Wouldn’t that turn the conversation round! Oh Monty! That’s magic! Who is your architect? A suspended roof over your patio! Exciting!
OK, how?
He thought a lot about this, along with many other thoughts about many other things. Like his double bed project. Like his carpentry abilities. Like the strange sights he’d seen on the other side of the strange fence. And the advantages that would come from having the ironing board up in the air. And he wondered if he really might be either on the edge of insanity, or maybe just trying to bite off too many things too big to chew.
His thought process in fact had been logical. It was going to ruin everything if it stayed where it was, so the question was how to move anything as huge and cumbersome as that. The idea of having the ironing board up in the air arose from the fact that moving it anywhere else was simply impossible.
How to do that had got him thinking about the rabbits and hares and their slings. And that got him thinking about the squirrels.
47 ROPE TRICK
He needed different equipment now, so grabbed his satchel and went all the way up to Nock. He was after rope. Lots of it. Once at Nock, he waited for night, and then went around the boat shed and workshop. Nothing was locked. There was rope all right. Big rope, little rope, fat rope, thin rope. He knew nothing about rope, but assumed thickness meant strength. He tried to lift impossibly heavy coils of fat rope, and was unimpressed with bundles of skinny stuff probably long enough to reach all the way home. Searching for something between those extremes, he looked for the thickest and longest he could manage to carry. Having worked out and made his best choice, he slung the bundle over himself and staggered off into the night.
His progress was ridiculously slow. The rope was simply too difficult to manage and walk at the same time. He stopped in sheer desperation. The size and shape were wrong - the shape changed all the time - the mess was too large and too awkward to make any progress. It was just too heavy and too difficult. Especially with his wretched satchel.
He really didn’t know why he’d brought the satchel in the first place except from sheer habit. He could leave it somewhere – not that it added much to the degree of difficulty – or maybe tie it to the rope end. That didn’t achieve anything. Bundling the satchel round the coil he fastened the straps and tried to lift the whole lot that way. Same problem. It was simply too heavy. But now he had a harness!
He dragged the rope home.
After that, he collected all the ingredients he could think of that might be needed. String, a bucket, and a motley assortment of stones from all his digging and clearing, and rope. He had kept the bucket and nice ball of garden twine from his last visit to the farm. Exactly how they would all go together, he didn’t know. That wasn’t the point. What he was after was a selection. A selection of things ready to use. He only knew how he wanted to start. The collection of items was simply a guess as to what might come next.
Impatiently, he felt a method of how to use all these things would present itself. What he needed next was help. Not only did he need help, he knew where to get it - that is, if he could find it. He was ready to chat up some hopefully nice and cooperative squirrels. If he could find them, they might just welcome a change - and hopefully, he could then use them.
48 FRIENDS OLD AND NEW
Next evening at dusk he set out again with his satchel. First stop was the farm. He picked up almonds, scurried round to choose a lettuce, picked up apples and finally found some walnuts. Enough, he reckoned for his purpose.
With his satchel still nice and light, he high-tailed it to Little Willy. There, he slept until dawn near Molly’s cottage. At first light, he was off again. Leaving the lettuce at Molly’s door, he headed into Worrywart Woods.
Not knowing what else to do, he simply went east as if heading for Wilder-Ness Farm. Trailing his feet in the soft litter, he kept his line of travel straight, similar to his original journeys. Two days later, he came close enough to the fallen tree to spot it. So far so good. But then what? Go north? Or south? There was of course no trace of Snitch. The old squirrel would have died soon after he had met him, and presumably nature would have taken its course. Or had Snitch said something about his people doing something?
Anyway, that was years ago. Where would his people be now? Monty hadn’t even seen them last time, so he knew they were certainly very elusive. They would surely be gone and be any distance away.
Actually... What had the old squirrel said? Snitch. What did he say? They’d look after him? That can’t be right. They had chucked him out. Chosen a new leader. And he’d left them of his own accord. He was resigned, content to just wait for his end in a most natural way.
Ah. So maybe he meant they would look after him after that happened. Wouldn’t that mean they had not gone? Or were not very far?
If they had been not very far away when Monty had turned up, most likely they would have seen him and probably watched him. But their way was not to have contact with the old leader. Snitch had apparently been doing the honourable thing, making way for a new leader. Very practical. With a system like that, they could be anywhere, even watching, but unlikely. Well, he needed to find them. And not only did he need them, if only for one job, he did have the suspicion that he could really help them. If they would let him. If he could find them.
The secret, he thought, was in how they were surviving. If he knew their food source, he might have a major clue in how to track them. But even with the number of days that he himself had spent in Worrywart Woods, he had found nothing to eat, let alone water to drink. So, what were they surviving on?
He was still at the fallen tree. Old Snitch had shown him a lot. Perhaps unintentionally, but he had. Did he have any other secrets to offer? Going over what he remembered of their conversation produced nothing new. It was all getting rather vague now. He remembered fondly the old squirrel, and the way he was rubbing the bark of the tree.
