The Hollowed Tree

by R. K. Johnstone

  Honorashious left the others and strutted leisurely across the porch to the boarded walkway on top of the limb. He proceeded out the walkway to the landing area, where he climbed up somewhat ponderously onto his special perch. Here he ruffled his wings a few times then settled down comfortably in full view of Percy, who had sat up, meanwhile, on his haunches. The Sergeant Major, huffing and puffing with the strain, was engaged in elevating the phosphorous lamp above the porch by means of an apparatus of rope and pulley suspended from an overhanging branch.

  "Haarumph," Honorashious grunted, taking a more official, business-like tone now. "We had best be on to the business of this visit, I would say, Percy, hadn't we? I understand Boston has come with you?"

  "Well, I don't know what Squirrel has already told you about it," he said, looking at the squirrel with suspicion, "since I didn't have the pleasure of sitting up there with you over your buffet breakfast–or whatever you want to call it at this time of the night–but, yes, we have set out on a mission, and with a well-defined, achievable objective. Bear is with us. We expect him anytime now."

  "Haarumph," Honorashious grunted, shifting his wings on his shoulders. The two tufts of feathers on top of his head twitched in a sign of attentive, judicial interest.

  Somewhat abruptly, the lion had changed his tone to one of utmost seriousness.

  "It was Squirrel's idea," he continued somberly, "to consult the court on an issue of long standing interest to the entire jungle–I say–on an issue of the utmost interest to every, single animal," he said, hammering in each word separately for emphasis. He stopped for a moment to allow these words to sink in.

  "Haarumph–haarumph!" the owl grunted, unimpressed. "Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "And what is this issue? Come to the point, please. Haarumph!"

  The lion was unruffled. "Bear agreed, I consented," he went on solemnly. "The issue is one with which I believe you have some degree of familiarity." He paused again, attempting to heighten a sense of drama. He gave the owl a look full of portent and took a breath. The next words he uttered as if they were some magical incantation: "The Hollowed Tree."

  The energetic reactions of his listeners would indicate that these theatrics–unimpressive though they were–had, perhaps, been wasted effort. Henrietta emitted an involuntary, stifled screech; Honorashious grunted, stood first on one claw then on another; the Sergeant Major's beady eyes bugged out in his face. "Gawd, man!" he gasped. "What'd I tell you, Judge? The Hollowed Tree!"

  "Haarumph!" Honorashious grunted vehemently. "The Hollowed Tree indeed!"

  "That's it, Owl. We have a disappearance. The theory is that the individual may have gone down it."

  "Haarumph! Now wait just a minute, Gents," protested the owl, whose well developed sense of judicial propriety–which under normal circumstances prevented his showing any inappropriate signs of inner excitement or emotional disturbance–failed at this juncture to conceal the fact that he was obviously disconcerted. "Who disappeared?"

  "The boy," Egbert said.

  "And by what means did you arrive at the conclusion that he had gone down the hollowed tree? A clandestine meeting at the stump I suppose?" The owl frowned.

  "Of course," the lion said a bit defensively. "You know we always go to the stump on issues of major importance. Nothing clandestine about it, though. Anyone could have attended."

  "No doubt, no doubt," the owl said with acidic sarcasm.

  “See here, now, Owl, if you”– Percy began, growing irritated with this insinuating tone.

  The owl cut him off with peremptory abruptness: "So, you three made the decision. Well, now that I'm retired I guess it shouldn't surprise me that you would seek my advice on something about which I have absolutely no qualifications to speak."

  "Let's drop this tomfoolery, Owl," the lion said. "We know you're patrolling the districts and still holding court. You're busier now than you were before you retired!"

  "It is true–haarumph–that I patrol the South Savannah up to the Muted Mountains and, on occasion–haarumph–haarumph–continue to hold court. Haarumph." The owl was unperturbed by the insinuating tones of the lion. He knew that Perceival's basic ignorance of the law gave him a decided advantage. Besides, the jungle was a wild and unruly place, and he had had to endure on a nearly daily basis throughout his judicial career much worse from its often disrespectful denizens. All of the lion's insecurities, doubts, and suspicions were well known to Honorashious, and their surfacing here was to him of little consequence.

