Forest World (7 page)

“Never mind.” Shah's manner was condescending. “You're a good fellow. Even if we are different, we can still be friends, can't we?”

For answer Treff wagged his tail and pushed the cat over onto his back. He playfully seized Shah's throat in his jaws while Shah braced both hind paws against the dog's shaggy chest.

“Aren't you afraid?” called Witch.

Lithely the Persian sprang up. “Of course not!”

“What if he should bite you?” the stallion asked worriedly.

Shah was amused. “He doesn't bite hard. Any more than I ever hurt him with my claws.”

Treff chuckled too.

“Are you going to stay with us now?” Manni inquired of the tomcat.

“I feel like staying,” Shah admitted. “It's very comfortable here with Him. I don't have to exert myself. There's plenty of milk, which I'll confess I missed up there. And there's
also a warm little corner where I can sleep without being disturbed.”

Witch looked puzzled. “How can you be in the forest alone so long without a master, and now be so nicely obedient again?”

“Obedient?” Shah was surprised. “I don't know what it is to be obedient. And don't call Him my master. I know no master. He's my friend.” Shah stretched and yawned. “I wanted to see Him again. I'm quite fond of Him. Just the same, He didn't have to catch me in a wooden box! That wasn't a friendly thing to do. But I suppose He thought it was the only way. That was it—He put it there because he longed for me! Touching, isn't it? During that night in the box I hoped He'd come quickly. I wanted to see Him too. And the forest—well, I wasn't really having any fun in the forest anymore. So now I'm going to stay here.”

Manni looked skeptically at the tomcat. After a short silence he said: “But suppose you should
want
to go again?”

Shah was washing himself. He paused and admitted casually: “Of course, if I
want
to, naturally I'll go. But not to
stay so long again. Only for a night. For a pheasant,” he added. “It's as good as caught. They sleep in the trees, and sleep quite soundly. No, I won't need to stay any longer than one night another time.”

“What about Him?” asked Devil. “Will He stand for it?”

“He won't find out anything! He's far from being as smart as I am.”

“Oh, go on with you!” Manni snickered. “You really mean you think you're smarter than He is?”

“I certainly do and I certainly am,” Shah said as if stating obvious facts.

Even Treff looked unconvinced.

Amiably the Persian explained to him: “You know I always do only what I want to do. Unlike you, I serve no one. I follow only my own will. For instance, right
now
—I've had enough of all of you.” He squeezed through the barn's swinging door, and Treff pushed through after him.

“Stuck-up thing!” the stallion neighed indignantly.

C
LOSE BY, MARTIN COULD HEAR the finch singing his gay little song, fresh and sprightly as a short poem in lilting rhythm. Over and over he repeated the melody, for he knew no other. Between spurts of music he flashed his quick
Psst! Psst!
as if calling someone's attention. Then he started his sweet little song anew.

Martin was sitting on his observation platform in the treetops, close to the edge of a small clearing in an out-of-the-way part of the preserve. He had a lovely
view from here of branch and foliage, and the little meadow and its grass and bog.

Again the song of the finch sounded. Nearby three other finches sang happily to one another. The first finch joined them.

Under Martin's very nose, on the railing of the observation platform, sat a forest mouse, staring as if spellbound. When the young man moved a trifle, she jumped a little distance away, then paused for an instant as if to make up her mind. She threw him one more glance and disappeared as if by magic.

A little squirrel leaped onto the railing. He stopped in amazement as if saying, “Oh, look!” Then he made a flying leap right over Martin to the trunk of a tree.

Beneath Martin suddenly something rushed close to the ground—a burst of sparkling color. It was the kingfisher flashing by, and again Martin's desire to see him at close range was aroused. But in vain. Martin had never seen him except by lucky circumstance. He had caught a glimpse of him once, hardly bigger than a child's fist, earnestly balancing on a branch with his
very short legs. The kingfisher was never to be seen walking or hopping; only in swift flight or, once in a great while, sitting very still.

A fluttering above him took Martin's mind from the unattainable. A crow, obviously trying to escape an enemy, came through the trees on frightened wings.

The enemy she could have killed with a single stroke of her strong bill was a tiny golden oriole. But she fled from him madly as he flew under her, hacking furiously at her belly, giving up only when she escaped into open space. Then he flew back, still indignant, returning to the nest where he had surprised the robber crow about to murder and eat his brood.

Martin was reminded by this dramatic scene that the sense of property and parenthood can lift the weakest to genuine courage, and that the strong are made cowardly and defenseless by the feeling of guilt.

The stately hare, serious as always, sat quietly on the edge of the clearing, unable to reach a decision of any kind. He bent his ears forward, then pressed them flat against his back. His white whiskers trembled with his
incessant scenting of the air. He looked up with tilted head, the very picture of a father distracted by anxiety.

