Suddenly in the Depths of the Forest (7 page)

And I wanted so much to be one of them: I really,
really tried all the time to be like everyone else. Even more like them than they were. But the harder I tried, the more they made fun of me.

The stranger began to walk toward them, but after a few steps, he stopped, changed his mind, and went back to the fig tree: Perhaps he was afraid he might scare them off. Or perhaps he found it difficult to move closer to them. But when he saw that the children didn't run away from him but kept standing where they were and looking at him, merely moving closer together to close the space between them, he looked down at the grass and said in a smiling voice, I'm glad you came.

Then added, Look, I have some pomegranate juice here. And snow water. Want some?

Matti whispered, Careful, Maya. Don't even touch that wooden cup. You never know. Maybe it's dangerous to drink it.

But Maya mixed some pomegranate juice with snow water in the hollow wooden cup, drank, laughed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and said to the man, I'm Maya. And this is Matti. Matti's afraid you're a sorcerer. Are you a sorcerer?

And then she said, Drink some too, Matti. Come on, taste it. It's cold and delicious. You won't get whoopitis from it, don't be scared. Look, none of the animals here is afraid of this man.

Matti didn't say a word, just grabbed Maya's arm and tried to pull her back. But Maya absolutely refused to be pulled back, and jerked her arm out of Matti's grasp. And she didn't say a word either.

Suddenly, some peculiar, low sounds came out of the stranger's mouth, twisting sounds that weren't like words, and when he uttered them, an entire flock of excited, twittering honeysuckers, gold and turquoise and blue-spotted, landed on his shoulders and his head, and also on the children's heads and shoulders.

When the man and his guests were surrounded by the birds, he told them how, many years ago, when he was still a child, the other children had always snubbed him. After all, every class or group has one like that, the man said—unwanted, different, and wherever groups of children go, he always insists on trailing after them, and he always drags his feet a few steps behind everyone, self-conscious and shy, but ignoring the insults and ridicule, desperate to be accepted, to belong. That's why he's ready to do anything, ready to be their servant, at their beck and call, ready to play the fool to make them laugh, to volunteer to be the jester, and they can ridicule him as much as they want, even abuse him a little, he doesn't care, look, he's handing them his whole, rejected heart free of charge.

But the group just isn't interested in having him around. And not for any special reason: they absolutely don't want him and that's that. And he should get out of their sight as fast as he can. Because he's not like us and doesn't fit in. So he should go away because really, but really, no one needs him here.

Maya said, We have a boy like that too: Nimi. Nimi the Owl.

And Matti said, No. Nimi is something different. Nimi just has whoopitis. Everyone keeps away from him because it really is dangerous to get close to someone with whoopitis.

Then he leaned over to Maya and added in a whisper, It'll be dark soon, Maya, we have to try to escape right away.

Maya said, Escape? But the gate's open and no one is keeping us here. You can leave, if you're in such a hurry. But I'm staying. There's still so much to see.

And the man said, Sit down now, both of you, here, on this stone. Have a little pomegranate or fig juice with snow water. And don't worry, Matti, about the coming darkness. It'll be a bit late tonight, so we can continue talking. Just don't be afraid of this mole. He gets insulted when people are afraid of him. He's very, very old, and almost deaf, but he took the trouble to come out of his burrow just to sniff you. Sit quietly for a minute and please let him sniff. Look at how amazingly delicate his ears and paws are, and how his pink nose is quivering so gently in your honor, like the rapid beating of an excited heart. Your smell must be stirring memories from the time before his parents were born.

Matti looked from the old mole to the man, then back at the mole, and, once again, a vague remembrance passed through his mind: I've been here before, all this happened to me once, I was here and forgot everything, and even now, I still can't remember what actually happened. But I definitely remember that I forgot. I think this man must be a little lonely. Or maybe he just seems that way to me? Is he setting a trap for us? Because from up close, Matti thought he'd seen a spark of slyness, the glimmer of a secret scheme flash across the man's wrinkled face. And when did he see it? At the moment when the man laughed and said that the darkness would be late in coming tonight, so we can all continue talking.

