‘You want me to come with you? I’ve lived with badgers. I can get by.’
From being openly aggressive, the dog fox was now ready to become a bosom friend. Camio told the other that he would appreciate any help he could get, so long as it didn’t put anyone out. No trouble at all, replied the dog fox, and gave his name as A-rythe.
‘Camio.’
‘Funny name. You talk strangely too. You from up north somewhere? I once knew a rangfar from the high mountain country – always talking about the heather and pines. Used to call a lake, a loch – that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t know where I’m from – at least I do, but I couldn’t tell you where it is in relation to here. I can tell you one thing, we didn’t have any heather.’
‘Can’t be the same place then,’ said A-rythe. ‘The way this rangfar talked they had heather growing out of their ears up there. You new around here too? They had some nasty business here during Ransheen – almost wiped out the population. Genocide, just about. Massacred just about every living thing, apart from a few sparrows, and Heff knows there’s enough of those in the world, they could do with a little culling – don’t even make a decent meal – stick in your throat like a ball of fluff, and chatter? they never stop. You should hear them in here of a morning. Talk about a dawn chorus – worse than starlings – definitely worse than starlings. I was saying to O-rythe just before you called, O-rythe, I said …’
And so they walked on, with the dog fox battering the sense of Camio with his trivia, who was wishing he had found some other animal to help him in his quest. They found the badgers’ sett just as Camio was going down for the third time under the weight of nonsense the other fox poured out. A-rythe disappeared underground, announcing himself in that harsh guttural tone used by badgers, and was down there for an eternity. When he finally emerged, he informed Camio that there was an old badger of the description Camio had given him, living on his own. A-rythe said he would show Camio where he lived.
‘If you could just give me the directions?’ said Camio, weakly. ‘I’m sure I could find it and I don’t want to trouble you …’
‘No trouble at all,’ breezed the dog fox. ‘As I was saying to those badgers down there – do you know, despite the fact that I speak very little of the language, I get on quite well. A few signs here, a word or two there, and we can all understand one another, isn’t that right? Communication. That’s what it’s all about. I have no problems in communicating. None at all. I could have talked to them all night, except … you know, they’re not like us, even though we get on fairly well together, foxes and badgers, not like us really. They’ve got this habit of shuffling you towards the exit, and you have to pretend you don’t notice. Funny lot … of course they talk too much, always did, but you have to allow them the licence. As I say, I was …’
Camio sympathised with the badgers, wondering how they managed to keep themselves from tearing this garrulous canid into little pieces and feeding him to the squirrels.
When they reached the sett, Camio had to be very forceful in persuading the other fox to leave him to talk to the badger alone. A-rythe got a little huffy, but in the end bid Camio goodbye, an event that took almost as long as the walk itself, and then slipped away into the woodland. Camio heaved a sigh, shook himself, and then called down the sett.
‘Is this the home of Gar?’
There was no answer.
He tried again. ‘Who lives here? I’m looking for Gar. Is that the name of the occupant?’
There was a rustling from behind him and a gruff voice said, ‘Ha, fox. Hider – come hither.’
Camio turned to see an old grizzled badger standing under an ash tree. He looked annoyed. The fox did as he was asked.
‘Are you Gar? I think you are, I saw you once, when O-ha was living with you.’
The darkness lifted from the badger’s brow.
‘O-ha? The little fox. You know her? What you do by my sett? Eh? Speak, fox.’
‘I am O-ha’s mate, Camio.’
A sparkle came into the badger’s eyes.
‘She’s alive?’
Camio nodded. ‘We have cubs – three of them – down in the face.’
‘Well, well,’ gargled the old badger. ‘Well, well – cubs too, eh? Ha! Is good. Come, come …’ he waddled towards his sett. ‘We talk together, fox.’
Camio followed him down to a chamber where there were some rushes on the floor. When they had both settled, Gar motioned for him to proceed with his story and he told the badger all that had happened since O-ha and himself had left the wood. The badger nodded in approval in places, or clucked softly to himself when Camio touched on parts where they were in danger. When he had finished the big black-and-white skull nodded thoughtfully.
