He tried to stop, but it was too late; he had reached the fork in the path, and he had been so busy feeling cross that he had not looked where he was going. He had bumped straight into Annette’s sled sideways on and sent her right into the ditch.
It was careless sledding, and Lucien, crimson in the face and truly upset, jumped off his sled to help, but Annette was before him. She had never liked Lucien much, and she was badly shaken. She turned on him, waist deep in snow, her eyes blazing.
“You great clumsy donkey,” she shouted, half crying. “Can’t you look where you are going? Look at my book—all my work is smudged and torn! I shall tell the master it’s all your fault.”
Lucien, who was never good at keeping his temper, lost it at once.
“All right,” he shouted back. “There’s no need to make such a fuss. I didn’t do it on purpose. Anyone would think I’d killed you instead of tearing your old exercise book. It won’t hurt you to lose your marks. I’m going on.”
He jumped onto his sled and whizzed away, arriving just in time for school. Inside he felt really bad about it, but his manners were never very good at the best of times, and he tried not to think of what he had done.
“She’s only got to get out,” he muttered, “and I don’t suppose she would have let me help her in any case. Thank goodness I’m in time for school. I’ve been late twice this week already.”
But getting out of that snowdrift was a very different matter from getting in, and poor Annette had quite a struggle. By the time she had managed to get herself out and collect her books, she was really crying—crying with cold and shock and sore knees and, most of all, crying with rage. When she crept into school a quarter of an hour later, her eyes were red and her nose was blue and her poor raw hands and knees were grazed and bleeding. With her torn, wet books, she looked a sorry sight.
“Annette,” said the master, quite concerned, “what has happened to you, my child?”
For a few seconds Annette fought hard with the temptation to tell tales, but the sight of Lucien sitting so smug and safe in his desk was too much for her.
“It was Lucien,” she burst out angrily. “He knocked me into a ditch, and went off and left me. I couldn’t get out.” She stuffed her knuckles into her eyes and began crying again. She was really very badly shaken, and oh, so angry!
The class all felt sorry for her and angry with Lucien, who hung his head and looked very sullen indeed.
The master caned Lucien for behaving in such an unkind way, which cheered Annette up and made her feel much better. Later, when the marks were read out, Annette came out top and felt better still.
Lucien came out bottom and was told to stay in and do extra work after school. So he sat through morning school and lunchtime with the others, and came back to afternoon school and sat on alone when the others had gone. All the time the rage and hatred and bad temper in his heart were getting bigger and bigger till he felt as if he was going to burst.
At last he was let out from school and wandered up the hill dragging his sled behind him. What a terrible day it had been! His mother had been cross with him, Annette had told tales about him, the master had caned him, and he had come out bottom. Was ever a boy so badly treated?
The shadows on the fields were strangely blue that night. High up, the mountaintops were still sunlit, with ragged wisps of cloud trailing about them. The quietness of the mountains seemed to hold out its arms to Lucien. Children and Nature are very close together, and often Nature’s silence can do more to heal angry, unhappy children than any human words can. So, as he trudged up the hill, Lucien’s rage began to change to a sort of weary misery. Thinking he was alone, he stuffed his knuckles into his eyes and began to cry a little.
Then he suddenly discovered that he was not alone. He was again at the place where the path divided, and a little boy was standing in the snow looking up at him in great astonishment. A happy, rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed little boy, his fair hair stuck out like a thatch from under his woolly cap, his face glowing with good health and good humour.
It was Dani, making a snowman. He had just put on the head and was arranging the eyes. It was the best snowman Dani had ever made, and he was just about to fetch Annette to look at it.
“Why are you crying?” asked Dani.
“I’m not crying,” retorted Lucien angrily.
“Ooh, you are,” replied Dani, “and I know why. It’s because the master caned you; Annette told us.”
