‘You can’t see me,’ she said, ‘so you must just listen instead. You can’t see anything, for that matter, because you haven’t got our night-eyes. But you can hear and feel. Just hear and feel as keenly as ever you can. Now, which way is the wind? Tell me that first.’
Sambo, eager to obey, listened and felt as hard as ever he could. But there was no wind. Not a tree rustled, the grass lay silent, no air stirred. He wetted his finger and held it up, but with no result. Not a breath!
‘There isn’t any,’ he said, proud to feel he was right.
‘Wrong,’ squeaked the lizard. ‘There’s always some, even on the stillest night. A draught, a current, a movement in the air. Now,’ she added, like a teacher giving a lesson to a stupid child,’ try again.’
This time, remembering his instructions, Sambo just listened, and after a few minutes, though he had thought it was a dead silence, he began to hear all manner of queer, gentle, little noises creeping upon him from the left. He hadn’t noticed these before. From his right side he heard nothing.
‘The wind’s blowing from my left to my right,’ he announced, though it was partly a guess, perhaps.
‘Right! ‘ exclaimed Snitch, in a pleased voice. ‘And what do you hear?’ she asked him next. ‘ Listen hard a moment, and then tell me.’
Sambo listened so hard that he nearly lost his balance, and leaned against a larch tree to steady himself. The blood made a rumbling noise in his head at first, but presently he began to distinguish other sounds behind this rumble: creakings, rustlings, sharp tiny clicks as though a leaf or small twig snapped, odd little hissing noises too, while other, fainter sounds — and they were deeper, these — seemed to come from underground. There were odd tappings too. And the harder he listened, the louder grew the volume of noises, though this may have been because he already was hearing better.
‘They all come from my left,’ he whispered, and his whisper seemed like a roar compared to the softness of these other sounds. ‘ Nothing from the right.’
‘That proves the wind,’ replied Snitch. ‘Describe what you hear.’ And the boy did so, as well as he could.
‘Not bad,’ remarked the lizard judicially,’ not so bad for a boy who has never learned how to listen, and whose ears are full of wax. Now, I’ll tell you what it all is, but first I’ll get on your shoulder.’ She ran up and perched below his ear. ‘ I’m safer here. Something might make a dart at me on the ground — from the right side, where we can’t hear. I can whisper too.’ She gave him then a rapid analysis of all the jumble of sounds, though he couldn’t distinguish all the differences that she evidently could. He felt rather frightened to know there were so many living creatures all about him, but she explained to him that most of them were friendly, more afraid of him than he was of them, and that only one or two were hostile—’ to me, not to you,’ she added. ‘ They’d gobble me up if they could. They know I’m here, right enough. That’s why I’m on your shoulder.’
‘The whole wood’s alive,’ she told him, ‘ for everything moves at night. There’s just as much noise coming from our right, too, only we can’t hear it because the wind’s the other way. The things on our right can hear and smell us, but all those we hear to our left, though they know someone’s about, don’t know exactly what or where.’
‘Smell? ‘ asked Sambo, sniffing hard. ‘ Why, I can’t smell anything at all.’
‘I’ll tell you about smell later,’ replied Snitch. ‘ For the moment let’s deal with hearing. That rustling you hear is made up of a good many things, all moving stealthily. Several field-mice are flitting in and out of the grass, hunting for food; beetles, and all manner of insects, are scratching; and that soft, silken noise like water is something nasty sliding along on a very smooth tummy. It never stops, you notice. It’s ahem! we won’t refer to it again, if you don’t mind — a grass-snake. I have a poor opinion of such things—’
‘So have I,’ agreed Sambo,’ though they’re not poisonous.’
‘Things that swallow me can be poisonous or not,’ replied Snitch. ‘ I disapprove of them. But, before we leave the hostile things, I’ll mention one other. That clicking, jerky noise — d’you hear it? It goes by fits and starts. Well, that’s — ahem! — a hedgehog. If it saw you, it would just roll up in a ball and pretend to be dead; but if it saw me, it would open its ugly mouth, run at me much faster than you have ever seen a hedgehog run, and — I’ll omit the rest, I think, if you don’t mind.’