‘So, she is well – is all turned out for good. And this Breaker?’ he shook his head. ‘Hard to imagine this hound living with foxes. World is strange place, fox. Wod place. So, you get from here that night – me too, but alone. My sett-others, all killed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Camio. ‘That stupid fox …’
‘Yes, I hear this and am very angry then, but now …’ he shrugged. ‘I am old badger. Things get little dim in my head. Light grows little grey in my eyes.’
‘You’ve got many seasons yet,’ said Camio politely, ‘but what about you? How do you escape that night?’
‘Ha, that is good story. I think if I am younger it go to my head and this badger believe he is the chosen one. That night …’ he paused for effect, settling down on to his haunches, which Camio had noticed were swollen with arthritis. ‘That night, Gar out hunting – out in cold snow. I hear guns go “bang, bang, bang”, and think to myself, “Gar, something happen down there.” Then I smell men coming, up hill from town. I smell the guns. I hear guman barking. I smell the fear.
‘I feel the terror in this heart and I freeze, still, like rock. I think like foolish kitten – think, “If Gar stays still, man pass by.” But then I see lights on snow – and gun fires in wood. Then I know I am to die. These men not play sport. Too many men. Too many guns. Too much fear.
‘I run to edge of wood and there … there I see bright star – crossing the sky. It make a noise like this,’ he growled softly in the back of his throat, ‘and flash on, flash off. On, off, on, off …’ his voice drifted, but was pulled back again. ‘“Gar” I say to myself, “this is sign. You follow this grumble star that makes brilliant on-off. It is holy sign, sent by haelend, Fruma-ac-Geolca.” So I go same direction, even though it lead me down, into far side of town. Then I find this hole in ground – in street – where iron cover gone. Houses all dark. No people yet. I go under, into dark, and follow tunnels. Stay there for long, long time. This syllicre star save Gar’s life. Show him safe hole. Guman not find Gar.’
Gar went on to explain that he lived in the sewers, which were not at that time in operation, until they began to complete the buildings. Then he thought it was time to get out, before the drains were put to use and he was drowned or ‘stinked to death’. He poked his head out of the hole one morning and had a second mystical experience. There was a row of trees, not much more than saplings, which had been planted along the edge of the street. The weak winter sun had caught them and they shone like silver.
‘You never see such trees,’ said Gar in a whisper. ‘They have bark that hurt your eyes to see. I think first they are made of shiny metal. I think to myself, “Gar, this is second halig sign. You go from this place now like Fruma-ac-Geolca tell you to.”’
Gar finished his story looking dreamily into space, and Camio had to make a noise to let the badger know he was still there.
‘So,’ said Gar, ‘you are well, yes?’
‘Me? Yes I’m fine.’
‘I think you not from this place? You have strange tongue in your head. Ah – I remember something. You come from distant land. This is correct?’
‘That’s right, yes. I was captured and sent here. I don’t know how I came – I was drugged at the t
ime. I used to live in a country with wide streets and low houses. When I was a cub I thought the whole world was only as wide as a day’s run.’
Gar settled his large head on to his front paws. He sighed deeply, his pear-shaped body heaving.
‘Ah, when we were young … but the world has changed since then, Camio. The world has changed. We have lived through these changes. You think you live in strange land, but the land is strange to Gar too, and he was born in it. All the old ways are gone.’
Camio slipped away after that, with a quiet farewell, and the badger fell asleep before the fox was even out of the sett. Camio suspected that the old badger had not got very long to live. His bones looked too heavy for him to carry around much longer, and his eyes were rheumy and distant. Still, he had had a long life, by all accounts – many seasons – and would probably not be sorry to go.