He did not mean to be cruel, for he was usually a kind little boy. But Lucien had been nasty to Annette, and that, to Dani, was quite unforgivable. Lucien’s temper flared up instantly, and lifting his foot he kicked Dani’s snowman into little bits. Dani lifted up his voice and gave a loud howl of alarm and disappointment.
Annette, crossing from the shed, saw what was happening in an instant. She flew down the path like a young tigress and slapped Lucien full in the face. Lucien lifted his hand to hit her back, but the sight of Monsieur Burnier coming out of the chalet with a bucket made him think better of it. Everything was clearly against him.
“Sneak! Telltale! Coward!” shouted Lucien. “Baby! Coming into school crying like that.”
“Great, rough bully,” shouted back Annette, “leaving me in the ditch like that, and then kicking poor Dani’s snowman. He never did you any harm. Why can’t you leave him alone? I’m jolly glad you were caned! Come on, Dani, come home.”
She marched angrily off up the path, with Dani trotting behind her. At the door of the chalet she turned and noticed a patch of pink sky behind the far mountains. Once, Grandmother had taught her a text from the Bible, which said, “Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry.”* She suddenly thought of it now. Well, there was still time—Lucien was still there. After all, it was nasty of her to have told tales. She hesitated.
But he’d been much worse than she had. It was up to him to say he was sorry. If she asked him to forgive her it would seem as if she was to blame, and of course she wasn’t—oh, no, not in the least! She went in and slammed the door behind her.
Lucien went slowly home with his face stinging from that slap, more furious than he had been all day long. But, as he walked, he glanced up and noticed a wonderful thing. The clouds had come up in a purple bank, blotting out the mountain behind his home, but just in one spot they had broken, and in that gap Lucien could see the snowy crest, radiant with golden light.
He was used to winter sunsets, but the beauty of this one made Lucien catch his breath and look again. The pure, high radiance suddenly made his anger seem a poor, small thing, not worth hanging on to. How nice it would be to start again! There was still time to catch Annette if he ran.
But no! Annette was a show-off and would probably take no notice of him. And anyhow, why should he apologize to a girl?
So, because neither would be the first to forgive, the quarrel began—a quarrel that was to last for a very long time and was to bring with it a great deal of unhappiness for both of them.
As Lucien stood there thinking, a cloud blew across the gap, and the radiant mountaintop was hidden from view.
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* Ephesians 4:26
5
The Accident
Annette’s birthday took place in March, and Dani made plans about it for weeks beforehand, for nothing pleased Dani so much as giving presents. Some people might have said his presents were not worth very much, but Dani thought they were beautiful. He kept them in a secret cupboard meant for storing wood. Annette knew that she must never go there, and pretended to think that it was full of wood chips for the stove.
Already the cupboard contained a family of fir cones, painted all different colors and arranged in a row. Father fir cone was red, Mother fir cone was green, and there were five little fir cones painted bright yellow. Then there was a beautiful picture Dani had drawn of Paquerette, the light brown cow, grazing in a field of enormous blue gentians nearly as big as herself. There was a pure white
pebble and a little bracelet made from the plaited hairs of the bull’s tail. And sometimes there was a chocolate stick, but it never stayed long because Dani loved chocolate sticks and usually ate them himself after a day or two.
But now the great day was nearly here, and tomorrow would be the real birthday. Dani’s curly head was full of it, and as soon as Annette had gone to school, Dani explained his plan to Grandmother. She was sitting on the veranda in the spring sunshine, chopping dandelion leaves for that evening’s soup, when her little grandson came up and rested his elbows on her knee.
“Grandmother,” announced Dani, “I’m going up the mountain to where the snow has melted to pick soldanellas and crocuses for Annette’s birthday. I will put them on the breakfast table with all my presents.”
His grandmother, who hated him being out of her sight, looked doubtful.
“You are too little to go up the mountain alone,” she replied. “The slopes are slippery and you will fall into the snowdrifts.”
