by J. M. Walker
Using the bull’s red tail, hand over hand he descended to the meadow floor. He skipped over to the fox-hole and practiced being a rabbit. He picked at the green shoots in the grass and wrinkled his nose. Mimicking Charles, the white rabbit he saw in Lord Morgan’s laboratory, he thumped his feet, enjoying the sound as it echoed underground. For a few minutes he pranced and danced this way, while Bessie looked on, unsure of the monkey’s sanity. Foxes can’t resist rabbits, Edward thought, and they would surely come for him.
They did. But Edward hadn’t reckoned on a fox’s reflexes. As he turned his back to march again, a wet nose and two amber eyes appeared in the black of the hole. In a flash, the large thick-set male fox had sprung from his lair and was upon Edward, yellow teeth around the monkey’s thigh. The fox was just about to bite down and crush the leg of this rabbit he thought he’d caught when Edward shouted.
“I’m a monkey,” he screamed. “I’m a monkey.”
His words were just enough to earn a momentary reprieve. But the fox didn’t let go. Panting, he held on to Edward, who could feel the wetness of the fox’s mouth stain his own fur.
The monkey used his two arms to push against the fox’s jowls. When that didn’t work, he waved his hands in front of the fox’s glaring eyes.
“Look!” pleaded Edward. “I’ve got thumbs!”
The fox looked at Edward’s digits and back at the fox-hole. He seemed confused. Yet even now he didn’t release the monkey, the potential meal too good to waste.
A second fox crawled out of the hole, on bent legs. Shy and thin, her bony tail showed through what little fur was left upon it.
“It is a monkey,” she said softly.
“We’ve met before,” cried Edward, his leg becoming bruised by the fox’s bite. “We’ve come to find you. We saved you from that terrier remember?”
The male fox dropped Edward on to the earth. The monkey was all nervous and excited, overwhelmed by his near-death experience. But as he patted himself down, and started to wonder about the meaning of it all, he felt a little pleased that his plan had worked and he had drawn the foxes out.
“That’s them,” said the bull.
“I know,” said Edward, exasperated, running both his hands through the black tuft on his head, smoothing it.
He tried to calm himself.
“How do we know you didn’t lead that terrier to us?” asked the vixen.
“The dogs hunt us, yet you were friends with the dog,” added the male fox as he prowled behind his mate, keeping an eye on the bull grazing on the grass.
Edward felt exposed, alone in the clearing. He searched the hedge for an escape, but there were no holes to leap into or branches to climb if the foxes came for him.
“Don’t you all live with the humans?” hissed the male fox now. “You and that big hairy beast, and that giant cow?”
“That’s no cow!” interjected the bull, dropping a clump of chewed grass from his tongue. “That’s an elephant and that hairy beast is an anteater. Now you listen, you foxes. I’ve not known these animals long. And yes they did used to live with the humans. But not by choice. Like me, they were held against their will, and now they are free. If you don’t trust this monkey here, trust me, because I’ve heard their story. And I vouch for them.”
The bull stared hard at the foxes, his chest heaving with emotion. Edward was thankful for the bull’s words, deciding to be more patient with him in future.
The foxes lay down. But it was a feint. They weren’t convinced.
“What did that anteater do with the terrier once we’d left?” asked the male fox. “Did he let it go, after it had tried to kill us?”
The bull couldn’t answer. Edward tried to think on his feet. He wanted to tell the foxes the truth, that after their previous encounter in the woods, Bear had let the terrier go, and that they now considered Tony a friend. But he sensed how deep the antipathy between dogs and foxes ran.
Suddenly, behind the female fox, out of the hole scampered three little foxes, each with bright eyes and a shiny new orange coat. They skipped and jumped with the joys of spring. The vixen rose to her feet, but too late. The cubs attacked Edward, but with soft gums and baby teeth, tugging at his tail, wanting to play. As he was pulled in different directions, the vixen began to laugh.
“This monkey risked his life to find us. And that anteater saved mine. Let’s hear why they’ve come,” she said to the male fox as their cubs rolled around Edward.
Up on the bull’s back, Bessie blew out a lungful of air. She thought it might have been the end of Edward. Instead the monkey told their story, all of it, and truthfully. He began with their life in the circus, telling the foxes that each of them, in their own way, had accepted it as the only life they might have.
They hadn’t realised how harshly the humans had treated them, not really, until the fire had burned the Big Top, setting them free. It was only now, out in the fresh country air, that the elephant and anteater, the budgie and monkey had realised their own potential. What life could be like if they took control of it themselves and lived it as they wanted.
He spoke of how they had first set out to find Lord Morgan’s cannon, but how he’d learned the cannon was not a gun, and that quest was only for the humans anyway. It wouldn’t have saved the circus and it wouldn’t have saved them. So they had begun their own quest. To save each other and to set up life here in Leigh Woods.
