Sensing he was being watched, the horse took his nose out of the weeds.
“Horse,” said the bear, “what do the horses want for the humans? Live or die?”
The horse hesitated, then lifted his head up high and said: “We want bananas.”
A moment of confused silence.
The horse, with growing anxiety, looked to the baboon.
“You said I should say I want bana—”
“Point of order!” shouted the baboon. “Now is the time for points of order!”
“Wait a moment,” said the bear. “Baboon, are you telling the horse what to say? The horses must speak for themselves.”
“And what if I am?”
“This is about more than sugar and bananas,” said the bear. “The decision we make—”
“Is important, very, very important! Which is why it must be right, which is why I am helping the horse!”
“But animals should decide for themselves, in their own interest. Horses don’t need bananas—”
The cat dragged a claw over the metal of the helicopter, making a terrible screeching noise. The bear and baboon both clapped their paws over their ears.
“Let’s get on with it,” said the cat, “shall we?”
“But cat,” cried the bear, feeling rather betrayed, “each animal must decide on their own. One animal, one vote!”
“And how,” sighed the cat, rolling on her back and stretching, “is one animal to decide, except by listening to the other animals?”
“Hear the Bird Gods! Hear them! Praise to The Egg!”
“Praise to The Egg!” agreed the baboon.
“Horse,” purred the cat, “please continue.”
The horse stamped his hooves. “It is my time to speak.”
“Yes it is.”
“I am a horse. I will speak!”
“Please proceed, horse.”
“Since I was a foal, I liked to run,” said the horse. “I liked the du dum du dum du dum.…”
He shook his great head.
“When the day of my first race came, I was proud! I never threw my jockey. I loved him. I was a good horse. After my races I would live in a green pasture and eat clover with my mother. We have to win the race! We have to win the race! The crowd cheered. I won. Then I was taken away. They put me in … an airplane.”
“No!” shouted the bear.
“Yes,” the horse said, “an airplane.”
“Aaaoooooo!” howled the dog.
The baboon spat another wad of phlegm, and the cat shook her head sadly.
“The sky is for birds!” cawed the crow, summing up the animals’ feeling on the matter.
“I saw day and night out the window,” said the horse, continuing his story. “There was no green pasture and clover, no mother. I was taken to a new barn, with new riders, a new human language. I was in polo.”
“What is polo?” asked the bear.
“See!” said the baboon. “The bear is ignorant! The bear does not know what polo is! The bear is stupid, stupid.”
“A human mating dance,” said the horse. “They have sticks to hit a ball across a field. The man who hits the ball mates with the best woman. They wear white pants and no spurs.”
“I think,” said the cat, quietly, “it’s also a game. Horse, do you know where you played? The name of the place?”
“Argengolia. I was a champion. Their sticks hit my knees, my jockey mated, I galloped. But then … they did not keep me. They put me back on…”
“No!” growled the bear.
“… an airplane.”
“Aaaaooooo!” howled the dog.
“The sky is for birds!” cawed the crow.
“Why did they fly me? I liked to race, but racing was not … good? I liked to polo, but polo was not … good? They flew me to another place, a ranch by the sea. Only one woman lived there. I ate and trotted around a ring. Some days I carried the woman through fields. She fed me carrots and sugar cubes.”
Here, the horse’s eyes clouded over. Great salty teardrops quivered on his long lashes.
The cat leapt down from her perch and nuzzled the horse’s hooves comfortingly. Looking up, she saw the scars from the polo mallets up and down the horse’s legs.
“She gave me sugar cubes,” resumed the horse. “One day we rode in a field of peppers and we saw a man beat a donkey. We galloped over. The woman dismounted and yelled. Other men stopped picking peppers and watched. And then, the man who beat the donkey … beat the woman. The donkey told me: RUN! So I ran. The donkey was slow, but we ran together.”
“What happened to the woman?” asked the bear.
“I don’t know. I wanted to find her, but the donkey said no, and he took my bit and threw it in the sea.”
“Victory!” said the baboon.
“The donkey told me, men in the field always beat donkeys,” said the horse. “He told me humans are … greedy. We could all have the sugar and the oats—there is enough for everyone—but humans are like magpies.”
The animals all waited for the horse to continue, but the horse said nothing.
“And?” prompted the dog.
“And … The Calamity happened,” said the horse.
“And how do the horses vote?” asked the baboon, hopping foot to foot.
“We vote to kill the humans,” said the horse, without hesitation.
“Great Scott, why?” cried the dog.
“You said you loved your jockey!” said the bear.
“The horse has cast his vote!” shouted the baboon. “Mark it!”
The bear looked to the cat, who shrugged, and to the crow, but he only nibbled lice out of his feathers.
And so the bear marked a vote against humanity.
“Point of order,” said the baboon, grinning, “point of order, voting adjourned. Recess!”
“There’s no point of order for recess!” said the bear.
But the baboon was already climbing up the yacht, eager to attend to secret business.
Chapter 5
Higher and higher the baboon climbed. He swung from stanchion to line, leapt along the railings of the superyacht. Toward the top, he popped through an open hatch.