Completely unworried, a roe strolled about. Unlike the hare, he did not scent the breeze or jerk his head up. He merely nibbled, daintily moving his thin legs.

The hoopoe, raising his semicircular crest mistrustfully, eyed the roe with curiosity, half wanting to go closer to him, half shunning acquaintance. After a moment he made off into the thicket.

Far below, the flight of water wagtails entranced Martin—a flight without wide curves. And he was amused by their pretty walk, in which they nodded agreeably to one another, both with their little heads and their narrow tails, as if to express how good the world seemed to them.

Suddenly Tambo appeared.

The roe did not notice him at first. When he did he leaped away without emitting a sound of fright. But after a few moments, from a distance, Martin heard twice his
Ba-uh!

Only the hare remained in his place. He was not afraid of Tambo.

Magnificent and proud, yet somehow timidly embarrassed, Tambo stood in full view. Martin saw that the stag paused to watch the roe's flight. Tambo remained motionless a minute, then majestically yet swiftly vanished into the underbrush.

Now, three, four, five king pheasants walked regally across the clearing. Streaks of radiant gold and black gleamed on their bodies like ceremonial vestments, and ceremoniously they dragged behind them the long train of their tailfeathers. Their passage, Martin thought, was like a procession of archbishops.

When the sun was high in the heavens and silence fell in the forest, Martin went home reflecting:

“We always remain strange to them. They don't understand us. They don't know what an endless measure of inspiration they are, what a font of mystery and magic. No. We fill them only with fear and enmity. It's been in their blood since the oldest times, and has become their sharpest instinct. It is sad. And the worst of it is that I suppose we human beings are responsible for it.”

L
ISA THE COW CRIED OUT at hearing human footsteps approaching. Her terror was so great this time that her stable companions were alarmed and confused.

“They're coming!” she cried, whipping her flanks with her tail. “They'll take my baby from me!” She pressed the calf into a far corner of her stall. It stood there close under the crib trembling and bawling miserably.

The horses stretched their necks over the wall.

“Be still, mother,” whispered Witch. “How often
have we told you nothing will happen to your baby?”

Devil contradicted Witch with a snort. “You're right, mother. You can never tell what He will do.”

Manni turned to Devil. “That's just like you! Why do you tease the good soul?”

To annoy Manni the stallion neighed, “Defend yourself, mother! Defend yourself!”

When Martin and Peter entered the stable, the cow had her head lowered, ready to gore wildly. But both men passed her by and went to the horses instead.

“Well, which one shall I saddle?” Peter asked.

“The mare,” Martin decided. He glanced at Lisa who was glaring and kept switching her tail. “Odd how the cow's behaving.”

Peter, putting the bit on the mare, looked over at the cow. “She does seem a little excited.” He strapped the saddle firmly on Witch.

Lisa became somewhat more quiet.

Martin put a foot in the stirrup, swung onto Witch's back and guided her out. Peter stayed behind and went
over to the cow. He petted her between the horns and offered her a handful of salt. “Well, how's your calf, Lisa?”

His gentle tone soothed Lisa. Hesitantly at first, then more confidently, she licked the salt from his hand. His other hand caressed her thick brown neck.

Babette's voice was heard suddenly. “I want to see how the calf's getting on.”

At once Lisa began to lash her tail again.

“That calf will be very beautiful,” Babette said. She would have entered the stall but Lisa blocked the way and snorted wildly.

“Don't come in!” Peter said. “She doesn't want you to.”

“If you don't”—Babette smiled at Lisa—“then I won't.”

She and Peter left the stable.

The stallion was triumphant. “You're very brave. You chased them away, mother!”

“Yes, they're gone,” Lisa mooed softly. “My baby wasn't touched.”

The donkey brayed his kindly but incredulous laughter.

G
RAY CLOUDS COVERED THE BLUE skies. The fall had lost its patience and would be delayed no longer by the lingering summer. It broke forth with furor.

Cold wind swept foliage from the trees. Cold rain splashed down and countless leaves fell, so that many trees were suddenly left with bare limbs.

A radiant morning followed. Its cool freshness made the forest look new born. The air was crisp and sparkling. In the meadows and clearings mellow frost lay like
sprinkled sugar. This glittering cover did not melt until the sun mounted high. Then wilted grass appeared.

O-eh!
came the first bay of a stag.

Soon a second and third rang through the woods.

Fascinated, Martin listened to this primitive sound which came only at one time of the year. By tomorrow the forest would be filled with the mighty trumpeting of the stags.

With the first pink of dawn Martin went stalking, accompanied by Peter. Peter carried a gun hung on his shoulder, for he was prepared—just in case. But Martin, as always, had no weapon. Worshiping every living creature, he could not bear to kill.