  At this moment the attention of our party was diverted to a disturbance which was occurring at some distance from the owl's tree. An enormous, bulky, lumbering black shape, was moving deliberately towards them through the darkened avenue of trees. The lion squinted his eyes to see better.

  "You nocturnals should be able to see better than the rest of us," he growled.

  "Can you make it out, Jedge?" the Sergeant Major queried with great interest. He had hopped up onto the top railing of the porch and was peering into the darkness.

  "Boston!" Honorashious hooted.

  A moment later the bear lumbered sheepishly into the area beneath the porch and stood up on his hind legs next to Perceival. Around his mouth a sticky looking substance glistened dripping from the fur, and Bear wiped it with the back of his hand as he stood there. Two or three honey bees buzzed erratically around his head.

  "Henrietta." He nodded gallantly to the owl's wife, then at Honorashious, "Judge."

  The bear had worked closely with Honorashious on many occasions in the past. The two enjoyed a close professional relationship as well as a mutually satisfying friendship. Now, the owls and the bear exchanged for some moments such pleasantries and news as old friends typically do when reunited after a separation of some months. They informed each other of all of their activities, substantiating or proving false along the way the many rumors they had heard about one another. After some time, once the three had more or less exhausted these interesting subjects, the conversation turned to the business at hand.

  "Haarumph," Honorashious grunted in a tone of voice which indicated that he intended now to get down to business. "But you didn't make this trip out here just for–haarumph–social reasons, I presume. Nor to sample the honey! Haarumph!"

  Bear chuckled quietly to himself.

  "He's got it dripping off his jowls," the squirrel twittered spitefully.

  "Okay, okay," Bear said, returning to his perpetually somber mien as he swatted the honey bees away with a great paw. "You've had your laugh. Has anyone briefed you yet, Owl?"

  "Haarumph–a bit, Boston–haarumph–a bit–haarumph–haarumph," the old horned owl huffed and grunted, his brow knitting with consternation. The sharp increase in the frequency of the owl's grunts could be counted on to presage the introduction of some unpleasant subject or controversial issue. Such was the case now. "Haarumph–but first, it seems that–haarumph–unfortunately–haarumph–that we must revisit an old piece of business, namely–haarumph–namely, this: why is it that you all three are using this–haarumph–ridiculous–haarumph–archaic–haarumph–generic–haarumph–form of address?–haarumph, haarumph. I thought that I had ruled on that once and for all. It was–haarumph–one of my most–haarumph–famous cases, as a matter of fact–haarumph, haarumph, haarumph!"

  Egbert groaned at this mention of a ruling, for he new that it signaled the onset of a torturous exegesis of one of the legal opinions for which Honorashious T. Hardwood Owl was famous.

  "Quiet!" the Sergeant Major hissed, scowling at the squirrel. "Shush a'fore your betters!"

  The group all prepared–with greater or lesser degrees of resignation–to listen to the owl's dissertation.

  7. Names

  Honorashious shrugged his shoulders, settled his wings on his back and lifted one massive claw, then the other, to the side. Drawing himself up to his full, magisterial height, and after a couple of introductory grunts, he began in official tones:

  "Haarumph–haarumph–the au
thorization–indeed, the mandating–of the assignation of proper names throughout the territories–from the South Savannah to the West Wall, northward to the stand of bamboo past the Muted Mountains, and as far as the steppe area in the East–the assignation and use of proper names for each individual animal–haarumph–in lieu of reference thereto by common name, i.e. species, only, is not only optional–haarumph–but is expressly preferred and even–haarumph–although there is no special ruling on it–haarumph–is even required–haarumph–this court interprets it as such–of all denizens of the jungle–haarumph–haarumph."

  "I would disagree strongly," the lion said with loud, mocking scorn.

  "Haarumph! It doesn't surprise me that you would question your own–haarumph–judiciary. Nevertheless, a ruling of the court does not require the concurrence of the executive."

  "Ruling!" Perceival exclaimed. "A most presumptuous, unfortunate choice of words, wouldn't you say, Owl?"

