David and the Phoenix

by Dr Edward Ormondroyd

  “Let us go home, my boy,” said the Phoenix warningly.

  “Come ... come ...” cried the pipes.

  They could be resisted no longer. In a transport of joy, David shouted “I’m coming!” and raced away toward the sound. There was nothing in his mind now, nothing in the whole world, but a desire to be near those pipes. He must run like the winds, leap and shout, roll in the grass, throw himself down flowered slopes, follow that magic music wherever it should lead. He fled blindly through the wood, heedless of the branches which whipped his face and the thorns which tore at his legs. The pipes were calling more loudly now: “Run ... run ... faster ... faster....” Then the Phoenix plunged to earth in front of him, threw out both wings, and shouted “Stop!”

  “Let me go, Phoenix!” David cried. “Let me by! I want to run, I must run!”

  He made a desperate effort to push past the outstretched wings. But the Phoenix flung him to the ground, picked him up before he could kick once, and threw him on its back. Then they were flying at full speed, dodging through gaps in the branches and between close-set trunks, with leaves and twigs slashing them from every side. They burst out of the wood and sped over a meadow. David saw below them a huge Faun-like figure pacing majestically across the sward. A flaming wreath encircled its brow, garlands of flowers hung from its arms and shoulders, and those enchanted pipes were lifted to its lips. Around the cloven hooves, and trailing out behind, danced a multitude of creatures—lambs and kids gamboling, goats and rams tossing their horns, foxes, furry waves of squirrels, rabbits kicking up their heels, Fauns and Nymphs rollicking, frogs and crickets and serpents. Above them flew birds and butterflies and beetles and bats in swirling clouds. Full-voiced, the glorious pipes sang. “Come, come, run, run! Follow, leap and dance, adore and obey! Run, oh, run, heed me before all passes! Follow, before it is too late, too late, too late....”

  And David, in a delirium of desire, shouted “I’m coming!” and jumped from the Phoenix’s back.

  For an instant, as he fell through the air, he thought he would succeed in joining the dancing throng. But the Phoenix, plunging after him falconwise with folded wings, seized his collar in its talons, and snatched him up from the very arms of the Faun, who had recognized him and called his name as he fell.

  Up toward the cloudless sky they soared. David cried, pleaded, pommeled the Phoenix with his fists. The Phoenix ignored his struggling and continued to climb with tremendous wing strokes. Up and up and up.... The piping grew fainter in the distance, its magic weakened. The enchanted dancers diminished into specks, the valley fell away until it was only a green splash nestled among the jagged peaks. And David burst into tears ... and then wondered why he was crying ... and tried to remember, and could not. The trembling left his body, and he dangled limply. His eyes closed.

  10: In Which a Five Hundredth Birthday Is Celebrated, and the Phoenix Bows to Tradition

  “That’s funny,” said David, rubbing his eyes and looking around in a puzzled way. “Where are we, Phoenix?”

  “‘Home is the sailor, home from the hill,’” the Phoenix said, “‘And the hunter home from the sea.’ Or is it the other way around? At any rate, we are home, my boy.”

  And so they were.

  “Weren’t we playing with a Faun just now?”

  “Quite so.”

  “But there was something else,” David said. “Something ... Didn’t somebody say, ‘Follow, before it is too late,’ or something like that? Did we follow?—I can’t remember.”

  “No, my boy. By the time one hears that, it is already too late.”

  “Oh.” Too late for what? he wondered. Oh, well ... He sighed, and fell to daydreaming.

  A cough from the Phoenix brought him back.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “I have never seen you so thoughtful, my boy. However, I believe I know what you are thinking about. It is a difficult problem, is it not?”

  “Yes, I was just–”

  “—thinking what you could get me for a birthday present,” interrupted the Phoenix. “Am I not correct?”

  David, who had not even given this a thought until now, flushed.

  “Aha!” said the Phoenix triumphantly. “Just as I thought! Believe me, my dear fellow, when you have been around as long as I have, you can read the minds of your friends as easily as a book. Now, the problem of what to give is a hard one at any time, but the problem of what to give for a five hundredth birthday is even harder. A monogrammed ash tray? I do not receive cigars often enough to make that practical. A hand-knitted sweater? It would not fit (they never do). A gold-plated watch chain? I have no watch. No, the best idea would be to get me something which I can use.”

