Pip now interrupted Nathaniel. “No, Nate. You’re wrong. You did help Jid, and you have helped Wendel become the wise and wonderful leader he is.” She flashed him a big smile and a thumbs-up.
Nathaniel chuckled and shrugged, expressing the ambivalence he felt. “I don’t know. I don’t really think so. I thought I could stop your suffering. You see, I really began to believe that I knew what was best for everyone. I was on a mission to save the Cielo Creek community. Only now can I see the arrogance behind the ideology I was pursuing.
“Jid asked me to promise him something before he died.” All ears pricked up, and the murmuring among the mice captured the tension in the crawl space. “He asked that I convey to all of you that it was his dying wish that Wendel be named Jid.”
There were a few gasps, while both Pip and Wendel remained expressionless.
“I wanted to protect Wendel from the burden of becoming Jid at such a tender age and after a tragic accident, but I was wrong to do this. It was his accident that made him strong. It was the loss of his sight that gave him the vision to lead. Again, you see, I believed I knew what was best.”
“Wendel,” one of the mice called out. “Our new Jid!”
Nathaniel looked over at Wendel and smiled. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be. There is a time for everything. And now was the right time for you to speak. Not before.”
It was readily apparent that Ricketts was fuming. “Hold on! This is a sham! Are we going to take the word of a rat as authoritative in something as consequential as the selection of a new Jid? He’s already admitted that he withheld valuable and important information.”
“It’s a sham … It’s fake news, boss. Tell ’em it’s fake news!” Rutger Loft could always be counted on to loyally pile on what Ricketts had said already.
“No, it is not fake news. It is the truth. I was there, Ricketts! Wendel had sent me to be present for Jid’s death, and I was, but I remained hidden,” Pip shouted across the assembled group of mice.
“And you expect us to believe this now?” Ricketts said. Then, taking a deep breath, Ricketts smiled. “Look, Wendel, Pip, and the rats want us all to leave here. I say to you who want to leave, just go!” Then he looked to his side at Rutger Loft hunched over but smiling up at him. “It’s fake news, friends! This is our home …” He paused and scanned the audience, bearing a toothy grin. “I think this tragedy is over, or nearly over, and for some reason, these three are committed to disrupting our efforts to restore peace and harmony to this colony … to our beloved Cielo Creek.” He paused again and scanned the crowd, mimicked by Rutger Loft.
Then loudly he bellowed, “Mice don’t leave their homes, and Wendel and Pip, you know that. Asking us to leave will be more traumatic for Cielo Creek than our getting through the winter here, where it is warm, after which we can return to the fields. It’s ridiculous to abandon the area we have called home for so many generations.”
The murmuring made it clear to Nathaniel that most of the mice were sympathetic to Ricketts’s position. Mice did not like to leave their home, and hoping that everything would be OK, even as unrealistic as Wendel, Pip, and he thought this notion was, it was such an appealing sentiment that everyone seemed drawn to the optimism it reflected, and it somehow amazingly suppressed any negative thoughts.
“Wait!” Nathaniel spoke up. “I believe I know a place where you will always be safe, where there is plenty of food and shelter during the cold season.”
Birgit heard the tittering among some of the mice. “My husband has spoken the truth. Did you enjoy the fruit my family brought you to keep you from starving or eating poisoned food?” The mice all agreed it was welcome and tasted delicious. “Well, the fruit is from the place of which my husband speaks.”
“I see!” Ricketts said suspiciously. “Are you going to save us all now, sir? And how far must we trek to reach this ‘promised land’?” Ricketts laughed, and Rutger Loft giggled, mocking the whole exodus notion as preposterous.
“It is a day’s journey,” Nathaniel said. “Sleep on it. Stay here tonight, but be careful, because the Exterminator has devised many ways to be rid of us pests.”
“Oh dear, Nathaniel simply cannot help himself,” Ricketts said drolly. “He’s going to protect us all!” he said, mocking Nathaniel’s bold claims. “Three cheers for the rat!” Ricketts said, not quite loud enough for anyone besides those closest to him to hear.
Nathaniel sat off to the side, away from Ricketts’s mockery, holding his head in his paws. Now they would engage in arguments that would put at risk the future of Cielo Creek. He was convinced that he was more than partly to blame for all this. That was when Birgit signaled to the extended family that it was time to leave, which only accentuated Nathaniel’s perceived impotence. The mice simply stared blankly at Nathaniel, Birgit, Gertie, and the stream of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who followed, leaving through the crack in the crawl space hatch. Nathaniel wondered what he would find if he returned tomorrow.
Of course, a song would be his solace, and it came to him faster than he’d anticipated, even before he had left the crawl space.
Humbled and ashamed,
I stood before the crowd.
A defect in my character,
I shared it right out loud.
I had to put it right.
I had to make things right.
Put it right or
toss and turn all night.
The role was not for me.