What if he was planning to imprison them here? Forever?

The man's veiny fingers suddenly looked to Matti like stubborn roots that clutch and entwine and never let go.

And what if this sorcerer is actually plotting to hold us here so he can take revenge against our parents and the whole village? Or not only hold us, but cast a spell on us and turn us into animals?

Matti said, It'll be dark soon. I want to go home now.

And Maya said, But I don't. I want to hear more. And I want to see more.

Then the man told them that when he was about ten and a half, he gave up on being friends with children his own age or adults and began spending his days with cats and dogs until he learned to understand and even to speak dog-words and cat-talk, not to mention horse-lingo.

After about two or three weeks, the whole village decided that the poor boy had come down with whoopitis, and everyone was very careful not to get close to him. Finally, things became so unpleasant that even his parents gave up on him: they were shamed by the whole village and they were ashamed of him, and also made sure that his younger brothers and sisters didn't get too close to him and catch his disease.

And so, in the end, his parents and all the grown-ups let him wander around the forest alone, as free as the wind and the water, both day and night. Eeorrrriarrr, the man said suddenly in a different voice, and in a moment, a bear with thick, tangled brown fur came out of the bushes, rubbed its heavy head against the man's hand, looked at Matti and Maya with damp beary eyes that were full of curiosity, affection, friendship, shy modesty, and a slight sense of wonder, as if those eyes wanted to explain and say, Sorry, don't be angry, I just don't understand what all this is, I'm very sad to say that I don't understand anything, forgive me, don't expect anything from me; after all, I'm just a bear.

Then the bear turned over and lay down clumsily on its broad back, its legs waving in the air, and began to rub its fur on the carpet of grass and make all sorts of humming sounds in a dark brown bass voice, a deep but warm, wintry voice. Matti quickly retreated three or four steps and tried to pull Maya by the arm, but Maya jerked her arm out of his grasp this time too: Enough, let me go! Matti, run home if that's what you want, no one is forcing you to stay. But I for one want to get to know this place.

And the man said, You're Maya. You're Matti. I'll introduce myself too: I'm Nehi. I'm the Mountain Demon. The sorcerer. And now, meet Shigi. You don't have to be afraid of Shigi. He's a slightly childish bear, a bear that suddenly starts to dance in the middle of a rainstorm, or tries to swat flies with his too-short tail, or hides for hours among the river plants and splashes all the animals that pass by. Shigi. Stop interrupting. I'm in the middle of a story here.

As time went on, the man continued his story: I also learned the language of pigeons, crickets, frogs, goats, fish, and bees. And a few months later, after I disappeared and went off all by myself to live the life of a mountain boy in the forest, I tried to learn more and more animal languages. It wasn't hard, because the languages of animals and birds have many fewer words than the languages of people, and they have only the present tense, there's no past or future at all, and they have only verbs, nouns, and interjections, no other forms.

With the years, I realized that animals sometimes lie too, to escape danger or to show off, or to mislead their prey, or to frighten others, and sometimes just to charm when they're courting. Like we all do.

Creatures even have special words that express joy, excitement, amazement, and pleasure. And the creatures that are considered mute—for instance, butterflies, fireflies, fish, snails—even they have certain words that aren't spoken out loud but are conveyed by all sorts of small vibrations that reach the listener only through the skin, fur, or feathers, not through the ears. Those vibrations are like the gentle ripples made by a leaf that falls onto the smooth surface of a lake when the water is very calm and still.

Other creatures even have certain words that resemble prayer: special words of thanks for the sunlight, and other words of thanks for gusting wind, for rain, soil, plants, light, warmth, food, smells, and water. And they have words of longing. But none of the creatures' languages have any words meant to humiliate or ridicule. No, not that.

