A Tour de Fate

by P R M Kinloch

  But if there is no future, then all we have is the past! That really has been my simple position. If we have no future, then we need to find our past even more desperately. But I meant actively searching for it! I never meant just sitting down thinking about it, or just imagining it.

  But, really, in the forest... It’s like a maze. No way in, no way out. We weren’t finding anything. So when they say it has turned into just looking back all the time, trying to find the past? They’re actually right.

  Yet The Search can’t be wrong! We wouldn’t exist if it weren’t a fact, and if we hadn’t come from that original land of plenty in the first place. So it must exist. To abandon that Search would be unimaginable.

  Our only hope is with the young. They have to have a future. If there is no future, the past amounts to just dead leaves. This fox fellow has really brought the problem right out into the open. Literally.

  He considered where things were heading. They stood directly contrary to every traditional story of The Search. Their past contained the only sense of direction they had. With that foundation, The Search couldn’t be wrong. But with such a growing resentment that the Search was just a vain look for a past that no longer existed? And while that idea about the past was wrong - it had to be wrong - one had to admit that Nurse Slip was not wrong either. A search for a viable future was as desperately important as finding their original lost country. The failing numbers of their group proved that.

  Could both visions be right? Well, if Slip isn’t dismissed as misguided, does it mean The Search had become misguided? Likewise, if Slip was going to be proved wrong because extinction was coming, wouldn’t both visons be wrong? Statement and arguments like that had to be handled very carefully.

  Stint knew full well as the Elder that with any admission now, the resentment existing among his little band would be let loose and could easily destroy the community. He knew as firmly as ever that the way to keep them together was to ensure the tradition of The Search was upheld. But now...?

  This fox-fellow has really created something. Suddenly both the past-view and future-view are creating division. Division like that will be a fatal flaw. We’re far too fragile. Now more than ever, we need to work together to explore this new...

  Now... An answer dawned on Stint. Both the past and the future were out of reach, were equally mythical. The search was now. By coming here, a radical change had taken place. Their “search” was to explore!

  He saw more. He had a unique opportunity to maybe use the resentment. They want to have their own way? Alright, let them go their own way - but set conditions! Yes! Based here at the Great Tree, he could let them spread out. Explore. There wasn’t the risk of getting lost that had been the curse of the Forest. Then they report back. Yes! There he had it! Create the one condition, The duty to the group. That was it!

  Now he understood. He would delegate teams to explore this new land. If the past was indeed gone and now only a myth, and at the same time they were truly teetering on the verge of having no more children and facing certain extinction, then that only left the present. The search was to discover what was available in the present. Failing that, they themselves would end up being nothing but a myth.

  This was all good. He knew how to manage things and he was ready. Everybody could be free to think as they wished about the past or the future. Nothing would change The Stories were the past but safe because as Stories they were there. As for the future, he could trust it to look after itself. He would set their tasks now. It would give them something to look forward to every day - not the past, not the future - they would search the present.

  His thinking was done, the knot was done, and he was even somewhat rested. Good. Stint looked for Stump below. There he was, looking up. “Yes,” he called and watched Stump’s reaction. Not much from Stump. There again, what did I expect? Not much, he supposed. But enough was enough and he had to go to far more important matters. With that, he bounded off along the branch and disappeared up the tree, a little bit slower than Stert.

  55 NOT A PROBLEM

  Stump stared up at the departing Stint. What does that mean? ‘Yes.’ Said like that could relate to anything. He shouldn’t have got angry with the squirrels. He certainly didn’t mean to put them off. But now they had gone away in a huff or worse. Serves me right. Shouldn’t have made them do things for me so soon. He supposed Stint’s parting ‘Yes’ was better than a ‘No’. Or does ‘yes’ mean ‘no’? ‘Yes, you’re right, it can’t be done.’ That’s far more likely.

  “Sure looked like it,” he said out loud.