Something fell with a little sharp tap beside them on to the ground.
‘And that,’ Snitch continued more calmly, ‘ is something harmless. A squirrel perched high on a branch above our heads is eating its nuts. It dropped that bit just to let us know it’s seen us. Friendly little things, squirrels, but rather conceited about their sparkling eyes and bushy tails.’ Snitch gave a subdued yet shrill squeak, and the squirrel answered with a similar noise. More things dropped.
The lizard gave a sudden start. ‘ That’s a warning,’ she whispered. ‘ Something’s moving towards us from the side we can’t hear — the right. Let’s get into the field a bit. It’s safer.’ And the boy obeyed as quick as lightning, carrying his friend with him on his shoulder.
‘What was the deeper noise we heard? ‘ he asked, as soon as they were safely in the open field. ‘ Underground, it sounded.’
‘It was underground,’ Snitch told him, ‘ but you’d never guess. In the deep ditch, a dozen yards from where we stood, is a hole that goes down into the soft earth — a badger’s hole. What you heard was old Father Badger moving about among his family. He’s got two young ones. And he was shuffling about and grunting because he heard some rats sniffing at the mouth of his hole as they scampered past towards the farm-buildings in the field beyond. He’s a great friend of mine, but dreadfully shy, and he hates human beings because — well, because they badger him to death whenever they can.’
A dozen questions came into Sambo’s head, but before he could ask one of them, Snitch was talking again. ‘ Now, lean down and put your ear to the ground, and you’ll hear something else, if you keep still enough.’ The boy knelt down and put his ear to the earth, while Snitch wriggled round on to his back as he did so. ‘ Listen hard and keep still as a mouse. You must hardly breathe.’
After listening intently for several minutes, Sambo caught a queer faint murmur in the earth, but below the surface. It was a soft, grating sound, rather as if he rubbed sand between finger and thumb close to his ear.
‘Earth worms,’ Snitch told him. ‘ Hundreds of them. They pass the soft earth through the whole length of their bodies. You see the casts on the lawn in the morning usually. A bird can hear that noise. Then it taps on the lawn with its feet to make the worm come up — and be gobbled for its breakfast. The moles aren’t moving yet; they start about dawn.’
Sambo held his ear to the ground and listened for a long time. It all fascinated him.
‘That’s enough now for one night,’ exclaimed Snitch presently. ‘ Up you get and back to bed. I want to get some sleep too. You’ve read a few lines of the Night Garden anyhow — just the beginning of a chapter. Next time we’ll try smell, after that trees and flowers and bushes, after that perhaps the sky — oh, and dozens of other chapters as well.’
‘ — It’s most awfully kind of you, Snitch,’ the boy thanked her, as he got on his feet again. ‘ I’ve enjoyed it enormously. Next time I’d like to—’
But before he could finish the sentence there came a queer rushing past his ears, he seemed to rise, then drop through space, he turned over and over.... He opened his eyes a little and found he was in bed. The night-light had burned very low, and in the other bed across the room Topsy was snoring and blowing like a small grampus that had somehow got into a kettle on the kitchen stove. He closed his eyes again and remembered no more.
CHAPTER XIV
SAMBO was just beginning to learn the Garden-Writing of sound, smell and sign, when something happened to interrupt the fascinating lessons.
September had passed and October, with its shortening days, had come. In the early morning mist lay along the fields, and the leaves, turning red and gold, were already fluttering to the ground like gorgeous, tired butterflies. Along one of these golden leaves, dropped from the horse-chestnut tree, lay Snitch one afternoon.
This time she had not chosen a background to hide against. The gold showed the outline of her slender little body very vividly.
