Читать книгу The Tree that Sat Down - Vita Sackville-West, Beverley Nichols, Beverley Nichols - Страница 11

MISS FOX, WHO WAS the first to find Bruno, had thought that he was really dead, and had scampered off to Mr Justice Owl, who always had to be told of these things before anybody else, because he was so very old and so very wise.

He summoned PC Monkey and they all went back to the spot where Bruno was lying, but by the time they had traversed it, the whole wood seemed to have learned what was happening. Through the sunlit branches there was a great fluttering of birds, all eager to learn about this new excitement; and over the grass, and under the bracken, and across the glades all sorts of animals hastened to the spot. They knew that Mr Justice Owl was on his way, so they did not go too near the body (they all thought that Bruno was dead, he lay so still); they formed a wide semicircle, and waited. There was a great deal of twittering and whispering, but they were very grave and reverent, for animals understand death much better than humans.

Mr Justice Owl fluttered his feathers, blinked, and closed his eyes. For a moment there was silence. Then, in his best legal voice, he demanded:

‘Where is the Body?’

He knew quite well where the body was because he was almost standing on it. But he felt that it would be more dignified to be led up to it.

‘Here, your Honour.’

Mr Justice Owl opened his eyes, blinked again, and regarded Bruno.

Then he took three steps forward, and paused. Surely his sharp eyes had detected a faint rise and fall beneath Bruno’s fur? He put his head down on Bruno’s chest. There was no doubt about it. The heart was beating.

Mr Justice Owl drew a deep breath. He looked first at PC Monkey, then all round the circle of the animals. And in ringing tones he proclaimed:

‘This is not a body. This bear is alive!’

There was an immediate sensation and a great buzz of twittering and chattering.

‘Silence!’ cried Mr Justice Owl.

They obeyed him at once.

He proceeded to issue orders. There was no time to waste. The animals hurried to and fro, bringing cool water from the brook to revive him, the leaves of the giant burdock to bind his bleeding paw, honey to give him strength, a cushion of moss to rest his head. While they were getting all these thing, Mr Justice Owl ordered Mr Peacock to spread his tail and wave it gently backwards and forwards over Bruno’s face … a task which Mr Peacock undertook with great pleasure, for he was very proud of his tail and liked to show it off.

So when Bruno at last came to, and opened his eyes, that was the first thing he saw – the stars on Mr Peacock’s tail waving above him, green, and gold and blue, and he thought that he had died and that they were the stars of heaven.

‘Thank you, Mr Peacock,’ said Mr Justice Owl. ‘You may desist.’

Mr Peacock slowly folded his tail. It was like somebody shutting a paint-box or rolling up a precious canvas. And when the stars faded from Bruno’s eyes, and he saw all the animals sitting round, watching, he no longer thought he was in heaven; he knew that he was back on earth, and the animals seemed to him like the crowds who used to watch him in the circus. You see, he was delirious. He thought he was back in the Ring.

A great fear seized him. He knew that he ought not to be lying down; they always beat him when he lay down – not in front of the crowds, but after the performance, when he had been led away. He must get up quickly, or he would be beaten – he must get up and dance.

He tried to stagger to his feet. But he sank back again exhausted, on to the moss.

‘I can’t,’ he panted, ‘honestly I can’t … give me a minute … just another minute.’ And he covered his head with his paws to ward off the lash of the whip which he felt would come hissing through the air.

But no whip came. Instead he heard the kindly voice of Mr Justice Owl:

‘Calm yourself!’ he murmured. ‘Calm yourself! You are among friends.’

‘Friends?’ Mr Bruno was not quite sure what ‘friends’ were; he had never had any friends; but the word had a pleasant sound. Friends … they did not sound as though they were the sort of people who would whip you or starve you or lock you up.

‘Friends?’ he muttered, in a sort of daze.

‘Indeed,’ said Mr Justice Owl. ‘We are all friends; we wish to help you.’

His voice was so kind that Mr Bruno slowly took his paws away from his face. And at last his head cleared; he remembered his escape, he remembered coming to the wood, he remembered, above all, the strange feeling of kindness and comfort that he had known as he had plunged deeper and deeper into it, as though the very branches were there to protect him. And as soon as he remembered all those things he began to revive very quickly – he was able to sit up and drink some water and take a nibble of the honeycomb.

But Bruno’s troubles were by no means over. Mr Justice Owl, seeing that he was now well on the way to recovery, decided that he was well enough to answer a few questions. He liked the look of Bruno; he was prepared to welcome him to the wood, but first he would have to explain where he came from. They could not have mysteries in the wood … and, after all, the sudden appearance of a large bear in the early morning, seriously wounded, and lying in a bramble bush, was something of a mystery.

In grave tones Mr Justice Owl demanded:

‘Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?’

Bruno closed his eyes for a moment. He had been afraid that this would happen. However, he would have to go through with it; he might as well get it over.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘Good!’ Mr Justice Owl preened himself. ‘Now, first of all – where have you come from?’

*

It was the question Bruno had been dreading.

He looked round him desperately, trying to think of a reply. They said they were ‘friends’, these animals, but he did not trust them – not yet. How could he trust the animals, seeing that he knew nothing of their nature? He only knew human nature, and he had every reason for distrusting that.

‘Where do I come from?’ he repeated. They were waiting for his answer. At all costs he must avoid telling them the truth; they might give him away.

Then he had an inspiration. He remembered the big paper placard that they used to hang over his cage when the circus went on the road. It had been a long time before he had been able to read it, because he had always been inside the cage, looking through the placard, so that he had been obliged to read it backwards, and even then only when the sun was shining on it. This was what he had read:

If you take this book to the looking-glass you will be able to read the words on the placard. You will not be surprised to know that it took Bruno a long time to understand them, considering that he had to read them backwards in a tiny cage, with no mirror to help him.

‘The steppes of Russia.’ The words floated through Bruno’s head – it was as though they were coming to his rescue. He had never been to Russia, but he knew that it was hundreds of miles away, and that none of the other animals would have been there either. Besides, he had learned a little about it because there had been a Russian dancer in the circus who had sometimes slept in a tent near his cage, and late at night he had heard her talking about her country, which seemed to be very vast and always covered with snow. He never quite understood what the steppes were; he thought they were a sort of staircase, and it seemed very odd to spend your life on a staircase. However, none of the other animals knew either, so it did not matter.

He took the plunge.

‘Where do I come from?’ he said. ‘I come from Russia.’

‘From Russia!’ There was a great rustling and panting and squeaking and twittering from the animals; this was indeed exciting.

‘From Russia?’ repeated Mr Justice Owl. He blinked, very wisely, at Bruno. To tell the truth, Mr Justice Owl knew even less about Russia than Bruno, but he had no intention of betraying his ignorance. From the way he blinked, you would have said that he knew it inside out.

‘What part of Russia?’ he enquired.

‘The steppes,’ gasped Bruno.

‘The steps?’ echoed Mr Justice Owl. There was a rather sharp note in his voice. He wondered if Bruno was trying to make a fool of him. What did he mean – the steps? The doorsteps? The steps leading up to the attic? He was about to rebuke Bruno, when he stopped short, and a melancholy ‘Too-wit, too-woe’ echoed from his beak.

For Bruno, exhausted by all he had gone through, had fallen into a dead faint.