  To just abandon everything like that? That was proof enough, he concluded. They are now convinced I got them here just to work their fur off doing my... Oh dear oh dear... Mmm. I’ve made a proper crow’s nest of things. Oh, my. I just hope they don’t want to be taken all the way back to...”

  Stump took hold of the string from the knot above him. To stop it waving about, he looked to tie it to something. Not that there was really much breeze, but he just had to do something. The ironing board again was the easiest thing available.

  The dangling string was too short for a tie. Things were simply not working out. Not working out at all. Not even this was working out. They had used up so much! What have they got up there! In frustration, he yanked the string. It gave. But to make the tie, he needed more. He pulled hard. It gave more, but something above him tightened. He still needed more, so he pulled again. It came but felt different. He looked up and pulled again. Something was quite different.

  In fact, the rope from the ground up to the branch was now balanced by all the rope from the branch down to the bushes. He didn’t know this, but he did know something was different.

  He finished tying the string to the board and tried to figure out what the new fact was. It looked as if this new tie of string might actually be holding the rope alright, but it was far too weak to lift the board. He still needed the rope itself brought down to do that. Can I pull it down with this string?

  He studied the ironing board again. Something here was missing. Too right! Where was the string to the far end of the rope? The string holding the end of the rope at the bush had vanished. That meant the end of the rope was no longer held. Free to move, there was only one way that rope-end would go.

  It’s going to go up. All is going to be lost. The whole rope is going to race back over the branch and down to the ground again! All that effort for nothing!

  He desperately chased after the string. As he ran, he heard things slithering above him. He knew it could only be the rope moving towards the branch. He panicked. Unable to reach high for the rope, he hurtled on into the bush, needing to catch the string that was holding... wasn’t holding... He thrashed around where the end of the rope had been. Nothing! No string. He was too late. There was no rope. Not even string above him. Gone. Silence now. All that effort. Wasted!

  There was no way he would be able to get the squirrels to do all of that work all over again. No Way! He thought, They already think it’s the only reason I got them here. What A Mess!

  “Grrr! Oh, what now?” He sat, dejected, talking in the middle of the bush. “Live with the ironing board blocking the entrance? No. Can’t live with that. Go find somewhere better. Might have to do just that. Otherwise, what else?

  “Fill the entrance up. Make an entrance somewhere else.” He extricated himself backwards from the bush, he turned and slowly walking back to the board, deep in thought, muttering out loud as he went.

  “How?” He wondered, seeing nothing but his wretched, endless problem. “How do I fill in the entrance? That’ll be the hard part. How do I do that?

  “New entrance,” he continued, slowly walking, “that’s the easy part. Avoid the ironing board altogether. Should have thought of that. Was the obvious solution from the beginning.”

  He stopped and sat with another thought. “That means at least another room, and another hallway, or at least a corridor.” He got up and continued back.


  “Ah, well. More planning, more excavation. But at least I won’t have that awful contraption on the middle of my entrance. Just a lot more work. When will it all end! Such a waste of...” He stopped and stared.

  The rope had not raced away over the branch but had slid back to hang down just as he wanted. He had all the rope he needed, ready at the board.

  “Wow!” He ran around to the far side. “Wow!” Then round to the front. He jumped on the board, switched around to look where the rope had slid from, jumped off, picked up the rope from the ground, dropped it, “Wow!”

  He looked at the board and rope. “I can do this. I can do this.” He said it three more times. He paused, and then added, “I think.”

  56 THE FOX KNOT

  The rope hung down and had piled nearest to his house beside the board. He found the end with the string tied to it and dragged it across the gully. From there he saw just what he wanted. The down line that he was holding could be easily tucked under the end of the board. Leaving it stretched out, he went back and worked it under the board. Pushing and pulling, he got it all the way until it was centred under the middle of the board. Jumping onto the board and swivelling round, he studied the rope coming out from under him.

