The Real Thief

by William Steig

  When Gawain escaped through the courthouse window and flew high above the town on great, wild wingstrokes, he looked back below. From the height of the free sky, the King and the crowd gathered around him in the courthouse square looked like frenzied insects. Gawain resolved to get away from them as far as he possibly could.

  Flying over Lake Superb, he welcomed the coolness of the open air and the vista of the wide, forest-bordered waters. But he was a tired goose after his recent ordeals, and he soon used up the energy provided by his anger.

  When he had crossed the lake, he could go no farther, and he dropped into an open space in the woods. He rested against a hickory tree, breathing heavily and sensing his new surroundings. He had been in many places before, in this forest and in others, but as he had not been in this particular spot, it looked strange. It also looked familiar, because it was just a place in a forest.

  He had not eaten the poor fare offered him in prison, and he was hungry, yet too tired to forage for food. He found a bed of rhododendron, burrowed under the leaves, and, fairly well concealed, he fell asleep.

  When he woke in the morning, he was surprised to see the rhododendron leaves above him. He quickly got his bearings, preened his feathers from force of habit, and went to look for breakfast. He moved warily by the edge of the lake, since he knew he would be hunted. He found some worms to eat, some tender shoots of forest plants, and some succulent bugs.

  Realizing that he must be careful not to leave tracks, he tied rushes to his webbed feet and walked about obliterating the imprints he had made in the damp soil at the margin of the lake.

  As he wandered clumsily in his strange shoes, he thought about the past few days, especially about the day of the trial, and he was sick at heart. He felt he should take off again, continue on his way to some far place, but he was too depressed for such an undertaking.

  In the woods he came to a cliff, and he found in the side of it a small entrance to a rather large cave. There was light in the cave because high above the entrance was a fissure in the jagged rocks that formed a very narrow window. Gawain decided to make this cave his home for the time being, until he was sure exactly what to do, where to go.

  This decision made, he got busy. With a stick and a flat stone for tools, he dug up some bushes and cleverly planted them in front of the entrance to his new home so that it would be almost impossible to see. He covered the newly dug earth with dead leaves. No one was likely to notice the narrow window, because of its position and because, from below, it looked like just another crack in the rocks.

  By lashing logs and sticks together with pliable vines, he managed to make a crude chair and table. He had a home; and he felt sure that the search parties of the King, who were already looking for him in the forest, would not find it.

  Gawain took up the life of a fugitive and a recluse, with only himself for company. Much as swimming gave him comfort, he would wait for night, when there was little chance of his being seen, to swim in the lake. He wore the rushes on his feet when he walked, and searched quickly and furtively for food, always hurrying back with it to his hidden cave. He avoided making a fire, though he often wanted the warmth of one and knew how to rub two sticks together until they ignited.

  Mostly he stayed in the cave. And he spent his time there brooding—savoring his miseries. He recalled his one-time friends, remembered their looks, their voices, their ways, the warm feeling that had existed among them. How ever could they have turned on him, believed him a criminal—even if the evidence did seem to prove it? How he had admired the King! Hadn’t he agreed to guard the King’s treasure only out of love? Weren’t there millions of things he would have preferred to do? Where was the King’s gratitude? Gratitude? Love? Loyalty? Friendship? What did such things mean to them?

  Sifting his bitter recollections, he often wept with his head on his wing at his rude, homemade table, or stared at the damp stone walls. Sometimes in the middle of the night, in the darkness of his secret cave, he woke up in tears. No, now he knew: if they had ever sincerely loved him, they would have realized it was impossible for him to steal, lie, or cheat in any way. When he was extremely young, a gosling, he had lied in a small inconsequential matter, only out of fear, and maybe once, or twice, he had stolen a plum or a penny. But he was no liar, no thief.

