Suddenly a hot gust of wind caught him by surprise, blowing strong enough to knock him over, and looking back over his shoulder to where he believed the mouse colony was, he saw the ferocious wall of orange and yellow flames leaping from the grass as if alive and now poised to devour anything in its path. Still, Nathaniel charged ahead toward the colony and finally broke through the unburned grasses to see the familiar patch where only yesterday he had watched the thriving community. But they were gone. No one was there.
His heart sank as his thoughts drifted to all of the disastrous outcomes possible. Had they all been burned, or killed? As the fire raced up the hill, closer and closer to where he stood, he was struck by an odd thought. Why was he doing this? Why was he risking his life? The mice didn’t even know who he was. There was little time to think, so he said aloud, as if to remind himself what he was doing, “I just want to make sure they are all safe.” It wasn’t his safety that he was concerned about. It was the mouse colony’s.
Just then Nathaniel heard a high-pitched squeal and coughing. Momentarily astonished that he could hear anything other than the roar and crackling of the fire, he also understood the cry of the creature squealing in a panicked pitch unlike anything he had heard before.
“Help!” The small, high-pitched sound came from the grasses beyond the mouse colony’s site. “Help … please … help!”
Nathaniel rushed across the vacated colony to the grasses on its far side and began searching frantically for the voice’s source.
“Keep calling!” Nathaniel yelled, although the winds seemed to swallow the sound of his voice, and the smoke surely rendered him invisible.
“Help … help!” The tiny voice called again, and Nathaniel believed he might be closer when suddenly the thick smoke seemed to explode into flames. Nathaniel could feel the scorching heat of the flames that burned his fur and seemed almost to melt his flesh. The smell of his own burns caused him to momentarily hesitate, but there it was again, that cry for help he barely heard above the roar of the fire, and Nathaniel charged forward, finding a small mouse gasping for air, whose face appeared badly burned.
There was no time to consider how best to do this, because they were out of time, and the fire would surely kill them both if he didn’t do something. Nathaniel grabbed the mouse in his teeth by the scruff of his neck and began to run in the direction of where he recalled seeing the barn.
At the crest of the hill, indeed the barn was visible although under threat by the encroaching flames. Nathaniel laid the small mouse on the ground and surveyed the fiery hillside. At the roadside, there were fire trucks and men with hoses spraying water on the fire, but the flames kept moving ever closer to where Nathaniel and the injured mouse lay near the barn.
It was then that a wall of flames rose from the hillside like a giant snake getting ready to strike. It rose up and seemed to peer down at the two of them, ready to take their lives.
Nathaniel knew he had been defeated and laid his body over the small mouse, worrying that Birgit would wonder where he was. If she knew he had died because of this outing to the mouse colony, she’d be distraught but also pretty angry, he thought.
As the flames began to envelop the barn, Nathaniel closed his eyes and became aware that he hurt all over as a whop-whop-whop sound somewhere above them grew louder and louder. Just as Nathaniel fell asleep, both he and the mouse were startled awake by a flood of blood-red liquid that was expelled from the flying creature’s belly and crashed all around them, extinguishing the fire but covering everything in sight with what looked like blood.
The small mouse looked to Nathaniel as if he were in pain. His right eye appeared to have been seared shut by the fire, and his right ear was almost completely burned away, along with a good deal of fur on the poor creature’s head. The mouse looked expressionlessly at Nathaniel with his one functioning eye, although it was unclear if the mouse could see Nathaniel at all. “Who are you?” The small creature’s accent was one Nathaniel didn’t know, yet he understood the question.
“My name is Nathaniel. I pulled you from the fire, which you can see is still burning. Look.” He nodded toward the bottom of the hill, where the fire continued to burn in patches. They both watched the fire and the firefighters for a moment. A wave of pain shot through Nathaniel’s body, causing him to shudder and appear momentarily unsteady on his feet.
The small mouse looked again at Nathaniel and asked matter-of-factly, “Are you not well?” Without waiting for an answer, the mouse continued. “Where are you from? Please, tell me, are you going to eat me?”
Nathaniel’s face twisted into a confused and pained expression. “Eat you? Of course not. I just saved your life!”
“Thank you. It is difficult for me to see clearly, but I think you’re a rat. Is that right?”
“Um.” Nathaniel nodded. The mouse’s affect was rather flat, although he was obviously intelligent and surprisingly full of questions, given his hideous physical condition.
“I have always been warned to be careful of rats because they eat creatures like mice. Is this incorrect, sir?” The mouse had shifted his head somewhat to the right to bring Nathaniel into the center of his field of vision.
“So, you are a mouse. What is your name?” Nathaniel asked at first, deciding to avoid the mouse’s question. He paused for a moment, until the mouse spoke again.
“But are you going to eat me?”
“Please stop! I have no interest in eating you, only in helping you. I want you to find the other members of your colony.”
“I see.” The small mouse’s face was badly burned, yet he seemed strangely calm. “My name is Wendel, and I am a member of the mouse colony known as Cielo Creek.”