But one thing prevented them from doing so. As well as the four circus animals the foxes had seen, there was a fifth. He was an old, cantankerous leopard. A selfish one, who would take the foxes’ meal without a second thought. But this leopard too had been forced to live an awful life. And whether he knew it or not, the other circus animals were his friends, and they had decided to save him. No animal deserved to be kept in a zoo by the humans. None deserved to be called stupid. And none deserved to be hunted for sport. As the monkey said all this, he realised he was using Bear’s words, and how wise the giant anteater had become.
The male fox growled.
“So you want us to help you find this leopard? And help set him free?”
“We only need your help to find the zoo. We’ll do the rest. You won’t have to risk yourselves,” said Edward.
“You’ve got these cubs to raise. You must stay safe and raise these cubs,” shouted Bessie from the safety of the bull’s back.
“What kind of animal is this leopard?” asked the vixen.
“He’s a cat,” said Edward.
“We don’t like cats,” said the male fox.
“He’s a big cat, a dangerous cat,” said the bull. “That likes the smell of cows and sheep. But I think we should help them, not least because the anteater thinks this leopard may be able to help you, by scaring the dogs away.”
The foxes had lived their lives knowing the young bull. He’d become a reassuring constant in their woods, a figure the foxes had told their cubs to run to if they were being pursued and couldn’t get underground.
“Your cousin in the city might know where this zoo is,” said the vixen to the male fox. “I think we should help them.”
Doris filled her immense stomach browsing from the ash trees and limes. The two cows showed her where to find the lushest grasses and Doris sniffed and pulled out succulent tubers with her trunk. That morning, while Bear slept, she’d even found a salt lick next to a stream running past the fort.
Her breakfast was interrupted by the bull returning, with the monkey and bird upon his back, followed by a family of orange foxes. She twisted her trunk at the sight of the fox cubs and used it to prod Bear awake from his long slumber. As the giant anteater stretched the cubs marvelled at his stature and strange long, flowing hair and lines.
Bear thanked the foxes for their offer of help. The male fox suggested he went into the city alone to find
his relative. That was best done at night, while many of the humans slept. He could then run with the urban foxes to the zoo. He’d be back by morning, and if all went well, he’d still be able to remember the zoo’s location and he could try to describe it to the animals from the circus.
But Bear replied that the old leopard had waited too long to be free. They should go and get him today, and do it together.
“But isn’t that dangerous?” squawked Bessie. “It sounds dangerous.”
“It is dangerous,” said Edward and the bull at the same time.
“Have you thought this through?” asked Doris.
“No, not yet,” said Bear.
The anteater was hungry and thirsty.
“I must drink,” he said. “Edward, you have the most agile mind of us all. We need a plan for how we are going to go and free the leopard. Can you come up with one?”
Edward did a back flip upon the bull’s shoulders. He was so excited by the challenge the anteater had posed, he then did another.
“Give me a moment,” said Edward.
He jumped from the bull, startling the fox cubs on the ground. He darted across the soil and scuttled up a tall conifer nearby, avoiding a bush of holly growing at its base. The more his mind whirred the higher he climbed, seeking inspiration. By the time he reached the half way point of the tree, where the trunk began to slowly taper, he thought he had it. The animals would wait until night time and cross the bridge that led over the gorge. They had done it once before. They would meet the urban foxes there and move down the back alleys of the city, hiding in the shadows until they reached the zoo. But then he ran out of ideas. He couldn’t imagine how the zoo was built. And if he didn’t know its layout, even a monkey couldn’t plan how to get in and back out again. Besides, the anteater wanted them all to go today, while the sun still shone.
So up the tree Edward climbed. He made it three quarters of the way up, where the earliest cones were just ripening. But he still could not rise to the challenge. Doubting his mental ability, he found a long branch to sit on and lost himself staring out over the gorge to the city. He thought of the leopard in a cage and realised it was beyond his mind to work out a way to free him. Frustrated, he stood on the branch and screamed. He grabbed the wood at his feet and he raged as only a monkey can in a tree. He bounced upon the branch, shaking all the needles, making such a noise that some thrushes perched nearby stopped singing and took flight, convinced an ill wind was blowing. Three pine cones broke free, seeds tumbling from their open plates. Down the cones fell, thudding hard upon the embankment below.
Edward ripped another cone and threw it after the first. Then he paused his aerial bombardment. From up in the tree he could look down on the fort for the first time. He could see its ancient form still sculptured among the grass and plants. Square lines and sharp corners marked the outline of long fallen walls. He could imagine rooms and an inner courtyard and could see how the embankment helped defend the fort from invaders. And that is when Edward had his second epiphany. He decided to imagine that this fort below was the zoo. From his vantage point, he could use it as a battle map. He surveyed the impression on the ground, probing it for weakness. Fundamentally, each tree was the same, Edward knew. So it made sense to assume buildings were the same and the zoo was a building of some kind, constructed as it was by the humans. Even if it was a giant tent, like the Big Top, it would still mark the ground, like the fort had below. It still needed an entrance and maybe a back door. So Edward spent the rest of the morning acting as a General, planning his manoeuvres and plotting his assault.
Eventually, Bear asked Doris to call Edward down. She wrapped her trunk around the first, oldest branch growing from the tree’s trunk and shook the whole conifer, including the monkey within.