  A loop, he thought. It needs a loop. It’s all done with loops. He went across and got the end of the rope, brought it back over the board and met the dangling string that he had tied to the board.

  He dropped the rope and studied the down string. For fear it was the only thing holding the rope from flying back over the branch, he thought it best to avoid it. Leaving it tied to the board, he laboriously dragged the rope around the down rope only. The string was a nuisance, but he managed it. With the end of the rope now going round the down-rope, once again, he stretched it across the board and out across the gully, pulled it as tight as he could, then retreated to get a better look.

  Enough? He thought, Surely that’s not enough. No. The squirrels had done more. Another loop, then. But how, another loop? What would it mean? A loop on the loop? A loop on the loop. I could do that if I just keep going round. But I don’t think that’s what they did. I got the impression they were going from side to side, somehow. If that’s the case... Monty’s eye followed how he had put the rope round. What I need is the same trick but from the other side. His loop went round the vertical. So now I go around the other way. How had I done it? Yes! From underneath!

  He dragged the end of the rope, still with its string, towards his house, tucked it under the other end of the board, and tugged and wrangled it to come up near the vertical rope as tight as possible. Then he took it the opposite way around the vertical rope. Again he pulled it tight by taking it across the depression. It still had its string on the end, but was now much shorter. He began to get excited. Was he good at this or what! He was getting somewhere! He had the hang of this, he felt sure! He pulled it tight.

  And now? Go under again? Yes! Why not? But there wasn’t enough end to go anywhere. Pulling hard did nothing. Have I done enough? I’ve no idea. But what do I do with this end? Oh! A loose end! What did I do before? Hmm... It sort of disappeared. OK... I have to put it under... something. Under what?

  He completed a full inspection circle before he understood. If it could go under anything, any of the previous turns of the rope that would let him, then... then it would be finished. “I think,” he said aloud.

  Eventually he managed it. By turning himself upside down, with his head on the board and using all hands and feet, he managed to pry open a space between turns of the rope and shove the end in between. He forced it in and forced it in, until he simply - could - not - do - any - more.

  Staggering upright again and momentarily cross-eyed from his efforts, he contemplated his work. There was no sign of the end. It was buried. The only thing sticking out was the long loose end of string. Lots of it. He could gnaw that off in a minute, but first, he wanted to see what he had achieved. He sensed something was good about what he had done. He was bubbling with excitement. There was a difference, he was sure. He stood back expecting disaster.

  Nothing happened. Everything stayed. Had he done it? What had he done? Was there more? It all stayed. He went to get a distant view. Then he looked from another place, then from somewhere else. He darted off to look from yet another, and another, faster, faster, look, look... Wow... Had he done it? He rushed back and stared up at the squirrel knot.

  The string from the squirrel knot still hung down from the rope up near the branch. He still couldn’t see it even with the rope hanging down. He hadn’t actually used it. Or had he? Surely now, he didn’t need it. Had they done all that work for nothing? Would the rope have arrived at the board on its own without the string holding it at the top?

  He didn’t know. Certainly the job those squirrels had done for him was very good. But now? Leave it. Play safe. He wanted the rope to go up, not bring any more down. Everything’s ready! It’s got to be ready!

  It was loose but there was no way he could do any more. He was ready. It was ready. Try it! Should I try it? He went over to the original huge pile of rope on the ground and took hold of the rope going up to the branch.

  Try? His eyes darted round. The ironing board, the rope from it going up over the branch, and down to him. Would it lift? It looks right. Was it right? Is it?

  The squirrel string worried him. He stared at it for a long time. He had tied it to the board to keep the rope from running off the branch. Now he wanted the board to go up. He should undo the string from the board so that he could pull the rope up and pull the board up. He undid the string at the board. Very gingerly, he took it clear and let it hang, dangling from its squirrel knot round the rope near the branch above him.

  He let out his breath. Only then did he realise. The rope was tied to the board, so the string was long finished, and if he was pulling the rope and the board, he could have left the string there.

