“Keeping watch … heh heh. Yes, keeping watch. He is a good friend. In times of great crisis, friends keep watch over one another. He’s an extraordinary little fellow, Nathaniel.”
“Keeping watch? Like … guarding me? He’s kind of small for that, don’t you think?” Nathaniel chuckled.
“Keeping watch is much more important than simply guarding another. We keep watch over another during their time of greatest need. We never abandon another in what may be their final moments, because what could possibly be more important than being there to assist another with life’s final lessons, hmm?”
Mr. Leach spoke matter-of-factly, as if everyone knew this, but Nathaniel had never heard this before and, honestly, had never even considered it. So he remained quiet while he repeated Mr. Leach’s statement to himself several times. We never abandon another in what may be their final moments, because what could possibly be more important than being there to assist another with life’s final lessons.
Mr. Leach gave Nathaniel a sidelong glance as they strolled through Salvador’s orchard. “Are you having deep thoughts, my boy? Heh heh.”
“I guess,” Nathaniel answered. “I think what you said about keeping watch is really important.”
“Hmm. It is! It is!” he said emphatically.
They walked on in silence, Mr. Leach suspecting there was more on his friend’s mind. The day had been filled with cloudless blue skies and very little wind. Now, as the day faded, the temperature was beginning to drop.
Nathaniel was mindful of prying but was curious about what Mr. Leach had meant when he spoke to Wendel. So he fidgeted a bit and talked about the weather.
“What’s on your mind, brother?” Mr. Leach asked without turning to look at him.
Nathaniel snickered quietly, then said, “So, Wendel seemed to have changed somehow when I saw him yesterday.”
“Yes. Tragedy often does that, don’t you think? Heh heh.”
“He mentioned something to me about having lost his sight but gained his vision.”
“Heh heh heh. Oh dear, that sounds familiar.” Mr. Leach smirked, raising the wrinkled brow above his left eye suspiciously. “I’m sure he knows what I meant.”
“I know. He told me you said this, but I wonder if he understood what you meant.”
“Oh, I imagine he does. You know … in some fashion his sight limited him. He saw what he couldn’t do, what he couldn’t be. His vision was limited by his sight. Heh heh. Sounds odd to say it aloud, eh?”
Nathaniel winced, wondering why he couldn’t get more information from Mr. Leach.
The old possum stopped and faced him. “OK, Nathaniel. I say that the loss of one’s sight, for example, can empower your imagination, allowing you to think beyond the limitations your eyes had imposed on you … heh heh. Now … perhaps he is able to see and understand, not just see without understanding. Think about it. We see, we hear, we smell, and so on, without understanding … that is, without the desire to interpret the meaning of what is seen, heard, smelled, whatever. The trouble with the mice is they seem to have very little capacity for the interpretive part. They smell something that may be tasty, and before they’ve interpreted what it is, they have already devoured it. They engage but don’t extract. You, my friend, you must engage and extract. Right, old boy?”
Nathaniel felt a little dizzy from the conversation and only grunted in response to Mr. Leach’s last question. They began walking again. Then Mr. Leach apparently decided they had spoken long enough. “It is getting chilly now, Nathaniel, and Birgit is waiting for you to bring her some lovely fruit for dinner. Off you go!”
Nathaniel laughed and went off to collect some fruit. “Good night, Mr. Leach,” he called, although Mr. Leach was already gone.
Something was happening to Nathaniel, Birgit pondered as she sat in her favorite spot before the entrance to their nesting area, where she looked out over the fruit trees. But she felt puzzled regarding exactly what was lifting him from the dark abyss he had descended into. He was getting out of bed and seemed oddly interested in this mouse colony, which she gathered he had sort of adopted. The small mouse who he had rescued from the fire had gone blind, and this seemed to occupy an inordinate amount of his time. Yet instead of being sullen and depressed about it, he was energized and took a serious interest in the little mouse. One thing was for sure, he was easier to be around, but perhaps that was because he wasn’t around very often lately. She wondered whether just leaving him to pursue this new interest would eventually run its course and he’d become bored or whether his fascination would grow. She wasn’t sure which way to turn.