What was that, really? Just a nervous thing? Surely not. Habit, certainly. It looked like a very habitual thing. The sort of thing you do if you’re... Stump stared at the fallen tree, then at the trees around him. He looked up. He had an answer. Not necessarily all the answers, but he knew something of what they ate. And it didn’t help him at all. The old squirrel was – at least his hands were – sizing up the bark as if to eat it. They were living off the trees. The bark? The leaves? That’s all they had. There was probably something like a flower, fruit or berry up in the canopy? Maybe. But it obviously wasn’t much.
He was struck with the sadness of it. Even with the little they had, they carried a memory of more. Gradually dying, yet still looking to find that better life.
So maybe I really can help them. If they let me.
Where to start? He decided to save the apple he was going to have. He wanted to search, as near as he could judge, up or down along the long axis of Worrywart Woods, north or south. That meant just judging a simple turn from the way he had been heading on his way in. He had no clue as to whether north was better than south, but he felt that if he didn’t find them to the south, then he would find them to the north. He didn’t look at the fact that Worrywart was so wide that he could pass them and never know it. To him, they would simply be one way, or the other.
Again, he only needed to know for sure that he was holding to the line he wanted to go. That way, he wouldn’t get lost and would always know his way out. It would slow him down, but he would have to continue his trick of trailing his feet in the soft floor. Then he thought again of Snitch. Had the squirrel given any clue as to which way they were heading, or waiting to head? There was nothing in what he had said. Or at least, he couldn’t remember. He pictured Snitch on the tree again. He had been facing due south. Good enough. Stump set off south.
Four plus years was far too long to reckon where they would be, but he had nothing else to go on. For all he knew they could be slow travellers, or fast, or not travelling at all. That meant he should already be looking for them. And that brought
up something else. Scuffing his way through the forest gave clear advance warning of his presence. Wouldn’t they automatically hide? After all, they had managed to both hide and observe him before. Hadn’t they?
It came to him that he was still going about things in a very amateur way. But if he abandoned his scuffing trail, wouldn’t he be lost? Certainly, he would feel lost. And no doubt be lost, because without that one fallen tree, he wouldn’t know which way was which. But equally, if they were hiding, he would never find them. OK, here was the problem. What was more important? Not getting lost, or finding them?
The solution was straightforward. He had two reasons for finding them. He needed their help, and he suspected they could benefit from his help. He had no reason to return without them. If he didn’t trail-blaze then he should find them quicker. It did mean that he would probably need their help to get out of the Woods. Which all meant he had to find them, and then hope that they could navigate the way out. He ate the apple.
Free from his cumbersome walking trick, he returned to his natural hunting ways. This felt far better. On full alert for the slightest movement, close or far, he scanned high and low. Silently he flitted, hovered, froze, or glided. Another night. Day again. Or near enough. Nearing the time to think the poor light would fade into yet another night, he had that familiar feeling of being watched.
He stopped as soon as he recognised it. Slowly he sank to the ground. He had seen nothing. But he knew. Definitely. He was being watched. Still nothing. But there was the faintest of vague scratching sounds. Like scurrying. Scurry for a few seconds, silence, then scurry again. But where? Directionless. Yet all around him.
“What’s in the bag mister?”
The voice was directly above him. Stump spun almost upside-down in shock. Looking up, he saw the tail of a squirrel disappear round the trunk of the tree above him. He had a fleeting glimpse of others round other trees. Clever. He hadn’t thought of them living in the tops of the trees. They were smart. They could perhaps have let him pass so easily. Maybe. But while he hadn’t seen them, he knew they were there. He felt a kindred spirit with their silent, watchful presence.
So now what? What would be the best way to get to the point? Well, he had actually thought of that. And apparently, so had one of them. Maybe they could smell what was in the satchel. He slowly rolled himself round until he could open his satchel enough to bring out some walnuts. Very slowly he got up, took a walnut to one tree he was confident had a squirrel behind it. He placed it near the tree so that that squirrel could see it. He did that to the other tree he reckoned had a squirrel, and lastly, he threw one out beside where he was, sat down in his place and waited. One by one the walnuts were taken.
He waited for the sound of breaking shells, but oddly, nothing happened. That same scratching sound, but nothing else. Strange. Didn’t they know how to open them, or what? The silence continued. He waited. Finally, something did happen. He should have realised, but once again they surprised him. Bits and pieces of shell began falling from way up in the treetops. Happily, he placed an apple mid-way between the three trees the squirrels had used and returned to his place. Finally, he heard the faint little scratching again the sound of them going up or down the trees. Looking up, he counted nine squirrels coming down headfirst.
They gathered in a wide almost half circle near the apple. Silent. They looked at him. It was as if they were waiting for something. Not altogether frightened, but certainly ready to run. Wary. They waited.
“Who is the Elder?” he asked.
This instantly got them whispering among themselves, and they moved closer to each other. Any of them could be the leader. The whispering stopped. They all faced Stump. One in the middle stood up straight. “I am,” he said as the others sat to watch. The Elder looked just the same as the others. Or at least, they all had a similarity about them. They looked thin, tired and worn out.
