by John Grant
Mum spoke again. “Nosey’s wife told me that her husband had met Juniper at the market, and that he had his whole family with him. So I sent a message asking them to stay for a few days.”
Littlenose recalled his holiday in the mountains. Uncle Juniper had three boys who were, of course, Littlenose’s cousins. But then, the Juniper family lived in a spacious two-apartment cave with plenty of room for visitors. Litttlenose began to understand why Dad had been shouting. The Junipers lived by themselves, with no neighbours nearer than the other side of the mountains. They were simple people, and Dad unkindly called them Country Bumpkins, Hillbillies and Yokels. Still, it would mean someone new to play with, and Littlenose began to look forward to his cousins’ arrival.
The Juniper family arrived late on the afternoon a few days later. Littlenose shook hands with his Uncle, kissed his Aunt and turned to greet the boys.
“Hi, there, Littlenose,” said the biggest cousin, giving Littlenose a rather too hearty thump on the back. “How does a mammoth get down from an oak tree?”
“Eh?” said Littlenose, still trying to get his breath.
“Sits on a leaf and waits for autumn,” said the cousin. And the three of them shrieked with laughter, nudging each other and Littlenose and generally falling about.
“I suppose that’s meant to be funny,” thought Littlenose.
It was the same during the evening meal. The grown-ups were so busy talking among themselves that they paid no attention to the boys, and Littlenose found it difficult to get on with the important business of eating. First one, then another of the Juniper boys nudged him and whispered things like: “Why do mammoths never forget? Because no one ever tells them anything!” and, “What do you call a deaf mammoth? Anything you like; it can’t hear you!”
Littlenose tried to edge away out of earshot, then Mum looked up and said, “For goodness sake, sit still and don’t fidget. Look at your cousins! They’re behaving themselves!”
At last it was bedtime, and Littlenose hoped that a good night’s sleep might help things. But not a bit of it. The cousins giggled and whispered in the dark more of their stupid mammoth jokes, and when Littlenose said, “Please be quiet and let me get some sleep,” Dad shouted, “Be quiet, Littlenose; you’ll wake your cousins.” It was all very unfair!
At breakfast, Littlenose decided that the best thing was to ignore the Juniper boys, even when they leaned right over and whispered in his ear, “How do mammoths catch squirrels?” He just looked straight in front and waited for Mum to serve breakfast.
“Don’t be so rude to your guests, Littlenose,” said Dad. “Answer them when they speak to you.”
Littlenose sighed at the great injustice of it all, but decided to say nothing, and had just started to eat when the smallest cousin said, “Look, Littlenose! Over there.”
Heeding Dad’s words, Littlenose looked, but could see nothing remarkable.
“Oh, it’s gone,” said the cousin, and Littlenose went back to his breakfast. It seemed to have an odd flavour, but he was hungry and tucked in just the same. The cousins were eating more slowly, and seemed more interested in watching him than in eating. The taste grew stronger the farther he got down his clay bowl. And when he reached the dead frog at the bottom he knew why. He also knew who had put it there. But before he could do anything about it, Mum chased the boys outside to play while she cleared up.
Two-Eyes, who had been made to sleep outside to make room for the visitors, came running up to Littlenose. Jumping on the little mammoth’s back, Littlenose said, “Come on, Two-Eyes, let’s go somewhere for a quiet think.” And leaving his Juniper cousins to their own devices, they galloped away into the woods.
The first quiet thought that Littlenose had was to run away from home, at least until the visitors had gone. But his second thought was that it would be much easier to keep out of their way as much as possible. Having made up his mind, he went back to the caves. A lady called from one of them, “Hello, Littlenose. How are you today?”
“Fine, thank you,” said Littlenose.
He was about to strike up a conversation when the lady stooped down and said, “I wonder who could have left this?” A large skin-wrapped parcel was lying by the cave entrance. She was just about to pick it up when the parcel gave a leap and bounced along the ground to disappear into a clump of bushes. At the last moment Littlenose saw the string and heard an unmistakable giggle. The lady had sat down with a thump and was shrieking her head off. People came running from the other caves. “It’s that terrible boy,” she cried, pointing at Littlenose. “Playing tricks like that! It shouldn’t be allowed! It isn’t good for people, that sort of thing!”
