Two of the cubs were dead. When she nosed them over, they were cold to the touch. The others were barely alive. She set about trying to warm the living cubs, without pausing to take out the dead ones. Seconds were vital.
She had not long settled on her brood, when smells and sounds came to her which were unmistakable. The dog was leading his master to her hideout, following her scent from the grounds to the house. She snatched up a cub in her mouth and leapt through the window, just as the door was being forced open on its rusty hinges.
O-ha ran into the wood. She paused for a moment and looked back, hearing the hound call to her.
‘We’ve got them vixen, wherever you are out there! Can you hear me? My master has crushed them under his boots. He hates foxes just as much as I do. Can you hear me, vixen? Can you hear … ?’
An overwhelming despair arose within her.
The ridgeback had beaten her after all. The last cub had gone cold in her mouth. She could feel no pulse, no heartbeat against her lips. Had she snatched up a dead one in her haste? Or had it died since leaving the hut? The dog could not have devised a more cruel punishment for her entering his territory and escaping his wrath if he had sat for seasons, planning it.
Sabre was, without a doubt, on a leash and unable to follow her, otherwise he would have done so.
She laid the cub down and screeched:
‘You killed my cubs, but you failed to catch me. Your stupidity, even for a lowlife dog, amazes me. I’ll catch you sleeping one day and tear your throat out!’
She knew, of course, that such a dream was impossible, but it had its effect on the dog. She could hear the sounds of fury coming from the shed. O-ha picked up her dead cub and ran.
O-ha returned to the badger colony two days later, prepared to make that place her home for the rest of her life. She was no longer interested in dog foxes, or litters, and her heart had hardened against life and all its highways and byways.
When she ran into Gar again, he said, ‘Ha! The little fox. How was it, the world?’
‘It was a cruel, terrible place,’ she answered.
He nodded his badger head sagely.
‘That so? That so? Some animals tell me this, but I think is it so? This can be cruel place here, if you look for cruel.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ she replied.
‘Not me,’ he said. ‘You disappoint you. When you go out again, you must look for different, not for same.’ He nodded at her breast. ‘In there is where eyes to see world, not in head. Next time you go, you look from inside.’
‘There won’t be a next time,’ she answered, bitterly. ‘The world has taken all I ever had.’
For quite some time she thought about committing ranz-san – tearing open her open stomach with her teeth – but something held her back, some thought that such an act at that time would be regarded in Heff as wrong. So she did not resort to this last of fox actions, available to foxes caught in savage, metal gins, or snares, but not to foxes who were just tired of living. It was not for the weary in spirit, but for the sorely oppressed, the fox hemmed in by wire, or trapped in a cage.
So, O-ha continued to live: a very difficult thing to do. She was not the first fox to ponder deeply on the nature of that strange emotion called sadness: on whether sadness entered the soul from the outside world, or was an inherent emotion which was in the fox from birth and merely triggered into a wakeful state by an external event.
Back at the manor house, another creature was swearing vengeance. The ridgeback, Sabre, was furious at the little fox for thwarting his attempts to kill her. I’ll remember that scent, he thought. I’ll find that vixen again if it takes me a lifetime, and rip her from nose to tail. No one makes a fool of me and gets away with it. The dog will have its day. Thus, the vow was taken, the promise made, which would end in death for one of the two antagonists. Unfortunately for O-ha, she was not just another close encounter for the ridgeback. She had exposed the one weakness in his nature for which he hated himself – the deep-seated instinct to obey his master – and that he could never let pass. Hate for oneself is almost always transferred to some other creature, and in Sabre’s case that creature was O-ha. For the rest of his life Sabre would be on the look-out for O-ha and her kind. In the hotlands beneath a fierce sun he had tracked lions, with his peers had hunted down leopards and killed them, had (at his master’s instigation) attacked and torn the throat out of a fugitive black man trying to return to his homelands. To be outwitted by a small redcoated animal not much bigger than a cat was a terrible smear on his record as a hunter. Such an insult could not be forgotten.
PART TWO
Escape from Bedlam
Chapter Seven
The sign on Camio’s cage said: ‘American Red Fox’. The back of this board, which held more interest for him than the front, was gnawed at the corner where he had cleaned his teeth on it through the wire mesh. Camio had a coat of rich, dark red fur – almost chocolate – and he was, or had once been, bright-eyed and with a knowing look. He was a suburban creature, from a place with wide streets and houses with plenty of space around them. Most of the houses had had porches, under which a fox could hide, could sleep away the day in the shade, could make an earth providing there were no children. (Human children, like foxes, enjoyed the musty, spidery atmosphere of the twilight world below the floorboards.)
In that far-off place of his birth and upbringing, Camio had lived on the small creatures that were to be found under the houses, and on the food humans threw away. He was a scavenger, not recognising any detriment in so being. There were those who believed hunting was a more noble way of obtaining food than scavenging, but most animals thought this a load of nonsense. To survive was the prime objective, and if this could be achieved by making use of man’s wasteful ways, then so much to the good.