‘Pick me up, please,’ squeaked the lizard. ‘ I don’t feel like darting or scuttling to-day.’ The voice had a rather tired sound.
Sambo obeyed. He picked up the big leaf and laid it on the palm of his hand. Snitch did not move. She lay like a dead twig, motionless.
The boy wondered what was the matter. Her voice, he noticed, was not quite as clear and sharp as usual, her eyes seemed less bright. They had less flash in them. She seemed altogether listless and uninterested in life. Never before had she asked to be picked up, for as a rule she darted up his arm or back before he could think.
He feared his little friend must be out of sorts, or even ill; and this made him feel uncomfortable, because he knew nothing about illness and could not think of anything, to say for some time. He gazed down at the motionless little creature in silence. She made no sound.
‘Have you got a headache, or something? ‘ he asked gently, after a long pause.
‘Never have headaches,’ replied the lizard, still without moving,’ because I never over-eat.’ After a moment she added: ‘ That’s my trouble.’
Sambo was puzzled; he did not understand this mood. ‘ What trouble? ‘ he asked, bending his face down a little closer so as to watch her better.
‘Eating,’ replied Snitch briefly. ‘My food’s getting scarce.’
‘Oh, if you’re hungry,’ cried Sambo, ‘ I’ll get you something from the kitchen in a jiffy! ‘ and he almost turned to go into the house.
The lizard stopped him.
‘My food, not yours,’ she explained, then fell into silence again.
‘I’m awfully sorry,’ Sambo put in, and really meant it. ‘ It’s horrid being hungry.’ He longed to help, but didn’t know quite what to suggest. He was far too clumsy to catch her food in the way she managed it.
‘Insects are getting scarce now,’ the small voice went on presently. ‘ And there’s less heat in the sun. You might move out of the shade, please, and put me near a wall, where it’s warmer. I feel cold.’
Sambo quickly ran down the Drive and stood against the old stone wall. The sunlight was reflected here. Flies and bees were buzzing in the ivy.
‘That’s better,’ said the lizard, and showed signs of reviving a little. Her voice was already brisker. She cocked her head round and looked up into the sky a moment. ‘ The swallows are going too,’ she observed. ‘ They can’t get enough insects to eat either. They’ll all be gone to Africa in a week, where there’s lots of food. When they go, I go.’
Sambo felt his heart sink. ‘ You’re not going to leave me!’ he cried. ‘ I should miss you terribly. I love you so. We’ve had such fun—’
‘Thank you,’ Snitch interrupted, and ran slowly off the leaf on to his palm, which she tickled softly with her tiny forefeet by way of showing her affection. ‘ Your hand is nice and warm,’ she added, snuggling in against the curve of his thumb. ‘ I feel tired, cold, hungry and sleepy.’ Her tail curled round a little as if she were going to sleep. ‘ So, when the swallows go, I go too,’ she said again, half closing her eyes.
‘But you’ll feel ever so much better after something to eat and a good sleep,’ said the boy eagerly. ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk about going. I hate it.” When the swallows go, I go too,’ repeated the lizard gently.’ I must.’
‘Where to?’ asked Sambo, his mind already made up to take the journey with her, wherever it might be. ‘ You can’t go to Africa!’
‘I don’t,’ came the reply in a lower voice.’ I go — to sleep.’
‘Oh, that’s all right!’ cried Sambo more cheerfully. ‘ Then I shall see you again when you wake up.’
The lizard was silent for a moment. ‘ When I go to sleep,’ she resumed, presently, ‘ it’s rather a long sleep.’
‘Like me,’ agreed the boy. ‘ I sleep all night through. I hate getting out of bed in the morning. How long are you going to sleep for this time?’
Again Snitch kept silent for several minutes. ‘ This time,’ she said in a still lower voice,’ I’m going to sleep for about six months, I’m afraid.’
