Whispering in the Wind

by Alan Marshall

  ‘What do you know about it?’ he demanded. ‘Have you ever been there?’ He had stopped leaning against the tree and was now standing in front of them.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ said Peter, who felt sorry he had spoken.

  ‘There you are!’ exclaimed the elephant. ‘As I said, I was eating bananas when I felt a great big hairy hand with claws on it grab me by the leg.’

  Greyfur raised her hand and looked at it with a frown. ‘Ridiculous description,’ she kept muttering to herself.

  ‘I kicked like anything,’ went on the elephant, ‘but before I could say “Bob’s your uncle”, I was pulled through a bag lined with fur and found myself standing here. It shouldn’t be allowed! What’s the world coming to, I’d like to know? I’ve always lived a respectable life. Return me at once.’

  ‘Quite a reasonable request,’ commented Greyfur. She reached out her hand and grabbed the elephant by the leg, then she gave a terrific pull and he fell head first into her pouch and disappeared.

  ‘I hope that has been a lesson to you,’ she said, turning to Peter. ‘If you had asked me to pull a lion out of my pouch, we would both have been eaten up by now. You can’t play around with magic pouches.’

  The very idea upset Peter. ‘We mustn’t even think of it!’ he exclaimed. ‘Just thinking about a lion coming out of your pouch might make it happen. It’s very dangerous to have a pouch like that.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Greyfur. ‘Nothing comes out of my pouch unless I pull it out. You couldn’t have a better safety device than that. Now, how about telling me the story of your life?’

  Peter told her about Crooked Mick and how he rode wild horses. He told her of his own search for a Beautiful Princess, and he told her about Moonlight and his gallops with the storms.

  ‘For a boy of your age you tell a story remarkably well,’ said Greyfur. ‘You should do something about it. You would make a very good drover.’

  ‘Why a drover?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘But drovers don’t earn their living by telling stories.’

  ‘That’s true,’ she said, ‘but just imagine how happy a drover would be if he could tell stories like you. It’s far better to be a happy drover than a sad anything else.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Peter, who hadn’t thought of it before. ‘I might be a drover. I could be a happy drover, but first of all I must find the Beautiful Princess.’

  ‘Then let’s go,’ said Greyfur. ‘We’re wasting our time talking.’

  ‘Are you coming with me?’ asked Peter in surprise.

  ‘Of course I am,’ said Greyfur. ‘You gave me a Magic Leaf and now we love each other. I’m your friend for life so catch Moonlight and we’ll start.’

  Peter went to pick up his hat which he had left lying on the ground beside a rock. It was an old felt hat and he was fond of it, but it had disappeared. In its place he found a most wonderful hat of blue. An ostrich plume was fastened to the band and it arched back over the crown like plumes on the hats of Princes.

  ‘It is a Prince’s hat!’ exclaimed Greyfur. ‘But there are no Princes here.’

  Peter put it on and it fitted perfectly. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m sure this is meant for me. I gave you the Magic Leaf and made you happier. Well you can’t give out love without getting something back. I think this must be a kind of reward.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ said Greyfur.

  3

  The Land of Clutching Grass

  ‘This is a splendid way of travelling,’ said Greyfur as she bounded beside Peter on the pony. ‘I breathe in when I go up and I breathe out when I come down. And I can see a long way when I am up. Look…’ She bounded high in the air. She rose higher than Peter who was reining Moonlight back to a hand gallop.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ shouted Peter. ‘Let’s go faster.’

  ‘Whoops!’ cried Greyfur. ‘We are flying. I can see a mile ahead. I can see over the hill.’

  They swept up the slope side by side and came to a halt on the crest.

  ‘I’ve got a stitch,’ complained Greyfur, holding her side. ‘I’m puffed. I want a blow. We must have hit forty up that rise.’

  ‘What a strange country,’ exclaimed Peter, who was looking ahead to where a wide plain of dry grass lay beneath them. The grass waved in the wind and shadows fled across it. From where they stood they could hear its dry, harsh rustling which came to them in a continuous whisper, like the hiss of snakes.