  "You question the–haarumph-authority of the court as well? And yet you expect the jungle to follow the law?"

  "Owl's right," the bear, who as it turned out was named Boston, said seriously. "We need some of these durned individuals in this jungle to follow some rules! I'm sick and tired of having to arbitrate their disputes. Without Owl's help, I don't know what I would do."

  "Oh, I'm sure we wouldn't survive a single day without you and Owl," Percy said with sarcasm.

  "I have always thought that the ruling on names was something we needed in this jungle," Boston said, ignoring the lion's sarcasm. "I still do. If we aren't adhering to our own laws, I say we should start now! All of us! Those in charge should set the example!" Boston looked pointedly at the lion.

  "Here, here!" Egbert exclaimed with enthusiasm. In spite of the angry glare cast upon him by the indignant Sergeant Major, he continued: "I would second that, Boston. It was a good idea from the start–something that the jungle would definitely benefit from."

  "Haarumph!" Honorashious grunted. "I should say so. The benefits of the naming convention were clearly recognized by all, and my arguments were confirmed by direct vote. The civilizing influence–“

  "Oh for crying out loud," Perceival protested but with somewhat less of force than he had used up to this point. With a note of despair creeping into his voice, he said plaintively: "Must we be bored to tears by another of your abstruse arguments?" The lion, like everyone else, was familiar with the scenario which followed, inexorably, the bringing up of any issue with Honorashious. He knew also, however, that he may as well let the old horned owl run his course, even though, in light of the bird's formidable intellectual and debating powers (powers which were without equal–not even Egbert possessed a comparable level of erudition), the outcome was preordained. So, thoroughly disgusted though he was, the lion fell silent and lay down with his paws crossed in front of him, yielding to the owl as to the inevitable.

  "The civilizing influence," Honorashious continued, casting an irritated glance at the lion, "is well documented in the annals, Cedric's Fourth Volume, Section 5, Paragraph Eight–haarumph–which is available in my personal library–haarumph–haarumph. The naming, and the referring to each other in common speech by a generic appellation–whether of species, genus, or other–haarumph–common or scientific term–and used by all animals with respect to other animals throughout the jungle, is in general detrimental to the freedom and–haarumph–dignity of the individual and not conducive to the efficient and effective carrying out of the daily business of the monarchy. The ill effects on society of this pernicious custom are manifold, pervading as they do every aspect of our–haarumph–culture and our government."

  Perceival yawned hugely and his chin sank down to rest upon his huge paws.

  Boston, meanwhile, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, had sat down in the dirt beside the lion. He was attempting to follow all of the details of the owl's argument despite the distraction presented by the several honey bees which still buzzed persistently about his head.

  "What–haarumph–as they say–what's in a name? Much. The court submits that very much, very much indeed there is in a name. An analysis of the problem's salient characteristics reveals to us its fundamental nature and is, therefore, useful. The court makes the observations–haarumph–the observation that we have no objection to referring to one another by name–i.e, by proper name–WITHIN SPECIES. In fact, it is only when one ventures to cross these lines, these classifications distinguishing one animal from another that the naming convention becomes a problem. Thus, while the lion addresses his mistress as 'Lilly Bell'–or some such–and his son as 'Henry', yet he refers to all squirrels only as–haarumph–‘Squirrel', to any bear only as 'Bear', and so on. The squirrel in turn uses 'Lion' and 'Bear' in lieu of any–haarumph–proper names for individuals of those classifications of animals. The net effect–haarumph–is to deny other species of animal their individuality, their personality."

  "It is true that some utilitarian benefits may accrue. The individual is in fact defined by this method of reference; he is objectified in the scientific sense. One need only refer to a zoology text to know him. This makes him–haarumph–easier for us to deal with. He is predictable. We have no concerns for his needs or wants. How easy to say: 'Bear, your work is lacking. Forgo your nap today. And leave off the honey until further notice.' How much more difficult: 'Lilly Bell, your shopping excursion is hereby cancelled.' Efficient, you may say. For to what text, to what authority do we turn to find the definition of 'Lilly Bell' or–‘Honorashious' or 'Boston?' There is none, of course, and our–haarumph–method of proceeding to deal with these proper names is much less well-defined, much more difficult."

