Tales From Watership Down Part 8

Where are you going, stream? Far, far away Beyond the heather, sliding away all night.

Take me with you, stream, away in the starlight.

I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-stream, Down through the water, the green water and the rabbit.

In autumn the leaves come blowing, yellow and brown.

They rustle in the ditches, they tug and hang on the hedge.

Where are you going leaves? Far, far away Into the earth we go, with the rain and the berries.

Take me, leaves, O take me on your dark journey.

I will go with you, I will be rabbit-of-the-leaves, In the deep places of the earth, the earth and the rabbit.

Frith lies in the evening sky. The clouds are red about him.

I am here, Lord Frith, I am running through the long gra.s.s.

O take me with you, dropping behind the woods, Far away, to the heart of light, the silence.

For I am ready to give you my breath, my life, The s.h.i.+ning circle of the sun, the sun and the rabbit.

Fiver, as he listened, had shown a mixture of intense absorption and incredulous horror. At one and the same time he seemed to accept every word and yet to be stricken with fear. Once he drew in his breath, as though startled to recognize his own half-known thoughts: and when the poem was ended he seemed to be struggling to come to himself. He bared his teeth and licked his lips, as Blackberry had done before the dead hedgehog on the road.

A rabbit in fear of an enemy will sometimes crouch stock still, either fascinated or else trusting to its natural inconspicuousness to remain unnoticed. But then, unless the fascination is too powerful, there comes the point when keeping still is discarded and the rabbit, as though breaking a spell, turns in an instant to its other resource--flight. So it seemed to be with Fiver now. Suddenly he leaped up and began to push his way violently across the great burrow. Several rabbits were jostled and turned angrily on him, but he took no notice. Then he came to a place where he could not push between two heavy warren bucks. He became hysterical, kicking and scuffling, and Hazel, who was behind him, had difficulty in preventing a fight.

"My brother's a sort of poet, too, you know," he said to the bristling strangers. "Things affect him very strongly sometimes and he doesn't always know why."

One of the rabbits seemed to accept what Hazel had said, but the other replied, "Oh, another poet? Let's hear him, then. That'll be some return for my shoulder, anyway. He's scratched a great tuft of fur out."

Fiver was already beyond them and thrusting toward the further entrance tunnel. Hazel felt that he must follow him. But after all the trouble that he himself had taken to be friendly, he felt so cross at the way in which Fiver had antagonized their new friends that as he pa.s.sed Bigwig, he said, "Come and help me to get some sense into him. The last thing we want is a fight now." He felt that Fiver really deserved a short touch of Bigwig.

They followed Fiver up the run and overtook him at the entrance. Before either of them could say a word, he turned and began to speak as though they had asked him a question.

"You felt it, then? And you want to know whether I did? Of course I did. That's the worst part of it. There isn't any trick. He speaks the truth. So as long as he speaks the truth it can't be folly--that's what you're going to say, isn't it? I'm not blaming you, Hazel. I felt myself moving toward him like one cloud drifting into another. But then at the last moment I drifted wide. Who knows why? It wasn't my own will; it was an accident. There was just some little part of me that carried me wide of him. Did I say the roof of that hall was made of bones? No! It's like a great mist of folly that covers the whole sky: and we shall never see to go by Frith's light any more. Oh, what will become of us? A thing can be true and still be desperate folly, Hazel."

"What on earth's all this?" said Hazel to Bigwig in perplexity.

"He's talking about that lop-eared nitwit of a poet down there," answered Bigwig. "I know that much. But why he seems to think we should want to have anything to do with him and his fancy talk--that's more than I can imagine. You can save your breath, Fiver. The only thing that's bothering us is the row you've started. As for Silverweed, all I can say is, I'll keep Silver and he can be just plain Weed."

Fiver gazed back at him with eyes that, like a fly's, seemed larger than his head. "You think that," he said. "You believe that. But each of you, in his own way, is thick in that mist. Where is the--"

Hazel interrupted him and as he did so Fiver started. "Fiver, I won't pretend that I didn't follow you up here to speak angrily. You've endangered our good start in this warren--"

"Endangered?" cried Fiver. "Endangered? Why, the whole place--"

"Be quiet. I was going to be angry, but you're obviously so much upset that it would be pointless. But what you are are going to do now is to come underground with the two of us and sleep. Come on! And don't say any more for the moment." going to do now is to come underground with the two of us and sleep. Come on! And don't say any more for the moment."