Littlenose tried to explain, but no one would listen. The cousins, meanwhile, stood at the back of the crowd, grinning all over their faces.
Littlenose arrived home to a stern talk from Dad on the subject of annoying the neighbours. It was made even worse by Dad’s insisting on referring to the cousins as perfect examples of Neanderthal boyhood. The evening meal was a repeat of the previous one, except that the supply of mammoth jokes had apparently run out and the cousins kept up a running stream of equally unfunny jokes about sabre-tooth tigers.
At last it was bedtime. With eight people it was a bit of a squash in the cave, but Littlenose had managed to keep his fur bed covers just a bit separate from the others. With a sigh of relief at the end of a pretty miserable day, he slid down beneath the covers. Next moment he was leaping around holding his foot and yelling at the top of his voice. “Something bit me!”
Everyone came running, Dad pulled back the bedclothes . . . and the angry-looking hedgehog which had been trying to find a way out since the cousins had put it in earlier, scuttled into a corner and rolled into a ball. Dad was furious. “You know the rules about pets,” he shouted. “You’re lucky I let Two-Eyes into the cave. Now, get that creature out at once.” But the creature, guessing that it was not exactly welcome, and needing some fresh air anyway, had unrolled and vanished into the night.
Littlenose lay awake that night wishing he had decided to leave home after all. After breakfast next morning he went off and sat under his favourite tree, where he did most of his important thinking. He was quite alone, having managed to give the cousins the slip, while Two-Eyes had gone off on some business of his own. Littlenose considered all sorts of attractive schemes for getting his own back.
For instance, he knew of a cave in the forest which was the home of a particularly evil-tempered black bear. Supposing he could trick his cousins into thinking that there was some special treat in the cave! There would be for the bear! Perhaps he might lure them on to a floating log in the river and send them sailing all the way to the sea? Oh, dear, why did all the best ideas have to be the most difficult to put into practice? His daydreams were shattered by a sudden noise. Sudden noises usually spelled danger in those days, and Littlenose was about to take to his heels when he recognised something in the noise. It was a squeal, like that given by a small and frightened mammoth. Littlenose jumped to his feet. The squealing was coming closer, but it was accompanied by a strange jangling and clattering. The bushes parted, and Two-Eyes burst through, his eyes wide with terror. He was desperately trying to get away from a clattering collection of broken pots and old bones which came bouncing out of the bushes behind him, attached by a long string to his tail. There was no need to ask who had put them there. Two-Eyes ran to Littlenose, and in a moment the string was untied and the little mammoth sank breathless to the grass.
This was going too far! Playing tricks on Littlenose and even Neanderthal ladies was one thing, but to frighten a poor harmless creature like Two-Eyes was too much. Littlenose, of course, conveniently forgot that he spent more time playing tricks on Two-Eyes than anything else. He would have his revenge if it was the last thing he did.
And strangely, that very afternoon he got the inklings of a plan.
When Littlenose and Two-Eyes returned to the cave they found that the Juniper boys were s
till out, but that the grown-ups were sitting around the fire talking. Dad was saying, “Yes, the Old Man, the leader of our tribe, is anxious to meet you. He’s asked me to invite you on his behalf to a reception tomorrow. I’ll warn you now, he fancies himself at making speeches and you’re likely to be bored to tears. But he usually lays on a good spread at these sorts of things.”
“What about the boys?” asked Uncle Juniper.
“Oh, they can come in time for the food,” said Dad. “We’ll leave Littlenose with them. He knows where the place is.” Littlenose sat in his own special corner of the cave and hugged himself with delight. If he could work things right, he would have a magnificent revenge for himself, Two-Eyes and the neighbour lady. That evening, he sat with his cousins outside the cave chatting about this and that, and listening to more terrible jokes. During a lull in the conversation, he looked up and said with a sigh, “Well, I’m certainly glad it isn’t me.”
“What do you mean?” asked the oldest cousin.
