You came and went
like a season never
seen again, taking your
scents and sounds.
What are these you leave
behind? These strange
sad flowers that bloom
in my breast?
Who are those singers
of haunting songs
I hear in places
where we walked?
If these are memory-dreams,
why are their shadows
stronger than sunlight? their
echoes louder than the sound?
She sang the song, softly, to the moon, hoping that wherever her former mate was, in the Perfect Here, his spirit would receive the words and he would know that he had not been forgotten. After, the same winds that blew in this world, also blew there, and they would carry the song to him.
Breaker stirred and she knew that he had not been asleep. She was angry with herself for not going out, on her own, to some lonely place to sing the song, for she realised she had done so close to the ears of one who had some responsibility in the death of her lost mate. However, Breaker said nothing about what he had heard, and instead he muttered, ‘You’ll be leaving here soon.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘soon.’
‘We can all go back now. They’ll have found out that there was no rabies. That fox you told me about – A-konkon – they’ll know by now that he did not die of the White Mask.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I’m a lot stronger now,’ Breaker said. ‘I think I can make it back to the farm.’
‘Good. You can be there to kill more foxes, when they raid the farm for chickens.’
‘It’s what I’m there for – to protect the place. Chickens want to live too.’
She accepted the admonishment.
‘I suppose so.’
Breaker said, ‘Don’t come to the farm any more. If you come, either of you, I won’t be able to do my job.’
It was the closest he ever came to thanking her for keeping him alive. He was telling her that she would be safe if she ever encountered him again. That he would not attack her, or Camio, if they crossed his path. Secretly, she was astounded by his confession. A dog, a hunting hound, had made a pact with two foxes.
Camio returned a little later and they talked about going back to the town, or at least some dry place where the cubs could be born. She agreed that they should set off before dawn.
So, in the early hours they swam across the river. The tide was at its height and the current locked against itself, so there was little danger. They went across country to the railway embankment and followed it to the point where the havnot lay between them and the face. There was no suitable place for an earth on the farmland, so eventually they entered the town and began a search.
There was the beginnings of a scrapyard on the edge of town where already there were several wrecks of cars, and other items discarded by the newcomers to the town. Presumably, having settled into their new, modern houses, they were now setting about replacing their old appliances. The town had not been established long enough for the yard to have crushing machines and the rusted vehicles had been stripped of useful parts leaving only the shells. It seemed a safe enough place for the time. Camio and O-ha chose a suitable wrecked car in which to set up home. They marked the territory together, setting reasonable boundaries considering they were in the face.
‘If we find too many humans coming here,’ said Camio, ‘I’ll look for somewhere else.’
‘That’s fine,’ she said. Then ‘Camio – I – I feel very strange at the moment. Old memories keep interfering with what’s happening now … I’m sorry if – I can’t explain it.’
He looked away from her.
‘Well, we’ll see how things go. When are the cubs due?’
It was the first time her pregnancy had been mentioned between them, and she felt guilty that it had turned out to be Camio who spoke of the forthcoming birth first.
‘Soon.’
‘I won’t let you down, you know. If you’re thinking that I’ll go out and not come back one day, you’re wrong. I like the idea that I’ve got responsibilities.’
Her guilt almost crushed her on hearing these words. He was such a thoughtful mate. Why couldn’t she have the same feelings for him as she had had for A-ho? It was so stupid, dreaming about what might have been, when a good life lay ahead of her. She wanted to be fair to Camio and give him all she had to offer, but there was still something – something indefinable – holding her back, preventing her from opening herself completely.
‘It’s – it’s not that exactly.’
‘No? Well, whatever it is, you can rely on me. I know you think I’m some kind of adventurer that breezed into town and might very well breeze out again, but I’m not. I am reliable and I’ll prove that to you over the course of time. Only death will keep me from you and the cubs now …’
‘Don’t say that.’ She suddenly had visions of his mangled body lying in a road somewhere, or hanging over a fence, torn and bloody. That he might be killed before the cubs were born filled her with panic. It was possible. Of course it was possible. But she did not want to think about such things or be reminded that they might happen. And she suddenly realised, too, that it was not just the cubs – it was him. She did not want to lose him. He was part of her now. They were linked by their cubs: those little lumps that squirmed around in her body, making her feel warm and motherly. She licked his ear, making him wriggle.
‘Don’t talk about death, while I have our life within me. I’ll be all right, I promise. Vixens get funny dreams when they’re having cubs. Things are happening inside them and their feelings get churned up – lots of odd emotions – I’m not really me at the moment. I’m feeling too protective towards the litter and I’m afraid I look on everything and anything as a threat towards them.’
‘Even me?’ He looked surprised and desperately hurt.
‘Perhaps. I don’t know. I told you, I’m not really myself. The changes inside me are ruling my spirit, putting dark suspicions where there should be none, filling me with mistrust. I – I want to meet you at the place where you are – where you stand ready to receive me – but it’s not possible for me, because I don’t own myself. The fact that I do want to meet you in that halfway place has to be enough at the moment. Will you be patient with me?’
