The Hollowed Tree

by R. K. Johnstone

  "Haarumph! These philosophical deliberations are all well and good, but they are–haarumph–all of them–haarumph–far beyond the purview of this court–haarumph–haarumph–the court having intended merely to touch upon such issues by way of broadening the applicability, of increasing the understanding, of the ruling, and not intending to initiate a metaphysical struggle, a struggle even of Olympian proportions, with such questions of existence and–haarumph–meaning as have plagued the world for all recorded–haarumph–time–haarumph–haarumph. Moreover, the intention of the court here was edification, not debate of a ruling which is in itself final and inviolable." Here, to give his words added emphasis, Honorashious paused for a moment and stared gravely into the eyes of each of his audience in turn. "Haarumph–haarumph–in short, the thrust of the ruling is simple: we gain much–haarumph–society in general will gain much, by simply changing our form of address–haarumph–and no need to make it into something needlessly–haarumph–complex, or to take on airs of unjustified profundity–haarumph–haarumph–and arrogance." The owl lowered his head and gazed hypnotically from the tops of this eye sockets upon Egbert. Then, having sufficiently impressed upon his audience the gravity of this situation, he straightened up, shook his wings, and continued in a somewhat lighter tone:

  "In closing–haarumph–haarumph–the court must add one trivial but most important clarification to this ruling, in order to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment, confusion, or legal action. To wit, the naming conventions just referred to shall in no way restrict or discourage the use of any titles or honorary forms of address accorded to individuals by way of accomplishment or dignity of high office–haarumph–haarumph–and which are, on the contrary, required, and the absence of which even punishable–haarumph–by law–haarumph–in some instances, e.g., 'Your Honor,' 'Your Majesty' and so forth."

  "Don't fergit–the military too, Jedge!" the Sergeant Major chimed in helpfully.

  "Haarumph!" grunted the owl with a concessionary nod of the head. "Haarumph–and that is all I have."

  8. Closing Deliberations on Names

  "Hawgwash and mugglewumps, Owl! What a lot of tripe you come up with!" Percy exclaimed with disgust.

  Near the end of the owl's discourse, Percy had awakened and sat up. This utterance, coming as it did after such a serious matter, had a couple of effects. His premeditated assumption of an illiterate, mocking form of address, intended to have the effect of heaping as much ridicule upon the owl as possible, succeeded now in goading that bird into a perfect paroxysm of indignation so overwhelming to his normal equilibrium as to leave him incapable of uttering even a single grunt.

  Moreover, the Sergeant Major was deeply insulted by the lion's unfortunate selection of a dialect bearing more than a passing resemblance to his own. Despite the inherent worldly coarseness of the soldier, he was far from lacking in that sophistication necessary to know and recognize when one was being made a fool of, and the sparrow's sense of pride surged strongly within his military breast. Dirt, dust, and broken feathers notwithstanding the Sergeant Major took great pride in a strict adherence to all of the many forms of courtesy and protocol. In this respect his military bearing was now, as ever, impeccable. Although any overt expression of his displeasure with the monarch's remarks was, in view of such high standards of conduct, unthinkable, he clamped his beak firmly shut, came stiffly to attention, and glared with his beady black eyes into the distance at nothing.

  Egbert, oblivious to these abused sensitivities, spoke up: "On the contrary, Lion–for I shall continue to use the generic in your case, refusing as I do to refer to you by the honorific–I thought that Honorashious' exegesis of the now famous ruling on names was exemplary–if shallow in the areas of fate and free will."

  "Oh no! Not Fate and free will?" Perceival exclaimed, slapping a great paw dramatically over his forehead. "Oh, how happy I am that I took this opportunity for a nap!"

  Next, Boston rose slowly to his feet, frowning. Unlike Egbert, he was well aware of the sensitivities of the owl and the sparrow, and he knew that now it was going to be up to him to undo the damage done by the lion. Furthermore, this was exactly the kind of thing that he was sick and tired of everyone relying on him to resolve. As he stood up, turning over in his anxiety-ridden mind the various ways to approach this delicate and difficult problem, he was unexpectedly pre-empted by Henrietta.