“Surely they’ve told you,” said Littlenose. “You’ve been chosen to be presented to the Old Man.”
“What of it?” said the cousin.
“Ah, now I understand,” said Littlenose. “They probably didn’t want to worry you. I don’t blame them. People have been known to run away from home to avoid being presented. I was scared stiff, I don’t mind telling you, when it was my turn. That was when the Old Man gave me my special spear.” Littlenose neglected to say that the presentation of the spear had been the result of a considerable misunderstanding, but that’s another story.
The cousins were leaning forward now, eager to hear more. And Littlenose didn’t disappoint them. “Listen carefully,” he said. “This is very important.” And Littlenose told them such a convincing story that by the time he had finished even he was almost believing it.
“The Old Man,” he said, “is leader of the tribe, and to be presented to him is a great honour. But it isn’t easy. Leaders of tribes aren’t like ordinary men. That’s why they’re leaders. They are proud and fierce, with strange powers. Why, it’s said that the Old Man can stop a charging rhinoceros with one glance. It’s his eyes, you see, which are to be feared. No one has ever looked him straight in the eye and lived to tell of it! You will be presented to the Old Man tomorrow in the presence of the whole tribe; and because I have already done it, I have been entrusted with seeing that you get everything right. Because, if you don’t . . .” Littlenose paused dramatically, and the cousins sat with mouths open in wonder. “No wonder,” thought Littlenose, “that Dad calls them ‘simple country folk’.”
Before setting out for the Old Man’s reception the next day, Dad took Littlenose to one side. “You’d only be bored with the grown-up chat,” he said. “Bring the boys when the shadow reaches the pebble.” And he stuck a twig in the ground so that it cast a long shadow in the sunlight, and placed a pebble a little way ahead of the shadow.
As soon as the grown-ups had gone, Littlenose turned to his cousins and said, “Right. Time to get ready! Remember what I said about the mud. It’s to show that you are truly humble in the presence of the Old Man. And don’t forget how you approach him. On no account must you look directly at his face.” The three cousins disappeared outside, and Littlenose quickly moved the pebble a little farther from the twig’s shadow. The cousins returned and started smearing handfuls of mud on themselves. A ring round each eye. Patches on each cheek. A dab on the nose. And rings and dots on arms, legs and bodies. Littlenose could hardly believe that they were actually doing it. The shadow had reached the spot which Dad had marked with the pebble. “I must go on ahead, now,” said Littlenose. “Follow me when the shadow reaches the pebble.”
The grown-ups were gathered in the sunshine outside the Old Man’s cave when Littlenose came wandering up looking very downcast. “Where are the boys?” asked Uncle Juniper.
“Oh, they’re messing about with mud and stuff,” said Littlenose.
At that moment, a gasp went up from the assembled guests as three strange figures appeared. They were crawling on their hands and knees . . . backwards. Slowly they approached the Old Man, who said, “Well, bless my soul! What funny people.” Someone tittered. “Stand up and let me see you,” said the Old Man. They stood up, but with eyes shut tight, and the laughter grew at the weird spectacle of three boys covered in splodges of mud, eyes shut, and trembling with terror. Uncle Juniper wasn’t laughing, however. “One of your local customs?” said the Old Man, turning to him.
Instead of replying, Uncle Juniper grabbed at the boys, and cuffed their ears, while they yelled, “But we thought . . .” And the whole tribe laughed and laughed, but no one laughed louder than Littlenose - unless it was the lady neighbour.
That was the end of the visit. With the boys gone, Littlenose relaxed again, and was soon happily playing tricks on Two-Eyes as was, after all, only proper.
The Fox Fur Robe
It was a crisp Ice Age autumn day. The Neanderthal folk were busy with preparations for another Ice Age winter, collecting firewood, gathering wild fruit and nuts, and looking over their winter furs. The men of the tribe were mainly occupied with checking their winter hunting equipment. They made sure that every fire-making flint sparked properly . . . and they spread out their hunting robes in the sun to air.