  “Certainly, Phoenix,” David stammered. “What do you want, then?”

  “Ah! We have reached the kernel of the problem. And the answer, my boy, is this: cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon?”

  “Precisely. Also a box of matches—the kind that strike anywhere, you know.”

  “Well—all right. It doesn’t sound like much of a present, but if that’s what you really want.... What are you going to do with them, Phoenix? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “The plain fact is, my boy,” said the Phoenix doubtfully, “the plain fact is—well, I do not know. Odd! But something tells me I shall need them. Well, it will come to me in the morning, no doubt. And then, of course, I shall be very glad to have them on hand.”

  “All right, cinnamon and matches, then. And I’ll get some—no, I won’t tell you that. It’ll be a surprise.”

  “A surprise? Splendid, my boy! You could not, I suppose, drop me a small hint? No? But of course not—one hint and my powerful Intellect could guess everything—and then the surprise would be spoiled. Well, until tomorrow, then!”

  That evening David shut himself in his room and robbed his bank. It was a squat, cast-iron box, with “A Penny Saved Is A Penny Earned” in raised letters on one side. The only way to open it was to smash it with a crowbar, but it

  could be emptied. It had to be tilted just so, with a knife blade in the slot to catch the coins and guide them out. This is what David did, with a bread knife borrowed from the kitchen. It was a slow, uncertain job, and one coin (he guessed it was a dime by the way it rattled) never did come out. But the rest, which included his change from Uncle Charles’s present, would be enough.

  Early next morning he went to the store and bought three large boxes of stick cinnamon, two cans of powdered cinnamon, and a huge box of matches. For the surprise he got a whole quart of strawberry ice cream, with a piece of dry ice to keep it from melting. He wanted to buy a cake, too, and candles, but there was not enough money left. Then he remembered that a new batch of cookies had been baked at home yesterday, which would have to do instead. He wrapped the cinnamon and matches up in a neat package with white paper, tied it in a blue ribbon, and wrote on it “To Feenix, Happy 500 Birthday, from David.” Then he took all the cookies from the jar, borrowed two plates and spoons, put everything into a large paper bag, and set out for the Phoenix’s ledge.

  He was surprised to find the Phoenix working busily in the middle of a wide place on the ledge. Apparently the bird had been at it all night, for a huge pile of sticks and brush had been heaped up on the ground and shaped roughly like a nest. Right now the Phoenix was struggling with a small log, trying to get it on the pile.

  “Hello, Phoenix! Happy birthday!”

  “Ah, there, my boy! Thank you very much. Could you kindly give me a hand with this log?”

  They heaved and grunted the piece of wood to the top of the pile, and David said, “What’s this for, Phoenix?”

  “This, my boy, is a pyre. A bit untidy around the edges, but nonetheless a pyre.”

  “Oh,” said David. “What’s that?”

  “Well—a pyre, you know—a sort of fire, as it were.”

  “Oh, fire. I thought you said—oh, yes. Fire. Isn’t it awfully warm for a fire?”

  “The
weather is unusually tropical,” said the Phoenix, cocking one eye toward the sun. “This fire, however, is necessary—but I shall explain later. Meanwhile, if you will just aid me with this branch–” And for the next fifteen minutes they worked over the heap, adding to it and shaping it up. David kept his thoughts to himself. He could see that the Phoenix knew what it was doing, so everything must be all right.

  “By the way, my boy,” said the Phoenix casually, when they had finished, “my prediction was correct. I knew it would be. The inevitable has occurred.”

  “What are you talking about, Phoenix?”

  “The Scientist, my boy. He is in our midst once more.”

  David clutched a branch in the heap and said “Oh, Phoenix!” in a frightened voice.

  “Now, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. He is not nearby at present. I sent him back.”

  “Sent him back? How?”

