Читать книгу Two-Legs - Ewald Carl - Страница 9
Оглавление1
The sun was scorching and the ground was shockingly dry.
The trees and bushes hung their leaves and the grass was parched and yellow, so that the ox could hardly find a green tuft to eat. The water in the river was so low that the fish swam along the bottom; and the brook had stopped running altogether. The animals lay in the shade and gasped for breath. In many places, both flowers and animals had died. Two-Legs and his wife and child were not much better off.
The only one who was really happy was the snake. He stretched himself in the sun and thought it delightful:
“Shine away, you dear sun,” he said. “The hotter the better. I am only just beginning to feel alive.”
2
But one day the rain came.
It was not the sort of rain against which you can just put up an umbrella or take shelter in a doorway and wait until it stops. It poured down from the clouds till you could not see your hand before your face and it rained day after day as if it would never end. It rattled and pattered and clattered on the dry leaves so that you could not hear a sound. The river flowed again and the brook woke from its trance and sang as it had never sung before. The whole earth was like a thirsty mouth that drank and drank and could never quench its thirst.
And a great gladness reigned on every hand.
The trees stretched themselves and spread out and sent forth new shoots; and the grass sprang fresh and green from the ground. The flowers blossomed anew; the frogs croaked till they were heard all over the forest; and the fish flapped their tails merrily. Two-Legs and his family sat in front of their leafy hut and rejoiced with the rest.
But it went on raining.
The river overflowed its banks and Two-Legs feared lest his island should go under in the waves. The water soaked through the roof of the hut until there was not a dry spot inside.
“Baby’s cold,” said Mrs. Two-Legs.
They decided to leave the island and crossed the river with great difficulty, for it was now very deep. They waded through the damp meadow and carried the child by turns. Then they found a tree which was so contrived that they could live in it. They twisted the branches together and built a roof and stopped up the holes as best they could with grass and moss; and this was their new house.
“The water can’t reach us here,” said Two-Legs.
“But it’s raining through the roof,” said his wife. “Baby’s cold and so am I.”
ONE DAY THE RAIN CAME
“It’s just as I always said,” observed the orang-outang. “They have no hide or fur or anything and they’ll come to a horrible end.”
“You ought to have fed your little one on maggots, Mrs. Two-Legs,” said Mrs. Nightingale. “Then he would have thrived better. My young ones are already almost as big as myself.”
“You ought to have put him in the meadow and let him jump about, as I advised you,” said Mrs. Stag. “Then he would have been able to shift for himself by now.”
“You should sit on him,” said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. “That’s how I keep my young ones warm.”
Mrs. Two-Legs said nothing, but looked at her boy, who was shivering with cold.
“It’s really a terribly spoilt child,” said Mrs. Hedgehog. “Of course, what must be must be; and, once you’ve brought children into the world, you have to give them a decent bringing-up. But a great big thumping lout like that, of six months old, still at his mother’s breast: fie, for shame! What he wants is a good beating and then turn him loose into the world!”
“There’s nothing to be done with people like that,” said Mrs. Stag. “They won’t use their common sense; and, as they have made their bed, so they must lie on it.”
Then they went away.
3
Mrs. Two-Legs sat in the tree and the rain poured and the baby cried with cold.
“Look at that silly sheep in the meadow,” said Mrs. Two-Legs. “She’s warm and comfortable in her thick fleece, while my poor dear little boy lies shivering.”
Two-Legs heard what she said, but made no reply. He sat silent for a while and thought over things. Then he climbed down from the tree and sat on the ground a little and thought again. The rain splashed and clattered. Up in the tree, the little baby cried with cold. Down in the meadow, the sheep moved about and grazed.
Then Two-Legs rose and went up to the sheep. On his way, he took a sharp stone and hid it in his hand. He went very slowly and looked to one side, so as not to frighten the sheep. Then suddenly, with a bound, he caught hold of her.
“Baa! Baa! Murder! Help! I’m dying!” cried the sheep.
Two-Legs struck her on the forehead with the stone and she fell to the ground. Then he strangled her with his hands, caught her by the fleece and dragged her to the tree where he had made his home.
He cut a hole in her hide with the sharp stone and began to pull it off with his finger-nails. His wife came down and helped him. They used their teeth also, to finish the work more quickly, and, presently, they stopped and looked at each other with beaming eyes:
“How delicious!” he said.
“Wonderful!” said she. “Let us hurry now and give the boy the fleece. Then we will go on eating.”
Two-Legs drank the blood of the sheep and bit into the meat:
“I feel stronger than I ever did before,” he said. “Let the lion come now, then he’ll have me to deal with.”
They wrapped the fleece round the child, who at once went comfortably to sleep. Then they dragged the rest of the sheep up into the tree and sat down to eat. Every bite they took made them feel braver and stronger. They gave no more thought to cold or rain, but sat and talked of the future as they had never talked before:
“I should like to have a sheepskin like that for myself,” said she.
“So you shall,” said he, gnawing a bone, “unless we find another animal that has a still softer and warmer skin. I want a fur too.... I say, we might cover the roof with sheepskins: that would keep out the rain. I will go out to-morrow and find some more sheep and kill them and bring them home.”
