by Felix Salten
Devil agreed. “We don’t understand what they do. But they can do so much.”
“They can’t do anything, the dumb things.” Lisa was stubborn. “All our misfortune comes from their not understanding us and our not understanding them.”
The stallion agreed with her then. “Yes, giver of milk, that’s true. We can only half understand, half guess what they mean.”
“Half?” The cow shook her broad head. “That would be a lot. All we can do is guess a tiny bit, no more. And what do they understand about us? Almost nothing.”
“Oh, you’re unfair,” Devil objected. “They probably understand more than you think. They’re very good to us, after all.”
“They guess a lot of things, too,” the cow put in, “but it amounts to very little in the end. And ours are exceptions. All the others treat our kind brutally. Cruelly! Outrageously!”
The stallion begged, “Don’t say that!”
“And don’t exaggerate so,” the mare added.
“I’m not exaggerating,” the cow argued. “What I say is true, and only a small part of the truth.”
“If you’re right,” the stallion replied, “how very lucky we are!”
“Yes, as long as everything runs smoothly.” The cow’s tail whipped her flanks. “But look at Gray and see if you still think we’re lucky.”
“It’s my fault,” sighed the stallion, “all my own fault.”
“Yes, it’s your fault,” repeated the cow. “But now if we could talk with Him—discuss things with Him just as we talk among ourselves—”
“Hopeless,” whispered Witch.
“—then maybe,” Lisa completed her thought, “Gray could be saved.”
Manni was standing with trembling knees, holding groans back by sheer force of will.
“How do you feel, friend?” the stallion inquired for the thousandth time.
“Thank you, quite well,” Manni answered in a barely audible voice.
Chapter 20
AFTER THE EXCITEMENT OF THE mating season had subsided, Rombo became himself again. Though he still was fond of Genina, he began more and more to wander around alone, to graze alone, and to rest alone.
Nor did Genina feel so dependent on his presence as she had a few weeks before. She, too, was satisfied to be by herself.
Accidentally she met Arilla one day.
Still dazed and dreamy, Arilla recounted how her new mate had driven her brutally away from him.
“Do you like such brutality?” Genina asked in wonder.
“Like? What a weak expression, Genina!”
“I don’t understand.”
“But, Genina, the second was the same kind of ruffian buck as my unforgettable one! Now do you understand?”
“No.”
With some impatience, Arilla said, “I thought my first could never be replaced. But the second completely replaced him.”
“Was he just as good to you?”
“Nonsense!” Arilla preened herself. “Any of them can be good to you. That’s nothing!”
“Then what else gives you pleasure, Arilla?”
“To have a master. You see, Genina, I want to be dominated—tyrannized over. Then I can be devoted. And I’m delighted when my mate puts up with my devotion reluctantly. Or even if he spurns me.”
Genina was amazed.
“Understand, Genina, they’re just pretending. Really they want loving attention. They expect it. I don’t say they long for it. But I love this pretended indifference.”
Genina came to a decision. “Arilla, I don’t think we can be friends. We’re very badly suited to each other. I’ll never understand you, nor you me. Farewell.” She turned away and went off.
Arilla was baffled. “Silly thing,” she said finally to herself. “She has no idea of love—not a glimmer. In all the forest, I’m the only one who knows what love is!”
Now again Genina remembered her children; she had sought them out two or three times of late. To her surprise, Mena, now a dainty hind, had become a coquette. Loso, a charming little single-horned buck, flirted amusingly, clumsily, with does much older than he.
The delight of this new freedom had been revealed to them both. They no longer waited for Genina to come to them, as they had once upon a time. They no longer needed her motherly leadership. Now they understood that they were grown up and took a ridiculous pride in the fact.
Genina was halted by a cry. “Mother—greetings!” It was Mena. Surprised and delighted, she looked at her daughter. “Greetings, Mena!” Here was no longer a fawn but a young doe. “How beautiful you are, Mena. How wonderfully beautiful!”