  “Nothing to it, my boy,” said the Phoenix smugly. “He was up at the crack of dawn, toiling with typical stupidity in full sight on the slope below. He was making a blind of green branches to hide in while he spies on me. (Really, the childishness of his efforts! To think for a minute he could fool me with such tricks!) Well, I waited until he had gone down the slope to cut more greenery, and when his back was turned, I slipped down to the blind and took his binoculars.”

  “But Phoenix, what did you want with his binoculars?”

  “I did not want his binoculars, my boy, but he did. His language when he discovered the loss was simply frightful—I could hear it all the way up here. Of course, he had to return to town for another pair.”

  “But he’ll be back!”

  “Precisely, my boy. But he will have something to keep him busy when he returns. I took the liberty of destroying his blind. That will hold him.”

  “But it won’t hold him long, Phoenix! We’ve got to think of something else. Now your whole birthday is spoiled!”

  “On the contrary, my boy, it will hold him long enough. Now please do not ask me why; you must take my word for it, and I shall explain later. And my birthday is not spoiled. I am looking forward with a great deal of pleasure to the surprise which you promised me. Come, let us enjoy it, whatever it is, and forget the Scientist.”

  “Well ... are you sure about the Scientist?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The Phoenix was so positive that David began to feel better. He picked up the paper bag and said: “Well, it isn’t much of a surprise, really—just a birthday party. And your present. But I think the present should come after the party, don’t you?”

  “Quite so, my boy. But I shall leave the management of the whole affair in your capable hands.”

  “All right,” said David. “Now, you’ll have to turn around, Phoenix, and not look while I’m getting it ready.”

  The Phoenix obediently turned around, clasping its wings behind its back, and tried hard not to peek. David set the party things out on the grass: ice cream in the middle, the cookies in a ring around it, plates on either side, and spoons beside the plates. He set the Phoenix’s present off to one side, where it could be reached when they had finished.

  “All right, Phoenix, you can turn around now.”

  The Phoenix took a long look at everything, and said huskily: “My dear chap, this is quite the nicest moment of my life. How can I possibly thank you?”

  They sat down in their places. David passed the cookies and served the ice cream, and said that as far as he was concerned, this was the best birthday party he had ever been to. And the Phoenix said, “Quite so, my boy, but might I make so bold as to ask why?” And David answered, “Well, the reason is that usually during birthday parties you have to play stupid games, like pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and button-button-who-has-the-button, in spite of the fact that eating good things is the real reason for having a party, as everybody knows.” And the Phoenix said, “Precisely, my boy, but people have somehow lost the main idea of the thing. When you come right down to it, ice cream is the basis of any sensible party, and everything else is a waste of time.” And David said, “Yes, Phoenix, but don’t forget cake and cookies, and candy and nuts and things. They’re not as good as ice cream, but they’re not a complete waste of time, either.” And the Phoenix said, “Of course not, my dear fellow, they are important too. And speaking of ice cream, have you noticed that, while chocolate is very good, and vanilla enjoys great popularity, still there is nothing like strawberry?” And David said, “Yes, you’re right”—rather sadly, because the Phoenix was eating most of it.

  At last the ice cream carton was empty and all the cookies were gone. They both sighed regretfully and brushed away the crumbs. And the Phoenix looked hopefully at the present David had brought.

  “Happy birthday, Phoenix,” David said, and he handed the gift over with a little bow.

  “Thank you, my boy, thank you.” The Phoenix opened the package eagerly and gave a pleased cry. “Just what I wanted, my dear chap!”

  “I’m glad you like it,” David said. “Do you know yet what it’s for? Can you really use it for something?”

  The Phoenix suddenly stopped smiling and looked at David with a strange expression on its face—an expression David had never seen there before. A vague dread swept through him, and he faltered, “Phoenix ... you do know what it’s for? What is it? Tell me.”

  “Well, my boy—well, the fact is—yes, I do know. It came to me this morning while I was constructing the—ah—nest, here. I am afraid it will be a bit hard to explain. The cinnamon—ah—the cinnamon—well, cinnamon branches are what I should really have....”

  “But Phoenix, what’s it for?”

