Nuts to You

by Lynne Rae Perkins

  He found a drop of sap and dabbed it under his acorn beret to keep it in place. He checked to see that the sprig of goldenrod was still affixed to the hat at a jaunty angle. Then he stepped off the branch, looking to the spot where he would land. Step and land, step and land. That’s all travel was. Throw in some running and a change of scenery. No big deal, right?

  And so, off he went.

  Off they went together.

  “LET us eat a nut,” said Chebby, “and remember our friend.”

  The community of squirrels stood gathered around the feather that fell when the hawk snatched Jed.

  Jed’s family, still in shock, huddled in a silent, sorrowful knot.

  Sherette and Zeck sang a soft, beautiful song about seasons and the cycle of life and how everyone and everything is part of it. They skipped over the verse about hawks. No one minded. No one wanted to hear lofty words about hawks today. Jip opened his mouth to tell how he had warned Jed, but Jed did not listen. Before he could speak, Dotty elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Shhh!” she whispered fiercely. “Now is not the time.”

  Jutta spoke of how they would all miss Jed’s common sense and his great kindness. It was a brief but heartfelt ceremony.

  The squirrels dispersed, leaving the feather there as a remembrance of Jed. As well as a reminder of hawks.

  Chebby and Jutta, the elders, were the last to leave the circle. Jed had been one of their favorites among the younger set, as well as their son’s best friend.

  “Where was Chai?” asked Chebby. “And where was TsTs?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jutta. “It’s very strange that they didn’t come. Very strange.”

  SOMETIME later, three (or maybe four) realms away, Jed opened his eyes. He blinked in the dimness and thought, Where am I? Then, remembering, he thought, Oh. Right. And then, But really: Where am I? He made his way out from under the pile of leaves and looked around. It was a strange place, and he tried to sort out what was strange about it from what wasn’t.

  The leaves had a different aroma and a rounder shape than the kind he knew, but they were still leaves. The trees wore a rougher bark, and their branches grew from the trunks in a different arrangement, but they were still trees, right? The soil felt grainy under his paws, but it was soil, and the same sun shone in the sky.

  He was wondering what kind of nuts the trees might have, or if they even had nuts, when a pair of squirrels scurried by. Each one dragged a rounded item covered in petals, like flower petals, only brown and woody. The objects were almost as big as the squirrels themselves, who were smallish. Their fur had a reddish tint.

  Jed called out and they halted in their tracks. They turned to look at him, curious. One of them set down his woody orb and spoke. At first, Jed thought he was speaking in another language. But as he listened, he realized it was just a strong accent. There were some words he didn’t know—slang words, maybe. He spoke back, and the two squirrels laughed. Not in a mean way.

  “Wair y’fromm, then?” asked the larger one. “Oim Chuck, roight?”

  “Oim Tsam,” said the other. “‘En’ oo er yu?”

  “What?” said Jed. “Oh. Jed. Call me Jed.” Then he tried, “Oim Jed,” and all three of them laughed. Tsam and Chuck said as ’ow they were jest aboot t’ chaow daown, an’ woon’t he keer t’ come along? Jed said that he would, and they led him to a picnic area where several squirrels were already eating. They sat around a careless heap of woody orbs. Jed watched how they yanked the petals off and nibbled the seeds that were hidden beneath. Chuck nodded his head toward the pile and said, “G’wan, Jed, troy one then?”

  Tentatively, Jed pulled one of the orbs closer. He grabbed a petal with his teeth and yanked it away. He took a nibble of a small dry seed. It was not bad. Kind of weird at first, but Jed’s mother had taught him the rule of three bites, and by the third bite it tasted pretty good.

  “What d’ye call this dish, then?” he asked.

  “We calls it ‘pine cones,’” said Judd.

  “So, spit it out, then!” said Chuck.

  “Spit it out?” asked Jed. Who had already swallowed it.

  “Yer story,” said Chuck. “Tell us where yer fromm. Yer not from ’ere, we know ’at, n’all.”

  “Oh,” said Jed. “Right. I mean, roight. Well . . .”

