by Felix Salten
“No more today!” answered Genina again and again. “We’re tired. Perhaps tomorrow.”
Suddenly two hares sat before them. Their ears high, they begged, “Genina, tell us how it was.”
The roe sniffed at them. “And who may you be?”
The hares’ ears fell back. “You don’t know us?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea who you are.”
“We were your good friends!” One of them sat up straighter, his mustache hairs almost touching Genina’s nostril. “We were good friends.”
“Anybody can say that,” Genina murmured.
Loso and Mena stared at the hares, amazed, for they could not remember ever having seen them before.
“Have you become proud—snobbish?” the hares demanded.
“No, I’m not proud. I’m just tired,” Genina said. “The children and I must eat our fill. Sorry. Please leave us to ourselves.”
Timidly the hares made a few long leaps, crouched again and looked back. Their ears played excitedly. They could not understand their dismissal.
“It’s just too much,” Genina muttered loud enough for them to hear, “to have to answer every question.”
Tambo stepped out into the clearing. He was some little distance from the roes. They had not yet noticed him and he hesitated to approach them. He still had his yellow-brown winter coat, and his crown, which promised to become mighty, protruded only half-grown. A little behind him was Debina, not daring to come forward.
Perri had told Tambo the amazing tale of Genina and her children. And now he had decided to talk with her himself.
But somehow he felt shy about it. He told himself how improper it would be to address a stranger. The next moment he took heart and said to himself, “But none of us are strangers to one another.” He came up softly and carefully.
When Genina did catch sight of him, she gave a cry of fright and sprang blindly into the bushes. “Ba-uh! Quick, children, run away! Ba-uh! Ba-uh! Ba-uh! ”
In their high little voices Loso and Mena screeched, “Ba-uh! Ba-uh!”
Three in a row they plunged through the thicket, driven by blind terror.
“Ba-uh!” cried Genina. “Ba-uh! Did you see him? Ba-uh! One of our big cousins! Ba-uh! They’re dangerous. Ba-uh! ”
She could not calm herself. For a long time Tambo could hear her cries of fright. He stood embarrassed and ashamed.
“I’m a fool,” he thought. “It was my own fault. I should never have surprised them. I should have known it’s impossible for one of our kind to talk with the little relatives. They always dash away in fear. Too bad. We certainly don’t want to harm them. They’re so nice.”
He moved into the forest depths where the bushes grew thickest. Now he was not aware of his imposing appearance, nor of Debina who adored him. He had only the humiliation of feeling shunned. Every far-off cry of Genina’s increased his depression. When finally she fell silent, he was relieved.
Genina herself was soon to taste the feeling of being rejected.
Rombo appeared suddenly before her, and as suddenly ran away. The louder she called after him, the faster he went. Resentment flashed through her.
“Stupid buck!” she muttered. “Run, for all I care. Some day you’ll want to talk to me again and then I won’t be in the mood!”
Gently the morning dawned. Through the grill of treetops the sky shimmered a light gray.
“I’m tired,” Mena complained.
“How about you?” the mother asked Loso.
“I’m sleepy too,” he admitted.
“We’ll go home, then, to our own place,” Genina decided.
On their way they met many other roes and exchanged brief greetings with them. But nobody stopped, for all were bound for their resting places.
Clapping their wings, awakened pheasants swung from their sleeping-trees to the ground. Their loud gocking sounded as if they were trying to crow like roosters, and as if their throats would burst with the effort.
Mena and Loso heard these sounds with surprise. They marveled at the pheasants’ magnificence of color, which they had never seen before.
Just before they reached their bed they saw something so disturbing that all sleepiness abruptly left them.
A large pheasant cock was ambling leisurely among the bushes. Suddenly a red hunter sprang on his back, pressing him to the ground. The dying bird lay twitching with powerless wings outspread.
Quaking, the roes slipped by, taking care not to look as the wild one feasted. They hoped he wouldn’t notice them.
