The Tree that Sat Down

by Beverley Nichols

  Mr Tortoise: ‘Your name?’

  Miss Smith: ‘Miss Smith.’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘Age?’

  Miss Smith (simpering): ‘Three hundred and eighty-three.’ (Sensation in Court, interrupted by PC Monkey brandishing his truncheon and calling ‘Order! Order!’)

  Mr Tortoise: ‘You will agree, then, that you are old enough to know better?’

  Miss Smith: ‘Oh no! I am old enough to know worse. Bad, worse, worst. That’s my motto.’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘In that case, you have no desire to deny your profession?’

  Miss Smith: ‘Deny it? Certainly not!’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘Will you tell the Court what you are?’

  Miss Smith: ‘With pleasure. I’m a witch.’ (Renewed sensation in Court.)

  Mr Tortoise: ‘Fully qualified?’

  Miss Smith: ‘Of course! In fact, I got honours in Aches and Pains.’

  Mr Justice Owl: ‘Aches and Pains? What is that?’

  Miss Smith: ‘It is like First Aid, Your Worship, only the other way round. Instead of knowing the best way to cure a sprained ankle, I know the best way to make it worse.’

  Mr Justice Owl (in disgusted tones): ‘Proceed!’

  Mr Tortoise bowed, and continued with his cross-examination.

  It did not take very long. Miss Smith was an admirable witness – if the word ‘admirable’ can be applied to anybody so wicked. She made not the least effort to conceal her dreadful gifts, in fact she was indignant at the idea that anybody should doubt them. For instance, when Mr Tortoise questioned her about the quality of the poison which the toads were in the habit of spitting, and suggested that they might have to spit quite a great deal before the results were fatal, she grew pink in the face, and retorted:

  Miss Smith: ‘Really! I didn’t come here to be insulted!’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘I am merely trying to get at the facts.’

  Miss Smith (with heat): ‘Well, then, here are the facts. One drop of poison in your eye will make you blind. One drop on your foot will make you go dancing mad, so that you spend the rest of your life hopping up and down, like a jitterbug. One drop in your soup and you will have the most horrible pains, from your top to your toe. And one drop … on your heart …’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘Thank you, madam … I think that is sufficient.’

  Mr Justice Owl: ‘More than enough!’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘As a matter of form, Your Worship, I think that the toads should be called.’

  Miss Smith: ‘But they must be called! I promised them they’d be called! It’s their treat!’ (She kissed her hands to the toads, who were sitting together close to the Jury box.)

  Mr Justice Owl: ‘Let the toads be called!’

  *

  It was from this moment that the drama mounted more and more swiftly to its extraordinary climax. Sitting there, watching and listening, Judy felt, once again, that she was a figure in a dream, over which she had no control. And she was conscious of all sorts of things and people, far away, who were being inevitably drawn into the circle of events; although she could not see him, she was conscious of Sam, straining and snarling in his chains, and of Old Sam too, who – though he was miles away, and far out of sight – was packing his bags, muttering and nattering in his beard, preparing to escape for ever from the wood. But most of all she was conscious of the Tree. Through the wide clearing she could see it in the distance, and she knew that it was in great distress. It had a tragic droop; its great branches were sunk towards the earth; its arms seemed to move blindly, groping for support, as though it were crying to her, ‘I can bear no more! If the wind rises again, I am finished!’

  Judy clasped her hands and breathed a silent prayer. As she looked up to the skies, there was a parting in the clouds. What … was that? That thin grey shape, looming out of the mist? She peered forward, narrowing her eyes. Could it be …? But the clouds had closed again. Judy still stared. ‘A face,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I did see a face. Like Grannie said. Grey and sharp and angry,’ She closed her eyes. ‘Oh, please. Clerk of the Weather,’ she breathed, ‘be kind to the Tree. Blow where you will, do what you must, but please be kind to the Tree!’

  There was no answer, save the slow wail of the wind.

  And then, for the last time, everything seemed to grow clear and matter of fact. There was a gleam of sunshine. PC Monkey advanced towards the centre.

  ‘Your Worship,’ he cried. ‘The toads!’

