence as she had a few weeks before. She, too, was satisfied to be by herself.

Accidentally she met Arilla one day.

Still dazed and dreamy, Arilla recounted how her new mate had driven her brutally away from him.

“Do you like such brutality?” Genina asked in wonder.

“
Like?
What a weak expression, Genina!”

“I don't understand.”

“But, Genina, the second was the same kind of ruffian buck as my unforgettable one! Now do you understand?”

“No.”

With some impatience, Arilla said, “I thought my first could never be replaced. But the second completely replaced him.”

“Was he just as good to you?”

“Nonsense!” Arilla preened herself. “Any of them can be good to you. That's nothing!”

“Then what else gives you pleasure, Arilla?”

“To have a master. You see, Genina, I want to be dominated—tyrannized over. Then
I
can be devoted. And I'm delighted when my mate puts up with my devotion reluctantly. Or even if he spurns me.”

Genina was amazed.

“Understand, Genina, they're just pretending. Really they want loving attention. They expect it. I don't say they long for it. But I love this pretended indifference.”

Genina came to a decision. “Arilla, I don't think we can be friends. We're very badly suited to each other. I'll never understand you, nor you me. Farewell.” She turned away and went off.

Arilla was baffled. “Silly thing,” she said finally to herself. “She has no idea of love—not a glimmer. In all the forest, I'm the only one who knows what love is!”

Now again Genina remembered her children; she had sought them out two or three times of late. To her surprise, Mena, now a dainty hind, had become a coquette. Loso, a charming little single-horned buck, flirted amusingly, clumsily, with does much older than he.

The delight of this new freedom had been revealed to them both. They no longer waited for Genina to come to them, as they had once upon a time. They no longer needed her motherly leadership. Now they
understood that they were grown up and took a ridiculous pride in the fact.

Genina was halted by a cry. “Mother—greetings!” It was Mena. Surprised and delighted, she looked at her daughter. “Greetings, Mena!” Here was no longer a fawn but a young doe. “How beautiful you are, Mena. How wonderfully beautiful!”

The young deer glowed with naïve pride. “You really think so, mother?”

“Yes, and it makes me happy to tell you so, my dear.”

Mena laughed, moving her ears. She came closer to her mother, lightly touched her flank with her muzzle and whispered, “Oh, not a few have told me that since you've been gone.”

Genina was frightened. “You haven't accepted any of your suitors?”

Mena leaped mockingly away, came back and laughed. “You'd like to know, wouldn't you?”

“Don't joke,” Genina insisted seriously. “Answer me!”

Mena too became serious then. “No, I haven't.”

Genina nodded, satisfied.

“Is there anything else you want to know, mother?”

“Where can I find your brother?”

“That's too much for me!” Mena laughed. “I've been wandering alone for days now.”

“Loso doesn't protect you?”

Mena was amused. “I don't need Loso to look after me. I protect myself.”

“You don't know where he is now?”

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

“Come. We'll look for him together.”

They walked along, chatting occasionally or moving in silence, feeling closer to each other than ever before.

Over them floated the great owl. “If I'm not mistaken, you lived with Him.”

“Yes,” Genina said. “Now I'm looking for my son.”

“You haven't far to look,” chattered the owl. “Where the three ash trees stand in that tiny clearing. He's there now. Oh, he behaves very well and wisely. You'll hardly recognize him, he's grown so much in the last few weeks. In fact, he's almost better looking than your daughter.”

Genina was grateful. She wanted to run to the clearing. But the owl went on, “Really, one ought to be amazed at how quickly youngsters grow up. But every year it's the same. I've seen it so often I'm not surprised anymore.”

Genina waited politely, though impatiently, for the wise bird to take her leave. “Well, don't let me delay you,” she murmured, and sailed away.

“Let's hurry,” Genina exclaimed. But Mena was already leaping ahead of her.

Presently they slowed their pace and stepped delicately, as if in stately dance, into the glade.

Loso looked up, motionless. Then: “Mother,” he called very softly.

As softly Genina whispered, “My child.”

“You're almost a stranger to me, mother.”

“Come to me, Loso. We'll soon know each other again.”

“As we did before?” said Loso a little sadly. “No, never again.”

Mena threw in snippily, “Is your sister a stranger to you too?”

“Well, Mena”—Loso took on a very superior air—“to tell the truth, you bore me.”

Genina asked sorrowfully, “Don't you love each other anymore?”

“I still have a certain liking for you and Mena,” Loso said.

“Well, I have very little for you, Loso,” Mena retorted, tossing her head. “As for mother, of course I love her, but—she's
funny
 !”

Genina's heart beat thickly in her throat. “Am I? To you too, Loso?”

Loso looked away before he said, “Nothing is quainter than a mother who acts as if she were still necessary.”

“You don't need me at all?”

“No!” said Loso brusquely.

“Need you?” answered Mena. “No, we don't
need
you. But it makes me happy to go around with you.”

“And you, Loso, does it make you happy too?”

“I'd like it very much, mother—now and then.”

“Well, my children—” Genina controlled her feelings—“you
have
changed.”

“Why did you leave us alone?” Mena asked.

“Because your father—”

“Never mind”—Loso interrupted her—“probably we'd have left you sooner or later anyway. After all, we're grown up.”

“But, children, you—”

“Don't call us
children 
! We aren't children anymore!” Mena snapped.

“So?” Genina's head lifted high. “Then what shall you call me? Can you ever give me another name? Can I ever stop being your mother? And for me—for me—even if you were ever so old, ever so grown up—for me you'll always be children. My children!”

There was a long pause. Then Mena caressed Genina's throat with her muzzle. Softly, Loso pressed his tiny horns into his mother's flank.

T
HE AUTUMN RAIN FELL STEADILY with a rustling sound. The singing of the birds ceased. Gusty wind howled through the treetops and tossed the bushes so that their leaves dropped soggily to the ground.

When the rain stopped, and the wind was still, the leaves dried and falling made a soft whisper throughout the forest.

Then came a night when light frost settled over the hills and glades. But as the sun rose, the shimmering
white disappeared again. Yet the air remained cool. The sun appeared later and later each morning, no longer radiating summer warmth.

But the stags grew livelier. From here and there came their deep groaning bellows. The first one to sound the call of the season was Tambo. His mighty voice roared like thunder.

“Here, to me!” he ordered Debina.

But she had already come close to him. “I am yours,” she whispered, “yours forever.”

“Yes!” He spoke masterfully, as if in anger.

Modestly his faithful little follower accepted his rule—modestly and happily. “I thank you, Tambo! I love you!”

“Others will belong to me too,” Tambo warned her. “You will have to be patient.”

“As you command, my lord,” she murmured humbly.

“Don't call me yours!” he grumbled. “You are mine. But I am not yours.”

“I know,” Debina whispered. “Forgive me.”

His heavily maned neck stretched out so that his crown of fourteen points lay flat against his back. He
bellowed resoundingly. His breath, a gray-white cloud of vapor, floated over his head.

Other does had gathered close by. A few waited in the thicket for Tambo to fetch them. Roughly, quickly, he herded them all together, ten in all, some very young ones among them.

“I will not need to guard you, Debina,” he whispered to her. “You are faithful!”

Debina was silent. When she saw no other so noble, could she be anything but faithful?

“But
these
,” Tambo rumbled, ready to fight, “—a gallivanting, faithless crowd. I must watch them and see that they do not leave me for any other.”