“Mother, who is that enemy?” Loso asked when they were safe, his voice quivering.
“Is that the fox?” Mena wanted to know. She too still trembled with excitement.
“Yes, children. That’s the fox.”
“He’s horrible!” Mena choked.
“He’s powerful—probably the most powerful of the small enemies in the forest.”
“And he’s beautiful too—” Loso shuddered. “I can’t help thinking that.”
“Remember what he looks like, children,” warned Genina. “Pointed head, sly cruel eyes, bushy tail. Did you breathe his heavy scent? Yes, remember his scent too. Never forget it! And never try to cross his merciless path.”
It was broad daylight when the three roes reached the hollow where the twins were born. The magpies chattered, the titmice whispered, the woodpecker hammered, as mother and young ones bedded themselves down.
For a long time they discussed the horrible scene they had witnessed.
Then sleep enveloped them.
Chapter 16
IT WAS TOWARD MORNING WHEN pungent smoke wakened the animals in the stable.
Manni sniffed deliberately while Devil and Witch stamped anxiously.
“What’s this?” gasped Devil.
“Fire!” said Manni, trying to control his excitement. “In the hayloft over us!”
Panic seized Lisa. She swayed back and forth in her stall, bellowing and pushing the calf from one corner to the other.
“All of you get out in the open!” ordered Manni. “Let’s fetch the two-legged ones!”
He pressed through the swinging doors, the horses behind him. Even Lisa obeyed him, calling her calf. Outside, pale dawn announced the approaching day. From the stable eaves little blue and yellow flames licked out. At the sight Lisa lost her head completely and made an about-face to run back inside.
Manni blocked her way. “Are you crazy?”
The cow threatened him with lowered horns.
“No farther!” shouted Manni. “Not a step! Go ahead and gore me, for all I care. But you’re not going back into that fire!”
The stallion stepped between to stop the calf who had become even more panicky than the mother and was trying to reach the stable door. Devil snorted at them both, “Be stupid whenever you want. But not now—understand? Forward—with us!”
He pushed his forehead into Lisa’s flank. She trembled, seeming to change her mind and have no will of her own.
“Quick—quick!” the donkey commanded.
Shepherding the cow and calf between them, they galloped to the Lodge.
“The two-legged ones are still asleep,” said Manni. “We must wake them up!”
Then the cow and calf bellowed, the horses neighed and the donkey brayed.
Up in their rooms Martin, Peter and Babette leaped out of their beds in alarm.
“What’s up?” Martin called to Peter, who was looking out the window while pulling on his clothes.
“The stable’s on fire!” Peter shouted back.
“Fire?” Martin cried. “How? What caused—”
“Never mind that now, sir,” said Peter. “Let’s hurry.”
Hastily Martin slipped into his trousers and shirt.
Poor Babette suddenly began to act like Lisa the cow, screaming in terror.
Peter shouted at her. “Quiet! Quiet! Control yourself!”
He and Martin were already among the animals and on their w
ay to the barn.
While the stable creatures had been sounding the alarm at the Lodge, the owl had returned from her nightly hunt to seek her accustomed nesting place in the barn. The flames and the sharp biting smoke frightened her badly. Over the gusts of smoke she floated in soundless flight and disappeared toward the forest hill.
Martin and Peter ran to the barn. Behind them came the horses followed by Lisa and the calf, who were chased in turn by the donkey.
Hastily Peter fetched the hose from the shed, unrolled it and screwed it into the hydrant. Martin turned the water on. A thick stream of water shot up to the roof.
The flames flared up as if to resist, yet presently collapsed and died out. Finally only a few wisps of smoke were spiraling skyward. Then Peter dragged the hose into the barn and drenched the rafters and walls until they dripped.
The hiss of the water shooting from the hose made the horses afraid at first. They reared, then moved a little way off. Excited and nervous, they watched what was going on.