“Hmm!” she grunted, perplexed by it all. “He’ll just have to work it out,” she assured herself.
“Work what out?” Nathaniel knew that Birgit often spoke her thoughts aloud, and was teasing her, as he had not done in some time.
“Are you going to visit your little friends? The little blind mouse, Weldon … William …?”
“Wendel. And yes, I am going to visit. I said I would. He’s fretting about something.”
“Oh no!” Birgit said. “But what are you going to do about it? I mean, shouldn’t—?”
“Hey, c’mon, Birgit! The poor guy has been through a lot.”
“Well, all of this caring you are suddenly doing for others, Nathaniel! It’s a bit out of character.” Then Birgit added with a hint of sarcasm that she knew would sting Nathaniel, “Go to your little one, and reassure him that all will be well.”
“I will,” Nathaniel answered, apparently exasperated, and hurried down the shrub branches and stomped off toward the McCorkles’ home.
The light-brown dirt road drew a marked contrast with the burned landscape of blackened scrub oak and grass that now scarred the fields on both sides of the road. The McCorkles’ mailbox at the end of the long, dusty driveway still lay on the ground, attached to its charred post.
Walking up the drive, he marveled at the enormity of the blackened landscape, stopping from time to time as he climbed the steep drive to survey the damage on the hill below. The smell of burned wood and grass and the tarry odor of charred creosote bushes all filled the air, and the black embers now crunched underfoot as he walked on.
Mice, Nathaniel understood, intensely disliked straying far from their nest, and almost never did so. The fire had no doubt created a pervasive sense of anxiety among members of the colony for having to move even a short distance from the barn, which was traditionally where they stayed during the winter. This was a terrific challenge, so he felt it necessary to remind himself to be patient, as he hoped to encourage them to leave their site for a better home.
As he approached the house, a very small mouse Wendel had called Pip greeted him.
He knew of Pip largely through conversations with Wendel, who seemed especially fond of her. She had a reputation for being cute, tough, and tending to overcompensate for her small size with risky behavior and rough talk. Nathaniel smiled as she approached with the bravado she was said to possess. He had also learned from Wendel that Pip’s real name was Mona Parsley but that he should never call her this, as she hated how fussy it sounded, and wanted to be known only as Pip. Pip had even feigned a gangster-like conversational tone to complete her tough-girl persona.
“Pip.” Nathaniel smiled. “What’s up? You look worried. What could possibly be bothering you on this absolutely perfect day.”
“Hey, Nate. It’s Jid. Something strange has happened. Something not so good. He went, you know, up the pipe to the utility room so he could grab some grub to eat. But he has really stepped in it. I mean, like, he has stepped onto a tray of something really, really sticky, and he can’t get out. He is stuck, and when I say ‘stuck,’ I mean it, Nate. He doesn’t want anyone other than Wendel to hang around.”
“Let’s go have a look at this sticky business.” He chuckled, quietly amused by his remark.
> This was the first time Nathaniel had been invited inside to where the Cielo Creek colony had relocated. Pip slipped easily through the crack in the hatch to the crawl space, and although it was tight, Nathaniel managed to get through. Pip led him under the house toward the pipe through which cables had been routed to the area above. Nathaniel was amused by the number of curious mice who poked their heads out from the long strips of insulation that had been stapled to the ceiling of the crawl space.
“If you climb up through the pipe where you see the cables,” Pip explained, “it’ll lead you into a closet, where you’ll find Jid. Wendel is with him, and I know he will be glad to see you.” When Nathaniel hesitated as he absorbed instructions, she interrupted. “Hey, never mind.” She jumped up on the cables that ran up the pipe. “C’mon! Just follow me!”
Nathaniel nodded and followed Pip, who quickly climbed the cable inside the pipe. In a moment, they emerged to find themselves in a closet where various wires and cables were all connected to a steel box of some sort. Glancing at Wendel, he saw that he was alert to his presence, but it was Jid who called out, “Nathaniel! I can’t free myself!” When Jid saw Pip, he sternly directed, “Pip, you wait below!”
“Aw, c’mon, you guys. Don’t treat me like a pup.”