  “Behold, my boy.” The Phoenix opened the boxes, and spread the cinnamon sticks on the nest. Then it took the cans and sprinkled the cinnamon powder over the top and sides of the heap, until the whole nest was a brick-dust red.

  “There we are, my boy,” said the Phoenix sadly. “The traditional cinnamon pyre of the Phoenix, celebrated in song and story.”

  And with the third mention of the word “pyre,” David’s legs went weak and something seemed to catch in his throat. He remembered now where he had heard that word before. It was in his book of explorers, and it meant—it meant—

  “Phoenix,” he choked, “wh-wh-who is the pyre for?”

  “For myself,” said the Phoenix.

  “Phoenix!”

  “Now, I implore you—please—oh, dear, I knew it would be difficult to explain. Look at me, my boy.”

  David did as he was told, although his eyes were filled with tears and he could not see through the blur.

  “Now,” said the Phoenix gently, “the fact is that I have, besides my unusually acute Intellect, an Instinct. This Instinct told me that it was my birthday today. It also told me to build this nest of cinnamon. Now it tells me that I must make this nest my pyre, because that is what the Phoenix does at the end of five hundred years. Now, please, my boy!—I admit it does not appear to be a very joyful way of celebrating, but it must be done. This is the traditional end of the Phoenix, my boy, and we cannot ignore the tradition, no matter what our feelings may be. Do you see?”

  “No!” David cried. “Please, Phoenix, don’t do it! It’s horrible! I won’t let you do it!”

  “But I must, my dear chap! I cannot help it. This is what it means to be the Phoenix. Nothing can stop the tradition. Please, my boy, do not take on so! It is not in the least horrible, I assure you. My Instinct tells me so.”

  “You said you were going to give me an education,” David sobbed. “You said we would see—you said—and we’ve only been on four adventures—you never told me about this–”

  “I am terribly sorry, my boy. I could not tell you about it because I did not know about it until now. As for your education, it is a pity to have it cut short in this way. I had great plans.... But consider—you have had four adventures which no one else in the whole world has had! And besides, my boy, we shall see each other again. I do not know how
or where, but I am positive of it.” The Phoenix flicked a tear from its eye with the tip of one wing, while with the other it patted David awkwardly on the shoulder.

  “Don’t go, Phoenix, please don’t go.”

  “I must, my boy. Here, permit me to present you with a small token (ouch!) of our friendship.”

  Dimly, through his tears, David saw the Phoenix pluck the longest, bluest feather from its tail, and he felt it being pressed into his hand.

  “Good-by, David,” said the Phoenix gruffly.

  David could stand it no longer. He turned and rushed blindly from the Phoenix, blundered into the thicket, and dropped to the ground with his head buried in his arms. Behind him he heard the sticks snapping as the Phoenix mounted its pyre. A match rasped against the box. The first tongue of flame sizzled in the branches. David pressed his hands over his ears to shut out the sound, but he could feel the heat of the flames as they sprang up. And the noise would not be shut out. It grew and grew, popping, crackling, roaring, until it seemed to fill the world....

  Perhaps he fainted. Or perhaps from numbness he slipped into a kind of deep sleep. Whichever it was, he returned to consciousness again suddenly. His hands had slipped from his ears, and a sound had brought him back. He lifted his head and listened. The fire had burnt itself out now. The only noise was the hiss and pop of dying embers. But these sounds were too gentle to have awakened him—it must have been something else. Yes—it was a voice. He could hear it quite plainly now. There were angry shouts coming from somewhere below the ledge.

  Carefully avoiding the sight of the pyre, David crawled to the edge and glanced over. Far down, on the slope at the foot of the scarp, was a tiny figure dancing and bellowing with rage. The Scientist had returned and discovered the ruins of his blind. David watched him dully. No need to worry about him any more. How harmless he looked now, even ridiculous! David turned away.

  He noticed then that he was holding something in his hand, something soft and heavy. As he lifted it to look more closely, it flashed in the sunlight. It was the feather the Phoenix had given him, the tail feather. Tail feather?... But the Phoenix’s tail had been a sapphire blue. The feather in his hand was of the purest, palest gold.