  How he yearned for friendship. How he longed to be in a community with other loving souls again. You are a disgrace to this kingdom! He couldn’t forget that cruel sentence spoken by the King. It stuck in his brain. Why did the world go on being so beautiful in spite of the ugliness he had experienced? The lake was beautiful, serenely beautiful. The forest was beautiful, greenly beautiful. Lake and forest, the whole shimmering world was painfully beautiful. He loved this world, but he was too hurt to enjoy it.

  The King’s scouts passed his hidden doorway many times. Peeping out from the cave, Gawain watched them as they beat about in the underbrush and moved on. He recognized every one of them, and sometimes he wanted to rush out and give himself up just to be able to talk again. After several weeks, they no longer appeared. They were looking elsewhere, and with a new purpose. They wanted to find him only to make amends. But Gawain didn’t know that.

  He was beginning to get accustomed to his new environment. He made some improvements in his dwelling—he added a footstool and a carpet he wove out of rushes. He still bitterly remembered the injustices he had endured, but he bravely went on living, and even managed to enjoy it ever so slightly. Had he been able to share his unhappiness with a friend, he would have been happier.

  With no one searching for him now, he was more lonesome, but a bit more relaxed. He still wore the rushes tied to his feet and he still kept a wary eye, but he stayed longer out of his cave and wandered farther in the daylight, studying things, such as the great variety of berries, thinking less about himself. He felt fairly safe.

  One day, extending his researches into a new corner of his domain, he was suddenly confronted with the mouse Derek, who emerged from under a large leaf. Gawain was electrified. He had given up the idea of ever again seeing anyone from his past life.

  “Gawain!” shouted Derek in his thin, shrill voice.

  Gawain stood still, fastened to the ground. “Derek!” he whispered hoarsely, staring at his old friend, amazed he could still talk after his long silence. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been looking for you,” said Derek.

  Gawain laughed, or rather he made some sounds meant to be laughter. “I suppose you are going to subdue me, put me in irons, and bring me back to justice,” he said sarcastically.

  “Oh, no,” said Derek. “The only reason they’re still searching for you is that they want to ask your forgiveness. The King, everyone—they know it wasn’t you.”

  After a measure of silence, Gawain asked, “Do they know who it was?”

  “No,” said Derek. “They don’t know. But I do. It was me!”

  “You!”

  “Yes, me,” said Derek.

  “How do they know it wasn’t I?” asked Gawain, staring at the little mouse in astonishment.

  “Because,” said Derek, “I went on stealing after you flew away—to establish your innocence.” And he told Gawain the whole story, of his thieving without malicious intent, his shock at Gawain’s being found guilty at the trial, his wanting to confess and being afraid to, his suffering.

  Sometimes he stopped to cry, and when he found that he was able to cry more in the presence of the one he had wronged than he’d been able to by himself, his little body was racked with sobs. Gawain broke down and cried with him, the hot tears coursing down his neck. He felt so many emotions—joy at having been vindicated and at being with Derek, anger at what had happened, misery that such things could happen, pity for Derek, bitterness toward his faithless friends and toward the King he had loved, longing for a good life, sweetness at thinking how beautiful it could be, and sorrow that it wasn’t so. It was all too much for him.

  “Can you ever forgi
ve me?” asked Derek, forlorn.

  Gawain looked at the small mouse cowering by his rush-shod feet. “I forgive you gladly, dear mouse,” he said. “I can see how much you’ve suffered, and we both know what suffering is. But never will I forgive those who used to call themselves my friends—these trees are more my friends than they were—and I’m certain I will never pardon the King.”

  “But they’ve suffered too,” said Derek, “and the King most of all.”

  “Let him suffer. Let them all suffer,” said Gawain. “I never want to see any of them again.” But he did want to see them again, there was nothing he wanted more, and the mouse knew it. He lightly touched Gawain’s grooved leg. That did it. Feeling the touch of a fellow creature, the warmth he’d been starved for so long, he relented. “Yes, I do want to see them,” he admitted. “I want it very much. I forgive them.”

  “We all make mistakes,” said Derek.