That evening, there were heated discussions within the Cielo Creek community that an outside observer might suppose would split them into the leavers and stayers. For his part, Ricketts began by making the case that the rat possessed no standing in their community. Moreover—and he made this point numerous times—Nathaniel was, after all, a rat, and rats were certainly known for eating mice.
“Not exactly the kind of so-called friend I’d be inclined to trust!” Rutger Loft sniveled.
“Indeed,” Ricketts bellowed self-righteously. “A little research will show you all what my colleague and I have believed all along. You will recall the nest invasion by a rat who went by the name of Elwood? Two of Elodie Pickle’s children were eaten. And, um … just one more thing. It seems Mr. Elwood was a friend of our guardian angel, Nathaniel. Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
Then came the so-called argument from nature. “Could a creature whose instincts inclined them to be tied to a particular territory survive if they left that territory?” Wendel asked.
He continued by arguing that no creature was a prisoner to their instincts. Therefore, he said that while it may be true that some rats ate mice, Nathaniel had demonstrated by putting his own life on the line that he was not a prisoner to any instincts. “And by extension, my fellow members of the Cielo Creek community, neither are we prisoners to an instinct that inclines us to remain in one place. What, I ask you, is the greater instinct? Is our hunger for the familiar and our distaste for anxiety so strong that we would choose to put all our lives in jeopardy, including those of our children, by remaining in this very dangerous place? Or can we reach down inside ourselves to discover the courage necessary to face our fear of the unfamiliar with hope for a better future for ourselves and our children?”
Back and forth the arguments flew until the mice finally grew tired and little by little made their way up into the pink puff clouds of insulation, where they waited and watched.
8
Nathaniel was quiet on the journey home from the McCorkles’ place. The younger members of his and Birgit’s extended family were animated and full of enthusiasm to assist the mice, while the very youngest made snippy remarks about how the mice should listen to the rats.
“I can’t believe those idiots!” Nathaniel and Birgit’s great-grandson Hampton griped. “Pops offered them a place to live, and what does that dumb guy Ricketts say?
‘This is our home. We’ll just stay here until the Exterminator kills us all!’” Hampton mocked Ricketts, making a funny face and puffing himself up.
“Hampton! Stop it,” Nathaniel scolded impatiently.
Hampton had never been rebuked by his great-grandfather before, so he grew sulky as they continued back toward their homes, which were spread out between Salvador’s property and the McCorkles’. Nathaniel saw that he had wounded Hampton’s feelings, so he suggested they all stop and rest in the tall grass at the end of the dirt driveway to the McCorkles’ home.
“I’m sorry for being sharp with you, Hampton.” Nathaniel sat near the youngest rats. “These mice have different ways of doing things from rats. A bit strange to us, but they’re different, that’s all. For some reason, they find it very difficult to leave their home.”
“If they don’t, they’re gonna die!” Hampton said, incredulous.
“Yeah. It’s odd, isn’t it? Sometimes you just need to get up and go. Maybe it is hard, but you do it for the sake of the future.” Nathaniel rubbed his ear, which had been bothering him more than usual, as he thought about Hampton’s words. “But here’s the thing. We have offered them a safe place, should they choose to flee. Maybe the entire colony won’t come, but I think some will. Some of them have the good sense to be more frightened of the Exterminator than they are of change. We’ve offered them asylum, which I think is the right thing to do. And we can only hope that they walk toward hope rather than choose doom.”
Hampton nodded. “Yep, me too. I think it’s the right thing to do, Pops.”
Then Nathaniel began to softly sing to Hamilton the words that welled up in his heart.
In the fields of McCorkle’s farm,
the place that they were born,
a fire caused them great alarm,
and from their land they’re torn.
“We will not be homeless,”
their leader promised them.
“Seek shelter in the main house.”
Then the killing did begin.
Now, they got the homeless blues.
The refugee blues.
We made an offer of a safe place,
but it’ll challenge,
challenge their views.
“Pops!” Hamilton exclaimed, astonished. “I never heard you … I mean, that was good, Pops!”
Nathaniel made a signal for silence, cutting Hamilton off, “We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
Nathaniel got up, stretched, and said, “Let’s get going. I’ll be leaving when the sun rises tomorrow, so anyone planning to join Birgit and me, be ready then.”
As the rats made their way home, each of the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and their families peeled off to return to their respective homes while the sun set and the evening grew cool.
Birgit and Nathaniel wearily climbed the branches of the shrub that led to their home in the eaves of Salvador’s home. They crawled into their nest, and within moments, Birgit was snoring, while Nathaniel tossed and turned, feeling anxious about what they would learn the next day.
Knowing he would not sleep, he quietly slipped out of their nest and made his way down the branches to the ground next to the house. As he rounded the corner, he saw Salvador sitting on the back porch, under the light, in an old wooden rocker, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and his old Stetson pushed toward the back of his head. As Nathaniel watched, he saw what he thought must be a cat taking something to eat from Salvador’s hands. But he’d never seen a cat here before, and he lived here, after all. Surely, if Salvador had a cat, he would have been aware of it long ago, he reasoned. Puzzled by the image of Salvador feeding a cat, Nathaniel went in for a closer look. When he was close enough to see clearly, he was stunned.