“So do you have a plan for how we’ll get into the zoo?” asked the anteater of the monkey.
“Oh yes I’ve considered it deeply,” said Edward.
He described in great detail what they would do to breach the zoo, even including how they would get back out again.
“That sounds like a very good plan,” said Bear, and the other animals agreed. “Now how do we get to the zoo without being spotted?”
Edward was aghast. With all his imagining and planning, his tactics and strategy, he’d forgotten this most important part. Much of the morning had passed, the animals were fed and watered and ready to move out. Yet the sun was still shining and if they attempted to leave the wood and walk across the suspension bridge and into the city, they would surely be spotted by the humans.
“I don’t know,” he said meekly, holding his tiny hands up beside his shoulders.
A month earlier and Edward would have lied. If he was still in the circus, boasting about a new trick, and he’d forgotten to practice a major part of it, he’d have simply made up that he knew what he was doing. He was too good at improvising to care. But he could pretend no longer. He understood how much the animals now relied on each other and that his own ego didn’t matter so much any more.
“I didn’t think about it,” he admitted. “I only know how to get there at night.”
The anteater and elephant exchanged glances with the bull and foxes.
“You can’t just walk there in broad daylight,” said the vixen. “You all look so different to the animals that live here.”
The animals became still and quiet. Bear and the foxes kept thinking, but Edward, Doris and the bull had stopped, their minds growing empty and a little sad. It took a while for any of them to notice the English budgerigar trying to speak.
“But that’s just it,” said Bessie.
She flitted on to the lowest branch of the conifer.
“But that’s just it,” she said louder.
Still not being heard, she launched herself from the tree and dive-bombed her friends, clipping each of their noses with her wings, as she dashed past, shouting above the wind passing through her feathers.
“But that’s just it. That’s just it!”
She grabbed the attention of all the animals and landed in the middle of a circle they had formed.
“We can just walk there!”
“Don’t be so silly,” said Doris. “I’m an elephant from the circus that is bigger than any animal there has ever been. Everyone will see me.”
“And that is my point,” said Bessie.
While the others had been struggling to resolve their problem, Bessie had quietly done so.
“If we all walk together, down the streets, the humans will think we are part of the circus. If we dance and do tricks, and show off as much as we can, they will be so enthralled, so entranced, that they won’t think to question us. How could anyone, the humans, the nasty seagulls even, imagine that we have escaped and are about to stage a breakout? Being so unusual will make us fit in!”
She finished her speech, but got no reaction. Embarrassed, the budgie started pecking at seeds on the forest floor.
“I think it could work,” said the male fox, who had begun to like these exotic, strange beasts. “I’ve always said it. The more brash I am walking down a path, the more humans leave me alone,” he said, turning to the vixen. “It’s when they catch me scurrying across their farms, hiding among the hedges, that they worry, and send the dogs after me.”
“Sometimes the humans aren’t very clever,” said the bull. “They can be easily conned. The street dogs act cute and friendly to the women and children just to get tasty scraps thrown from their kitchens.”
“It’s true,” said Edward. “I used to do it all the time at the circus. Oh Bessie you are brilliant. We need to do the most amazing tricks, to distract the humans. The more we keep their eyes on us, the more they won’t notice there is no Ring Master.”
Bessie lifted her head and chattered away to herself.
“Bessie you mu
st fly ahead of us,” said Doris. “Spin and twirl and put on the best show, to announce we are coming.”
“Yes,” said Bear. “This is all such a good idea. This is what we must do. If you fly high Bessie, you can even warn us what is up ahead.”
Suddenly Bessie became scared. The memory of the seagull attack hit her as hard as the bird itself, knocking her new-found confidence.
“But what about the gulls? The owls and the hawks? What about the falcons? And the hungry crows? Maybe an eagle will come and take me?” she cried, taking jittery steps about the ground.
Bear realised his mistake. He’d forgotten how much the seagull had shaken his friend.
“The owls don’t come out at night. The hawks only fly up above the trees and the falcons won’t come near, not while there’s the rest of us,” he explained. “And you don’t have to fly that high. How about just in front of Doris? She’ll keep you safe.”
“I’ll protect you Bessie,” said the elephant, flapping her ears. “I’ll bash any seagull that gets too close.”
“The seagulls aren’t so bad,” said the bull. “They’re an interfering bunch. But most of the time it’s because they are bored, not because they are mean. Besides, we’ll get the other birds to help too.”
With that the bull stretched out his neck. He took a deep breath and splayed his front feet. He opened his lungs and throat and let out a huge bellow, that reverberated through the trees, impressing even Doris. But he sounded happy, not angry. He stood and waited, and out popped a weasel from the grass. The two cows wandered over, to see what he wanted. Then the trees began to fill with songbirds. A blackbird appeared first, displaying a fine yellow beak and eyes that watched the weasel. Two magpies cackled higher up in the trees, joyfully wanting to know what the commotion was for. A robin burst from the holly and a huge buzzard gracefully circled above.