Fifteen Rabbits Read online

  Constantly they uttered their warnings. Their outcries, their signals sounded lingeringly through that section of the forest.

  Plana lay flat against the ground. Her bewilderment vanished; she became cautious, remained watchful; her charming little nose was constantly in motion, tirelessly examining the air for suspicious odors. Her whiskers stirred gently. Sometimes her ears were lifted, stood bolt upright, like soldiers at a command. Plana was listening. Then her ears would droop again, slowly and limply, like sails that are furled and lowered during a calm.

  It was an active kind of repose. There was no other kind for a rabbit.

  “I was right after all,” Plana thought, “I certainly was cunning. I didn’t know how cunning I was.” She was quite satisfied with herself.

  The watchers, the lookouts and spies, grew silent among the tall woods. For He had withdrawn and the air was pure again.

  Again there was some time to browse, to enjoy themselves on the broad, bright field beyond.

  With soft peepings the mice were already scampering merrily among the bushes. A couple of moles made their appearance, awkward and surly, but clever and obviously harmless when you spoke to them. One could always talk brilliantly with them. They had agreeable, pointed, somewhat ironic faces; and in their thick, dark purplish fur, that was so soft and from which, whenever they came up into the daylight, the particles of earth fell away so cleanly, they looked very distinguished.

  Grunz, the hedgehog, sidled clumsily through the leaves. He was a ludicrous fellow. He wasn’t inquisitive, he didn’t care to talk to anybody, and he always returned rather coarse but good-natured answers. Of all the creatures who lived in the forest he had the most delicate sense of hearing. It was of an amazing and amusing sensitivity. At the slightest whistle, peep or crackle, he would shrink together as though struck. He was really bowled over. Then he would remain sitting, and his quietly grinning features would take on an expression of profound wisdom.

  Pheasants strayed cautiously through the thicket, stopped, raising their little heads to listen, then wandered on.

  The rabbits romped out on the meadow again. They would sit quietly for a while at the edge of the forest, lay their ears flat along their backs, and stare up at the treetops, stare up at the sky that was slowly beginning to turn green and pale rose.

  All of them already had a worried expression, as if they were weighed down with heavy trouble or oppressed by some lingering woe, even while they exulted in the beauty of that morning hour free from danger. Their destiny as rabbits was written in the expressions they unconsciously assumed. In the care-laden attitudes into which they unintentionally fell, during that rare pause, was expressed all the century-old sorrow of the perpetually hunted.

  Murk came over to Plana. “You certainly made another fine exhibition of yourself,” he said.

  “I?” said Plana as if she were astonished.

  “You know well enough what I mean,” Murk continued, “I wouldn’t have given a blade of grass for your chances.”

  “Don’t put on such airs, Murk,” interrupted Ivner, coming up.

  Mamp and Trumer also hastened over.

  “What’s the matter here?” exclaimed Mamp, as one born to command.

  “Murk’s showing how clever he is again,” said Ivner. “He’s giving Plana some wise advice.”

  Mamp glanced expectantly and authoritatively from one to the other.

  Murk cocked his head. “The girl is so stupid,” he began in his clever way, “somebody has to help her.”

  Trumer had seated himself comfortably. “Why help her?” he said indifferently. “Everyone for himself.”

  Murk wriggled his ears a little. “I wasn’t thinking of running to her assistance, either,” he said, “I only wanted . . .”

  Ivner interrupted his speech, “. . . You wanted to make yourself out clever . . . you boaster!”

  Murk felt insulted. He crept up close to Ivner. “Say that again.”

  Ivner reared on his hind legs, his whiskers bristling. “Boaster!” he cried and immediately began to thump upon Murk’s head.

  At the first blow, he, too, immediately reared up on his hind legs and responded with blows on the ear.

  Then Mamp set upon both of them. He thumped so fiercely on Murk and Ivner that they rolled over in the grass and tiny flecks of their fur flew about.

  Then he turned to Trumer. “And you, what do you want?” he demanded.