  Greyfur shuddered. ‘I don’t like this place,’ she said. ‘I’ve been here. This is the Land of Clutching Grass and it never stops whispering. All the children in the world have to cross it on their journey to becoming men and women. Children with wise parents cross it very easily. But for most of them it is a great struggle.’

  ‘Let’s dodge it,’ said Peter. ‘Let’s go round it.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ said Greyfur. ‘The Beautiful Princess lives on the other side of the plain, so we’ll have to cross it. The grass will wind itself around our legs and try to pull us down. When you grab it with your hands it cuts your fingers. You know the kind of grass that cuts your fingers when you touch it. It’s like that. It’s horrible. And it never stops whispering.’

  ‘What does it whisper?’ asked Peter.

  ‘That depends on whom it’s talking to. It’s more cruel to the sad and lonely children, the ones who have no confidence in themselves. It says horrible things to them. It pulls them down and they cut their knees, and the cuts always leave a scar. If you listen you can hear what the voices are saying: “You are too fat; too thin; too tall; too short. Straighten your shoulders. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be silly. I’ll straighten you up when I get home. Wait till your father hears about this. You’re lazy. You’re selfish. You tell lies. Why don’t you study more? Why aren’t you good like the children next door? Do this, do that, come here, go there, be seen, not heard, accept, obey, conform…”

  ‘It whispers every time a child approaches,’ continued Greyfur. ‘It drives them mad and the scars which it makes on their legs remain there forever.’

  While she was talking a group of children had walked out of the bush at the foot of the hill. They all wore school uniforms and carried schoolcases which were packed with books. Some of them were young—about seven. The older girls and boys were about fourteen. They stopped on the edge of the grass and listened to the whispering. They were all afraid to venture out on to the plain which seemed to them to go on forever.

  ‘I wonder how we can help them,’ said Peter, who suddenly hated the grass and imagined himself cutting it down with a rotary lawn-mower so that it could never again clutch the legs of children.

  Greyfur guessed what he was thinking. ‘You can’t cut it,’ she said. ‘I tried with a scythe once but it grows faster than you can cut, and I am a fair hand with the scythe.’

  ‘We will never help them by staying here,’ said Peter. ‘Come on.’

  He ran to Moonlight and jumped on his back. With Greyfur following, he set off at a gallop down the hill. Moonlight swerved round trees and rocks, leapt a shallow watercourse, then sped towards the group of children who were standing under a red gum on the edge of the plain. Already many of them were crying. The hands of the youngest little boy had been cut by the sharp grass and he had wrapped a handkerchief round one of them. The handkerchief was stained with blood. The knees of another boy were badly cut. One girl had a bruise on her forehead where she had fallen on a stone that lay hidden in the grass. They were all frightened and had huddled together. Peter reined in Moonlight beside them but they looked at the kangaroo as if she were an enemy.

  Out on the plain, almost hidden by the Clutching Grass, was another group of children. They had set out to battle their way across the grass, but the further they penetrated into the tangled growth of stems and leaves the more difficult it was to keep going. The grass around them was in a frenzy of movement. Sharp little fingers of grey shot up from the surrounding tangle and lashed at th
e children’s legs and hands. The constant whispering had risen until it had become a loud hissing like the sound of a thousand angry snakes striking and falling back, striking and falling back…

  Dark shadows like the shadows of clouds fled across the grass which rose and fell in waves of grey. It made one dizzy to look at these dry waves that did not refresh the spirit like the waves of the ocean.

  ‘Why don’t you pass your exams?’ whispered the excited grass to the children. ‘You must study more, play less. You must work harder. There are no jobs for those who don’t pass their exams. You are too old for dolls, you are too old for children’s games. Think of your future.’

  The grass became more and more angry and the children began to fall and struggle in an embrace of leaves and stems. Peter could stand no more. It was the Magic Leaf they needed. He urged Moonlight into a gallop and the pony sped forward in long bounds. Peter was holding the Magic Leaf and the grass that reached up to clutch him withered and collapsed. The quivering stems flung themselves away from Moonlight’s legs. They writhed and hissed as if they were burning.