Inside was gloomy and damp. Because the yacht was overturned, the baboon walked on walls rather than the floor. Arriving in the galley, he yanked open a pantry door. All manner of dry goods were scattered about, and the baboon crouched among the sacks and boxes and tins, rooting for his prize. Flour, no, beans, no, cooking oil, no, but finally … sugar!
The bag of sugar was too big for him to carry. With his sharp teeth he gnawed wider the hole he’d made on a previous visit. Looking about, he found a yellow box of biscuits, which he tore open and shook out, stuffing several biscuits in his mouth. He would use the empty box to carry some more sugar to the horse.
The baboon was about to go, but the biscuits had made his mouth dry. He remembered a cooler of water down the hall which had somehow survived the capsizing of the superyacht. He would stop for a drink, to wash down the biscuits.
But then, climbing out of the galley, he heard a noise.
The echoing silence of the yacht was broken by … a scuttling … a scraping, scratching …
The baboon, peering around a corner, came snout to antennae with a cockroach.
“Aaah!” yelped the baboon.
(For even baboons are frightened of cockroaches.)
“Greetings, comrade,” chirped the cockroach. “Welcome! Are you hungry? We have much to share.”
“I was going to drink,” said the baboon, edging toward the cooler.
“There is plenty of water,” said the roach. “Turn the spigot.”
The baboon fiddled with the spigot. The roach was making him nervous. He had never spoken with a roach. And the spigot was stuck. The baboon twisted and twisted but he could not open it up.
“Comrades,” chirped the roach, “help our brother baboon.”
From every dark cranny of the yacht, swarms of roaches emerged,
scuttling to the water cooler.
The baboon was frozen, terrified.
And then the roaches began to sing. The melody fell somewhere between “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” and “Auld Lang Syne.”
Insects of jungle and seashore
Insects of every clime
Turn your antennae to me now
And know the truth of our time!
Before crustaceans and cetaceans
Before all lizards and toads
We were the masters of this planet
And we’re returning to glories of old!
Arise you roaches from your burrows
Arise all you lice and flies
Burrow into the skin of the mammals
Lay your eggs behind their eyes!
Because it’s sting, and bite, and nest, my dears
Soon, we’ll even the score
The warm bloods who wrecked our home will be gone
And insects will rule once more!
The Amazon will rise again
There’ll be no pesticide
Concrete will crumble back to dust
And we’ll never drink fluoride!
We’ve lived five hundred million years
We’ll live five hundred still
The mammals’ time has come and gone
It’s time for bugs to kill!
Insects of jungle and seashore
Insects of every clime
Turn your antennae to me now
And know the truth of our time!
The baboon trembled. The roaches, like a black undulating carpet, carried the water cooler up to the ceiling and then dropped it down: BANGCRRACKWHOOSH!
Dozens of roaches were squashed, and more were swept away in the spilt water. But they didn’t seem to mind.
“Thirsty?” said the roach who had first startled the baboon. “Drink!”
The baboon, quite certain the masses of roaches were going to attack, was paralyzed.
“Go on,” said the roach, “drink and get back to your vote.”
Seeing the baboon’s surprise, the roach laughed its peculiar laugh—a high-pitched sound, a bit like the smashing of a tiny piano.
“How did you know?”
“You thought we didn’t know about your vote?” said the roach. “Of course we know! We always know! And we’re never invited.”
“But, but, it has always been like that,” said the baboon. “You bugs never wanted to join the councils anyway!”
“Didn’t we? Or were we just never asked? No matter. Humans, baboons. You’re all mammals. You all share the blame. And the time is coming.…”
Just as quickly as they’d emerged, the cockroaches scuttled into the yacht walls.
“Wait!” cried the baboon. “Baboons have never been enemies of the insects! If you don’t want to join the council, good! There are too many mammals! Let’s make a deal! We can make a good, good deal!”
And the spokesroach twitched its antennae at the baboon, as if in thought.
Chapter 6
Meanwhile, back on the cliff, bear, cat, and dog stood beside a pile of sticks.
The crow perched on a branch above. The horse was off to the side, eating dandelions.
“Ready?” asked the bear.
The dog nodded, wagging his stumpy tail.
“Okay, crow,” said the bear, “go ahead.”
The crow turned his shining black eyes on the dog. Then he swooped down and, grabbing a stick from the pile, cawed out: “Fetch!”
Flapping upward, he flung the stick away.
The dog, without hesitation, took off running.
“No!” cried the bear in frustration. “Stop!”
But the dog was gone.
Soon he returned with the stick. Seeing the expression on the bear’s face, he dropped it and looked at the ground.
“I’ve done it again, haven’t I,” he said, gloomily.
“It’s okay,” said the bear. “Now remember, this time, no matter what anyone says, don’t fetch.”
The next time, as the dog took off running, the bear only sighed.
“Might as well give up,” said the cat. “New trick.”
“No!” insisted the bear. “We can teach him to be a free thinker.”
“Bear, don’t you see? You’re just trading one form of training for another.”
“I’m educating him.”