“Then we’ll eat them,” said Mrs. Two-Legs.
“Rather!” said he. “We’ll eat meat every day. What a good thing that I thought of it, for the fish in the river were already growing afraid of me!”
“Mind you don’t meet with an accident,” said she.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I’ll go down to the river the first thing in the morning and pick out some sharp stones, in case I should lose the one I have. And, look here, I’ll tell you what: I’ll fasten one of those sharp stones to the end of a stick, with a shoot or tendril of some kind; a long stick, do you see? Then I need not go up to the sheep to hit them. I can throw the stone. For, of course, they’ll be afraid of me when they hear that I have killed one of them....”
4
While they were talking like this, all the animals of the forest had gathered in the meadow, just as on the first night when the new animals arrived:
“Two-Legs has killed the sheep!” cried the sparrow and hurried on with her news, drenched and rumpled though she was with the rain.
“Two-Legs has murdered the sheep and the ox and the goat!” screamed the crow and flapped her wet wings.
“Softly!” said the ox. “I’m alive still, thank goodness, though I’m quite prepared for the worst.”
“Two-Legs has killed all the animals in the forest ... he’s sitting in the meadow eating the lion,” whispered the reeds to one another.
Then all the animals rushed down to the meadow to hear the exact state of affairs. The lion stood in their midst, with his head proudly raised:
“What’s all this noise about?” he asked.
“May I speak?” said the orang-outang, holding up one finger. “I was sitting in the palm-tree over there and saw the whole thing. It was terrible.”
“What a mean fellow you are!” said the lion. “You’re giving evidence against your own relations.”
“Very distant,” replied the orang-outang. “Exceedingly remote. I will remind you that I expressly refused to take any responsibility for these Two-Legs, who only bring disgrace upon the family. Well, I was sitting in the tree and saw him come running up, fling himself on the sheep and strangle her. Then he dragged the poor beast to the tree in which he is living. I crept up behind him and saw him skin her. The woman helped him and then they climbed up the tree and feasted.”
“Is that all?” asked the lion. “I’ve eaten plenty of sheep in my time, though I prefer deer on the whole. Why shouldn’t Two-Legs help himself to a bit of meat if he likes?”
“If I may speak, I should like to remind you of what I said when we last met,” said the ox. “It’s easy for you to talk like that, for Two-Legs can’t do you any harm. It’s we others that he eats. Still, you had better look out. He may become a dangerous competitor. Suppose he gets a large family of children and they all take to eating mutton?”
“Then there’s always beef left!” said the lion, laughing and showing his terrible teeth.
“Just so,” said the ox and cautiously took a step backwards. “The oxen will get their turn, now that he has tasted blood. He looks awfully greedy. And I feel as if he had eaten me before.”
“Humph!” said the lion. “There may be something in that. I don’t like beating about the bush as a rule. Let us go and have a word with the fellow.”
5
He moved on; and the orang-outang skipped along eagerly in front of him:
“This way, this way,” he said.
The lion stopped under the tree where Two-Legs had made his home. All the other animals of the forest had followed him and stood listening and staring.
“Two-Legs!” roared the lion, with his mighty voice.
It sounded like thunder and they all started with fear. The lion lashed his tail and looked up at the tree. Not a sound came from it. He called out again, but there was no answer.
“The impudent beggars!” said the orang-outang.
“Perhaps they are dead,” said the nightingale. “Perhaps they have overeaten themselves with the sheep.”
“You don’t die of eating too much, but of eating too little,” said the pig, who kept rooting in the ground with his snout, in search of something for himself to eat.
Then the lion roared for the third time; and the noise was so loud that a little siskin tumbled off her twig right into the jaws of the snake, who swallowed her before any one could utter a sound, so that nobody ever got wind of the story.
And now Two-Legs appeared at the top of the tree.
He had been fast asleep after the hearty meal which he had enjoyed; and he was furious at being roused. His hair hung about his face in disorder and his eyes were bloodshot and his mouth covered with foam:
“Who dares disturb my sleep?” he shouted.
“I do: the lion.”
“The lion, the king of beasts,” they all cried, respectfully, with one voice.
“I am king in my own house,” said Two-Legs. “Be off, I want to sleep.”
“He is defying the lion.... He is mad.... I won’t give a penny for his life!” cried the animals.
But Two-Legs took the thigh-bone of the sheep, aimed it and flung it with all his might at the lion. It hit the king of beasts in the middle of the forehead. He uttered a frightful roar. All the animals rushed terrified across the meadow. The lion ran in their midst, roaring constantly, till it echoed all over the forest.
But Two-Legs lay down quietly to sleep and slept until broad daylight.
When he awoke and had climbed down the tree, the dog lay gnawing the bone which Two-Legs had flung at the lion. He wagged his tail; Two-Legs patted him and gave him another bone:
“Will you be my servant and my friend?” asked Two-Legs.
“Gladly,” said the dog. “You have been kinder to me than the others and you are stronger and cleverer than they.”
“Very well,” said Two-Legs. “Then you shall keep watch over me and mine and help me when I go hunting and bear me company.”