When Camio got back to the scrapyard, he had to dodge the two men who worked there and were walking about, arranging their junk. Once before they had caught sight of him and were mildly excited, but he suspected that wild life was not an interest that held them for long. They must have heard the high-pitched squeals of the cubs from time to time, but either curiosity was not a strong motivator with them or the effort was not worth the reward, because they did not seem perturbed enough to go searching for the source amongst their rusting vehicles. In his short life, Camio had found that most humans were intrigued, rather than disturbed by foxes. If indeed the men knew they had a fox earth full of cubs on their lot, it was more likely that they were proud of it than concerned by it. Camio had found that so long as he or his kind did not get in the way of human business, did not make threatening gestures towards human children, and generally kept a low profile, town-dwellers were happy to leave them alone, and even point them out to their friends as if to say, ‘Look at my strange neighbours – they chose my garden to have their family in.’ Country people were inclined to look on foxes as vermin, but that was partly indoctrination and partly because of the domestic livestock.
He reached his little tunnel without them seeing him, and was fastidious about the procedures prior to entering the earth. When he got inside O-ha was looking weary. The cubs had no doubt had another boisterous day. Her tail looked in a very sorry state where they had pulled out pieces of fur in their playfulness.
‘You indulge those cubs too much,’ he said, looking down fondly on the sleeping bundles.
‘Perhaps,’ she replied. ‘I’m hungry. Do we have a cache nearby?’
‘Yes. Inside an old boiler. I’ll get you something.’
He slipped out again and returned with some cold chips he had found a few days earlier in a sidestreet. She wolfed them down, greedily.
‘Where have you been all day?’ she asked.
‘Ah. Now there’s a thing. I heard that an old friend of yours was still living in Trinity. Went to visit him.’
‘An old friend?’
‘Gar, the badger,’ he said.
Her eyes shone.
‘Gar? Still alive? He escaped that dreadful time?’
‘Had a “mystical experience”,’ said Camio. ‘Apparently his saviour sent him a sign – a star to travel by – and then a row of glowing trees, to tell him when it was safe. He’s a nice old thing, isn’t he? I thought you said he was bad-tempered.’
‘Well, he can be. I expect you caught him on one of his rare good days.’
‘Anyway, he was delighted to hear about you. If you weren’t so desperately attached to me, I might have been jealous. From the way he spoke about you, anyone listening would have thought you were responsible for the sun rising and setting each day. He thinks you’re very special, doesn’t he?’
This seemed to please her.
‘We did get on rather well together. I suppose there are those who like to be needed – and he was there when I needed someone to talk to, someone strong.’
‘Oh, he’s a strong old character, all right. A lot of authority there. Told me to look after you or I would answer to him. I found respect creeping into my voice when I spoke to him. Not many animals do that to me, I can tell you.’
She lay with her head on her paws for a while, obviously musing over the news. Then she said, ‘Mystical experiences? Did you believe him? Or was he playing?’
Camio thought this was a strange remark coming from his mate, who not only believed in fox-spirits but claimed to have seen and been guided by one to her former mate’s body. Perhaps, thought Camio, these things are fact to her, not mystical experiences?
‘He didn’t look or sound the sort to play games,’ replied Camio. ‘No, I think he believed what he was saying. However …’
‘What?’
‘Well, I can’t explain his travelling star, but I’m sure the trees he mentioned were nothing but silver birches.’
Her head came up sharply.
‘You didn’t tell him that.’
‘No – no I didn’t. Didn’t want to spoil his illusion. I suppose he’s never seen a silver birch before?’
‘I doubt it. There were none around here before the town came. I hadn’t seen one myself until we came down here. Trinity Wood is an ancient covert – oaks, elms, blackthorns, alders, beeches – no silver birches. And with the sunlight on them …’
‘They were, in his words, halig trees.’