One respect in which rabbits' lives are less complicated than those of humans is that they are not ashamed to use force. Having no alternative, Fiver accompanied Hazel and Bigwig to the burrow where Hazel had spent the previous night. There was no one there and they lay down and slept.

17.The s.h.i.+ning Wire

When the green field comes off like a lid Revealing what was much better hid, Unpleasant; And look! Behind, without a sound The woods have come up and are standing round In deadly crescent.

And the bolt is sliding in its groove, Outside the window is the black remover's van, And now with sudden, swift emergence Come the women in dark gla.s.ses, the hump-backed surgeons And the scissor-man.

W.H. Auden, The Witnesses The Witnesses It was cold, it was cold and the roof was made of bones. The roof was made of the interlaced sprays of the yew tree, stiff twigs twisted in and out, over and under, hard as ice and set with dull red berries. "Come on, Hazel," said Cowslip. "We're going to carry the yew berries home in our mouths and eat them in the great burrow. Your friends must learn to do that if they want to go our way." "No! No!" cried Fiver. "Hazel, no!" But then came Bigwig, twisting in and out of the branches, his mouth full of berries. "Look," said Bigwig, "I can do it. I'm running another way. Ask me where, Hazel! Ask me where! Ask me where!" Then they were running another way, running, not to the warren but over the fields in the cold, and Bigwig dropped the berries--blood-red drops, red droppings hard as wire. "It's no good," he said. "No good biting them. They're cold."

Hazel woke. He was in the burrow. He s.h.i.+vered. Why was there no warmth of rabbit bodies lying close together? Where was Fiver? He sat up. Nearby, Bigwig was stirring and twitching in his sleep, searching for warmth, trying to press against another rabbit's body no longer there. The shallow hollow in the sandy floor where Fiver had lain was not quite cold: but Fiver was gone.

"Fiver!" said Hazel in the dark.

As soon as he had spoken he knew there would be no reply. He pushed Bigwig with his nose, b.u.t.ting urgently. "Bigwig! Fiver's gone! Bigwig!"

Bigwig was wide awake on the instant and Hazel had never felt so glad of his st.u.r.dy readiness.

"What did you say? What's wrong?"

"Fiver's gone."

"Where's he gone?"

"Silf--outside. It can only be silf. You know he wouldn't go wandering about in the warren. He hates it."

"He's a nuisance, isn't he? He's left this burrow cold, too. You think he's in danger, don't you? You want to go and look for him?"

"Yes, I must. He's upset and overwrought and it's not light yet. There may be elil, whatever Strawberry says."

Bigwig listened and sniffed for a few moments.

"It's very nearly light," he said. "There'll be light enough to find him by. Well, I'd better come with you, I suppose. Don't worry--he can't have gone far. But by the King's Lettuce! I won't half give him a piece of my mind when we catch him."

"I'll hold him down while you kick him, if only we can find him. Come on!"

They went up the run to the mouth of the hole and paused together. "Since our friends aren't here to push us," said Bigwig, "we may as well make sure the place isn't crawling with stoats and owls before we go out."

At that moment a brown owl's call sounded from the opposite wood. It was the first call, and by instinct they both crouched motionless, counting four heartbeats until the second followed.

"It's moving away," said Hazel.

"How many field mice say that every night, I wonder? You know the call's deceptive. It's meant to be."

"Well, I can't help it," said Hazel. "Fiver's somewhere out there and I'm going after him. You were right, anyway. It is is light--just." light--just."

"Shall we look under the yew tree first?"

But Fiver was not under the yew tree. The light, as it grew, began to show the upper field, while the distant hedge and brook remained dark, linear shapes below. Bigwig jumped down from the bank into the field and ran in a long curve across the wet gra.s.s. He stopped almost opposite the hole by which they had come up, and Hazel joined him.

"Here's his line, all right," said Bigwig. "Fresh, too. From the hole straight down toward the brook. He won't be far away."

When raindrops are lying it is easy to see where gra.s.s has recently been crossed. They followed the line down the field and reached the hedge beside the carrot ground and the source of the brook. Bigwig had been right when he said the line was fresh. As soon as they had come through the hedge they saw Fiver. He was feeding, alone. A few fragments of carrot were still lying about near the spring, but he had left these untouched and was eating the gra.s.s not far from the gnarled crab-apple tree. They approached and he looked up.