  When he reached the children the grass fell away and collapsed in withered strands at their feet. Its whispering stopped.

  Peter flung himself off Moonlight’s back and handed each child a Magic Leaf. They ceased crying and began to smile.

  ‘You have nothing to fear any more,’ said Peter. ‘Continue your journey. As long as you hold the Magic Leaf no harm can come to you.’

  They ran across the plain laughing and dancing and Peter watched them until they reached the other side. He then mounted Moonlight and rode back to the group he had left standing beneath the red gum.

  ‘Are you and the kangaroo good people?’ whispered one little girl who was clinging to her brother’s hand.

  ‘I think you could call us good,’ said Peter. ‘Anyway we are here to help you.’

  They all smiled then and the fear left them.

  ‘Can I have a leaf?’ asked the girl whose face was covered with freckles.

  ‘Of course,’ said Peter. ‘I’ll give you all one.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Greyfur to the little girl, ‘does your mother love you?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said the girl. ‘But she would love me more if I didn’t have freckles. She keeps telling me, “It’s a pity you have freckles.”’

  ‘Ah!’ exclaimed Greyfur. ‘So that’s it.’ She thought a moment, then added, ‘I think freckles are beautiful.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Peter and he gave the girl a Magic Leaf.

  She held it in her hand. Her face was transformed and no one noticed her freckles any more. It was as if the sun had come out from the shadows within her and was now resting in her eyes.

  ‘I wish I had a leaf,’ said a boy who found it difficult to look at Peter. He hung his head while he spoke.

  ‘What does your father say?’ asked Peter.

  ‘He keeps telling me I’m a failure, whatever that means. I think he means that he can’t make me grow like him. I want to be an artist and he thinks artists are queer people.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Greyfur. ‘That’s what everybody said about me when I took a piano out of my pouch. You see I like playing the piano,’ she whispered to Peter. ‘I play Chopin with great feeling I am told. That is, by people who like music.’

  ‘I can play “Home Sweet Home” on the mouth organ,’ said Peter. ‘Crooked Mick says it brings tears to his eyes.’

  ‘What a magnificent achievement!’ exclaimed Greyfur. ‘I wish I could do something that would make people laugh or cry or dance.’

  ‘What about my leaf?’ asked the boy, who was becoming impatient at this conversation.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Peter. He took a leaf from the little bag and handed it to the boy, who suddenly raised his head and smiled at him. ‘You will never hang your head again.’

  ‘I have a present for you, too,’ said Greyfur. She put her hand into her pouch and pulled out a sketchbook and a tin of paints. There were twenty-four colours in the tin and beside them were two brushes.

  ‘Now you have the Magic Leaf you will paint the most wonderful pictures,’ she said. ‘When you arrive home tomorrow, show them to your father and he will love them.’

  All the children were clamouring for a Magic Leaf. Peter handed them out as fast as he could and soon he was surrounded by excited children who suddenly found they no longer feared the Clutching Grass.

  ‘Now you can walk across the plain,’ he said. ‘Let me see you.’

  The children ran into the grass laughing and shouting, and the pale stems fell back in terror. A pathway opened ahead of them. It stretched on and on across the plain and there at its end were green hills and creeks and bright sunshine. The children ran along the path, then turned and waved to Peter and Greyfur before continuing their journey.

  Peter and Greyfur followed them. When they reached the other side they left the path and set off north towards the mountains they could see in the distance.

  It was then that Peter noticed he was wearing the most wonderful pair of riding boots he had ever seen. They were made of the softest leather and the wide uppers reached to his knees. He looked at them in amazement.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Greyfur. ‘The magic is gradually turning you into a Prince. That Magic Leaf always rewards you when you do good. I wonder what would happen if you became vain and selfish.’

  Peter wondered, too.