  He told them his story, from the squirrel who cried “Wolf” right down to bouncing off the unfortunate dog. They listened, spellbound. Mostly. Jed had the feeling that some of the squirrels thought he was making it all up.

  “I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me,” he said. “I wouldn’t believe it myself, except that’s the way it happened.” He said this without trying to imitate the reddish accent.

  There was a silence, one of those pauses where no one knows what to say next. Then one of the squirrels let out a shrill “Woof!” It was a joke, and off they all went, laughing and chattering, except for Chuck.

  “Buncha silly twits,” said Chuck. “Every mess has ’em. It seems as we got more’n arr shair. Don’t moind ’em, though. They means well enough. They just have to get used t’you. Make yourself at home. You’ll be roight b’fore y’know it.”

  Chuck knew of a good hole, midway up a hornbeam tree, where Jed could make a nest. He started right in, gathering up twigs and leaves and feathers, chattering all the while about this and that. Jed gathered, too, though he thought Chuck might be overdoing it.

  “It doesn’t have to be a really good nest,” he said. “I won’t be staying for long.”

  Chuck looked at him, amused.

  “Werrel y’ be goin’ then?” he asked. “Izzat hawk comin’ by to carry you back ’ome? Lemme know whenneez comin’, soze I kin hide, ’n’at.”

  He said this in a jolly way and busied himself with some wisps of duck down, humming as he worked. But his jolly words put a new thought into Jed’s mind. Up until now it had been all, Wow, I’m alive and Where am I? and Who are you? But here it was, like a cold gray cloud: He wasn’t going home. Maybe ever. How could he? He had no idea where it was.

  He carried a wad of milkweed fluff up into the den and pulled it apart, dropping the silky fibers onto the heap. He took a long time to do it because his face kept going into weird shapes and puddles kept forming in his eyes.

  When he went outside again, Chuck wasn’t there, but he had left a big pile of bedding and a smaller pile of snacks at the base of the tree. As Jed popped a seed into his mouth, two of the reddish squirrels scooted by. One of them shouted, “Arz chebba hofel den, Jed!” Or something like that. Jed couldn’t even make it out. But it sounded friendly, maybe it was even a joke, so he flashed a big fake grin. He chuckled.

  He chuckled and grinned a lot that day. Sometimes he got the jokes; sometimes he didn’t. Chuck showed him where things were, told him who was who and what was what. Jed tried to keep busy, very busy. Sometimes he raced to the top of a tree and back down several times in a row, just to wear out the feelings he kept having.

  When daylight dwindled and darkness sifted down, he was so tired he could barely stand up. He perched on the limb outside his new den, while scraps of chatter filled the air around him, blooming and fading like the lights from fireflies.

  Finally, all was still. Jed crawled into his new nest and curled up. He closed his eyes. He could not sleep, though. Not right away. His mind filled with thoughts of home: the aroma of oak, the taste of nuts, and most of all, the voices and faces of his friends, his family, his neighbors. Especially his pals, Chai and TsTs. But even Jip. Would he never see them again? It seemed crazy. Was it true?

  He scolded himself: It may be that this is my home now. And it is a good enough place. Better than the belly of a hawk. He tried to ignore the feather of longing that tickled his heart. But it kept tickling. Because he hadn’t quite made up his mind to stay here.

  Why should I? he thought. It’s not my home.

  Maybe I’ll stay and maybe I won’t, he thought. Maybe I’ll just get up in the morning and�
�and—. . . and I’ll just . . . I’ll . . .

  He couldn’t think what it was that he would do. He felt sure he would do something, though. First thing. Comforted by that idea, he drifted off. He let go of the day and all that had happened. His body relaxed and his mind went dark, awaiting the story-music of dreams. He slept.

  THE friends Jed missed so much had set off many hours ago. They were swift runners. And while the buzzpaths dipped and rose, the direction they traveled was straight and true. Over the years, the branches of nearby trees had grown close to the buzzpaths. They interlaced and intertwined. In some places, they rested right on top of one another. When this happened, Chai and TsTs had to take a few steps off a path until it was clear again. No problem. It was a good thing, actually. It kept things interesting. Kept them alert.