Littlenose spread his out on a flat rock close to the cave, and stood back to admire it. It was one of his proudest possessions, and he explained to Two Eyes: “Mum made my hunting robe for me. She hadn’t enough of any one fur, so it’s really a bit of everything. Bear, squirrel, rabbit, wolf. And fox . . . with a tail. It’s the only hunting robe in the tribe with a tail. Probably the only one in the whole world.” Two-Eyes tried to look interested. He had his own fur coat and didn’t need a robe, and he hid a mammoth yawn behind his trunk as Littlenose chattered on.
Dad came out of the cave with his hunting robe over one arm. He shook out the dust and carefully put it on, the hood over his head. Mum came out of the cave after him.
“You’re not wearing that terrible old thing, are you?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with it?” said Dad.
“It’s ragged, and torn, and worn. And it’s full of holes,” said Mum.
“But, apart from that?” said Dad.
“It’s a perfect disgrace,” said Mum, going back into the cave. “To the family . . . and to the whole tribe!”
“What do you mean, ‘disgrace’?” shouted Dad after her. “I’m the best hunter.”
“And the worst dressed!” echoed Mum’s voice from inside, followed by a loud rattling of cooking pots bringing the conversation to an end.
Dad went off by himself, muttering, “Disgrace, indeed!” And Littlenose turned back to his own hunting robe, which was in very good condition.
Over the evening meal, Dad sat, brooding. He wouldn’t admit it, but Mum was right. There was a market in a week’s time, the last before the Ice Age winter closed in and made travelling even more difficult than normal. He might just pick up an end-of-season bargain. He cleared his throat. “Thinking of going to the market,” he said casually. “Anything you need?”
Mum smiled quietly to herself. “There’s the odd thing I could do with. Bone needles. A new bone ladle.”
“Right,” said Dad. “I’ll take Littlenose and Two-Eyes. It’s time that Littlenose learned something about trading. He could do worse than watch me in action. When it comes to driving a hard bargain—”
“Yes, we know,” said Mum. “And Two-Eyes can help carry all your hard bargains home.”
When market day came, Dad hauled Littlenose out of bed while it was still dark. The sun was only just coming over the hills when they left the caves behind. Littlenose had visited the market several times, and the way never seemed to get any shorter. As usual it was noon before they reached the circle of trees on the hill where the Neanderthal folk gathered to trade and exchange furs, flints, spears, axes, food, drink, and gossip.
After a quick snack, Dad sta
rted a tour of the various traders, while Littlenose trailed behind him and Two-Eyes took himself off to a sheltered spot for a nap. They passed several men selling household articles like bone needles and ladles, but Dad’s mind seemed to be on other things. At last, they stopped at the foot of a tall tree where an old man sat cross-legged beside a great heap of furs. “Now,” said Dad to Littlenose, “watch closely. The first rule is never to appear too eager to buy! Haggle about the price. That’s the secret to driving a hard bargain.”
“Can I help you?” said the old man.
“Thank you,” said Dad. “Just browsing.” And he began to rummage among a heap of black bear-skin hunting robes.
The old man beckoned to Littlenose. “You seem a fine young fellow. A credit to your noble father, I’m sure.” And he handed him an apple. Littlenose said, “Thank you,” and took the apple. “Yes, I said to myself,” said the old man to no one in particular, “a person of distinction. A chief at the very least. Am I right?”
“. . . er, not exactly,” said Dad.
“Not at all,” thought Littlenose.
“A person of breeding. And taste. Very rare these days, and a joy to behold . . . and serve. Allow me, sir.” The old man stood up and took Dad’s arm, and guided him over to another pile of furs partly hidden by the tree. “A more exclusive selection,” said the old man. “For those who really know about such things.”
Littlenose watched in astonishment. Dad, his eyes alight, was holding the fur robes up one after the other. These were none of your common black bear or grey wolf. They were snowy white, gold and brown striped, yellow with brown spots. Dad was almost drooling with excitement as he hauled out from the foot of the pile a hunting robe, the likes of which Littlenose had never seen before. It was an exquisite creation in fully-fashioned red fox fur. Or, at least, that’s how the old man described it, as he slipped it on to Dad’s shoulders and stood back.