  Trumer remained tranquilly seated where he was, alternately lifting his ears. “Everyone for himself,” he said reflectively, “I’m not mixing into this business.”

  “Oh, no?” said Mamp threateningly, “well, here’s something for you!” He let loose on Trumer’s head and ears a storm of blows under which any other rabbit would have become dizzy.

  But Trumer simply bowed his nose to the ground. “Is that so?” he muttered and added indifferently, “Yes, it does seem to concern me now.” Thereupon he stood up so quickly and unexpectedly, and struck Mamp so powerful a blow in the face that he was tumbled over backward and showed his white belly.

  Suddenly all the others ran over. Somewhat astonished, they saw how all four were indiscriminately trouncing one another.

  “What’s happened?” cried Rino. Klipps and Sitzer did not ask first but plunged forthwith into the fray, while the tide of battle rolled this way and that.

  Epi, the smallest rabbit, did not want to take part and ran straight for the bushes.

  The maidens gathered around Plana who was sitting quite perturbed.

  “What’s the matter?” inquired Nella.

  Lugea and Olva were more pressing. “You must know!” they cried. “Tell us right away.” They lifted their ears.

  “Oh,” said Plana shyly, “I’m afraid they’re beating one another because of me . . .”

  “Is that so?” Nella said sharply. “Is that so?”

  At that hostile sound Plana raised one ear, the other drooped, as though broken, along her neck. She kept silent.

  A very mild, an almost flattering voice whispered, “Why only because of you, Plana . . . ?” It was Lugea who had crept up softly.

  Plana felt uncomfortable and wanted to get away.

  “Stay here, dear,” Lugea pleaded, “stay and tell us all about it . . .”

  The boys had finished their fight and were sitting around on the grass. They were tired out and perplexed.

  “It happened . . .” Plana spoke hesitatingly, “it happened when Murk came and reproached me . . .”

  Lugea interrupted her gently. “Murk? Was it really Murk? What have you to do with Murk . . . ?”

  Plana protested her innocence. “Nothing . . . not a thing . . . only he wanted . . .”

  Lugea did not let her go on speaking. Very solicitously, suavely and gently, as if she understood everything, she said, “He only wanted . . . oh, yes . . . he only wanted . . . and he reproached you . . . Naturally, my dear . . . we know you . . . Silence! Not a word! We know the kind of cunning thing you are . . . and we know you’re lying . . . yes, my dear . . . you deserve to have someone beat you black and blue for a change . . .”

  Nella reared ever so slightly and without any preliminaries immediately began to rain a cruel storm of blows on Plana’s lowered head.

  The other maidens, too, hastened to mistreat Plana. Their pent-up anger burst forth.

  But Plana did not question for a moment whether to let herself be beaten or to resist. She avoided their raging forefeet and simply ran straight into the middle of the meadow. She ran like mad, so that her white cottontail bobbed up and down.

  It was a surprise.

  The others set out after her.

  Plana ran circle after circle.

  Mamp, Klipps, Sitzer joined in the, race. Ivner followed and Trumer. Rino led them while Trumer decided to bring up the rear.

  Plana ran in circles.

  The others followed her. Soon there were two, then three circles. And suddenly it had all become happy play again. All their ang
er evaporated during the race.

  From high in the air sounded the hunting cry of a hawk.

  In an instant every rabbit had popped into the thicket.

  Trumer was the first to reach the luxuriant green shelter. “Everyone for himself,” he thought and chose a bed.

  The topmost branches of the trees shone golden, touched by the first rays of the sun.

  Chapter Six

  TOWARD EVENING HOPS RETURNED. HE had had a long sleep and did not feel a trace of tiredness. He was in full possession of his strength again.

  His state of mind was one he had never experienced before. He felt a stranger to himself as he slowly retraced the way down which he had sped for his life. He recalled each of the terrible moments of his flight. Here he had plunged into a furrow in the earth. He climbed into it leisurely now and found some woodruff leaves. He nibbled a few of them, reflectively. At the top of the ascent he found some fragrant mint that tasted good. Then he stood for a while before a little spot that at once repelled and attracted him. Several small, frail shoots of hazel, blackberry and silver poplar had been snapped off, others seemed gradually to be recovering and about to raise themselves upright again. Many reddish hairs stuck to the bushes or lay in tufts on the ground, mixed with white cotton. An acrid scent still clung to them and to the earth while near the ground the leaves disclosed some dried red drops, almost pulverized by now.