  “Come and see my home,” said Gawain. On the way he explained his funny, rush footwear. Derek laughed and Gawain undid the rushes. They had a pleasant meal in the cave and talked of many things. “Why did you look for me here,” Gawain asked, “when all the others had given up looking in these woods?”

  “A hunch,” said Derek. “I thought you must be terribly dejected, and I knew that in your place I would not have had the heart to fly very far just yet. I guessed you were here somewhere in hiding, and I felt I was meant to find you. I rowed across this morning—you weren’t long in turning up.”

  Gawain laughed. “Of all those who’ve looked for me, you were the one I was least likely to notice, especially hidden under a leaf. Tell me, are you going to confess?”

  “Yes,” said Derek, “the treasure has been returned, and when I come back with you, they will be so happy they won’t want to punish me too severely. But I must be punished for what I did. Right?”

  “I think you have been punished for what you did,” said Gawain. “You’ve suffered more than anyone.”

  “No, you did,” said Derek. “You were the one wrongfully blamed.”

  “But you had it on your conscience that you caused the suffering of so many,” said Gawain.

  “What about the King?” said Derek. “Think what he’s been through after judging you so unjustly!”

  Gawain sighed.

  “Derek,” he said, “they must never know who did it. Let them always wonder and never know the answer. They deserve at least that for their lack of faith.”

  “I agree,” said Derek readily. “Only you and I will know.”

  They started across the lake about midday, Derek riding on Gawain’s back. He held on tightly because there was a wind and the water was choppy. They arrived in town at sunset when the lights were being turned on. It was as if the lights were going on to welcome them.

  When they suddenly appeared, walking up the main avenue to the King’s palace, like a triumphant army coming to claim its trophies, everyone ran to see them and shouted and cheered and went racing around proclaiming the news to everyone else.

  They were joyfully received by the King. “I will never, from now to eternity, mistrust you again! I repent,” he said to Gawain, and he meant it.

  “Please forget it, I beg you, your highness,” said Gawain. “I forgive.” Relieved of his heavy sorrow, the King began crying. He had never cried in public before, but he was unashamed. He embraced Gawain in a mighty, loving hug; he embraced Derek with a bit more care. They responded in kind. After a long session together in which they discussed the robbery, the trial, its aftermath, and everyone’s feelings, not to mention the various problems of living—as a bear, a goose, a mouse, a king, a subject—Gawain returned to his real home and Derek to his. The whole town slept well that night.

  A party was held to celebrate Gawain’s homecoming and to honor him, and also Derek, who had succeeded in finding him. One by one, Gawain’s friends took him aside to ask his forgiveness, and he freely forgave them. He was able to love them again, but he loved them now in a wiser way, knowing their weakness. The King told Derek he intended to give him a reward, but Derek begged him not to.

  The treasury was now being guarded by four bulldogs, the son of Louisa May who had been named after Gawain, and his three brothers, Gabriel, Giles, and Ichabod. The King appointed Gawain to the office of Royal Architect. Gawain made Derek his assistant, and got to work at once on his first project—a new opera house, for which he decided to use his favorite form, the egg. He wanted to make buildings that would be celebrated as great architecture long after his own lifetime.

  Before starting to work for Gawain, Derek secretly cemented the chink in the floor of the treasury. It wasn’t really necessary, but it made him feel better. He felt it put an end to the whole episode—the theft, the trial, its aftermath.

  There was peace and harmony in the kingdom once again, except for the little troubles that come up every so often even in the best of circumstances, since nothing is perfect.

  An Imprint of Macmillan

  THE REAL THIEF. Copyright © 1973 by William Steig. All rights reserved.

  For information, address Square Fish, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  Square Fish and the Square Fish logo are trademarks of Macmillan and are used by Farrar Straus Giroux under license from Macmillan.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 73-77910

  ISBN 978-0-312-37145-6

  Originally published in the United States by Farrar Straus Giroux

  Square Fish logo designed by Filomena Tuosto

  Cover design by Robbin Gourley

  First Square Fish Edition: October 2007

  mackids.com

  eISBN: 9781466840973