“Klaus will go with me,” said Dani earnestly. Grandmother chuckled. “A lot of good may she do you,” she replied, and then gave a little shriek because Klaus, without the slightest warning, had leaped into Grandmother’s lap and begun rubbing her white head against her, purring lovingly.
“Klaus knew we were talking about her,” said Dani. “She knows everything, and she is just telling you that she will look after me up the mountain.”
He picked his kitten up around the middle, kissed Grandmother, and stomped off down the balcony steps, singing a happy little song. Crash went his hobnailed boots, and his voice rose loud and clear.
His grandmother strained her dim old eyes to watch him until he was out of sight, then she gave a little sigh and went on with her dandelions. He was growing so big and independent, and in a very short time he must start at the infant school. He was a baby no longer.
Dani trotted on up the slopes, and Klaus walked carefully behind him, for although she was a Christmas kitten she hated walking in the snow. It was a beautiful spring day and the snowdrifts on the mountains were beginning to melt. Already the fields were green beside the river in the valley, and the cows were grazing out of doors.
Klaus continued to pick her way until she reached the low stone wall at the edge of the field. On the other side of this wall was a rocky ravine with a rushing river at the bottom. In summer the rocks were like fairy gardens, with wild flowers growing all over them, but now they were bare and brown. Klaus sat on the wall and fluffed out her fur in the sunshine. Then she started to wash herself all over, which was unnecessary because she was already almost as white as the snow.
Dani wandered from yellow patch to yellow patch gathering flowers. The field was bright with pale mauve crocuses and bright primulas that followed the windings of the streams in the grass like little pink paths. Dani loved them, but what he loved best of all were the soldanellas. They could not even wait for the snow to melt, but pushed right up through the frozen edges of the drifts, their frail stems covered in ice. Their flowers, like fringed mauve bells, hung downward.
Dani loved all beautiful things, and in this field of flowers he was as happy as a child could be. The sun shone on him and the flowers smiled up at him, and Dani told himself stories about tiny goblins who lived in caves under the snow. Their beards were white and their caps were red and they were full of mischief. Sometimes if there was no one looking they came out and swung on the soldanella bells—Annette had said so.
For this reason he approached each fresh soldanella clump on tiptoe and kept his eyes fixed on their bowed heads. That was why he never heard footsteps approaching until they were quite close, and then he looked up suddenly with a little start.
Lucien stood close behind him, with a rather unpleasant look on his face and a strange gleam of triumph in his eyes.
Lucien had not forgotten the slap that Annette had given him when Dani had screamed for help. Ever since that day he had planned some revenge, and when he had seen Dani’s little figure standing alone in the high pasture he had hurried to the spot. Of course he would not hurt such a tiny child, but it would be fun to tease and annoy him, and pay him back for telling tales. At least he could take his flowers from him.
“Who are you picking those for?” demanded Lucien.
“For Annette,” replied Dani firmly. He had a feeling that Lucien would not like this answer, but Annette had told him that he must always speak the truth, even when he was frightened.
Lucien gave a horrid laugh. “I hate Annette,” he announced. “She is a proud, stuck-up show-off. But at school she is hopeless. The little ones in the infant school are better at sums than she is. She knows no more than her own cows. Give those flowers to me; she shall not have them!”
Dani was so shocked at this speech that he went bright pink and put his flowers behind his back. How could anyone hate Annette? Annette, who was so beautiful and so good and so clever and so wise. Dani, who had never heard of jealousy, could not understand it.
“You can’t have them,” said Dani, holding the bunch tightly in his small hands. “They are mine.”
“I shall take them,” replied Lucien. “You are only a baby and you can’t fight against me. I shall do as I please to you. You are a little telltale and I shall pay you back.”
He snatched the bunch roughly from Dani’s grasp and flung them on the ground and trampled on them. Dani stared for a moment at the crushed soldanellas and bruised crocuses, and then burst into a loud howl. He had spent the whole happy afternoon gathering those flowers, and now they were all wasted. Then he flung himself on Lucien and began beating him with his small fists.