  Hops snuffed. He felt a feverish excitement, yet knew, at the same time, that no danger was threatening.

  There the fox had fallen, had tumbled head over heels when the master’s thunder struck him.

  Hops did not think very deeply about it. It merely passed as a cloud of thought through his mind. The hazy recollection of his somersaulting pursuer, who hung so still, so limp and abject in the air when He lifted him—that hazy recollection and his enemy’s last resting place, before which Hops now sat, merged into one.

  Hops felt he had been rescued.

  A shudder quivered down his spine.

  Hurriedly he left the unpleasant spot.

  There were mysteries that made him shiver. He did not understand them at all. He could only wonder and tremble.

  When he had passed through the broad clearing and reached the edge of the woods, he stopped, stood up on his hind legs, held his ears erect, and peered, snuffed and listened all around. It was a gesture that looked funny; it struck one as comical in its wise old way, but it was really the most serious and discreet precaution.

  Then Hops sat erect, his ears flattened along his arched back, sat without any other movement than the vibrating of his whiskers, and remained that way, quite still, for a considerable time. His attitude, his round, smooth head, cocked a little to one side, as if inquiringly, at the sky, his big round eyes full of concern, all expressed Hops’ state of mind during one of the calmest hours of his existence. Sitting there, he looked like some timid, worried, humble little shopkeeper whose naïveté and limited experience have accustomed him to suffer much hardship, to endure much mistreatment—while it has never entered his head to defend himself. That miserable insignificant man, who sits on the doorsill of his house in the cool twilight, to draw a breath of air, yet feels the very act of breathing itself a presumption, was the sort of patient creature Hops resembled.

  For now he was filled with as much self-confidence as he could ever attain to. What were all the other experiences he had ever been through compared to his adventure of that morning?

  He had eluded the one great danger—the greatest that there is—twice, three times. First at the salt lick—He! Then the fox, whom he tried so long to escape. Then later, a second He. Hops had surmounted the one great danger three times!

  Hops experienced an attack of pride. But it was a gentle, deliciously soothing attack that quickly vanished with the twitching of his whiskers.

  He knew now that he could trust his swiftness, his ability to run, his cunning in escape.

  But at the same time he felt what perpetual watchfulness was enjoined on him.

  He belonged to the race of the defenseless, the hunted. But he, Hops, was a sharp lad among this race of the ever-hunted. He had undergone his first serious test that day and meant to become sharper and sharper.

  The delicate scent of sappy stems, bourgeoning leaves, of flowers moist with the evening dew, hovered about his nose. Hunger began to stir within him; he disappeared into the bushes. Through the strip of woodland he hurried to the meadow. There he would meet the others. He felt drawn to the meadow, drawn beyond the meadow to the thicket in which he had been born, in which ever since he had enjoyed life he had made his bed. That day for the first time he had been forced to sleep away from his home in a strange place. Now he was returning again. To the others. To his home. As one who had been saved. As one matured by a great adventure.

  He found them on the far side of the meadow near the thicket where they lived. Watching them interrupt their nibbled meal to chase one another playfully in circles, he considered them childish.

  Quietly thoughtful, he began to browse, selectly, pleasurably, reflectively.

  “There’s Hops,” cried Plana, surprised.

  Little Epi crept up, considered him in amazement and repeated shyly, “It really is Hops!”

  Plana and Epi wiggled their ears.

  Olva and Rino came up, Ivner and Lugea. Then Klipps and Sitzer.

  “Is it you, Hops?” they said to him. “Is it really you, or isn’t it?”

  Hops considered a stalk of grass, raised himself a little, bit off the fine tip.

  The others sat around him. Their ears wiggled.

  Hops kept silent.