  On they ran, stepping off the paths when they had to, but always moving forward. Now and again, whoever had been behind for a while would spring around and get in front. This looked like a game, and it was, but it was also a way of taking turns being the squirrel who would bear the brunt of the wind. That takes more energy, and it’s only fair to take turns. It’s why geese fly in Vs. It’s why bicycle riders ride in lines. It’s called “drafting.”

  While they were running and stepping off and drafting, Chai had the idea that he would go around for his turn in front, but that he would go around in a wider circle so that TsTs wouldn’t see him. Then she would be totally surprised when he appeared on the path in front of her.

  And she was. The look on her face made Chai bust out laughing.

  TsTs laughed, too. And then she said to herself, Two squirrels can play that game.

  She waited a little while. Just followed behind. Bided her time. Made comments about the scenery. Watched for the right branch. When she saw it, she scampered, not to one side or the other, but straight up. She smiled as she passed directly over Chai. She stifled a snort of laughter as she saw him glance both ways to see if she was coming around. With as much stealth and speed as she could muster, she bolted far forward and scrambled back down. She sat on a branch just over the path and worked to slow her breathing to its normal rate. She pretended to be examining her paw.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said when Chai appeared. “Did you stop for a nap or what?”

  Chai pulled up short at the sound of her voice. He looked at her, his brow furrowed, his mouth open. But only for a second.

  “Okay, then,” he said.

  And in a blur of fur, he shot past her. She grinned and flew off after him. It was a race now. Squirrel nature took over. Above and below, right and left, on the path, then off. They laughed with joy as they sailed from one slim, shapely branch to a perfect bounce landing onto the tip of another really great branch. Which often led to another really great branch. Which led (of course) to another really, really great branch. Sometimes Chai was ahead, sometimes TsTs. It really didn’t matter, except that it did. It mattered just enough for both of them to run as fast as they could and as far as they could. Neither one noticed that at some point, and it was pretty early on, they stepped off the buzzpaths completely and didn’t step back on. They ran in some new direction. A bunch of new directions. They weren’t thinking about direction at all. They were free-running.

  They ran and ran, until an especially demanding leap took the breath right out of them. They slowed, huffing and puffing, to a stop.

  “Best . . . race . . . ever,” said TsTs, gasping for air. “I think you won, though.”

  “No, you won,” said Chai, leaning against a mighty trunk. “But only because I let you.”

  “Like fun,” said TsTs. “My shin splints are the only reason you could even keep up.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Chai. “If that makes you feel better.”

  At that moment, a nut fell from above, right into his paws. They looked at each other and laughed.

  “Lunch!” said TsTs.

  Chai squinted up at the sun. “It might be closer to dinner,” he said.

  He turned around to try to figure out where they were. And then he realized where they weren’t.

  “TsTs,” he began tentatively. But TsTs had realized it, too.

  “What kind of fools are we?” she said. “What kind of friends?”

  They climbed to the treetop to see what they could see. What they saw was more treetops. Treetops that glowed green and gold and persimmon in the late afternoon sunlight. They rippled in every direction, a sunlit bumpy surface. Beautiful, but confusing, because everything looked the same.

  “Stupid, stupid, bone-crunching stupid,” said Chai.

  “Will you stop it?” said TsTs. “Okay, we were stupid, but what do we do now?”

  “Right,” said Chai. “Okay. Oh, waitwaitwait—look! Look over there!”

  He pointed, and TsTs looked. In the distance, she could barely make out the top of the silver egg. The great beak. The line of frozen spiderwebs.

  They were tinier than usual, and arranged differently, and it took a minute or two for Chai and TsTs to figure out that this was because they had traveled sideways and backward and slantwise, and they had ended up in who-knows-where.

  “Nuts,” said TsTs. “I can’t believe we ran that far. It didn’t seem like we were racing for that long.”

  “I can’t believe we have to run back,” said Chai.

  “What were we thinking?” said TsTs.

  “Yeah,” said Chai. “Let’s go, then.”