Hazel said nothing and began to feed beside him. He was now regretting that he had brought Bigwig. In the darkness before morning and the first shock of discovering that Fiver was gone, Bigwig had been a comfort and a stand-by. But now, as he saw Fiver, small and familiar, incapable of hurting anyone or of concealing what he felt, trembling in the wet gra.s.s, either from fear or from cold, his anger melted away. He felt only sorry for him and sure that, if they could stay alone together for a while, Fiver would come round to an easier state of mind. But it was probably too late to persuade Bigwig to be gentle: he could only hope for the best.

Contrary to his fears, however, Bigwig remained as silent as himself. Evidently he had been expecting Hazel to speak first and was somewhat at a loss. For some time all three moved on quietly over the gra.s.s, while the shadows grew stronger and the wood pigeons clattered among the distant trees. Hazel was beginning to feel that all would be well and that Bigwig had more sense than he had given him credit for, when Fiver sat up on his hind legs, cleaned his face with his paws and then, for the first time, looked directly at him.

"I'm going now," he said. "I feel very sad. I'd like to wish you well, Hazel, but there's no good to wish you in this place. So just goodbye."

"But where are you going, Fiver?"

"Away. To the hills, if I can get there."

"By yourself, alone? You can't. You'd die."

"You wouldn't have a hope, old chap," said Bigwig. "Something would get you before ni-Frith."

"No," said Fiver very quietly. "You are closer to death than I."

"Are you trying to frighten me, you miserable little lump of chattering chickweed?" cried Bigwig. "I've a good mind--"

"Wait, Bigwig," said Hazel. "Don't speak roughly to him."

"Why, you said yourself--" began Bigwig.

"I know. But I feel differently now. I'm sorry, Bigwig. I was going to ask you to help me to make him come back to the warren. But now--well, I've always found that there was something in what Fiver had to say. For the last two days I've refused to listen to him and I still think he's out of his senses. But I haven't the heart to drive him back to the warren. I really believe that for some reason or other the place is frightening him out of his wits. I'll go with him a little way and perhaps we can talk. I can't ask you to risk it, too. Anyway, the others ought to know what we're doing and they won't unless you go and tell them. I'll be back before ni-Frith. I hope we both shall."

Bigwig stared. Then he turned furiously on Fiver. "You wretched little black beetle," he said. "You've never learned to obey orders, have you? It's me, me, me all the time. 'Oh, I've got a funny feeling in my toe, so we must all go and stand on our heads!' And now we've found a fine warren and got into it without even having to fight, you've you've got to do your best to upset everyone! And then you risk the life of one of the best rabbits we've got, just to play nursey while you go wandering about like a moonstruck field mouse. Well, got to do your best to upset everyone! And then you risk the life of one of the best rabbits we've got, just to play nursey while you go wandering about like a moonstruck field mouse. Well, I'm I'm finished with you, I'll tell you plain. And now I'm going back to the warren to make sure everyone else is finished with you as well. finished with you, I'll tell you plain. And now I'm going back to the warren to make sure everyone else is finished with you as well. And And they will be--don't make any mistake about that." they will be--don't make any mistake about that."

He turned and dashed back through the nearest gap in the hedge. On the instant, a fearful commotion began on the farther side. There were sounds of kicking and plunging. A stick flew into the air. Then a flat, wet clod of dead leaves shot clean through the gap and landed clear of the hedge, close to Hazel. The brambles thrashed up and down. Hazel and Fiver stared at each other, both fighting against the impulse to run. What enemy was at work on the other side of the hedge? There were no cries--no spitting of a cat, no squealing of a rabbit--only the crackling of twigs and the tearing of the gra.s.s in violence.

By an effort of courage against all instinct, Hazel forced himself forward into the gap, with Fiver following. A terrible sight lay before them. The rotten leaves had been thrown up in showers. The earth had been laid bare and was scored with long scratches and furrows. Bigwig was lying on his side, his back legs kicking and struggling. A length of twisted copper wire, gleaming dully in the first sunlight, was looped round his neck and ran taut across one forepaw to the head of a stout peg driven into the ground. The running knot had pulled tight and was buried in the fur behind his ear. The projecting point of one strand had lacerated his neck and drops of blood, dark and red as yew berries, welled one by one down his shoulder. For a few moments he lay panting, his side heaving in exhaustion. Then again began the struggling and fighting, backward and forward, jerking and falling, until he choked and lay quiet.

Frenzied with distress, Hazel leaped out of the gap and squatted beside him. Bigwig's eyes were closed and his lips pulled back from the long front teeth in a fixed snarl. He had bitten his lower lip and from this, too, the blood was running. Froth covered his jaws and chest "Thlayli!" said Hazel, stamping. "Thlayli! Listen! You're in a snare--a snare! What did they say in the Owsla? Come on--think. How can we help you?"