“I shall tell my daddy,” he shouted. “I shall go straight home and tell him this very minute and he will come to your house and he will beat you. You are a cruel, wicked boy.”
Now this was exactly what Lucien did not wish to happen, for, like most bullies, he was cowardly and was afraid of Dani’s father. Dani’s father was as tall and strong as a giant, and any ill treatment of his son would certainly make him furious. Lucien held Dani firmly by the wrists to stop him punching and looked around the field, wondering what he could do to stop the little boy from telling his father.
He suddenly spotted Klaus sunning herself on the wall, and he had an idea. He pushed Dani away and walked quickly towards the ravine.
Dani, who thought his tormentor had left him, wiped away the tears with the back of his hand and began picking fresh flowers as fast as he could. Lucien or no Lucien, Annette’s birthday table must be bright and beautiful.
Suddenly Lucien’s voice came ringing across the field. Dani looked up quickly, and what he saw made him feel quite sick for a moment. Lucien was standing by the wall, holding Klaus out at arm’s length by the scruff of her neck—holding her right over the dark ravine with the rushing torrent of melted ice down below.
“Unless you come here at once and promise not to tell tales to your father,” called Lucien, “I shall drop your kitten into the ravine.”
Dani began to run, stumbling blindly over the snowdrifts, but his legs were trembling and he could not run fast. The thought of Klaus being carried away helpless in that swirling brown water filled him with such horror that his mouth went dry and he could not cry out. He only knew that he must get there and snatch his kitten out of the grasp of that wicked boy and never, never let it go again.
Now let it be said here, right at the beginning of this story, that Lucien never for one moment meant to drop Klaus. He was unkind, and a bully, but he was not a murderer. But Klaus was not used to being held by the scruff of the neck, and after a moment or two she began to struggle. Finding that Lucien did not let her go, she struggled more violently, and then finally, getting frantic, she did what she had never done before. She put up her front paw and gave Lucien a sharp scratch.
Lucien, who was watching Dani’s stumbling progress, was taken by surprise and let go. Klaus dropped like a stone into the ravine, just as Dani, white and tearful, reached the wall
.
Dani did not hesitate a single moment. He gave a shriek like some small, terrified animal caught in a trap and hurled himself over the low wall. Lucien, quite paralyzed for a few seconds by what he had done, had time to grab hold of him and pull him back.
After that, everything happened in a few seconds. Klaus had not fallen into the water. She had stuck fast on a ledge of overhanging rock and clung there, mewing pitifully. An older child might have reached her safely and scrambled back, but Dani was only five. The surface of the rock was wet and Dani’s feet slipped just as he reached his kitten. He gave another scream—a scream that haunted Lucien for years to come—and disappeared over the edge.
If Lucien had not been half stupid with panic, he would have scrambled down after him and peered over into the ravine. But he believed Dani must be dead, and to see the body of the child carried away by the water, down toward the waterfall, was more than he could bear. He sank down on the grass in a limp little heap and covered his face with his arm. Had Annette seen him at that moment, even she might have realized that Lucien had certainly been punished.
“Dani is drowned,” he moaned over and over again. “I have killed him. What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?”
Gradually a cowardly idea came into his mind, and he sprang up and looked around wildly. Time was getting on. People would soon come and look for Dani, and then they would find him and everyone would know that he was a murderer. No one so far knew that he had had anything to do with the accident, and if he hurried home and behaved as if nothing had happened, no one would ever know. He must escape.
He ran like a hunted rabbit into the shelter of the pinewood with his heart beating furiously and his head throbbing. He dared not go home just yet, but he made his way around by lonely paths, so that if anyone should see him coming it would look as though he had come in another direction. Every few minutes he thought he heard footsteps following and leaped around to look. But there was no one there.
Patricia St John Series Page 46