  Then one after the other, Murk, Trumer and Nella came bounding along.

  “What’s happening?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  Then Nella exclaimed, “Oh . . . Hops! How nice!” She turned to Trumer, “Just think . . . Hops!”

  Trumer let one ear droop. “Awfully important!” he said. “A real event!”

  Hops turned to him, “Yes, it might well be called an event, my dear fellow.”

  Suddenly Mamp was standing in their midst. He was not surprised, he greeted no one, he didn’t wiggle his ears. He stood challengingly in front of Hops.

  “What event are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “When the fox was right beside me,” Hops answered, bounding up just as challengingly to Mamp.

  “The fox?” cried Klipps and Sitzer, Rino and Ivner, terrified.

  “Close beside you . . .” screamed the maidens.

  A shudder passed over all the rabbits. They crouched and lay flat against the ground.

  “Terrible!” sighed little Epi.

  Only Mamp and Hops remained standing, confronting one another.

  “And then?” demanded Mamp.

  “I escaped from him,” Hops continued grandly, “and he was . . .”

  “Be glad you did,” Trumer interrupted in an indifferent tone. “But what good does it do me, what good does it do any of us, that you escaped? Everyone for himself!”

  Hops wanted to speak.

  “We saw how stupidly you acted . . .” Murk put in gratuitously.

  Hops turned to him with a bound. “I stupid?”

  “Yes, you were,” Murk insisted, “this morning at the salt lick . . .”

  Mamp went him one better. “Don’t boast, my poor Hops!” he said. “You were sitting in the middle of the salt lick, right in the middle of it. Yes, you were . . . you didn’t even notice that He was sneaking . . .”

  Hops kept silent. He was offended.

  Meanwhile Murk ended with conclusive superiority, “No rabbit deserving the name could be as imprudent, as lightheaded as that.”

  Mamp agreed and that was a signal for all the others to agree in chorus.

  “Only Plana there,” Murk triumphed, “only Plana, acted more stupidly than you.”

  Hops was left alone.

  He sat disappointed and sulking. He had not been able to tell them t
he important news that the fox . . . He let both his ears droop. There was nothing in it for him. He would keep that information to himself.

  Suddenly Plana was sitting beside him.

  “Oh, Hops,” she began, and there was an overtone of coyness in her plaint, “Oh, Hops, the others think I’m stupid. Do you think so too?”

  “No,” Hops replied, feeling the sympathy that one misunderstood creature has for another. “No, I can’t believe that of you, Plana.”

  She crept closer. “Do you know . . . I was only absentminded . . . and then . . .”

  She told him the whole story.

  When she had concluded, they heard the thin voice of little Epi saying, “Plana was very clever . . . very clever . . . wasn’t she?”

  Hops listened intently when Plana spoke of Him.

  “No,” Hops said at last, “I didn’t see Him as near, as dreadfully near, as that, of course, but . . .” And he related all of his big adventure.

  Plana listened breathlessly, while Epi uttered sudden diminutive squeaks of admiration and astonishment.

  Hops was immensely satisfied with the profound impression he had made.

  From then on Plana and he felt closer to one another. And little Epi was their faithful companion.

  Chapter Seven

  THE SUMMER WORE ON, GREW heavy with the heat of the sun, brought days in whose splendor all the scent of the leaves, of the ripening berries and fruits seemed to shrivel up, and nights in which forest, meadow and field, revived beneath the gentle dew, drank back their own cool fragrance.

  The rabbits roamed far from the thicket, beyond the clearing, among the crops waiting for the harvest.

  There were acres of potatoes. The maize reared its wildly rustling leaves like a cultivated jungle, and the kernels on its cobs were bursting with sweet, milky sap. Its slender stems a golden yellow, the rye stood laden with splendid ears. The dark green heads of cabbage, bunched like roses, grew close to the earth.

  A time of glorious revelry and carefree joy.

  The rabbits did not always return to their accustomed beds but lay down in the midst of the teeming abundance, were completely hidden, ate and slept, romped about a little, playfully, ate some more, slept some more.