“Try the apple,” Monty suggested.
None of them moved. He wondered what to do. “I met your Elder.” He ventured. “Snitch. Elder Snitch.” What else could he add? “A long time ago.” That was all he could think of. It seemed a bit crazy because that was years ago. It was possible that nobody knew of it. But the name might hopefully mean something.
After a slight pause as if to digest what had been said, the Elder turned completely round and addressed the other squirrels.
“He is the one. In the story 'The Last of Elder Snitch'. He is the One Who Came. He is the One Who Was Seen. You have heard the Story. He is not of the Others. We run from Others. Always. Be ready, always. Yes. But let us learn the story of this one who came to our Elder.”
The Elder turned back to Stump and sat down, obviously to wait for Stump to speak. But now Stump at least had an opening.
“Yes,” he said, “I met your Elder Snitch. He taught me about your journey. He said you had stories,” Every squirrel suddenly got up. Stump hurriedly continued, “But he guarded them well. He would not tell them.” The squirrels remained standing, undecided. Monty repeated, “He would not speak to them. I heard no story. But I have learnt of your hardship, your difficult life in the forest. And I suspect it was not always like that.”
One squirrel spoke up. “Do not criticise us. We have a good life. It is as it should be!”
The Elder spun to face the one who had spoken who then sat again. Facing Stump again, the Elder seemed to choose his words rather carefully. “Our life is always as it should be, and that is good. But it is a hard life we have.” He considered, then added, “That must be said.”
“How many are you now?” asked Stump.
After a long pause, the Elder reluctantly said “Twelve.”
Stump made a guess. “So... you have two children. Only.” And one grownup looking after those precious two, he thought.
The Elder looked at him but didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They both knew that the squirrels were losing the battle. Without enough children, their numbers would decline to nothing and their search would be in vain.
“Can I show you something?” Stump touched his satchel. Nine pairs of eyes switched from him to the satchel. Slowly he opened it enough to bring out more nuts and acorns. He lobbed them one at a time towards the apple.
“I brought them for you.” He said to no one in particular, then added, “For us.” With that, he took out another apple, bit off some of it for himself, and put the open remainder with the other food.
They could smell the nuts. And the open apple. Soon enough it looked like a party. All the squirrels were feasting.
He noted two in particular were stuffing their mouths to an unbelievable extent. But it wasn’t to eat. With mouths seeming full to bursting, they hopped away and raced up the tree. The three absent ones would not miss out.
The Elder was called Stint. Stump’s name oddly resonating with the squirrels’ names felt a bonus. He didn’t want to draw attention to it, but he felt it might help them accept what he was about to try and achieve. The contents of his satchel had to be rationed. He hoped that the effects of what they had eaten from it would be enough to motivate them to do what he wanted. And preferably without delay. He needed to let them know what he had in mind. There was no way they would go anywhere against their will.
Next he learnt they had no understanding of the way out of Worrywart Woods. To them, there was only forest. Memories of anywhere else were reduced to a fiction. Meaning he was in serious trouble. He had no idea which way led anywhere or how to get out. He was as lost as they were - except, they were not feeling lost at all, and for once in their lives were pleasantly full from eating extraordinarily good food they had never tasted before. Happy, tired, and going to bed, up they went.
With the light all but gone, nothing more could be done, and he didn’t know what to do anyway except go to bed himself.
In the morning, he woke up thinking of Snitch again. And with that, he realised he had something else to thank the old Elder for. The way home.
The squirre
ls soon appeared. They took up positions similar to the way they had done the previous evening. Same number. No sign of the children. They waited for him and his satchel. He asked Stint what they thought of the fruit and nuts.
“Strong interest. We would like more.”
“Naturally. Any interest in where it had come from?”
“The Bag.”
Not quite. It came from trees and bushes, but he kept his silence. He asked where they were heading. They kept their silence.
“Ah. Sorry.” Tread carefully. “Um... In your search, are you open to suggestions?”
Silence.
“Sorry... In your search for food, are you open to suggestion?”
“No problem. Search for food is random.”
“Good. Ah... Are you open to suggestions?”
“No problem.”
“OK, er... Would you like to find more of this fruit?”
“Yes. Very much!”
Stump paused. This was the point of his visit.
“I could take you... All of you... to a lot of fruit. If you let me.”
Stint just looked at him.
Stump added lamely, “It’s a long way. But it would be better for you all than... here,” he ventured, but the silence continued.
“Where I come from there is more to eat all the time. Many different... things.” He waited. Not one of them moved. He stumbled on.
“Your children... They would have plenty to eat. Always. You could... You know... have more? You know. More children. Safely.” What more could he say?
“Why?” A squirrel asked. Then another. From several. Same question. “Why?” Then silence again.
“You ask why? Because I feel your need. Because I want to help. Because I met your Elder. Snitch gave me something. I must give something back. He answered my need. He saw what I did not know. He was my outsider, my Other. And he saw inside me. He saw what I needed. Now I am your Other. And I see your need. I can help.”
A Tour de Fate Page 13