  Embarrassed, he looked everywhere to see if the squirrels had seen him take so long to work out such an obvious thing.

  THE FOX KNOT WITH STRING

  Somewhat more soberly, he moved off to get one more distant view for a final check, and then went to the rope hanging down to the unused coil. OK. He took hold of it and dragged it away from the pile. Well clear, he took a firm stand and started pulling at the rope from the branch.

  It moved over the branch above him. The rope stretched and straightened to the board. He pulled more. The squirrel knot came over and into view to begin its journey downwards. The knot at the board tightened. More pull, and he completed a couple of steps with it down the gully. He was pulling the rope over the branch as well as dragging it from the pile on the ground.

  He pulled more. The turns round the board didn’t tighten but stretched and lifted a bit. Another step. He doubled his efforts for the third step. The board moved up a little. Another step. What was that, now? Four steps? Five? Don’t know - just pull!

  The base remained, but the board definitely moved up. Another step... almost... Fifth step... Board is lifting. Not the base? Base is stuck. Stretching? He was stretching, it was stretching. What was happening? He strained and struggled.

  Sixth step. Board is good! Don’t understand the base! Base is broken? Six! He turned to face down the gully so as to get more grunt into his pulling.

  ‘Click’.

  What is that? The sound of breaking! He looked back over a shoulder. The base was not moving from the ground. Oh, no the base is breaking! Almost seven... Yes! Eight...eight... almost eight...

  ‘Click’.

  Oh no this is a disaster broken base what’s that going to look like all in vain. But can’t stop! How do I stop? I can’t let it go! Got to keep pulling or lose it all! Eight and nine...and...tennn... aannd...

  And then he had a terrifying thought. In a flash, he realised that he had forgotten the most important aspect of his whole project. Getting the ironing board into the air was one thing. Even if he succeeded, he had no way of keeping it there! I forgot
the most important part! There’s no way to keep it up!

  ‘Click’.

  Leaves underfoot! Suddenly he had no traction. I’m Slipping! Scrabbling on the slippery leaves, he fell, was pulled back a bit, and it all went quiet.

  All was lost. He saw nothing but total disaster, the board crashing. The base was broken anyway, obviously. This would surely be the end of it all. It had all been in vain anyway. The rope itself had stopped its demand and was now slack. He let it go. Totally limp, it flopped to the ground and then decided to go slowly back up the hill. Monty was stretched and strained but it no longer mattered. He got up and walked next to the rope as it trickled back to –

  Amazing! The board was up quite a bit. It had stuck! Why hadn’t it fallen? And the base was... odd! Certainly odd. Maybe broken, maybe not, but whatever was wrong with it, it seemed to be sort of... expanded? It was reaching from the ground up to the board. Like, stretched. Was it preventing the board from coming down, or trying to pull it down? This thing was full of surprises.

  Wow! What now? Humm. If it’s not falling down, maybe, it’ll go up... more? He took to the rope again and pulled it taught. Once again he hauled and inched the rope progressively down the gully. More groaning, more sweating, more grunting, more clicking. He stopped short of the leaves. He wanted to look. He wanted to rest. He wanted it to be enough. Uncertainty gripped him.

  What do I do? Do I let go?

  Then he realised the tension was gone. With the rope slack, he let it go and went back to look. The whole thing was higher. He was a genius! How was he a genius? He didn’t know! Who cared! That was beside the point! The board was going up. Why it didn’t collapse he didn’t know. Who cared about that! It was going up! OK. Can I get it higher?

  He kept working at it, straining to get it higher until there came a time when he judged it was high enough. He took stock. It wasn’t the crazy dream he had of the board suspended magically over his entrance. But whatever had happened with the thing, it actually looked solid and stable. Maybe it was meant to go like that? He didn’t know and didn’t care - especially when the result was that he could now walk in and out of his new home, under cover, with plenty of room all round!