“That’s no cat! That’s Mr. Leach!” he whispered to himself. Nathaniel sat openmouthed, watching Mr. Leach finish whatever it was he was eating. Then Salvador reached down and gave the old possum a gentle pat on the head, causing Nathaniel to literally fall over and blurt out, “What the …?”
Mr. Leach looked up as Salvador opened the back door and went inside.
“I hear you, brother. Heh heh. Old Leach has got to eat, you know!” Mr. Leach said as he ambled toward Nathaniel, now in the dark as the porch light went out.
“But you never said … I mean, you never mentioned … How long have you …?” Nathaniel struggled to contain his surprise.
“Well, I don’t tell everyone everything, my friend. Heh heh.” Nathaniel watched Mr. Leach study him for a moment and knew the old possum was sizing up his capacity to listen to what he was about to say. “This man, Salvador …” Mr. Leach began.
“Yes?”
“He’s a very good man, you know?”
“He leaves us alone, and I know that’s good.”
“No, no, mate. It’s much more than simply leaving you alone that makes him a good man.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I know? I engage and extract. Heh heh.” Mr. Leach grinned broadly so that all his sharp little yellow teeth were on full display. “I have shared many an evening with Salvador. He sits in that chair almost every night and talks to me when I come for a bite to eat.” Here he paused for a moment, seeming to think carefully about his next words. “I have learned something very interesting, my friend.”
“Hmm?” Nathaniel grunted.
“In time, engagement grows into something much harder to name. Affection, love aren’t quite the words I’d use,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe connection is closer, because it is more than mere emotion. Connection, in some ways, is the consequence of real engagement. So, yes, connection is more accurate. Better, much better.”
Where is he going with this? Nathaniel wondered. He just can’t ever say things directly, he thought as a smile spread across his face.
Mr. Leach continued. “A connection grows between you and another. And over time, what you begin to extract from this profound level of engagement is a deep understanding of one another built on that very connection. And here’s the thing, dear brother: one day you notice that language is not the impenetrable barrier you thought it was, because real communication doesn’t necessarily require language. The chasm between you and another is never a failure of language but a failure to sincerely engage. When you engage, and are engaged by another, you extract understanding through this precious exchange. That is the great gift that engaging and extracting offers you, mate.”
Nathaniel’s knitted brow conveyed the struggle he had to integrate all of this teaching into his worldview. Mr. Leach was never easy to understand but in the end, he thought, was usually right and so deserved his focused attention.
Mr. Leach continued. “I told you it was not easy. Just as the oyster … heh heh … stubbornly refuses to give up its pearl, neither will anyone extract understanding without the efforts required by engagement.” He paused and again looked at Nathaniel inquisitively to gauge whether he understood. “Do you understand, Nathaniel?”
“A little bit. I probably need to think more about what you have said. It’s a lot, you know?”
“I do know. But know this! This is not some sort of trick; it’s not magic. You see, I know Salvador in a strange kind of way. I know he is a good man, and I have come to understand that he has suffered badly. I know he came to this place because his home had become dangerous. When he arrived, he was unable to understand the people who live here. And he came here alone because something terrible happened to his family. I’m not exactly sure what. He fled and sought refuge in a place where he was different from others and unable to speak their language. But in time, as he engaged with his neighbors, and they engaged with him, they began to communicate and understand one another’s story, not through a common language but through their mutual desire to engage. In time, the people of this community began to understand that what he n
eeded was a home where he could be safe even though he had a poor grasp of the language and perhaps could not communicate with them in this manner. As their connection grew, so too did understanding between him and the people of this area. But for Salvador, he has this unique desire to be welcoming to all creatures. Heh … heh. Kind of odd but also quite delightful, wouldn’t you say?” Mr. Leach smiled and turned to Nathaniel, studying his face.
“He has never tried to chase us away or brought the Exterminator to be permanently rid of us, and even laughs when he sees Birgit and me eating his fruit.”
“I have concluded that’s because he understands the importance of being welcoming to all.”
Nathaniel grew silent, unexpectedly casting his gaze downward as Mr. Leach again studied him.
“What’s on your mind, brother?” Mr. Leach asked.
“The mouse colony that is being slowly exterminated. They’ve been on my mind all the time since I met them. I told them they would be welcome here. I didn’t really know if that was true, but I offered it. Do you think that was the right thing to do?”
“C’mon, old man! Why do you think I told you this story? Salvador understands offering refuge to the persecuted, brother. That was my whole point! Of course it was the right thing to do.”
“But the problem is, many of the mice are afraid to leave their current nest, even though remaining will probably kill them.”
“Not insurmountable. Engage and extract, old boy. Heh heh. Engage and extract.”
“I don’t have the time to engage and extract, Mr. Leach.” Nathaniel’s impatience was readily discernible, which he immediately regretted. “I’m sorr—”
Nathaniel's Got the Blues Page 10