  *

  The appearance of the toads created one of the greatest sensations of the day. To celebrate the occasion Miss Smith had tied pink ribbons round their necks and dabbed powder on the ends of their noses; this only made them more hideous than ever, and when they hopped out into the centre and glared around them with their cross eyes, they looked like three wicked circus clowns who were about to play some very unpleasant trick on their audience. Many of the animals shrank back in disgust and even Mrs Hare, who never lost her dignity, edged nearer to the shelter of Mr Peacock.

  ‘I trust,’ she murmured, ‘that there will be no … ahem … no …’ she wanted to say ‘spitting’ but it did not sound a very lady-like word.

  ‘No what, madam?’

  ‘No – ahem – demonstrations.’

  ‘Have no fear, madam,’ proclaimed Mr Peacock, gallantly. ‘I will protect you.’

  All the same, he was just as anxious as Mrs Hare that there should be no ‘demonstrations’. If one of the toads were to spit on his tail he was quite sure that it would burn a hole in it, and then, he felt life would hardly be worth living. He decided that on no account would he Open until the toads were safely out of the way; in fact, with all these queer things happening, it might be safer not to Open at all.

  When the toads had been sworn in, Mr Justice Owl spoke in a loud stern voice:

  ‘Say swelpmegod,’ he demanded.

  The toads shook their heads.

  Mr Justice Owl could hardly believe his eyes. ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘We heard you, boss,’ croaked the toads.

  ‘Then say swelpmegod at once,’ he cried sternly.

  ‘Nope,’ croaked the toads.

  ‘Of all the monstrous impertinence …’ began Mr Justice Owl.

  The toads interrupted him. ‘Not swelpmegod, boss. Swelpmesatan.’

  ‘Swelpmewhat?’

  ‘Swelpmesatan,’ they repeated. ‘More in our line.’

  Mr Justice Owl looked as if he were about to explode. Not only was he furious at the toads’ disobedience, but he was all of a fluster because he had no idea what swelpmesatan meant. For all he knew it might be a Learned Expression, and it might be something that Humans were in the habit of saying, and if it were, he would look a pretty fool if he refused to allow it. The situation was awkward in the extreme, and it is difficult to imagine how he would have got out of it had not Mr Tortoise once again come to the rescue.

  ‘If you will forgive me, Your Honour,’ he murmured, popping his head over the edge of the box.

  Mr Justice Owl bowed, and attempted to smooth his ruffled feathers. To tell the truth, he was glad of the interruption. ‘Proceed!’ he grunted.

  ‘We all know the meaning of swelpmegod, I take it,’ observed Mr Tortoise, looking round the Court.

  There was a good deal of shuffling and fluttering at this statement, for none of the animals had any idea what swelpmegod meant, though of course they would not have dreamed of admitting their ignorance. Mrs Hare put on a haughty expression, and stared fixedly at Mrs Rabbit, who lowered her eyes and went pink in the face. Mr Peacock assumed a fierce glare, and held his head high as though to say, ‘Fancy anybody doubting whether I knew it – why I invented it!’ As for Mr Justice Owl, he closed his eyes, and prayed fervently that Mr Tortoise would not ask him to define it.

  ‘It means, of course,’ continued Mr Tortoise, ‘So help me God.’

  There was an audible sigh of relief. Mrs Hare nodded, very publicly, so that everybody should understand that she had known all the tim
e. Mrs Rabbit, poor thing, tried to nod too, but she was so embarrassed that she only managed to let out a loud sneeze. Mr Peacock gave a faint flutter to his tail, indicating approval.

  ‘I trust Your Worship will agree with my definition?’ enquired Mr Tortoise.

  Mr Justice Owl opened his eyes again, thankful that at last the mystery was solved.

  ‘Quite correct!’ he boomed. ‘So help me God. Proceed!’

  ‘The other phrase – swelpmesatan – means – as Mr Justice Owl would be the first to tell you – So help me Satan!’

  Mr Justice Owl opened his eyes very wide. ‘So that’s what …’ he began, and then checked himself. He had nearly given himself away, and he was all in a muddle again. ‘So help me Satan,’ he spluttered. ‘Correct.’ And then, since all the animals were waiting for him … ‘Most irregular!’

  ‘Indeed, Your Worship, it is most irregular, but I would submit …’

  ‘Most irregular!’ repeated Mr Justice Owl, who felt that he was on safer ground.