The young deer glowed with naïve pride. “You really think so, mother?”
“Yes, and it makes me happy to tell you so, my dear.”
Mena laughed, moving her ears. She came closer to her mother, lightly touched her flank with her muzzle and whispered, “Oh, not a few have told me that since you’ve been gone.”
Genina was frightened. “You haven’t accepted any of your suitors?”
Mena leaped mockingly away, came back and laughed. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t joke,” Genina insisted seriously. “Answer me!”
Mena too became serious then. “No, I haven’t.”
Genina nodded, satisfied.
“Is there anything else you want to know, mother?”
“Where can I find your brother?”
“That’s too much for me!” Mena laughed. “I’ve been wandering alone for days now.”
“Loso doesn’t protect you?”
Mena was amused. “I don’t need Loso to look after me. I protect myself.”
“You don’t know where he is now?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Come. We’ll look for him together.”
They walked along, chatting occasionally or moving in silence, feeling closer to each other than ever before.
Over them floated the great owl. “If I’m not mistaken, you lived with Him.”
“Yes,” Genina said. “Now I’m looking for my son.”
“You haven’t far to look,” chattered the owl. “Where the three ash trees stand in that tiny clearing. He’s there now. Oh, he behaves very well and wisely. You’ll hardly recognize him, he’s grown so much in the last few weeks. In fact, he’s almost better looking than your daughter.”
Genina was grateful. She wanted to run to the clearing. But the owl went on, “Really, one ought to be amazed at how quickly youngsters grow up. But every year it’s the same. I’ve seen it so often I’m not surprised anymore.”
Genina waited politely, though impatiently, for the wise bird to take her leave. “Well, don’t let me delay you,” she murmured, and sailed away.
“Let’s hurry,” Genina exclaimed. But Mena was already leaping ahead of her.
Presently they slowed their pace and stepped delicately, as if in stately dance, into the glade.
Loso looked up, motionless. Then: “Mother,” he called very softly.
As softly Genina whispered, “My child.”
“You’re almost a stranger to me, mother.”
“Come to me, Loso. We’ll soon know each other again.”
“As we did before?” said Loso a little sadly. “No, never again.”
Mena threw in snippily, “Is your sister a stranger to you too?”
“Well, Mena”—Loso took on a very superior air—“to tell the truth, you bore me.”
Genina asked sorrowfully, “Don’t you love each other anymore?”
“I still have a certain liking for you and Mena,” Loso said.
“Well, I have very little for you, Loso,” Mena retorted, tossing her head. “As for mother, of course I love her, but—she’s funny !”
Genina’s heart beat thickly in her throat. “Am I? To you too, Loso?”
Loso looked away before he said, “Nothing is quainter than a mother who acts as if she were still necessary.”
“You don
’t need me at all?”
“No!” said Loso brusquely.
“Need you?” answered Mena. “No, we don’t need you. But it makes me happy to go around with you.”
“And you, Loso, does it make you happy too?”
“I’d like it very much, mother—now and then.”
“Well, my children—” Genina controlled her feelings—“you have changed.”
“Why did you leave us alone?” Mena asked.
“Because your father—”
“Never mind”—Loso interrupted her—“probably we’d have left you sooner or later anyway. After all, we’re grown up.”
“But, children, you—”
“Don’t call us children ! We aren’t children anymore!” Mena snapped.
“So?” Genina’s head lifted high. “Then what shall you call me? Can you ever give me another name? Can I ever stop being your mother? And for me—for me—even if you were ever so old, ever so grown up—for me you’ll always be children. My children!”
There was a long pause. Then Mena caressed Genina’s throat with her muzzle. Softly, Loso pressed his tiny horns into his mother’s flank.
Chapter 21
THE AUTUMN RAIN FELL STEADILY with a rustling sound. The singing of the birds ceased. Gusty wind howled through the treetops and tossed the bushes so that their leaves dropped soggily to the ground.