Wendel looked around for the first time, sizing up the partially burned barn, the charred and smoking landscape, and the brush fires still burning further down the hill. His good eye fixed on the fire trucks, with their flashing red lights. He watched as firefighters hauled the huge snakelike hoses over their shoulders and sent blasts of water onto the flames that had apparently jumped the dirt road where the driveway intersected it. It looked to Nathaniel like Wendel was just beginning to grasp the enormity of the tragedy that had struck his young life.
“I wonder if anyone survived.” Wendel’s face remained expressionless. Nathaniel thought he saw the mouse tremble, as if newly aware of the pain his burns surely caused. “Our colony was moving to the McCorkles’ barn for the colder weather. I don’t know if they could possibly have survived the fire.”
“McCorkle?” Nathaniel repeated the name that Wendel had used.
“The McCorkles are the masters of these properties, I believe.”
Nathaniel nodded his understanding. “Wendel, I know that you must be in terrible pain.” Nathaniel spoke sympathetically but not as to a child. He spoke to Wendel as if he were a peer. “If you will climb onto my back, we can have a look around the barn to see if there are survivors.”
“Look.” Wendel tipped his head in the direction of the barn.
There were two men, one appearing to be somewhat older than the second, perhaps his son, or maybe his younger brother, as they shared many of the same features: shaggy brown hair, a long nose, and very long legs. It appeared the men were surveying the damage around the barn. The younger of the two had a garden hose, which he used to douse suspicious chunks of blackened wood that presumably had dropped from the barn’s burning roof. Some of the siding still intact was smoking and, when sprayed, steamed and hissed in protest. The older man had a rake and ran it through piles of rubble. This occasionally uncovered smoking embers, which the younger then doused with water.
Nathaniel nodded in understanding of Wendel’s concern. “C’mon, we’ll avoid them, but we need to look for your colony members … your family. Get on.”
Wendel moved very slowly and squeezed shut his one good eye as he struggled onto Nathaniel, who lay spla
yed on the ground to make it as easy as possible for him. Finally Wendel settled in between Nathaniel’s shoulders, at the base of his neck, clinging tightly to the fur, which stretched Nathaniel’s burned flesh. He stifled his desire to cry out or yell at the poor little mouse, who would no doubt be disfigured by his burns. The two wounded creatures gingerly made their way up the hill, avoiding the two men, who continued to sort through the burned wreckage.
At the crest of the hill, half the barn remained standing … charred, smoking in places, but standing nevertheless. There was a wet red slick that covered the side of the hill and the portion of the barn that remained standing, which matched the color of the liquid covering much of Nathaniel and Wendel.
Nathaniel was careful to keep his distance from the two men surveying the damage. They seemed too busy to notice them, and Nathaniel saw they were more concerned with three agitated horses wandering near the farm, as well as several goats and a collection of noisy chickens. Nathaniel watched the animals and saw that they were more confused than he and Wendel, and the growing awareness of the magnitude of this tragedy covered him like a pall, and he began to softly weep.
“What is it?” Wendel leaned down close to his ear and whispered.
Nathaniel just shook his head. From their vantage point, it looked to Nathaniel as though the fires had been extinguished and the firefighters were combing the hillsides with their tools, raking smoking areas and turning over the earth. One of the firefighters had joined the McCorkle men and was engaged in an animated discussion that had the older Mr. McCorkle pointing at one thing then another, moving his arm in sweeping motions, then throwing his arms up in what looked like despair.
Nathaniel was mesmerized by all the activity when suddenly the crack of a stone, which struck a rock inches from where he and Wendel rested, split the air and startled them both. The men were looking directly at them.
“Damn rats!” the younger McCorkle called after them. “Get the hell outta here!” Then another stone whizzed just over Nathaniel’s head before he was able to make it behind the house.
The two McCorkles turned their attention away from the smoking embers in the barn, and now each of them was brandishing bridles in their hands. Looking from some distance away, Nathaniel saw the McCorkles apparently coaxing the horses to come near and allow themselves to be secured. Still, it sure seemed to him those horses were spooked, skittish, and had no intention of cooperating.
Nathaniel and Wendel moved behind the house, out of sight and away from the McCorkles. The two lay exhausted and became increasingly conscious of the pain their burns were causing. Nathaniel noticed that Wendel was shivering, and he felt the somewhat unfamiliar sensation of his heart aching for this small, wounded mouse. “Are you cold, boy?” he asked.
Wendel moved closer to Nathaniel and lay down next to him, so that Nathaniel could feel the boy’s convulsive shivers until he began to doze. It struck Nathaniel as odd that he should feel sentimental about the young mouse. He considered this peculiar and unfamiliar feeling, which was at once painful and exhilarating, and he was, he thought, glad for it.
Sometime later that night, Nathaniel heard a low, scratchy voice whispering. “Wendel … Wendel, we thought we had lost you to the fire.” A haggard and ancient-looking mouse was bent over Wendel, trying to wake him. “Shh! We don’t want to wake your captor,” he whispered.
The small mouse struggled to open his one remaining eye, confused for a moment.
“It’s me … Jid!”
“Jid? Is that you?” the boy whispered back, struggling to recognize the other mouse.
“Quiet!” the old mouse commanded, loud enough to wake Nathaniel, if he hadn’t already been awake.
