Forest World (15 page)

He could sense the presence of other stags, waiting, watching. He could sense the awareness of the does, and their readiness to be won away.

His battle-cry resounded louder and more threatening, more challenging.

Now a young doe tried to slip away into the thicket. Swiftly Tambo caught her and smashed his crown down on her back and flanks. Her legs buckled.

Debina saw a stag come toward Tambo with unwise daring. The newcomer was neither so strong nor so large as Tambo.

Tambo saw him at the same moment, broke off his roaring, and was upon his foe like a storm. Too late the smaller stag turned to flee. With a mighty impact Tambo ran him down. The poor fellow rolled over like a rabbit, his shoulder torn and bloody. Swiftly he picked himself up and limped away.

But during Tambo's momentary absence desertions from his following had already taken place. Three had tried to slip away. Tambo hunted out the three and chased them back into his group. He roared dangerously, with new anger, sending one battle challenge after another into the air. But this time no interloper accepted his challenge.

Admiring, yet painfully perturbed, Debina watched her hero. It was not jealousy that tortured her. She did not misunderstand him. What he did, she felt, he had to do. It just had to be. Not for a moment did she think of rebelling against it. Yet it seemed silly to her that
Tambo should be acting as if his life were at stake. That the kingly Tambo, who had such great dignity, should now behave without any dignity at all—this seemed stranger and stranger to her.

Those coquettish females who had no genuine feeling for him—were they worth guarding so jealously? Worth fetching back when they tried to run off? Worth dominating in so lordly yet so foolish a manner? Were they worth all that?

From time to time sounded the bellowing and roaring of the five or six other Kings who ruled in the forest. Debina wondered if they too behaved in the same senseless way. No doubt, she decided, for Tambo was a King among Kings.

The mating season was at its height for five or six days. Besides the trumpeting of the Kings the forest rang with the high lamentation of the weaker stags who could not find mates.

On the eighth and ninth days Debina felt a piercing sadness, as if she must take leave of something dear which was dissolving before her eyes like a dream. She
fought against the feeling with all her inner strength.

Tambo no longer seemed to her a King. He was no longer shining, majestic, proud, but fought-out and tired. Debina reproached herself, but her proud loyalty and intense devotion were gone.

The mating season passed. The does scattered to all directions of the wind. The stags were mute again and the stronger ones slept now, the sleep of the tired warrior.

Tambo too went to seek a bed of rest.

Worried, Debina watched to see if he would recognize her presence as before. She waited for some sign; a look, or even so little as a turn of his crowned head.

Nothing. Dully he passed her as if she were a complete stranger. And she let him pass, neither knowing where he would camp, nor following him.

Very softly she whispered, “Good-by, Tambo.”

Then she walked slowly away through the thicket, alone.

M
ARTIN WAS CARESSING THE sick donkey and talking to him.

“Manni! My good, fine Manni! Don't do this to me. Get well again, Manni, I beg you!”

Peter and Babette stood by helpless. Martin visited the donkey often and as often imagined he saw signs of improvement. But now, on a rainy cold autumn day, there was no mistaking the truth. Manni could stand erect only by leaning against the wall for support.

He had no stall of his own, for he had never needed one. He had always been undemanding. Often he had slept in the open, or spent the coldest winter nights lying outside the cow's or the horses' stalls. He had never been a burden to anyone, but had always brought them joy. He had guided his stable companions, whose victim he now was, with his ripe wisdom. He had endeared himself to the human beings with his willingness to serve, cheerful if sometimes whimsical and erratic.

Now he could find no place to lie down and be comfortable and he wanted to so very much. He leaned against the wall, his head hanging low.

The hunchback went on talking to him. “Show me your eyes, Manni, your beautiful wise eyes.” He lifted the donkey's head gently. “Your eyes are cloudy, my poor friend.”

As always Manni laid his chin on Martin's hump and now nuzzled his cheeks with feverish lips. Martin offered him a piece of sugar. “There, there, old chap. There. You always liked that.”

Good-manneredly Manni took the tidbit, but let it fall.

“Come, sir,” Peter urged.

“Yes, let's go,” Babette begged in a whisper. “A sick animal wants only to be left alone.”

Once outside the barn Martin broke out, “How could the veterinarian say there's nothing wrong with Manni? The man's an utter ignoramus. Please, Peter, send to the animal hospital. A head doctor must come out. We should have sent for one a long time ago.”

Peter excused himself. “We hoped Manni'd get well again, because the veterinarian insisted he was really in good shape.” He shook his head. “It's too late now.”

The horses, the cow, the calf were disturbed by the strange something that emanated from Manni.

“The two-legged minds have said their farewell to him,” mooed Lisa quietly, almost to herself.

“They'll never see Gray alive again,” Witch whispered over her stall partition to the cow.

The stallion caught the last words and neighed. “No, Gray, you can't do that to me! No, Gray, you must live! Say you'll live! Don't be so stubborn and silent!”

Manni's head hung even lower, his nose almost touching the barn floor. He said nothing.

Devil raved without restraint. “Don't drive me to distraction, Gray! Have pity on me!”

“You want pity, you murderer?” Lisa burst out. She kept her voice low only with difficulty. “Have pity yourself and grant the dying one a peaceful end.”