“Pip. Not now,” Wendel pleaded before turning to Nathaniel. “I’m so glad you’re here. I really don’t understand what’s going on. Jid is stuck in some sort of terrible sticky substance, which he insists we keep our paws away from.”
Jid was distraught and confused by what was happening to him. “I’ve never, in all my life, experienced anything like this!” He spat out the words, indignant about the nature of the trap as much as he was about dying.
“Hold on, Jid.” Nathaniel approached the edge of the tray that contained the sticky substance, and asked, “Are you able to lift your foot?”
Jid struggled to lift one of his feet, but it barely moved. The substance stubbornly clung to his foot, stretching but not allowing him to lift it more than a tiny bit.
As Jid continued to struggle, Wendel whispered to Nathaniel. “This is the McCorkles. I’ve heard their ranting about the pests, and I know …” He rubbed his temples with his paws as if his head ached. “This thing here is a trap … This is no accident, and it’s specifically designed to kill a mouse slowly, and therefore, it’s especially cruel.” He shook his head and clenched tight his jaw. “Who are these guys, anyway?”
Wendel took several deep breaths as if seeking to regain his composure but instead, surprisingly, exploded with uncharacteristic anger, shouting at Jid. “I told you they intended to exterminate us all because … because we are pests … diseased pests … because we have infested their home … and to be clear, they are determined not just to be rid of us but to exterminate us! I know you understand the meaning of this word, because we talked about it. But you didn’t listen to me, so I’ll say it more clearly. Exterminate means ‘to wipe away forever, to eliminate, to remove mice from the earth’! I know this! I know it for certain. Don’t ask me how. Just know that I am telling you the truth, Jid!”
Jid had stopped his struggling. Slack-jawed, he stared at Wendel, his face gradually revealing his anger. Nathaniel froze, also startled by Wendel’s words, and wondered what was coming next, leaving him anxious about how he might be of any help.
“Wendel! Stop!” Even as he found himself powerless and completely compromised, Jid ironically commanded Wendel to mind his insubordinate manner of speech.
“What? Stop what, Jid? What else can I say except that I am sorry? But this is a trap. And you have been captured in it. This is what I have been trying to warn you about. This house … the owners of this house are no good!” The anger that animated Wendel’s passion was now descending toward despair, Nathaniel observed, feeling the anger may be preferable.
“Easy, Wendel,” Nathaniel said gently. “This is hardly a time for ‘I told you so.’”
“You think this is a trap … this … this … mess? You really think it’s a trap? Who would create such a trap?” Jid asked, his voice unsteady, his eyes wide, and paws trembling.
“I’m sorry, Jid!” Tears welled up in Wendel’s eyes. “Yes, it’s a trap.”
“But who would design a trap that does such a terrible thing? Who would do this?” he asked, seeming more confused than angry.
“Look,” Nathaniel interrupted. “Let’s try to be more focused on our immediate problem.” Turning to Jid, he said, “You’re stuck but you’re not injured. We can get food to you as we work to get you out of this goop. The more of you that becomes stuck in this stuff though, the more difficult it will be to get you out. So you need to be still, and we need to work on freeing you quickly.” Nathaniel walked over to the area of the tray where Jid’s foot remained stuck. “Let’s try to free your foot again. This time I’ll help.” Nathaniel had taken command of the situation, and his unemotional approach and calm voice steadied both Jid and Wendel. “Now, lift your foot as high as you can.”
Jid struggled to do this while Nathaniel grabbed the tiny, thin part of Jid’s leg just above his foot and began pulling. Nathaniel saw that he was so small and fragile, and he feared breaking the old mouse’s leg. But his leg did not break, and he pulled with all his might on the small limb until the old paper-like flesh tore from his foot as Jid let out a terrible cry of agony.
“What happened?” Wendel cried.
“Oh, jeez. It’s bad. He’s stuck fast, and my trying to free his leg just about tore all the skin off the poor guy’s foot, so now he’s bleeding.” Neither Jid nor Wendel could see the wound and so had no appreciation for its severity. And thank goodness for that! Jid would panic, and Wendel would feel helpless.