Like many street-wise creatures, Camio was an audacious, impudent fox with a cocky walk. He was aware that he did not know it all, but there was no reason why the rest of the world should be enlightened as to that fact. If he gave the impression that there was nothing he could not handle, nothing beyond his intellect, nothing to match his cunning, his cleverness, then he saw no reason to interfere with this picture. His vixen, Roxina, did not share the world’s illusion with regard to her mate, but she allowed he had certain features and a character that had charm and strength. She would have been proud of the way he conducted himself in the zoo, he thought: with quiet dignity and reserve.
He lay on the floor of his prison, while visitors to the zoo peered in at him or pointed their cameras and flashed bright lights into his eyes. He ignored them all. Let the monkeys show off and get all the attention: he was not going to demean himself by cavorting all over the place just to hear humans bark. He would get fed whatever he did, whether it was lazing around on the floor, or snapping at the faces that peered through the mesh. He considered himself lucky that he was not one of the more exotic creatures. Had he been a duck-billed platypus he might not escape the foul air created by the visitors, as they crowded around the cages. As it happened he was a fox, and not a very unusual one at that, so visitors to his cage were small in numbers and tended to stay only briefly.
A keeper went by, leading two Alsatian dogs on leashes. These were two of the animals that helped guard the zoo at night. Camio saw a chance for a little sport.
‘Morning, minions,’ he drawled, ‘how’s the great brotherhood of slaves today?’
One of the Alsatians jerked on its lead, snapping at him, ‘Keep your trap shut.’
‘Yes,’ said the other, ‘at least we’re out here in the fresh air.’
‘Fresh air? With all those humans stinking the atmosphere? Some fresh. Some air. You can keep it, cousin.’
‘Don’t call me cousin,’ said the first dog, ‘or I’ll …’ The rest of the sentence was choked off, as the keeper tugged on the lead and barked at it.
‘Convict,’ snapped the second dog.
‘Look who’s talking,’ replied Cam
io. The one on the end of a chain. Catch me being dragged along with that thing wrapped round my neck. But then you poor saps haven’t got much choice, have you? Your ancestors made sure of that, when they gave in meekly, to the domination of man.’
The dogs erupted into fury and were dragged away by their puzzled keeper, who barked at them in a high shrill voice, and pulled on their choker chains until they stopped fighting against it.
Camio scratched his ear in a show of contempt.
‘German Shepherd hounds? Killers. They should be behind bars, not me. I never bothered a human in my life …’ He grumbled away to himself for the next hour until his meal was delivered. The truth was, Camio was going a little crazy. The zoo around him was like an asylum for mentally disturbed animals. If they weren’t crazy when they came in, it did not take long before most of them were.
In their wild state, the carnivores only came into contact with the herbivores when they were hungry and needed a kill. Their hunting modes came into operation, and all the small chemical changes and mechanisms required for speed, agility and single-minded sense of purpose were triggered into action – the brain honed to sharpness, the muscles brought to peak, the senses primed.
On the other hand, when the grazing animals smelled a hunter, their defence circuits were electrified. Their hearts pumped adrenalin, their minds flashed through possible escape routes, their senses sought the nuances in the wind.
In the zoo they found themselves only yards from each other, scenting, seeing, hearing. Their bodily juices ran wild, sending waves of panic through the grazers, sending frenzy to the brains of the hunters. The leopard could scent the antelope, the lion the wildebeest. They were all too close to each other to allow any respite. On their part, the deer could smell the cheetah, and the rabbit could see into the eagle’s cage. It was madness, pure madness.
Prey could smell predator, hunter could smell quarry.
The rabbits spent their lives in perpetual panic, hearing the cry of the wolf, the bark of the fox, the shriek of the hawk. The deer could smell the scent of their deadly enemies – enemies with belly-ripping claws and terrible teeth – and went berserk occasionally, under the cold eye of a caged lynx or python. A thousand animals were crammed into less than a square mile; a thousand animals, one half of which were going crazy trying to get at the other half, and that second half going insane with fear. And no one going anywhere, because the bars were too strong or the pits too deep. So they travelled around in circles, tying themselves into mental knots and eventually lapsing into vacant stupidity.
There were other ways to go insane, besides having your instincts tinkered with the whole time. You could literally die of boredom and apathy. You could lose your mind quite easily in a place where the scenery remained the same – four walls and a set of bars – and nothing happened from one day to the next. You could disappear into yourself in an area where three strides took you to the edge of your world and then, turning, another three strides took you across it again.
Camio had not quite reached this state, but he was not far from it. A hopelessness was beginning to set in: a despair had opened beneath him like a giant black pit, and he was in danger of falling into it. Only a spark of his former self remained: a spark which he kept alive by baiting the Alsatians, or snapping at the visitors.
That night, after the visitors had gone, and he was alone with a thousand other creatures, he paced the cage, grumbling to himself. At one point in his turn, he knocked the cage door, which rattled loudly. For a moment, this did not register but after two more circuits of his cage, he thought: something’s not right. The door to the cage did not rattle when fastened securely.