If you'd like, Maya and Matti, the man said, and gently laid his heavy, tired hands on the back of a small goat that had come and curled up to rest in Shigi's brown fur, if you'd like, we'll try to teach them to you too, slowly. The way we taught Nimi, who found his way to us before you. Yes, Nimi the Owl, Nimi with the constantly runny nose, the one everyone down below says has whoopitis. But deep in your hearts, Maya and Matti, you have both known for a long time that there is no such illness in the world. Whoopitis was invented only to keep people from getting close. To isolate people. And in fact, from now on, you two will be our guests, mine and all the creatures that live with me here in the garden of our mountain home.

Because you're staying here. With us.

The man was silent for a moment, then in a different voice, said with a kind of firm quietness that left no room for refusal or argument: Now follow me.

And he didn't wait to see whether they would come or not, but turned around and began walking serenely toward the house, and he didn't look back, but kept talking to them from where he'd left off. He told them that many years ago, he had loved a girl in his class, Emanuella, but he never told her he loved her, so it was unrequited love. Nor did he tell anyone else about his secret love, because he was afraid that everyone, and especially Emanuella herself, would insult and ridicule and humiliate him twice as much if they found out.

When Matti and Maya and Shigi the bear and the little goat Sisa followed the man into the house, the children saw that it wasn't a castle at all, just one large, high-ceilinged room, a warm room built entirely of unpolished wooden beams and furnished only with simple and essential furniture, pieces sawed from tree trunks and strong branches still covered in their rough bark.

The man sat Maya and Matti down on either side of a solid and slightly clumsy table made of thick planks of wood, and the bear and the goat curled up together and fell asleep under it. Then he continued his story: One rainy, foggy winter night, he got up and ran away from the village and his home. At first, he hid in the forests, and then found himself a place here on the mountain, among the animals that all loved him and helped him and took care of him, because down below, people hurt animals too. Sometimes they even abused them.

And so, on that other rainy, foggy night, we all climbed up the mountain forest in a long procession, the man said, because the animals decided to come and live here with me. Now come to the window and get to know the place where you'll be staying from now on: All sorts of exotic fruit grow here, and the clear snow water flows in that brook with the sound of a mountain flute. See the small pool over there? In a little while, you can both take your clothes off and swim in it. Don't be shy with each other. Here, there is no shame in being naked: we are always naked under our clothes, but from the time we're little, we're taught to be ashamed of the truth and take pride in lies. And they train us not to be happy about what we have, but only about what we have that others don't. And even worse, they teach us from the moment we're born to believe all sorts of poisonous ideas that always begin with the words "After all, everyone..."

The man smiled sadly to himself and thought about that for a little while.

But here, he went on, the only shameful thing is ridicule.

And suddenly he added in a different, darker, hushed voice: And yet it sometimes happens, it happens to me almost every night, that I wake up and go down below to take revenge on them in the dark. To terrify them all to death. To glitter suddenly like a skeleton in their windowpanes after they've turned off the lights. Or scrape across the floors and shake the roof beams to give them nightmares. Or to wake them soaked in cold sweat, thinking they have whoopitis too. And once every few years, I draw children to me here. Like Nimi the Owl. Or you.

Maya hesitated a moment before she asked her questions, cautiously: But why did you actually decide to run away? Why didn't you ever try to find yourself at least one friend or two? Or a girlfriend? How come you didn't think you should at least try to change something? Or change yourself? You were never curious enough to try to figure out what exactly it was about you that made others mock you? Why you? Too many questions? No? My mother gets cross with me all the time—why do you always ask so many questions, stop it, every one of your questions puts another crack in the walls of our house.

The man didn't look at Maya or Matti, and he took his time in answering too, glancing bitterly at the tips of his fingers, at his large, dark nails. Then he answered all of Maya's questions with five words: It was hard for me.

A moment later, he added, I used to ask questions all the time too. But the questions just made them mock me even more. Until there were so many cracks that I didn't have a house left.

Matti said, Maya. Enough.

But Maya answered him angrily, Why, Matti? Why is it enough? He's so full of self-pity that he's completely forgetting that he himself caused the disaster in our village. Even now, after so many years, when you ask him why he ran away, he avoids giving an answer.