‘Of course I’ll be patient.’ He still sounded upset and his scent was strange. She could smell the hurt in his spirit. ‘I knew something was wrong. I thought it was this rangfar business. I know when you met me you thought I was some kind of wandering rogue. But …’
She sighed. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not surprising. I don’t understand myself. We’ll just have to put up with it until my body goes back to normal. Don’t look so hurt – I want to lick your face all over when you look like that.’ She realised how selfish she was being, trying to foster old feelings and keep everything tight around herself, as if Camio were an intruder rather than the father of her cubs. He was entitled to his share of the anticipatory joy. ‘Camio?’
His eyes narrowed.
‘Well, that doesn’t sound a bad idea, but I’ve got to go out and get food for us. Don’t run away. I’ll be back before noon.’
With that he left her.
She felt dreadful for some time after he had gone, but then the men who owned the scrapyard came and began clattering around on the edge of the heap. The car the foxes had chosen as an earth was in the centre, under a pile of other scrap, so she felt quite safe. There were only small tunnels through the jagged metal, which no man could crawl along, even supposing men did such things, which they did not.
Camio came back later, with some cold scraps of meat wrapped in paper and a half-full carton of yoghurt. She could see he had had difficulty in carrying the items and expressed her appreciation.
‘The curdled milk stuff is for you,’ he said, ‘and the cubs.’
Scresheen came, screaming
through the torn metal and whistling insane tunes along the open ends of pipes. One night, when Camio came back to the earth, she told him he could not enter. He had to remain outside until she called him. He began pacing up and down the tunnels waiting for the moment when he was allowed to enter the earth again. There was a full moon that night and he spent the time pretending he could see shapes crossing it. Then he listened to the mice scampering in amongst the rusty bales of chicken wire, where he could not get at them. Then he sniffed the air for bats. Once he tried coughing a little tune to himself, but thought he might be disturbing her, so he fell to other pastimes again.
The cubs were born in the early hours of that morning: four little mewling blind and deaf blobs. All except one were covered in short black fur. They were cleaned and settled in the warm cavity of her belly fur. Camio, once he was allowed back in the earth, sat by, looking on with a kind of wonderment in his features. He said nothing: just let her get on with what she had to do. It may have been that he wanted to assist in some way, but she would brook no interference at this stage. So he just sat, not even talking, which she would have found an irritant, she admitted. Later, when they were suckling, which did funny things to her inside, he came and looked at them more closely, nudging the smallest with his nose. O-ha snarled at him, baring her teeth savagely. He took the hint.
He backed off, saying sadly, ‘Looks like a runt,’ and indeed before the day was over that particular cub was dead. He took it out and put it somewhere, well away from the earth. He carried out the last rites, scratching and scent-marking the ground as instructed by O-ha, then left the rest to the fox-spirits.
The remaining three cubs looked strong enough though, and weathered their first night without harm.
Camio spent most of his time outside the earth, ferrying food to her, and always announcing his arrival before entering cautiously. She was unpredictable in her present state. He placed the food within her reach and then retreated quickly. Her ways with him were sharp, but this was normal and did nothing to harm their relationship. It was when this period was over, and her maternal instincts had softened and she became less aggressive towards him, that was obviously on his mind. Dog foxes know that vixens are very tense, their nerves like taut wires, for a while after the birth and they take the treatment handed out to them in a subdued manner.
There were times when she realised he was a little jealous of the attention the cubs were receiving. There was little she could do about this. She was still very cautious when he was around, though she had no reason to be. He made no comment on her behaviour, simply letting things ride for a while.
The cubs grew stronger by the day. After fourteen days the cubs could see and hear, though not well. Their eyes were bright blue sparks in their faces and they started at sharp sounds. They began crawling around inside the earth, very shakily. Occasionally O-ha got up and retrieved one before it fell outside the vehicle, but as time went on she fought a losing battle with them. They ignored her calls and only came when hungry.
During this time she talked to them, about their history, their religion, the waterholes and soaks (though many of the old parish watering places had disappeared and Camio had to tell her where the new ones were), and the topography of the land. She called the cubs O-mitz, A-cam and A-sac. A-cam had darker markings than O-mitz, who sported a thin white streak through her fur on the right side of her brow, but A-sac was an albino, pure white with pink eyes. O-ha and Camio were both mystified by the colouring of A-sac. Though they had heard of such things, neither thought it would happen to them. It was upsetting, because A-sac was bound to have a life full of taunts, and problems with camouflage.
‘He’ll be all right in the snow,’ Camio kept saying to O-ha, as if this as yet unproven advantage outweighed all the disadvantages of having a white coat.
At first the youngsters just mewled and squeaked, but gradually picked up words from both parents. O-mitz seemed the brightest, but A-sac was a deep creature and it was difficult to decide whether he was extraordinarily stupid or incredibly intelligent. He was always the last to become aware of a worm that had broken the surface, and yet once when he was sitting and staring at a storm cloud moving across the sky, he said, ‘Dog. Dog.’