There was a pause. Then Bigwig's back legs began to kick once more, but feebly. His ears drooped. His eyes opened unseeing and the whites showed bloodshot as the brown irises rolled one way and the other. After a moment his voice came thick and low, bubbling out of the b.l.o.o.d.y spume in his mouth.

"Owsla--no good--biting wire. Peg--got to--dig out."

A convulsion shook him and he scrabbled at the ground, covering himself in a mask of wet earth and blood. Then he was still again.

"Run, Fiver, run to the warren," cried Hazel. "Get the others--Blackberry, Silver. Be quick! He'll die."

Fiver was off up the field like a hare. Hazel, left alone, tried to understand what was needed. What was the peg? How was he to dig it out? He looked down at the foul mess before him. Bigwig was lying across the wire, which came out under his belly and seemed to disappear into the ground. Hazel struggled with his own incomprehension. Bigwig had said, "Dig." That at least he understood. He began to scratch into the soft earth beside the body, until after a time his claws sc.r.a.ped against something smooth and firm. As he paused, perplexed, he found Blackberry at his shoulder.

"Bigwig just spoke," he said to him, "but I don't think he can now. He said, 'Dig out the peg.' What does that mean? What have we got to do?"

"Wait a moment," said Blackberry. "Let me think, and try not to be impatient."

Hazel turned his head and looked down the course of the brook. Far away, between the two copses, he could see the cherry tree where two days before he had sat with Blackberry and Fiver in the sunrise. He remembered how Bigwig had chased Hawkbit through the long gra.s.s, forgetting the quarrel of the previous night in the joy of their arrival. He could see Hawkbit running toward him now and two or three of the others--Silver, Dandelion and Pipkin. Dandelion, well in front, dashed up to the gap and checked, twitching and staring.

"What is it, Hazel? What's happened? Fiver said--"

"Bigwig's in a wire. Let him alone till Blackberry tells us. Stop the others crowding round."

Dandelion turned and raced back as Pipkin came up.

"Is Cowslip coming?" said Hazel. "Perhaps he he knows--" knows--"

"He wouldn't come," replied Pipkin. "He told Fiver to stop talking about it."

"Told him what what?" asked Hazel incredulously. But at that moment Blackberry spoke and Hazel was beside him in a flash.

"This is it," said Blackberry. "The wire's on a peg and the peg's in the ground--there, look. We've got to dig it out. Come on--dig beside it."

Hazel dug once more, his forepaws throwing up the soft, wet soil and slipping against the hard sides of the peg. Dimly, he was aware of the others waiting nearby. After a time he was forced to stop, panting. Silver took his place, and was followed by Buckthorn. The nasty, smooth, clean, man-smelling peg was laid bare to the length of a rabbit's ear, but still it did not come loose. Bigwig had not moved. He lay across the wire, torn and b.l.o.o.d.y, with closed eyes. Buckthorn drew his head and paws out of the hole and rubbed the mud off his face.

"The peg's narrower down there," he said. "It tapers. I think it could be bitten through, but I can't get my teeth to it."

"Send Pipkin in," said Blackberry. "He's smaller."

Pipkin plunged into the hole. They could hear the wood splintering under his teeth--a sound like a mouse in a shed wainscot at midnight. He came out with his nose bleeding.

"The splinters p.r.i.c.k you and it's hard to breathe, but the peg's nearly through."

"Fiver, go in," said Hazel.

Fiver was not long in the hole. He, too, came out bleeding.

"It's broken in two. It's free."

Blackberry pressed his nose against Bigwig's head. As he nuzzled him gently the head rolled sideways and back again.

"Bigwig," said Blackberry in his ear, "the peg's out."

There was no response. Bigwig lay still as before. A great fly settled on one of his ears. Blackberry thrust at it angrily and it flew up, buzzing, into the suns.h.i.+ne.

"I think he's gone," said Blackberry. "I can't feel his breathing."

Hazel crouched down by Blackberry and laid his nostrils close to Bigwig's, but a light breeze was blowing and he could not tell whether there was breath or not. The legs were loose, the belly flaccid and limp. He tried to think of what little he had heard of snares. A strong rabbit could break his neck in a snare. Or had the point of the sharp wire pierced the windpipe?

"Bigwig," he whispered, "we've got you out. You're free."