“No, Jid. It’s OK. I’m not a prisoner. He saved my life. And he promised he’s not going to eat me, only return me to the Cielo Creek colony.”
“Fine, fine,” Jid said. “The creature is a rat, Wendel. Now we must go. You are seriously wounded and …” Jid looked Wendel up and down. “Your color …” he said, perplexed. “It’s all wrong. Is that blood?”
“My color? Blood?” Wendel stared at and rubbed the red substance that covered nearly half his body. “Oh, this?” he asked, indicating the red blotches. “This strange substance fell from the belly of some sort of noisy flying beast. The flying beast was surely a gift of some sort, for its blood saved us from a fire that was sure to consume us. This was very powerful magic, of a good kind, because as you can see, we are still alive!”
Jid shook his head dismissively, urging Wendel to hurry. “It appears to me to be blood, Wendel. Blood from the belly of a flying beast? There’s powerful magic at work here, and it’s difficult to know whether it is for good or ill. Never mind. I just don’t understand it. It’s not right … or perhaps we are all confused. Now, we need to go.”
Nathaniel feigned sleep but listened to their conversation. The haggard old mouse’s accent was more pronounced and difficult to understand than Wendel’s. Still, he understood enough to appreciate the old mouse’s concern for the boy, and he got to his feet and faced Jid. “Jid? This is your name?”
The old mouse turned with a start and cautiously looked Nathaniel up and down. “Yes. Jid. It means ‘grandfather.’ I am the Grandfather, the eldest, or I should say the Elder, within our colony.” Then quickly he added, “Listen, I want no trouble with you. I just want to get Wendel back to the community, where he can be cared for.”
“I understand. His burns look severe. I hope he will be all right. And you, Jid? Are you all right? Is Cielo Creek safe?”
Jid stopped and looked suspiciously at Nathaniel. “You are kind to inquire. And you know the name of our colony,” he responded curtly before continuing. “Yes, we are all right. We have found a way into the McCorkle house, where I believe we will be safe for the cold months. We will care for Wendel from this point forward.” Jid had helped Wendel to stand, and with some impatience, he said, “Now, Wendel, we must go!”
“Jid,” Wendel said, squinting at him with his one good eye. “I don’t think we should go to the McCorkle house. I have a very bad feeling about it.”
“Well, you may have a bad feeling, but there is nowhere else for us to go.”
“But I’m sure we could—”
“Wendel, please! Respect the words of your Jid, please!”
Jid started off with Wendel at his side but stopped and turned to face Nathaniel. “I apologize for what you may think are poor manners. But the welfare of the community falls to me, and I must do what I must do to keep us all safe.” He nodded abruptly, as if to signal an end to their conversation. “And thank you, uh … ”
“Nathaniel.” He reminded Jid of his name with a hint of a smile.
“Oh yes, excuse me. Nathaniel. Thank you, Nathaniel. Thank you for saving Wendel. Thank you for your kindness. I will remember this, as I know Wendel will, and perhaps one day we will meet again … after things settle down somewhat.”
“Of course, Jid.”
Again Jid turned to face Nathaniel. “You need not call me Jid. The term is honorific and is used only by our colony as a term for our leader; our Grandfather. Please call me—”
“No. I would like to call you Jid, if I may.”
Jid nodded his agreement respectfully, then said, “Please wait a moment, uh …”
“Nathaniel.”
“Yes, of course … Nathaniel.” The old mouse slowly walked to a cluster of succulent plants and gnawed off a piece of one, bringing it to Nathaniel. “Gently rub the liquid that oozes from the flesh of this plant onto your burns, and they will heal more quickly.”
Nathaniel thanked Jid and then watched the bent old mouse and the badly injured Wendel hobble off toward the McCorkle house. He decided he would wait in the shadow of the house as the sun slowly descended and leave for home as darkness fell.
Half the night must have passed when Nathaniel felt himsel
f being shaken. “C’mon now, old boy. Time to get you home.” He studied the blurred figure before him, wondering who it might be. “Nathaniel!” the stranger said sternly, capturing his attention. Then he added, “Heh heh heh.”
“Oh, Mr. Leach?”
“C’mon, mate. Let’s go.” The two walked side by side in the darkness.
“There was a fire,” Nathaniel said softly.
“Hmm,” Mr. Leach grunted.
“And a small mouse named Wendel.” Nathaniel stopped for a moment while Mr. Leach kept walking.
“Hmm,” the old possum grunted again.
“He was burned in the fire,” Nathaniel added, sounding more desperate now.
“You were burned in the fire, lad. Now be quiet before you wake every creature in the area. Time to go home, mate. You have engaged enough for one day … heh heh.”
As the two continued, Nathaniel softly and woefully sang.
I thought I’d seen everything.
I thought that I was tough.
But that little mouse with burns so bad.
O Lord, I’ve had enough.
But he opened my heart,
and he’s broken my heart.
Now the fire on the outside
is burning on the inside,
and it feels like a brand-new start.
“I had no idea, my friend,” Mr. Leach remarked casually.
Nathaniel's Got the Blues Page 4