  4

  Greyfur Fights the Giant

  Greyfur and Peter hadn’t gone very far when black clouds began to gather in the sky to the south. They could hear the distant rumble of thunder and the noise of rising wind. As the clouds drew closer lightning flickered behind them. Some shafts zigzagged downwards through gaps in the clouds and speared into the trees. Great cracks of thunder followed; the trees shook their heads in agitation.

  ‘The rain will be here any moment!’ exclaimed Peter. ‘Let’s hurry towards the cliffs ahead of us. We might find a cave there.’

  ‘If we don’t we’re in for a soaking,’ said Greyfur.

  They raced towards the wall of rock but to reach its face they had to leave the track and struggle through thick undergrowth. They were lucky enough to discover a path which the wombats had made through the scrub and followed it till they reached a cleared area at the foot of the cliff. Beyond the clearing was a huge cave, evidently used by generations of wombats as a home.

  Heavy drops of rain began to strike them as they stepped inside the shelter. The floor was dry and sandy and littered with stones large enough to sit on.

  ‘We reached the cave just in time,’ said Greyfur, shaking herself. ‘We’ll stop here for the night, I think.’ A loud clap of thunder drowned her voice and a streak of lightning lit up the cave as if it were bathed in sunlight. Rain blew through the entrance and with it came the South Wind who strode into the cave shaking the raindrops from his hair and beard.

  ‘I thought I’d find you somewhere here,’ he said and sat down.

  ‘My word, I’m glad to see you again,’ said Peter.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been watching you!’ said the South Wind. ‘My brothers, too, have told me about you. The trees around here were becoming thirsty for rain so I thought I would visit you while refreshing the bush. What a downpour I’ve brought! The trees will love it. But I must go in a minute. I have a hundred miles to travel before I can empty this flock of clouds. Now listen to what I have to say; it is important. You have reached the land of the Jarrah Giant!’

  ‘Who is the Jarrah Giant?’ asked Peter.

  ‘He is the huge giant I told you about. He never lets anyone pass through his territory without attacking them.’

  ‘Does he kill people?’ asked Peter.

  ‘No, he doesn’t kill them; he captures them and squeezes them into little boxes. After he has kept them there for a few months he lets them go, but by that time they are all the same. They can’t think for themselves and they just repeat what they have read or heard
. It’s terrible to become like that, so I’ve come to warn you that you’ll have to be very careful.’

  ‘Is he very big?’ asked Peter.

  ‘He is as tall as a mountain and his boots are five feet long.’

  ‘What about kangaroos?’ asked Greyfur. ‘Does he squeeze them into little boxes, too?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘But you couldn’t squeeze me into a little box,’ argued Greyfur. ‘You see, it would break my tail.’ She became annoyed at the thought. ‘No giant is going to break my tail.’

  ‘He could cut a hole in the back of the box and push your tail through it,’ said Peter.

  ‘I don’t like the idea at all,’ said Greyfur. ‘It’s all very well for you to talk. You can double your knees under your chin and easily be squeezed into a box, but I haven’t got any knees.’

  ‘Well, we will just have to dodge him,’ said Peter. He looked at the South Wind. ‘Would the Magic Leaf change him into a good giant?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the South Wind, ‘but you would have trouble handing it to him; he is so big. And once he puts you into a box you will never get the opportunity. What you must do is get him into a position where he can’t refuse you.’

  ‘I can try,’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes, you can try,’ said the South Wind, ‘and I think you might succeed. Yes, I think you might. Boys who are always trying and refuse to give in generally succeed. Now I must go.’ There was a burst of thunder, a flash of lightning, and he was back in the clouds again. In a few minutes they were scurrying to the north and the sun was shining.

  Both Peter and Greyfur were hungry. Moonlight also needed a rest and a feed. Greyfur took some bales of hay from her pouch and threw them in front of the pony who began eating. She brought out a plate of steak and kidney pie for Peter and a handful of hay for herself.

  An hour later they prepared to leave the cave and continue their journey. Peter led Moonlight towards the entrance, then suddenly stopped. Two huge feet were blocking his way.