Lisa had fled into the garden with her calf. She could not be seen and only her occasional short groans could be heard. Babette went to calm her. After a while there was silence.
“The fire’s under control now,” Peter said finally.
Martin said, “Let’s wait another hour or so anyway—just to be sure.”
“I’d better take a look at the hayloft,” Peter decided. He climbed the ladder, and soon he was throwing down bundles of hay, some badly charred, others thoroughly water-soaked.
“Only small damage,” Peter called. “The roof has hardly been singed.”
As he came down the ladder he said, “Spontaneous combustion. That hay was bone-dry. And the sun beating on the roof all day set it afire. Anyway, we got here in time. When the water dries up, things will be all right again.”
“Our good friends here,” Martin said, “rescued themselves and saved the stable.”
He went to the horses, caressed their throats and heads and talked tenderly.
Peter joined them, and lovingly patted Manni’s back. “He was the leader, I’m sure.”
He turned to see the stable door standing wide open. “So, friends,” he called to the horses and the donkey, “you can move back into your palace again. And here, Lisa—you too, and your calf. Well, Babette,” he smiled at his wife who walked behind the cow, “all’s well again, you see.”
Babette smiled sheepishly and slapped the cow on the flank. “She was even more scared than I was!”
The three trudged back to the house. Glowing a wonderful red, the sun rose into the heavens.
The animals re-entered the stable.
“What a mess!” exclaimed the stallion.
“It certainly isn’t very pretty,” the mare agreed.
“Everything’s wet,” Lisa grumbled.
Manni quieted her. “It’ll soon dry.”
“Soon dry!” Devil mocked him. “What’s the good of all this water?”
“To put out the fire,” Manni patiently explained.
“The fire! That wasn’t bad,” the stallion snorted.
“And how it smells here!” the mare complained, her nostrils wrinkling.
“Disgusting!” Devil was indignant.
“The smell will disappear,” Manni said earnestly to soothe them.
“Disappear!” raged the stallion. “You ought to disappear, you know-it-all!”
“What did the Hes do here, after all?” Witch inquired.
Manni said, “They saved us and the barn.”
“What do you mean—‘us’?” snorted Devil. “We weren’t in any danger. Not for a second!”
“Then why did we go for them?” the donkey demanded. “Why did we call in front of the house until they woke up and came to our aid?” He looked at the cow. “Why was the mother here in such a panic? Why is she now so sure of herself again? Why are you just as calm? Because we still have our living place even though it is a little wet. Because we owe great thanks to our two-legged friends for their quick help. Why don’t you admit it?”
The stallion flamed furiously, “Must you always be right?” Frothing, he kicked out blindly and hit the donkey on the throat close to his head.
Manni collapsed to the floor. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth.
Terrified, the mare neighed.
Lisa lowered her horns threateningly at Devil. “You cruel fool! I’d like to gore you!”
The calf begged, “Don’t, mother, don’t!”
Manni was whispering faintly in a choking voice, “Forgive me, I don’t always have to be right. Forgive me . . .”
But Devil stood stony, desperate, lost. Then he timidly bent over Manni, who was breathing heavily. “You forgive me. Friend! Good, gentle friend! I didn’t want to hurt you. You know how idiotic I am when I get in a rage. But I’m not really bad. Never! Does it hurt much?”
“No,” the donkey said in a weak voice, “only at first. . . .” Blood still ran from his neck.
“Can’t you stand up?” Devil asked worriedly.
“I’ll try, if you wish.” Manni could only whisper. He threshed his legs and had to lie on his side. Then he lost consciousness.
“He’s asleep,” said the stallion, slightly relieved.
But Lisa declared, “He’s more than asleep. It’s almost like death.”
Devil did not dare utter another word; his ears lay flat and dejected.
“This comes from your always getting excited.” Witch began to reproach him. She spared him not at all, listing all his outbursts of proud and stupid fury. Lisa chimed in feelingly.
The stallion kept silent, filled with a sense of guilt.