  "Perhaps, the monarch would prefer to do away with the court altogether?" she said with a hint of coyness. "After all, if the lion ignores it, what is its purpose?" Henrietta turned the enormous circles of her eyes upon Percy, who, somewhat taken aback, rose quickly to his feet.

  "Well...ah...I...uh, I guess..." stuttered the lion, nervously swishing his tail.

  To tell the truth, Henrietta's silence for the duration of the previous exegesis of the famous ruling on names had been profound, so much so that the sound of her voice now came to the others as something of a shock. Her reticence was by no means indicative of any shyness of temperament or deficiency of intellect, however. In fact, her mind was sharper–if not so learned–than that of her husband's, and she spoke it on any and all occasions without a moment's hesitation. Over the years she had heard and critiqued in full every single one of her husband's rulings. The ruling on names, in particular, she had debated at length, and its explication just now had inspired in her no urge to express further her opinions.

  On his feet the lion quickly regained his composure and, ever the ladies man, chuckled graciously: "Hah, hah, very funny, Henrietta. A point well taken. I have been, perhaps, a bit too rough in my criticisms. Alas, in the words of the poet, I grow weary of the world and too, too, cynical. I only meant to keep our discourse on track and avoid unnecessary diversions into the trackless wastes of philosophical speculation so dearly beloved by our Egbert. Regretfully, with these best of intentions, I have unfairly criticized a brilliant, landmark decision. I offer you, Honorashious, and the court, my fullest apologies."

  Honorashious shuffled his wings on his back and emitted a mollified grunt. Percy's patronizing air, however, was not lost upon him, and his satisfaction was therefore only partial.

  "I would hope that so elaborate an apology does not obscure deeper reservations with our judiciary," Henrietta continued with regal superciliousness. "Without the courts, the law, we would surely revert to the primitive and savage state of our ancestors."

  "Quite so," conceded the lion with a submissive grace.

  "Haarumph!" grunted Honorashious. Having fully recovered now from his previous state of speechless agitation, he addressed his wife in tones of mild reproof: "Yes, Henrietta, that is all quite, quite true. However–haarumph–we must proceed with the business at hand. The ruling on names, I trust, is accepted by all–haarumph–and the duty to comply with said law is recognized—haarumph–by those who occupy positions of leadership and authority."

  "Leadership indeed!" Henrietta exclaimed, taking mild exception to her husband's tone.

  An otherwise unanimous chorus of affirmations greeted these last words of Honorashious, and the Sergeant Major snapped off a salute of unqualified approval.

  And so, the business of names was, thereby, formally concluded.

  9. A Recounting of the Circumstances Surrounding the Lost Boy

  Boston had been exceedingly pleased with Henrietta's intervention because it relieved him of the onerous task of smoothing the ruffled feathers of the birds. Now, however, he sensed that the time had come for him to step forward. Without firm leadership, Egbert and Percy would undoubtedly obscure the great issue of their quest with all of their petty quarrels, rivalries and egotism. This is where the bear made his money; and though weary of his thankless role, he felt supremely confident, nevertheless, in his ability to play it out successfully. Rising to his full height, he took a step or two back from the lion and the tree in order to position himself more advantageously preparatory to addressing the group.

  "Judge," he began, opening his great arms in an expansive
gesture expressive of an intent to encompass the entire audience, "I don't mean to bring up again the business of names, but I'd just like to commend the court on the quality and insightfulness of the ruling just explicated. I'm sure that Percy won't mind my speaking up on his behalf in offering the praise and admiration of all three of us. Well done!" Percy looked sideways at the bear from beneath a single, languidly raised eyelid and smirked, but remained silent. "The exegesis of one of the court's rulings is always an education in and of its self and is a sight to behold. The next item of business, however, is what we came here to see you about and is one with which we need to dispense in the most expeditious manner as is possible, seeing as how we have already spent quite some time on the other that we didn't come here to talk about, even though we do appreciate it and have benefited greatly from it."

  "Haarumph!" the owl grunted. He was appropriately pleased by Boston's praise, and the mild chiding which followed it was executed in such diplomatic fashion that other than the lifting and shaking in turn of each of his massive claws he gave hardly any signs of having noticed it at all.