Sambo caught his breath. ‘ Six months!’ he exclaimed. He thought at first his friend was teasing him. ‘ Why, you’d die if you did that.’ And he laughed a little. But his laughter stopped as he heard the lizard’s next words: ‘ Oh, no,’ she explained, ‘ I shan’t die. Every autumn, when the insects get scarce, and the sun grows cold, we lizards just crawl into a shelter and go to sleep. We sleep till our food comes back and the days are warm again. We should never live through the cold winter if we didn’t do this.’
Sambo at first could hardly believe his ears. Then he remembered having heard that snakes and tortoises and bears and a few other creatures hibernated, and so realised that the lizard was not teasing him, but was telling him the truth. And as this dawned upon him, he felt very sad.
‘Oh, Snitch, dear,’ he said, bending his face towards her,’ I shall miss you terribly. I shall come and put flowers on your grave—’
‘My bed, you mean,’ Snitch corrected him sharply. ‘ I shall only be asleep. It’s rather a long sleep, I know, but it suits us lizards.’
‘Will there be a lot of you all asleep together?’ asked Sambo.
‘About five or six,’ was the reply.
‘And will you show me where it is, please?’
The lizard’s voice was growing fainter and fainter. ‘ It’s that heap of stones and leaves and turf on the edge of the wood,’ she whispered. ‘ The one near the gate, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You might carry me over there now, perhaps,’ the tired little voice went on. ‘ I’m getting drowsier and drowsier every minute. I’ve had nothing much to eat lately, you see, and the sun really has so little heat left.’ With a sinking heart Sambo walked across the lawn, carrying the tired lizard in his hand. He climbed the iron railing and reached the heap of stones. It was an untidy looking sort of place that nobody was likely to disturb. He stopped and stared down at the piled up stones and bits of turf. ‘ Are the others already in there?’ he asked, and Snitch told him in a murmur that they had gone in the day before and were already sound asleep, lying curled against one another.
‘We shan’t wake till April,’ she added. ‘The first thing I do when I’m out will be to come and find you. I promise.’
‘That’s a real promise,’ the boy repeated, feeling a lump rise in his throat. Snitch gave his skin a tiny nip by way of reply. She was evidently very sleepy and tired now.
‘You might put me down on the stones,’ she whispered, so faintly he could hardly catch the sound. And Sambo did so. She moved slowly, as though it cost her great effort, from his palm on to a piece of turf among the leaves.
‘ — I’m glad about the flowers,’ he just heard, ‘I shan’t feel nigglelected now.’ She had not enough energy left even to pronounce her words properly, but the boy knew what she meant.
* Every week I’ll come,’ he promised. ‘ On Mondays.’
‘Good-bye, then, dear Sambo, and goodnight,’ murmured the fading voice. And when he looked closer to see if she had moved, he saw the place was empty. Snitch had disappeared for her long winter sleep.
‘April...’ he just caught the tiny sound of her whisper rise up through the stones and leaves.
‘Next April,’ he repeated in a shaky little voice. ‘ And I’ll come every Monday. I promise...’
He listened, but there was no reply. He had the tip of her broken tail in his little box in the house, but he would not see his friend, Snitch, again till the swallows and the insects came back in
April with the flowers and the warmer sun.
For some minutes he stood beside the pile of stones, feeling sad and lonely, and repeating to himself the little song he had made up many weeks before, when he first met her:
‘Dear little Snitch,
I’m all alone; wonder which
Way you have gone!’
But after a bit he stopped doing this, because he knew quite well where his friend was, and that she was now happy and comfortably asleep. She had taught him ever so many things worth knowing, and he would never forget her. Every Monday he would go to the pile of stones and keep his promise. Then, in the spring, he would see her crawl out again, and they would have a lot of new adventures together. So Sambo ran off to play with Topsy quite happily, knowing that in the little lizard he had a true friend he would meet again, because a true friend is never lost.
(While Snitch slept through the winter, the adventures, of course, came to an end. But one day she may come back to Sambo and to us again. Who knows?)
Collected Works of Algernon Blackwood Page 297