‘Funny old Gar,’ she said. ‘I must try to get to see him one of these days, once the cubs are off our hands …’
She had the dream. She dreamed she was in a bright place and struggling to walk. Suddenly, black bars fell across the ground. They were like the iron rods of a cage at the zoo, once described to her by Camio. Then she was being chased, and she sank to her shoulders in the snow, which hampered her escape. Finally, the shadow of …
PART FIVE
Terror on the Streets
Chapter Twenty One
Frashoon, and the cubs were half grown. They played outside in the scrapyard, when the men were not present, gambolling and fighting in the dust. They tracked spiders and pounced on them. They jumped for butterflies. They stalked each other and practised their hunting skills. When they rested they did not go back into the metal shell of the car, the breeding earth, but found a hole somewhere under the junk and slept away from the adults. They had begun to forage for themselves, in the rubbish bags of the houses closest to the yard. There were narrow escapes, from dogs and people, but this was all part of the learning process. O-ha could no longer protect her young, even if she wanted to, because they now had individual wills and followed their instincts. They remained near to their parents’ earth, but were no longer part of it.
Of course, O-ha and Camio still talked to their three cubs, advised them, instructed them, and were anxious over their welfare.
O-mitz announced that she was dropping the O to her name.
‘It’s so old fashioned,’ she said to her distressed mother. ‘Mitz sounds much better – I feel like a Mitz. All these silly distinctions between the sexes. Ask any of the foxes my age – they’ll tell you they don’t want all that labelling stuff.’
O-ha asked Mitz’s brothers how they felt about it.
A-cam said he had not thought about it and was quite happy with his name as it was.
‘Don’t see any point in changing it,’ he said. ‘That’s just another one of O-mitz’s silly affectations.’
A-sac, the albino, said he was considering adding the repetitive syllable to his name, but that was traditional and acceptable.
‘If I am to be a mystic, then I need to become A-sacsac – but that will not happen until the decision is made for me. I am waiting for the sign. It may never come.’ On his sister’s decision, he said, ‘She’s a foolish vixen. I feel sad for her. Her head’s full of nonsense. Wait until she meets a partner and then see if she remains plain Mitz.’
Mitz’s reply concerning both her brothers was direct and blunt.
‘A-cam is just too lazy to make any effort at individuality and A-sac is so lost in his own importan
ce he can’t see any further than his white nose.’
So, personalities were developing – perhaps not in the way that O-ha might have wished, but then most mothers are slightly bewildered by the fact that their young do not follow paths imagined for them at birth. It was not that she wanted copies of herself so much as shining versions of her ideal fox. Camio seemed quite happy with them and willing to accept their deviations from some standard model, but then (she told herself) he was a foreigner anyway and had some strange ideas about the role of foxes in the world. What she tolerated in her mate was not necessarily acceptable in her young. Her slightly rakish partner’s quirky behaviour was not her responsibility and what she loved in him, she would have thoroughly disapproved of in some other vixen’s mate. She felt that if she had been a less conventional fox herself and did not act as an anchor for him, he might get up to all sorts of weird anti-social activities. No, she wanted her cubs to be like herself, not her mate. She wanted them to be conventional.
One of O-ha’s strongest warnings was to stay away from the manor house on the edge of town. She repeated this so often, and with such force, the inevitable happened. The cubs were intrigued and two of them went there to find out what unspeakable horrors lay behind the wall that surrounded the gardens.
Late summer, and the dry, rustling grasses are alive with insects which hum, click and crackle, and make amazing leaps between blades and stalks insect-miles apart. Toads squat patiently midway, ready to snatch them out of the air with whip-like tongues. Grass snakes bask on baked clay prior to seeking out the nests of hay where field mice are panting. Ground beetles, wings fused together in a coppery sheen, wait and pounce on unwary caterpillars, tearing them to pieces with their powerful jaws. The small world below the level of the grasses, a hot and savage place, is working out the destinies of its many millions.
Life can be just as fleeting above the ground, where the green woodpecker drills into the bark of a tree, his head blurred with movement. The plump grub being deep in the trunk, thinks it has escaped, until the sticky, serrated tongue of the woodpecker comes snaking down its tunnel, elastically stretching to four times the length of the bird’s beak.
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