“He’s been educated. He went to the best of schools. Woof Point, I believe.”
“That’s not education, that’s indoctrination.”
The dog trotted back with a stick in his jaws.
“Even if he wasn’t an old dog,” said the cat, “no one really thinks for himself. Everyone fetches for someone.”
“Well, who’s your master, then?”
“Nature.”
The bear threw her paws in the air. The dog dropped his stick, tail wagging. It took him several moments to decipher the bear’s disappointed expression.
“Dammit!” said the dog.
The cat laughed. The bear, incensed, picked up another stick and waved it at the cat. The dog’s eyes followed.
“Fine, cat. Laugh. But it’s learning that sets us apart from rocks and trees. Why else would we be able to speak grak? Or hold animal councils? We learned. And in the learning and relearning, time and again, we make a better Animal Kingdom. It’s just … bad ideas that cause problems, that make us fetch. By nature, individually, each of us, we’re good!”
“Throw the stick!” said the dog. “Throw it, throw it!”
“Look,” said the cat, “that paragon of virtue, the baboon, has returned.”
The baboon, now among them again, rang his bell.
“Order, order! We resume the vote. Horse, here is some more sugar!”
“That’s bribery!” said the bear. “And why should you get to decide the points of order? You left!”
“I didn’t leave,” said the baboon.
“We all saw you go!”
The baboon slapped his hands on the ground.
“I went to protect you! For safety!”
“To protect us from what?”
“There are bad animals making plans!”
“If we must fight,” said the dog, “we fight.”
“No one’s fighting,” said the bear.
“Bird Gods, shield us with your feathers!” cawed the crow.
“We don’t need shielding,” said the bear. “The baboon is making it all up!”
“Bear,” said the cat, “remain calm. How will you vote? Tell us.”
“But the bribery!”
“There’s nothing to do about it, bear,” said the cat. “You can’t reverse a vote, everyone knows that. So let’s get on with it.”
“Fine,” said the bear. And with a mighty sigh she began her speech.
“Hear me, animals: we must not kill and eat all the humans. We must help them. Not because of what they have done or what they are, but because of what they can be. The clever baboon tells you they were unnatural. The Calamity was unnatural. Maybe so. It is better to prevent another. Maybe so. But what is more unnatural than extinction? The baboon, no doubt, is clever. But like the dog, I was a friend to men. I was a bear in Hollywood, a movie bear. An actor.”
The bear sat back up on her hind legs to continue her speech, gesturing broadly.
“The baboon says they were my masters, and the baboon is clever. But when my kind was waning, even going extinct, some men protected lands for us and forbade the hunting of our kind. They learned balance and attempted to maintain it. Were they our masters then? And when in ages lost men ranged with herds of caribou and bison and worshipped us, were they our masters then? I did not know the master worshipped his subject. But the baboon says they were our masters, and the baboon is clever. You know that men could have killed and eaten us all many times over—but instead, some men, when they crowded the earth, renounced meat. Were those men our masters? But the baboon says they would master us all, and the baboon is a clever animal. I
speak not to call the baboon foolish—we all know he is not. I speak only what I know. Sometimes, all you animals have loved men. Even you, crow, perched upon the shoulders of their scholars. And you, horse, you recall the way they gave you sugar. If we resolve to kill them all, we animals have lost the scent.”
Here she stopped. “Bear with me a moment,” said the bear, “my heart is with the men, and I must pause, while it returns.”
“The bear speaks the truth,” growled the dog, and saluted.
The baboon spat another wad of phlegm into the dandelions.
“Horse,” said the bear, “no sugar will sweeten this bitter crime you support. You are not a violent creature. Would you whip men the way you saw your donkey brother whipped?”
“Horse,” interjected the baboon, “this bear is trying to trick you. She is trying to put the bit back in your mouth.”
“No!” roared the bear. “I hate bits!”
“There,” the baboon pointed to the flight manual the bear had been reading. “That book is full of animal training and torture! You saw for yourself how this bear was making the dog fetch the stick over and over.”
“The baboon is lying!” said the bear.
The horse, in some mental conflict, turned a circle.
And then the baboon, to everyone’s surprise, leapt upon his back and began stroking his neck.
“The bear is lying,” cooed the baboon. “Listen to me and the crow. Right, crow? The Bird Gods speak the truth!”
“Praise to The Egg,” cawed the crow, adding to the horse’s confusion.
“Horse,” pleaded the bear, “will you change your vote?”
But the horse would not. Soothed by the baboon, he stopped turning circles and lay down in the shady grass by the hull of the yacht.
“Praise to The Egg,” cried the crow. “Now the sky votes.”
“In a minute,” said the cat, looking at the horse, who was already half asleep beneath the baboon’s clever massaging fingers. “I could nap, too.” The cat yawned. “We’ll carry on after.”
And the cat turned her own circle and lay down to sleep.
The dog wanted to disagree but was also inclined to nap in the warm afternoon sunshine. All the animals, in fact, were rather sleepy, as animals often are.
“But,” said the bear, “we have this important vote to make! Lives depend on it!”
The Council of Animals Page 2