He went to it again and threw his body against it. It rattled once more and jiggered itself open, just half an inch, enough to get his nose behind.
Still Camio was not completely aware of what this meant. He had been locked up for so long, he was numbed into a state of acceptance.
Then he hooked a paw behind the metal edge of the door and it swung inwards. The path to freedom was unblocked, the barriers gone, and he could slip away into the night. The keeper had forgotten to lock the cage door and the way was open. He needed no more convincing. In the next moment he was padding quietly between the cages of other animals, his tread wary and primed for danger. It was all coming back to him now: his strong sense of survival.
A wolf called to him as he passed, ‘Hey, cousin. Let me out.’
Camio paused, but then said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how. I would if I could, but the way they work those locks is a mystery to me. You need fingers for such things. I’m sorry.’
The wolf looked disappointed, but shrugged.
‘That’s all right, cousin.’ The canid’s eye took on a glazed look and she slipped back into her former state of hopelessness.
Camio continued to the inner wall of the zoo. Although he was out of his cage, he was far from free. There was a high wall around the zoo beyond which was an empty area patrolled by dogs, then finally a chain-link fence.
The Alsatians were in fact there to prevent people from entering the zoo and stealing rare creatures rather than to stop animals from getting out. After all, a German Shepherd dog would not be able to prevent a lion from escaping. However, the Alsatians hated foxes and wolves so much, Camio knew they would not hesitate to attack him, if they could catch him.
Camio stopped by the cage of a lion and peered in. A pair of baleful eyes met his own. In the dark shadows of the cage sat a great tawny beast. A few strange words rumbled from the throat of this muscled character and despite his curiosity Camio hurried on. He had always found the lions awe-inspiring creatures from a distance, but close to they were chilling in their aspect. The bars of the cage looked positively flimsy compared with the powerful physique of the great cat and Camio was not about to test the strength of either by hanging around where he was not wanted. The musty smell of the lion remained in his nostrils: even the odour seemed to be charged with lazy strength.
Finally, Camio saw a way to reach the top of the wall. He managed to get on to this barrier by running along the banked rock of the bear pit and up to the goat pinnacles above. There was a fence on top of this outcrop of rock which took three tries to leap. The last time, he managed to get over but not without cutting his underside on the sharp wire. The wound was not deep, however, and certainly not bad enough to keep him from going on.
Even having made it to the far side of this wall, he was not yet out of the zoo. There was the chain-link fence to negotiate: the fence that kept the public out and within which roamed the Alsatians. Camio entered this region warily, his nose to the wind, trying to get an indication of the dogs’ whereabouts. When he was half-way across the concrete gap between the wall and the fence, he caught a warning on the night air. He paused, unsure whether to run for the fence or retreat into the shadows and hope that the noses of the domestic animals were not as good as his own.
While he hesitated the two dogs that he had baited that day came hurtling round the corner. They seemed in some state of excitement. Then Camio saw that there were seven or eight humans right by the fence, eating sweet-smelling cooked meat skewered on sticks. They were loud, noisy creatures, juveniles by the look of them. Camio slipped into the shadows of the goats’ pinnacle, watched and waited with a beating heart.
The Alsatians threw themselves at the fence, shouting insanely at the group of young humans, who at first backed off, startled. Then, when the juveniles saw that the dogs could not get at them, they began barking in raucous voices. They were flashy, gaudy creatures, covered in leather and chains, and they kicked at the fence as the dogs jumped and screamed, driving the hounds into a frenzy. One of the female humans, with hair the colour of several sunsets, kept teasing the Alsatians with a piece of meat, offering it to the dogs, knowing they could not get at it.
Eventually, the juveniles tired of baiting the Alsatians and walked off down the street. Still the German Shepherds foamed at the mouth, screaming
after these ugly humans. Eventually, they walked from the fence, grumbling to each other and moved towards Camio’s hiding place.
The fox held his breath. The smell of the spicy meat was still in the air, but if the dogs came any closer even they would not be able to miss his scent.
One of the Alsatians stopped to scratch behind his ear.
‘Come on, come on,’ growled the other, moving off along the corridor between the wall and fence. He seemed anxious to do another circuit of the zoo, but his companion yawned.
‘Wait a bit …’ the scratching Alsatian paused for a moment, still on his haunches. He sniffed.
‘Can you smell anything?’ he said. ‘I could swear …’
‘Can I smell anything?’ said the other, the sentence dripping with sarcasm. ‘Only cooked steak, that’s all.’
‘No, something … something …’ the first Alsatian’s head snapped up. ‘FOX. I can smell fox!’
‘What?’ The other turned, and began trotting back.
It was time for Camio to move.
He dashed forward, out of the shadows, and leaped over the Alsatian that had been scratching himself, and headed for the fence. The second dog came at his flank, but by halting and swerving, Camio managed to avoid the snapping jaws.
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