Finally Witch said, “And what if you’ve killed him? Suppose he dies now?”
“Then—then—I don’t want to live either,” stammered Devil.
But after an anxious hour, Manni breathed more easily. The bleeding had stopped and he awakened. With great effort he got up shakily.
They surrounded him, Devil with them. “Are you well again? Have you any pain? You’re not bleeding any more, are you?”
“Get well,” the stallion begged him. “Please get well and I’ll show you how much I love you.”
“We all love you!” the others chorused.
Manni was deeply moved. “This is rich reward for a trifling injury, but I’ve learned my lesson. In the future I’ll be careful. It’s dangerous to be too wise. It’s even more dangerous to talk wisely before you’re asked your opinion.”
Chapter 17
THE SUMMER SUN BLAZED FROM the heavens. So glowing hot were the days that the air seemed to boil. And the nights were steaming.
In this orgy of sun the forest creatures enjoyed increased well-being and a mounting joy in life. From the very break of day the pheasants clucked, the magpies and jays chattered, the woodpecker hammered more industriously than ever. The glittering kingfisher zoomed like a flash through the air. The water wagtails, with their long narrow bobbing tails, rocked themselves in low flight or else strolled elegantly on the banks of the streams with friendly nods.
High in the blue above the fields where crops were ripening for harvest, the jubilant larks trilled without stopping.
In the forest the cuckoo called out his roguish challenge, luring the female who flittered coyly around him.
The oriole flew from the tree, uttering his short glad song. The finches sang their beautiful poem, punctuated by their mysterious Psst! Psst!
The blackbirds hacked and drilled after earthworms, but found none because of the drought. Disappointed, they tried out various new cadences in their morning and evening songs.
The squirrels dashed gaily along the branches, gathering beechnuts and hazelnuts. They gobbled greedily or else added them to their secret reserve supplies, which they later often forgot.
The roebucks began courting the does. Here and there one pursued the doe he was wooing across a meadow and through the thicket. The does fled, sometimes in earnest flight, sometimes coquettishly. Yet here an
d there one of them sounded her delicate, longing peep because she was lonely and wanted to let her suitor know where she was.
Now the mothers seemed to lose all interest in their children. The abandoned young tripped through bushes and meadow plaintively calling for the once faithful guardians who had so bewilderingly failed in their duty. They had no idea why they were deserted. This was their first bitter experience of life.
Even Arilla, who still mourned her husband—the dangerous murderer with the long daggerlike horns whom Peter had destroyed—even Arilla was courted now by new swains.
“Come with me,” one of them offered. “You mustn’t be sad.”
“Be mine, Arilla,” urged another. “I love you.”
“Listen to me,” begged a third. “I admired you even when your ruffian was alive.”
“Don’t say such things to me,” whispered Arilla.
“Why not?” they demanded. “This widowhood must end. Everyone will laugh at you. You’re being silly. Be gay, Arilla! We’re just as good as he was. No—we’re better!”
“You’re wrong,” Arilla countered softly. “I don’t want any of you. No one can replace him.”
She had hardly finished saying this when a mighty buck stormed up like a hurricane and took her away before him.
Gone was Arilla’s sadness. She thought nothing, resisted no more, felt only happiness that a new master now dominated her. Soon she followed him obediently, away from the others.
With her children, Genina was wandering indifferently along the familiar trails. Yet in her heart there still beat longing for Rombo: the wish that he might again be with her as he had been long ago.
Hah-ah-hahaha-ah! came the melancholy song of the great gray owl. Soundlessly she flew close to the heads of the three roes.
“Greetings. How are you?” asked Genina, glad to be diverted by conversation.
“Oh,” answered the owl, “now that I’m away from Him, I have nothing evil to fear.”
“Away from Him? But you were so friendly with Him!”
“But you left Him too.”
“Yes,” Genina admitted, “because spring came. Because we longed again for the forest. But we didn’t leave for fear of evil!”