  Boston scratched his head and swatted irritably at the ever present honey bees, while Percy's heavy upper eyelids had descended to within a razor's thickness of his lower. Egbert, his earlier groans notwithstanding, sat comfortably on his haunches and listened attentively to Honorashious' discourse.

  "We proceed a step further in our investigation and it becomes clear that there is something deeper at work here than it may seem at first. What we considered only a matter of form–haarumph–is in fact–haarumph–linked deeply to something much more profound. In the last analysis, to deal with individuals on this basis is to deal only with the surfaces. How does one define 'Bear?' He likes honey, and he likes to take extended naps, especially during the winter months. Certainly important facts if we must travel with him. But are such mundane facts all that there is? Are they salient? Are they relevant to our dealings with him? 'Boston,' on the other hand, I say, 'Boston'–who is Boston? The rich–haarumph–unique, personal as well as official history of this individual, conjured up by associations with the proper name, speak for themselves. He is an indefinable and unquantifiable quantity–so to speak. We can not measure him. We can not classify him in any meaningful way; and yet, it is he–and not the zoological 'Bear'–with whom we must deal. And, of course, the vast string of associations, of imagery, of historical allusion, which attach to every–haarumph–proper name, seemingly random in nature but inseparably intertwined with our very fate and destiny, are infinite and, ultimately, incomprehensible. Haarumph!"

  "Excuse me, Judge," Egbert interrupted, raising a single admonitory paw. "Excuse me, Honorashious–“

  "Haarumph! The honorific here, Egbert, if you please," the owl said, a bit prickly at being interrupted.

  "Judge, then. This last–a subject with which I should never be so foolish as to deal in a forum such as this–“Egbert looked significantly at the now slumbering lion–“and with such other urgent business at hand as we are here about–but this last point regarding fate and so forth really does bring up another issue: i.e., the issue that our proper names are not really unique, either, because they already have a meaning when we get them. They may not be defined exactly, but each name, I think, has a meaning attached to it and is even contained in dictionaries and other reference books. Furthermore, I am no more the only Egbert Ashly Acorn Squi
rrel in the jungle than I am the only member of the species squirrel!"

  "Haarumph!" Honorashious grunted with displeasure.

  "He's got a point, Judge," Boston offered, his brow deeply furrowed by these considerations. "I thought about that already."

  The Sergeant Major, meanwhile, who was livid with anger at the indignity of these interruptions, hissed and sputtered incoherently, too agitated to form more than a jumble of words: "Shush your mouth! The court's...Jedge 's speaking...Shet it!" he finished unsatisfactorily and took a few threatening steps in the direction of the squirrel.

  Egbert, however, gaining momentum from the bear's supportive remarks, had stood up and actually begun to pace the railing like some ancient philosopher, his paws clasped behind his back and his gaze upon the heavens above rather than any of the others in his audience. He continued with shrewd pedantry:

  "Although we escape the depersonalization of the scientific, we have instead these book meanings and the less obvious ones with which we must deal. The chaos of history, images, and associations of language evoked by any name–indeed by any and every word–regardless of its listing in any publication and from which, finally, there is no escaping, defines us yet more ineluctably than any scientific delineation."

  "Haarumph!" the owl grunted, obviously agitated and highly indignant at these reflections coming from his normally passive audience. He shifted his great wings on his back, and shook each claw in turn. The frequency of his grunts, which had subsided once he had got deeply involved in his argument, increased greatly along with his agitation.

  The Sergeant Major rasped: "Shet it! Or I'll pull you off'n thet rail and bust your head!" He had by now advanced to a position below the railing upon which Egbert strutted and was only prevented from carrying out this threat immediately by an indecision as to how best to climb up after the squirrel.

  "Haarumph–haarumph! Sergeant Major! Return to your post!" Honorashious barked.

  "But Jedge...the blamed...order in the court..." the Sergeant Major sputtered vehemently, but then turned reluctantly away and went grumbling to stand by the door.