  Doggedly, they made their way. Over and over, they had to climb up high and check their bearings. When they wearily stepped back onto a buzzpath, dusk was falling. It was all they could do to set one paw in front of another. Still, they plodded on. The cooling darkness seemed to thicken around them, slowing them down. Their tired muscles told them it was time to stop. Find a nest. Curl up. Go to sleep. But they went on. There were no games now, no chatter. Just moving and moving and, just barely, still moving. And when they had almost forgotten what they were looking for, there it was. The third (they hoped) frozen spiderweb. Big. Stiff. Cold. You would not want to meet the spider who made that web.

  TsTs and Chai scrambled swiftly down the rigid framework. Nearing the bottom, they paused on one of the web’s thick crosswise strands. They looked into the spicy-smelling darkness around them and listened to sounds that might be perfectly normal, but then again, they might not. TsTs shivered. Who knew what was out there?

  “Let’s just build it here,” she said.

  “Where?” asked Chai.

  “Here. In the web. Look—there’s a crotch.” She pointed to a corner made by several strands coming together. Chai looked at it, then down toward the ground.

  “Okay,” he said. “I guess we’re high up enough.”

  They set to work, willing themselves to make trip after trip to the bottom and back, foraging in the brush for just enough dried grasses, leaves, bits of bark, and twigs to make a drey, a leaf nest. It was the sloppiest drey ever. But it would have to do. Exhausted, they crawled inside.

  As TsTs lay down under her fluff of tail, the miles they had traveled reeled through her mind. It was possible, she realized, for Jed to have traveled just as many. In any direction. Any direction at all.

  But she was too tired to think about that. She would think about it tomorrow.

  Chai had thought about it a long time ago. He had thought about it first thing. But TsTs’s enthusiasm was contagious. He had let himself grow hopeful. Now, though, it was time to be realistic. To face the facts. In the morning, he would persuade TsTs to turn back. A shame, but there it was.

  In truth, it would be more of a shame than he realized. Because if it had occurred to Chai to shout just then, into the quiet night, if he had found the energy to do it, Jed would have heard him. Faintly, but he would have heard. That’s how close they all were. But no one shouted, so no one heard, and no one knew.

  JED dreamed that he could not find the nuts. He was sure he knew right where they were. He could smell the nutty goodness wafting up through th
e soil. But time after time, he dug and dug and dug, only to find nothing.

  And he dreamed that he was scampering along a buzzpath and suddenly realized he had no tail to give him balance. His tail was gone. He fell through the air and could not right himself.

  And then there were dreams of being snatched up by the hawk. The tightness of the hawk’s grip, Jed’s legs and tail dangling, the dizzying ascent, the rushing air. These dreams had a scary accuracy now that he actually knew what this was like.

  Jed’s muscles twitched as he dreamed of digging, scampering, falling, dangling. He would jump up with a start, just before hitting the ground. His eyes open, his heart and mind racing. He crouched, trembled, peered into the dark, sniffed, then remembered what had happened and where he was.

  He made himself curl up once more. He tried to think happy thoughts as he fell asleep. But tonight, the thoughts that had always made him happy before only made him feel sad and alone.

  SQUIRRELS slumbered in warm nests of dried grasses. But their piece of the world was tilting toward winter, and the air outside turned icy. Filmy dew stiffened into frost around each leaf and twig. When the sun rose, the frozen crystals sparkled like a million diamonds. But only for a moment. Sunlight melted the diamonds into water, and the frosty air lost its bite. The autumn trees glowed golden.

  Around the grove, creatures of the night grew drowsy, blinked, then closed their eyes. The creatures of the day woke up, felt a little hungry, called out to one another.

  As Jed awoke, his dreams evaporated. They left behind a sticky feeling, but he willed it away. He counted his blessings on his fingers:

  Not eaten by the hawk.

  Landed in a foreign but friendly country.

  There is food.

  He had two fingers left, but that was enough, he figured, for starters.

  There was a chattering close by, and Jed listened, getting his ears used to the reddish accent again before jumping into the day. He soon realized that they were talking about him.