When the rain stopped, and the wind was still, the leaves dried and falling made a soft whisper throughout the forest.
Then came a night when light frost settled over the hills and glades. But as the sun rose, the shimmering white disappeared again. Yet the air remained cool. The sun appeared later and later each morning, no longer radiating summer warmth.
But the stags grew livelier. From here and there came their deep groaning bellows. The first one to sound the call of the season was Tambo. His mighty voice roared like thunder.
“Here, to me!” he ordered Debina.
But she had already come close to him. “I am yours,” she whispered, “yours forever.”
“Yes!” He spoke masterfully, as if in anger.
Modestly his faithful little follower accepted his rule—modestly and happily. “I thank you, Tambo! I love you!”
“Others will belong to me too,” Tambo warned her. “You will have to be patient.”
“As you command, my lord,” she murmured humbly.
“Don’t call me yours!” he grumbled. “You are mine. But I am not yours.”
“I know,” Debina whispered. “Forgive me.”
His heavily maned neck stretched out so that his crown of fourteen points lay flat against his back. He bellowed resoundingly. His breath, a gray-white cloud of vapor, floated over his head.
Other does had gathered close by. A few waited in the thicket for Tambo to fetch them. Roughly, quickly, he herded them all together, ten in all, some very young ones among them.
“I will not need to guard you, Debina,” he whispered to her. “You are faithful!”
Debina was silent. When she saw no other so noble, could she be anything but faithful?
“But these,” Tambo rumbled, ready to fight, “—a gallivanting, faithless crowd. I must watch them and see that they do not leave me for any other.”
He could sense the presence of other stags, waiting, watching. He could sense the awareness of the does, and their readiness to be won away.
His battle-cry resounded louder and more threatening, more challenging.
Now a young doe tried to slip away into the thicket. Swiftly Tambo caught her and smashed his crown down on her back and flanks. Her legs buckled.
Debina saw a stag come toward Tambo with unwise daring. The newcomer was neither so strong nor so large as Tambo.
Tambo saw him at the same moment, broke off his roaring, and was upon his foe like a storm. Too late the smaller stag turned to flee. With a mighty impact Tambo ran him down. The poor fellow rolled over like a rabbit, his shoulder torn and bloody. Swiftly he picked himself up and limped away.
But during Tambo’s momentary absence desertions from his following had already taken place. Three had tried to slip away. Tambo hunted out the three and chased them back into his group. He roared dangerously, with new anger, sending one battle challenge after another into the air. But this time no interloper accepted his challenge.
Admiring, yet painfully perturbed, Debina watched her hero. It was not jealousy that tortured her. She did not misunderstand him. What he did, she felt, he had to do. It just had to be. Not for a moment did she think of rebelling against it. Yet it seemed silly to her that Tambo should be acting as if his life were at stake. That the kingly Tambo, who had such great dignity, should now behave without any dignity at all—this seemed stranger and stranger to her.
Those coquettish females who had no genuine feeling for him—were they worth guarding so jealously? Worth fetching back when they tried to run off? Worth dominating in so lordly yet so foolish a manner? Were they worth all that?
From time to time sounded the bellowing and roaring of the five or six other Kings who ruled in the forest. Debina wondered if they too behaved in the same senseless way. No doubt, she decided, for Tambo was a King among Kings.
The mating season was at its height for five or six days. Besides the trumpeting of the Kings the forest rang with the high lamentation of the weaker stags who could not find mates.
On the eighth and ninth days Debina felt a piercing sadness, as if she must take leave of something dear which was dissolving before her eyes like a dream. She fought against the feeling with all her inner strength.
Tambo no longer seemed to her a King. He was no longer shining, majestic, proud, but fought-out and tired. Debina reproached herself, but her proud loyalty and intense devotion were gone.