  ‘Your Worship is right to insist on the point. At the same time, I would humbly submit that these three witnesses –’ here he pointed to the toads – ‘are themselves most irregular …’

  ‘You’ve said it!’ croaked the toads.

  ‘Silence!’ boomed Mr Justice Owl.

  ‘And that therefore,’ continued Mr Tortoise, ‘it would be better to allow them to use their own oath. Sad as it may seem to decent, law-abiding folk like ourselves, these three witnesses take their orders from … from …’ his voice sank almost to a whisper, ‘from Satan.’

  ‘Good old Satan,’ croaked the toads.

  ‘For the last time, silence!’ thundered Mr Justice Owl.

  ‘Satan is their master,’ proclaimed Mr Tortoise. ‘And, therefore, if they say swelpmesatan, they are more likely to tell the truth. That, Your Worship, is my humble submission.’

  Mr Justice Owl said nothing for a few moments. He was too bewildered. It was lucky for him that thanks to his huge eyebrows, his massive beak, and his remarkable gift for staying completely still, he always managed to look very wise. Even when his mind was a complete blank he looked as though he were pondering all the riddles of the Universe and had gone a long way towards their solution. When at length he said ‘Proceed’ (it was the only word he could think of) he said it with such dignity and such weight that it sounded like the last word in wisdom. ‘A remarkable brain,’ murmured Mrs Hare to Mrs Fox, who nodded gravely.

  We will not linger over the evidence of the toads; it is enough to say that it completely confirmed all that Bruno had said. Only one thing worried Mr Tortoise – how was he to prove that they were as wicked as they claimed? They chattered so much and boasted so loudly that the Jury might think it was all a lot of childish talk, like silly boys pretending to be gangsters. If he could only get them to spit, all doubts would be removed. But he was sure that if he were to ask them outright, they would only sulk and shut their mouths, just to annoy him.

  So he thought of a very clever idea. He said:

  Mr Tortoise: ‘I understand that there are only certain times of the day when you are able to produce this poison?’

  Toads: ‘Times of the day! Any time’s spitting time!’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘Any time … let us say … after midday.’

  Toads (indignantly): ‘No, you old dope – any time!’

  Mr Tortoise (smiling and shaking his head): ‘I’m afraid you cannot expect the Court to believe that.’

  Toads: ‘D’you want us to prove it?’

  Mr Tortoise (shrinking back in mock alarm): ‘Certainly not!’

  Toads (fiercely): ‘You asked for it!’

  Before anybody could prevent them, they had burst into song:

  With a splash and a spatter and a ho ho ho

  What does it matter if the world’s our foe?

  With a stab and a sting and a ha ha ha

  We spit as we sing to the evening star!

  With a lick and a spittle and a he he he

  Quick fire at his little an-at-o-my!

  And without pausing for an instant they threw back their heads, took a deep gulp, and spurted a stream of bright green poison straight at Mr Tortoise. Happily for him he had known that it was coming, and by some miracle he managed to turn a clumsy somersault which landed him just outside their range.

  Even so, some of the poison would certainly have splashed on him, had it not been for a sudden gust of wind that blew it to one side. During the whole time that the toads had been giving evidence the wind had almost died away, but at the very moment that the toads spat, it whirled down through the trees as though it had been a wild beast crouching to spring. So strong was it that even Mr Justice Owl in the shelter of his cave found himself gasping for breath. When he recovered his self-possession he blinked down at a most extraordinary sight.

  There on the grass where the toads had spat was an ugly bare patch which rapidly grew larger and larger and deeper and deeper; and from the centre of it rose thin streaks of grey vapour that twisted and twirled like the heads of snakes, flickering tiny tongues of fire.

  ‘Order! Order!’ cried Mr Justice Owl, as though this might have some effect on the ghostly snakes. Since it had none at all he called loudly for PC Monkey. He made a grand gesture towards the disturbance. ‘Arrest those … those … ahem!’ he demanded. He had no idea what it was that he wanted PC Monkey to arrest, and he was very doubtful whether PC Monkey would be able to arrest them, but since he was the judge he had to say something.