  "The boy, as you have already heard, has disappeared. It has already been determined that various individuals are responsible–either in part or, perhaps, in whole–for the disappearance, and the blame for it has been laid–“

  "Oh really now, Bear," Percy protested. "I must object to your dragging all of this blame business out into public."

  "Blame has been laid," Boston continued in carefully measured tones, looking first at Percy then at Egbert, "on those who were responsible for it–although no punitive actions are pending at this time, and we do not expect any in the future."

  "Punitive actions!" Egbert cried, aghast. "Against the King himself?"

  "Oh my word, Boston!" the lion exclaimed. "See what you've done now! Do you hear Egbert's insinuations? This is not your normal good form at all."

  "Nope," said Boston calmly and gravely shaking his head. "Nope, it's better to get it all out in the open right at the start, embarrassment or no embarrassment’s what I always say. Howsoever, the Judge will duly note that I name no names, and do not in any shape way or form support the allegations implied by Egbert in his outburst just now, nor should anyone interpret these implied allegations to absolve Egbert himself of any blame in the matter either."

  "I did not do it!" Egbert cried shrilly. "I swear to it that I am not to blame!"

  "Shush you mouth!" the Sergeant Major barked at this unseemly emotional outburst. Cued earlier by Henrietta to a deficiency in lighting, he was engaged in raising a second phosphorous lantern above the porch, this one on the side opposite the first. His head flushed red with blood beneath its tattered feathers as he strained with much huffing and puffing at the rope. "I en't gonna tell ye agin, ye varmint!" he grunted between gasps for breath, "'n if there is any punishment to be dealt out, it'll only go the harder on ye, cut'n up like ye are now!"

  "Haarumph!" grunted Honorashious. "Sergeant Major! IF YOU PLEASE!"

  By all appearances it would seem that Boston had committed the very error that he had intended to avoid by taking charge of the situation. To draw such a conclusion from the foregoing, however, would not do justice to the innate shrewdness of the bear. Actually, he had accomplished two things by his approach: first of all, he had put both Percy and Egbert equally on the defensive, and thereby decreased substantially their predilection to challenge his reading of the sequence of events which he was about to unfold; additionally, and more important, he had instilled in them for their predicament a sense of responsibility made strong as only the laying of the blame upon their backs could make it. Thus, the fretful bear exhibited that strength and versatility of character which enabled him to rise to the occasion with the cunning of an Odysseus, when circumstances warranted it, although such cleverness ran against the grain of his straightforward nature.

  "Now–now–“" the bear said softly; and in an exhibition of true showmanship he held both paws raised and extended before him as if pushing back the audience, fending off their protests and calming their emotions, "–now, Gents, please–," he soothed, "let's have none of that. We have already wasted more than enough time trying to lay the blame on whosomever, and we don't have time for any more of it." Boston looked at each of the group in turn, his pushing movements gradually diminishing before dropping his paws to his sides. Then, once he felt that the group was sufficiently settled, and the attitudes of Egbert and Perceival properly calibrated, the bear adopted his normal, official tone of authority:

  "We've lost the boy. And even though all of the details of his disappearance are far from clear, at least we do have a sketchy picture of what happened."

  "Lion–and, Lion, I don't intend to use the honorific either–the lion, Perceival the Eighth, had strayed out of the jungle and somehow or other got himself caught in a pit trap. No one questions the lion about why he was out there–he can go wherever he wants. Egbert, who is extremely adept at ferreting out all of the latest goings on in the jungle by questioning all of the various animals, ascertained from some passing birds the nature of the predicament that Lion was in, and took off after him to help. Before he left, however, he had found the boy and got him to go with him. They went on out there, and after many false starts, and not a little searching, and a lot of hard work, they found him; and the boy dragged an old log over and dropped it in there. Lion crawled up the log and got out. So far, so good."

  "Haarumph," grunted Owl, watching the bear intently.