The mating season passed. The does scattered to all directions of the wind. The stags were mute again and the stronger ones slept now, the sleep of the tired warrior.
Tambo too went to seek a bed of rest.
Worried, Debina watched to see if he would recognize her presence as before. She waited for some sign; a look, or even so little as a turn of his crowned head.
Nothing. Dully he passed her as if she were a complete stranger. And she let him pass, neither knowing where he would camp, nor following him.
Very softly she whispered, “Good-by, Tambo.”
Then she walked slowly away through the thicket, alone.
Chapter 22
MARTIN WAS CARESSING THE sick donkey and talking to him.
“Manni! My good, fine Manni! Don’t do this to me. Get well again, Manni, I beg you!”
Peter and Babette stood by helpless. Martin visited the donkey often and as often imagined he saw signs of improvement. But now, on a rainy cold autumn day, there was no mistaking the truth. Manni could stand erect only by leaning against the wall for support.
He had no stall of his own, for he had never needed one. He had always been undemanding. Often he had slept in the open, or spent the coldest winter nights lying outside the cow’s or the horses’ stalls. He had never been a burden to anyone, but had always brought them joy. He had guided his stable companions, whose victim he now was, with his ripe wisdom. He had endeared himself to the human beings with his willingness to serve, cheerful if sometimes whimsical and erratic.
Now he could find no place to lie down and be comfortable and he wanted to so very much. He leaned against the wall, his head hanging low.
The hunchback went on talking to him. “Show me your eyes, Manni, your beautiful wise eyes.” He lifted the donkey’s head gently. “Your eyes are cloudy, my poor friend.”
As always Manni laid his chin on Martin’s hump and now nuzzled his cheeks with feverish lips. Martin offered him a piece of sugar. “There, there, old chap. There. You always liked that.”
Good-manneredly Manni took the tidbit, but let it fall.
“Come, sir,” Peter urged.
“Yes, let’s go,” Babette begged in a whisper. “A sick ani
mal wants only to be left alone.”
Once outside the barn Martin broke out, “How could the veterinarian say there’s nothing wrong with Manni? The man’s an utter ignoramus. Please, Peter, send to the animal hospital. A head doctor must come out. We should have sent for one a long time ago.”
Peter excused himself. “We hoped Manni’d get well again, because the veterinarian insisted he was really in good shape.” He shook his head. “It’s too late now.”
The horses, the cow, the calf were disturbed by the strange something that emanated from Manni.
“The two-legged minds have said their farewell to him,” mooed Lisa quietly, almost to herself.
“They’ll never see Gray alive again,” Witch whispered over her stall partition to the cow.
The stallion caught the last words and neighed. “No, Gray, you can’t do that to me! No, Gray, you must live! Say you’ll live! Don’t be so stubborn and silent!”
Manni’s head hung even lower, his nose almost touching the barn floor. He said nothing.
Devil raved without restraint. “Don’t drive me to distraction, Gray! Have pity on me!”
“You want pity, you murderer?” Lisa burst out. She kept her voice low only with difficulty. “Have pity yourself and grant the dying one a peaceful end.”
“Dying?” The stallion lost all control. “You miserable milk-giver! I’d like to—” He kicked so that the dividing wall shook.
“Would you, indeed?” roared the cow. “You’d kill me, as you killed him! But I’m not so helpless as poor Gray. Try it and we’ll see which of us two—”
“No!” Devil cried shuddering. “No, I won’t hurt you! Forgive me. I’ll never hurt anyone after this—no one! And Gray—I didn’t murder him. I didn’t strike him on purpose. Believe me—not on purpose.”
“You’re so absurd—you and your arrogant idiotic fury.” Lisa still assailed him, but was pacified somewhat.
The mare begged, “Don’t quarrel now.”
“Certainly not,” the stallion reassured her. “No quarrels. Right, mother?”
“Right,” the cow mooed softly. “But I must be free to speak my opinion.”