Camio looked up, saw the fuzzy blackness, and replied, ‘No, A-sac. Cloud. Say, cloud.’
‘Dog,’ A-sac repeated emphatically, shaking his white head.
And Camio glanced up at the black sky again to catch something in the shape, or movement, or even just the louring impression of the particular cloud, and found himself shivering with apprehension.
He said to O-ha afterwards, ‘For a moment I did see a hound in the sky – a dark thing, all jaws and teeth, with blood-red eyes. Why should I do that?’
‘Perhaps it was a dog-spirit?’
Camio shook his head.
‘No, it wasn’t like that. It was more like a thing of the imagination – something put there by A-sac’s mind.’
‘That’s silly,’ replied O-ha and refused to discuss it further. The idea frightened her, and she wanted her cubs to be normal creatures whom she could understand.
Another time, there had been no rain for several weeks, when A-sac said, ‘Rain’s coming, O-ha!’ before he fell asleep that day.
She went outside and looked through the tangle of scrap at the sky, to see a clear, bright day. She sniffed the air and the scent of dryness and dust was in her nostrils. There was no smell of rain coming. She listened and the wind remained unhurried, calm.
‘Ridiculous,’ she said to herself. ‘No rain coming.’
Yet, by evening, the water was running beneath the scrap in brown rivulets. It came from the sky in torrents, creating a din on the metal and filling empty cans within minutes. How had her cub known about the rain? Was he merely extra-perceptive and able to recognise signs not visible to less highly strung foxes such as herself and Camio? Perhaps his senses were sharper than most? Or maybe – maybe there was something darker there – some divine or devilish power? She shuddered, not wanting to delve too deeply, for fear of finding something nasty.
The cubs gradually grew in strength and vocabulary. During this time, O-ha and Camio talked more than they had ever done and a mellow feeling grew between them, which was more than just wanting to be with a mate and sharing the business of life.
‘This is a good thing we’ve done between us, Camio,’ she said one evening, while the cubs were gambolling just outside the earth. The faces of the little ones had changed from being stubby, with short rounded-tip ears, to becoming elongated, with pointed ears. Their tails had begun to bush.
‘Yes, but they don’t stay young for very long, do they?’ he said.
O-ha shrugged. ‘We can’t hold them back. I’d like to, of course, but it’s not possible.’
Outside, the cubs grew boisterous.
‘You run away!’ shouted O-mitz, ‘and I’ll chase you and jump on you – wait until I can hide behind that thing there …
‘There was a squeal from her a moment later.
‘Oh, that’s not fair. You were sneaking up behind.’
A-sac’s haughty voice came to them.
‘Surely that’s what it’s all about, O-mitz? Sneaking up – pouncing. Your prey isn’t going to work out ways of being caught by you, unless it’s to avoid you. You have to think the way the quarry thinks, and then do the opposite to what you planned in the first place.’
‘That’s stupid A-sac, isn’t it A-cam?’
‘I don’t know,’ said A-cam. ‘I wasn’t watching. I caught this fly, see.’
O-mitz’s voice. ‘Where?’
‘Well, I let it out of my mouth when I opened it to talk.’
A-sac: ‘And you call me stupid? The pair of you between you couldn’t hunt a slug down, let alone a rabbit. Now watch this, the rudiments of stalking …’
They fought mock fights, they argued incessantly, they roughed and tumbled each other for hours on end. Once, A-cam fell down a shaft that was really an up
ended pipe. It took hours for Camio and O-ha to discover how to push the pipe over and release their cub. This close encounter with death – for A-cam would have starved if he had not been found and rescued – brought the two adults even closer together. It recalled to mind the fact that though they hunted and killed prey every day, death was doing the same, stalking them.
Once, they lost A-sac for a whole day. They found him with a rangfar, outside the scrapyard.
A-sac had awoken in the late morning to find his parents and the other two cubs asleep. He went outside in search of a drink.
After he had slaked his thirst, he became curious and walked through a tunnel of, thick, chewable cloth, to find himself beyond the area of scrap. He sat and blinked at the outside world for a while, until a large dog fox came along.
The newcomer was not so much meaty as stringy and tough looking. His coat was dry and coarse, and smelled smoky, as if it had been under the sun so long it had scorched. The stranger’s eyes were deep in his head, but A-sac got the impression that he missed nothing, not the flicker of a gnat’s nose, nor the lifting of a bee’s wing. He strode slowly along the concrete pavement, his claws making clicking sounds on the slabs. There were small bare patches, here and there, on his back, as if he had scrambled underneath many a barbed wire fence in haste. His nose had a deep scratch, which served as the badge for something.
He stopped by A-sac.
‘What are you looking at, cub?’ he said in a gravelly voice. ‘Why are you staring at A-gork?’
A-sac was afraid of this menacing creature.
‘S-sorry.’
‘Well?’
‘Your scar. I was – I just looked at your scar.’
The mean eyes narrowed.
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