Nathaniel now realized they would not be able to free Jid without seriously injuring him. This was what made the trap so cruel. The victim exhausted himself and gradually surrendered more and more of his body to the tray of glue until it had seized all parts of the victim as if he were caught in a giant spiderweb. The victim would panic, flail about, and gradually be swallowed up by the glue as he became more and more exhausted and despairing. The victim no doubt would know he was dying and give up.
Jid’s bloody foot was now back in the tray and completely submerged in the glue. Jid, exhausted, had surrendered his tail and the remainder of his lower body to the glue, and cast a perceptibly panicked expression toward Nathaniel. Half his body was now fixed fast, as if in dried concrete, so he could no longer move, which seemed only to confuse him all the more.
Nathaniel had stepped away for a moment to explore the closet when he called out to them. “I fear Wendel is right, Jid.” Nathaniel had discovered a stack of similar traps on a shelf next to the door of the utility room. They were still wrapped in plastic but, beneath the clear plastic, appeared to be identical. “They must be traps, and there is a large supply of them. Wendel, the others need to be warned. Can you do this … now? Can you explain to them what they look like? And warn them to stay far away from them.”
“Yes, of course I can do that.”
“Tell them under no circumstances are they to touch them.”
“Right.” He hesitated, looking at Jid awkwardly positioned in the tray of glue. “What about—?”
“Do that now, Wendel,” Nathaniel commanded.
Wendel nodded as he bit his lower lip and then disappeared down the pipe, leaving Nathaniel alone with Jid.
At the bottom of the PVC pipe, Pip stood expectantly, like a soldier awaiting her orders.
“What are you doing here?” Wendel asked.
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
“Oh!” Wendel seemed flustered but smiled. “I’m sorry you were sent away. I never would have done that. So, now I think you should go up above to be close to Jid. If he doesn’t die from exhaustion and suffocate in the glue, the McCorkles will check t
he trap soon enough, and if he’s still alive, they’ll exterminate him. Nathaniel is with him, and I have reason to believe that all is well with that, but we should not leave our own Grandfather, our Jid, to die without a witness from our colony to keep watch.”
“You got it! I’m going.” And she scrambled up the pipe.
“Thank you!” Wendel called after her.
“He’s our Jid. Don’t thank me!” she said.
When she emerged from the pipe, the scene that was unfolding broke her heart. She remained out of sight behind a stocking cap that must have fallen to the floor of the utility room. Pip watched, hidden by the hat, and decided it was best to remain quiet.
Nathaniel sat as close as he could to the trap, remaining silent for a moment. “I’ll stay with you, Jid. I will … keep watch.” He remembered the term that Wendel and Mr. Leach used to describe staying close to someone in crisis. “I’ll keep watch for you.”
“I don’t know what you mean, keep watch for me,” Jid said impatiently.
“I don’t either, or at least, I’m not sure, since I have never done it before. But let’s just say I will stay here with you.”
“What? So you can watch me die in this hideous trap?”
“Would you prefer to be alone?”
“No. Don’t go, Nathaniel. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m desperate. I just don’t know what to do.” He struggled to barely lift only slightly one of his back legs, and just as it broke the surface of the tray of glue, it stretched, elastic, only to snap his foot back into place.
“I know, Jid. This is horrible. I don’t know what to do either.”
“Then … just … stay with me. OK?”
“Of course I will.”
Jid and Nathaniel remained silent for a time until Jid spoke. “I told you I am known as Jid—I am the Grandfather.” Jid hung his head and mumbled, “The wise one. The protector. The one upon whom you can depend to look after the needs of Cielo Creek. And now look what I’ve done!” Jid waved his arm in an angry sweeping gesture, as if he were including the whole world as part of his failings. Then Jid lost his balance. His front legs broke his fall but now, too, were fixed fast in the glue. Additionally, from his underbelly extending all the way to his chin was now stuck fast in the sticky substance. Now, awkward and uncomfortably positioned, he was able to do little more than scan the area immediately in front of him and quietly croak out a few words at a time, fearing any movement might jeopardize his ability to breathe.
Nathaniel's Got the Blues Page 6