  Once again the situation was saved by Mr Tortoise. Advancing rapidly to the very edge of the ring he muttered a few words – what they were, we shall never know – and the coils of vapour began to quiver and flicker and drift back into the pit. Then he walked all round the edge, still muttering to himself, and the grass ceased to smoulder and the earth stayed still.

  He turned to Mr Justice Owl.

  ‘The situation is in hand, Your Worship.’

  Mr Justice Owl was profoundly relieved. Never in all his experience had he known so many awkward situations. ‘If this sort of thing continues,’ he thought, ‘the trial will develop into a circus.’ It was high time that he asserted his authority.

  He addressed the Court at large.

  ‘We have just observed,’ he proclaimed, ‘an example of Witchcraft.’

  ‘You’ve said it,’ croaked the toads.

  ‘Silence! Another word from you and …’ He did not finish the sentence, but stretched out his wings to their full extent, and ground the upper and lower parts of his beak so fiercely together that even the toads were alarmed and took a step backwards.

  ‘I permitted this demonstration,’ he continued, ‘in order that the Jury might have ample opportunity to judge for themselves the type of person whom they are engaged in trying. I imagine that they have now seen enough to enable them to make up their minds.’ He turned to Mr Peacock. ‘Is that correct, Mr Foreman?’

  ‘Most certainly, Your Worship.’

  ‘Good! In that case, there is only one more witness to be examined before the prisoner is brought to trial.’

  PC Monkey stepped forward.

  ‘Miss Judy!’ he cried.

  Slowly she rose to her feet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE STORM – AND AFTER

  BY THE TIME that Judy rose to give her evidence the wind had grown so fierce that the uproar in the branches overhead threatened to drown the evidence; it was as though a great chorus was thundering through the trees crying ‘Justice! Justice!’

  ‘We shall be blown from our seats!’ muttered Mrs Hare, trying not to lose her dignity while snuggling more safely behind the shelter of a log. Mrs Rabbit had long ago forsaken all thoughts of dignity, and was clutching the drooping branch of an old ash, while many of the smaller animals were clinging to twigs and tufts of grass, with their tails streaming out behind them, like flags straining at the mast. Even Mr Peacock had long ago folded up his tail, for fear of being blown up to the
clouds like an inverted umbrella.

  The only two who seemed unaffected by the tempest were Mr Tortoise and Mr Justice Owl. Mr Tortoise’s shell was so thick, and his body so streamlined, that it would have taken an earthquake to disturb him. As for Mr Justice Owl, he was protected from the elements by the warm dry niche of his judicial seat, and he sat there looking quite unmoved, with not a feather ruffled, gazing around him with majestic superiority. All the same, in spite of his apparent calm, he was anxious; he did not like the look of the sky at all; he had never seen it such a strange colour – a sort of indigo, streaked with an angry red. As for the wind, it was really beyond a joke; if it grew any worse he would have to shout to make himself heard. And since it showed no signs of abating, but seemed to be fiercer every second, he sent a hasty summons to PC Monkey.

  ‘Go to Mr Tortoise at once,’ commanded Mr Justice Owl, ‘and tell him to make his cross-examination as short as he can, so that we can bring Sam before the Jury at the earliest possible moment. Otherwise the case will have to be adjourned.’

  PC Monkey scrambled down and delivered the message, holding on to his helmet with both hands. Mr Tortoise nodded.

  ‘Tell His Worship that I am only going to ask Miss Judy a very few questions,’ he said. Then he nodded to Judy, who stepped into the box without any further delay.

  Now it is a curious thing, on which many of the animals afterwards commented, that as soon as Judy began to speak, a lull seemed to come into the storm, and the howling of the wind died down to a low moan, as though Someone – Someone very important – was anxious to hear every word that she was saying. You and I may perhaps guess who that Someone was, for now and then we have caught a glimpse of his face, high up in the clouds.

  Mr Tortoise gathered his papers together and turned to Judy.

  Mr Tortoise: ‘We are all familiar with your story, Miss Judy, and I take it that the accounts given by Mr Bruno and the other witnesses are substantially correct?’

  Judy: ‘Yes.’

  Mr Tortoise: ‘In that case I do not think that we need go over them again. In fact, there is only one question I want to ask you. What was your motive in bringing this action against Sam?’