  "If that were the end of the story–like it should be–everything would be just wonderful. But Egbert–and what I said before about blame and all still holds–Egbert apparently had some problems with this scenario. First of all, he didn't agree with Lion going outside of the jungle, even though, as I just said, Lion can go anywhere he wants. Secondly, he felt Lion owed him and the boy something–a lot–by way of reward for coming all of the way out there and working so hard to find him, and then get him out of that trap the way they did, without anybody ever asking them to do it or anything. Thirdly, he felt like the way Lion greeted his request for said reward, was insufferably arrogant, ungrateful, and insensitive, and, ultimately, detrimental to the good order and discipline and morale of him and the boy."

  "Preposterous!" Percy muttered under his breath.

  "On the way back," Boston continued, ignoring this aside, "the two of them started to churning all of this ill will non-stop, sniping back and forth at each other, until the boy got sick and tired of listening to it. For him the fact that Lion needed some help was enough to get him out there, and he didn't want any reward, so he was on Lion's side at the first. But then Lion got so uppity and arrogant and nasty, that he got sick of him too. Finally, the boy had had enough and told them both he'd just as soon go somewhere else as stay in a jungle where he didn't belong anyway and where he had to listen to a spoiled squirrel and an arrogant Lion argue all of the time, and he walked on off and left them."

  "And that's all of the sordid details of the story that I, for one, would have just as soon not drug out into the daylight, but preferred to spare the parties involved the embarrassment of having all of their dirty laundry exposed where everybody could see it, to say nothing of the ill effect such foolishness has on the public when they see their leadership held up and paraded before them, as if in its true colors, with all of the effrontery of unabashed and immature buffoons."

  "Begging your pardon, Boston," Egbert spoke up emotionally. "I–I–“

  "Now–now–none of that–“ Boston said, gesturing again as if to push back the squirrel's explanations. "None of that." Apparently, the bear's actions not only smothered successfully any further comments from the squirrel, but served to stifle the ready protests of the lion as well. Satisfied with the effect he had wrought, the bear went on with a note of regret: "I would have wished that the boy had consulted with me first, before he went and jumped headlong into something–if he did. But he didn't come to me. Nope, he did not. The last any of us
ever saw of him was when we had laid down for a nap and caught sight of him up in a tree, looking as if he was going somewhere. Strange, that, but we were just dropping off, you know." For a moment Boston was abashedly apologetic, "Couldn't get up to see about it."

  "Now it's been a week or more since we last saw him. Egbert came up with the theory–as outlandish as it might seem–about the Hollowed Tree being where he had gotten off to and that he had gone in it–or down it, or whatever your terminology is–based on our last sighting of him being upwards of tree top level and that he could easily have come across and seen the Hollowed Tree from up there. Also, the fact that certain individuals–and I will say here that it was agreed on by all of us, and it wasn't just Percy's fault–showed, perhaps, somewhat less of that good judgment so necessary in our leaders and revealed maybe more of the secrets of the jungle than we should have to any human–but, so be it. If we did it, then, a collective mea culpa. There it is; there's absolutely nothing that anyone can do about it now, and we should drop that issue out of this all together."

  "Haarumph! The secrets of the jungle! Indeed," Honorashious said with fine sarcasm, "we should all be so fortunate as to be able to drop our mistakes as issues without consequence!"

  A shadow of habitual worry flickered briefly over Boston's brow, but it quickly passed, and he continued in the same vein:

  "And so, Judge, that is why we have come. At Egbert's suggestion, knowing that you live in a tree yourself, and so possess that invaluable first hand, scientific knowledge of what we are dealing with, and that none of us, as loyal, law-abiding individuals, has ever so much as lain an eye on it ourselves, we seek your advice about the physical characteristics and empirical nature in general of the Hollowed Tree. Also, recognizing that everybody in the jungle is familiar by word of mouth with the Hollowed Tree, and spends more time in avoiding it than trying to find it and go down it, and that nobody likes to even talk about it too much, we seek to gain the advantage of your authoritative assessment of the non-scientific side, so that we can separate fact from fiction, myth from reality. And finally, we ask your advice as to whether it would make good sense to search out the Hollowed Tree, and, if so, how should we go about it, and most importantly, what do we do when we find it?"