“Dying?”
The stallion lost all control. “You miserable milk-giver! I'd like to—” He kicked so that the dividing wall shook.

“Would you, indeed?” roared the cow. “You'd kill me, as you killed him! But I'm not so helpless as poor Gray. Try it and we'll see which of us two—”

“No!” Devil cried shuddering. “No, I won't hurt you! Forgive me. I'll never hurt anyone after this—no one! And Gray—I didn't murder him. I didn't strike him on purpose. Believe me—not on purpose.”

“You're so absurd—you and your arrogant idiotic fury.” Lisa still assailed him, but was pacified somewhat.

The mare begged, “Don't quarrel now.”

“Certainly not,” the stallion reassured her. “No quarrels. Right, mother?”

“Right,” the cow mooed softly. “But I must be free to speak my opinion.”

“Please do.” Devil was very meek now.

“I really don't think you meant to kill Gray.”

“Thank you, mother. You know I was innocent.”

“Oh, no, by no means innocent. You were always in a rage because Gray was smarter than you.”

Before anyone else could speak, Manni fell to the floor. Horrified, they all leaped toward him, stood around him.

“Are you feeling bad, Gray?” whimpered the stallion.

To their surprise Manni answered in a clear voice: “Bad? Oh, no! I feel light, wonderfully light . . .”

“Good! Good!” the stallion rejoiced. “That's the beginning, Gray.”

“Quiet,” the cow warned him. “It's the beginning—of the end!”

Frightened, Devil kept quiet.

Manni's head swept back and forth on the floor. He sighed, “Oh, how beautiful the forest is—how fragrant—”

Understandingly, the mare entered his delirium. “Whom
do you meet in the forest, little Manni?”

“Whom do I not meet? Tambo, you magnificent stag . . . Tambo, I'm not afraid of you. We're friends after all.” Manni's voice grew weaker. “Oh, the three nice roes are here again. Welcome—welcome!” Now he was whispering indistinctly. “Don't be afraid—of the Fiery One—he won't hurt you—he is—really—” Then louder again: “Oh, He—”

A shudder ran through Manni's body. He stretched and then lay still.

S
PRING FOUGHT ITS WAY BACK to the countryside only after long delay and great effort. Chilly weather persisted with its wintry breath. The sky and the earth seemed cut off from each other.

But though gray clouds still masked the sun, the trees began to sprout delicate young leaves. Bitter-cold rain poured down, yet the grass sprouted afresh and the flowers bloomed. Icy winds swept through the forest, but the migrating birds returned joyfully, built
their nests and sang as if it were really spring.

The roebucks grew their new horns and would soon be rubbing off their coverings. Their red summer coats, however, were not yet growing properly, so that they went around in off-colored dress from which thick tufts of hair hung loose.

The same thing happened to the coats of the great stags, who looked very shabby. They had lived through the winter in herds, once again experiencing the shame of bald heads. Now their crowns sprouted anew, looking fantastically magnified by the covering.

Tambo's crown rose slowly, but to great height. It was almost ready to give him the delight of rubbing it off.

He too now walked alone. A dark feeling filled him: a vague memory that kept dissolving into nothing, yet tugged at his heart until it hurt. There was something lacking for him. He wondered what it was.

It was loneliness from which he suffered. And he had nothing to confirm his dignity and majesty, his rule over the others. He became irritable, attacked those who crossed his path and was glad the other stags kept away
from him. For a while it amused him to frighten roebucks and does, to chase and threaten horrified fawns. He became the menace of the forest.

Then, just as quickly, he felt bored, and ashamed of doing such silly things. He resumed the proud gentleness better suited to his nature.

Finally the sunshine and warmth of real spring triumphed. The singing of the birds took on a truer tone. The throbbing of the finches, the rejoicing of the orioles, the calls of the cuckoos, filled the forest with happiness. The squirrels dashed gaily along the branches. The magpies loquaciously chattered all kinds of stories. And the titmice whispered in the bushes.

Gnats danced from early morning till late evening, only to sink down dying at night to make place for new generations. Butterflies, drunk with light, flitted over sunny meadows.

Bumblebees and beetles dashed and whizzed through the air. “Those butterflies,” said a fat beetle to his son, “are flowers that have liberated themselves.”

“Well, well!” answered the youngster. “Of all things!”
Then a bird snapped up the father in flight. The youngster simply repeated, “Well, well! Of all things!” He lighted on a leaf and crawled thoughtfully upward to the branch. “I must be careful.”

A magpie came to Tambo as the stag was selecting a bedding place. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Tambo admitted, “I'm all alone.”

“That's good,” the magpie chattered. “It suits you.”

Tambo was silent, for he realized that this solitude suited him in fact very little. He had been used to something different. But he could not remember what and sank to pondering.

“Don't you like to gossip with me?” the magpie asked after a pause.

“No,” Tambo retorted brusquely.

“You've become very rude,” the magpie remarked and flew away.

Tambo lay down. The early light shimmered and he was sleepy.

Close overhead Perri the squirrel sat on a low shaking maple branch. “Greetings, Tambo.”

The great stag looked up, “Greetings.”

“All alone, Tambo?”

“You can see for yourself.”

“Where is—yes, where's Debina?”