One evening, after I had seen the Children eat a hot stew, the smallest of them, Chak, climbed on my knee. He reached up and fiddled with Lutha’s silver bow on its cord around my neck, part of his nightly ritual. “Tell us about when you were young?” asked Chak. I had got into the habit of telling the little ones about the days when I was a child amongst the Travellers.
Kimi and the others came drifting to prop and sprawl against me and each other. The cooking fire had burnt down. Its light touched and flicked on chins, noses, foreheads. I thought of a story in the book I had brought all the way from the Library. And, since Lutha had the book, I told it from memory.
“Once upon a time there was an old donkey.”
“Hee-haw!” said Chak. I had told the Children about Hika and Bok whom Taur and I had left on the North Land. With charcoal I had drawn donkeys on the walls, so they knew what they looked like. I had taught them how to hee-haw, and several chorused after Chak now.
“One cold night, he peeped through a crack in the door and saw his master and mistress sitting in front of a fire. The old donkey shivered. He put his big furry ear to the crack.”
I stuck my hands up beside my head. Chak stuck up his. The others copied him. I bent my head, listened with one ear. Chak bent and listened, too.
“‘He’s too old to be worth keeping,’ he heard his mistress say. ‘Why don’t you knock him on the head? We’ll sell his skin and buy a young donkey. One that can carry a decent load. And won’t eat as much as that lazy old brute.’
“‘She’s talking of me!’ said the old donkey.
“‘He’s pulled the plough all his life,’ said his master. ‘He deserves a bit of comfort.’
“‘Yes!’ the old donkey brayed. ‘Hee-haw! Hee-haw!’
“‘I’ll teach you!’ His mistress rushed out and walloped him with her broom. The old donkey galloped into the dark. When the door closed, he crept and put his ear to the crack again.
“‘When I get up tomorrow morning,’ he heard, ‘I want to see his hide pegged out on the side of the house. Or there’ll be no breakfast for you!’
“The old donkey nudged up the latch of the gate with his nose, and tip-toed on to the road. Around a bend, he brayed,‘Hee-haw!’ and galloped.”
About me the children brayed, “Hee-haw! Hee-haw!”
“‘Who’s that?’ said a voice from the dark.
“‘Who wants to know?’ asked the donkey.
“‘Me.’ An old dog slouched out of the night.
“‘You’re not eating me!’ said the donkey.
“‘Who said I’m eating you?”’
“The old donkey told his story. ‘Curious!’ said the old dog. ‘All my life I’ve guarded my owners’ house, but tonight my mistress said I’m too old. “Knock him on the head,” she told her husband. “Skin him, stuff him with straw, and stand him on the gatepost. He’ll scare away more robbers than he does now.”’
“‘Come with me,’ said the donkey. ‘I’m looking for a place of my own.’
“‘I’d come, but my feet hurt.’
“‘Jump on my back. Friends must stick together.’ The donkey trotted down the road, the old dog on his back.
“At one dark spot, the donkey stopped and said, ‘A ghost!’
“‘I am not a ghost!’ An old cat stepped on to the road. ‘My farmer and his wife say I’m too old to catch rats. They’re going to knock me on the head and sell my skin to buy a kitten.’
“‘We’re looking for a place of our own,’ said the old donkey. ‘Jump up! You can ride on the dog’s back.’
“The cat jumped up and balanced. ‘Grrrrr!’ said the dog.
“‘No fighting,’ said the donkey. ‘Friends must stick together.’And he trotted through the dark.
“Something squawked. A rooster. Feathers draggled. Comb hanging lopsided.
“‘What’s the matter with you?’
“‘My farmer says I’m too old to crow properly. He told his wife to chop off my head, pluck my feathers for a pillow, and boil me for his breakfast. So I ran away.’
“‘Come with us. We’re looking for a place of our own,’ said the donkey. ‘You can perch on the cat.’
“‘Don’t go sticking your spurs into me!’
“‘No fighting,’ said the donkey. ‘Friends must stick together.’ And he trotted down the road.
“Hours passed. ‘I’m tired.’ The donkey slowed.
“‘I see a light,” said the rooster. ‘Keep walking!’ The donkey plodded on. “There’s a house!”
“The tired donkey limped up to the house, put his front feet on the sill, and pressed his face against the window. His nose flattened against the glass, his big lips spread out wide. One above the other, the dog, the cat, and the rooster pressed their faces against the window.
“Inside a band of robbers sang around a table. A little girl played a fiddle. When the little girl got tired, the robber captain pulled out a big knife and made her play some more.
“After another song, the little girl covered the table with food and wine.
“The old donkey’s feet hurt. It didn’t seem fair that robbers had food, wine, and warmth as well as fiddle music. He flattened his lips against the window and brayed, ‘Hee-haw!’
“The robbers saw a monster with four flattened faces braying, howling, yowling, and crowing at them. They ran over the top of the little girl and jammed in the doorway. Bursting out, they ran through the forest, bumping into trees, tripping over logs, shrieking. None thought of saving the little girl.
“The four friends feasted. What they couldn’t eat, they put in a cupboard for next morning.
“‘There’s enough food here for years,’ said the donkey. He lay by the door. The dog sprawled in a chair. The cat blew out the candle, and curled up by the fire. The rooster perched on the table, lifted one foot, and put his head under a wing.
“‘Goodnight, friends!’ said the donkey. “I wish one of us could play the fiddle.’
“The robbers crept back, found the little girl, and pinched her for running away. The captain made her go in first. She opened the door and tiptoed past the donkey, past the dog, under the rooster. The fire had burnt down, but the little girl thought she might light a candle from the embers. The cat opened one eye. The little girl thought it was a spark and blew on it.
“‘Why are you taking so long?’ The robber captain grabbed the candle and stuck it into the cat’s eye.
“‘Yee-owl!’ it spat and scratched the robber captain. He fell back into the chair. The squashed dog growled and bit his behind. The robber captain screamed and stumbled over the donkey who brayed and kicked him. The rooster crowed, flew down, and pecked his nose.
“‘Run!’ shouted the robber captain. ‘There’s a witch who scratched my face. A murderer who stabbed me. A giant who clubbed me. And a judge sitting on the roof who bit my nose and screamed, ‘Hang the thief!’
“When the sun came up, the robbers were still running. They were never seen again.
“Back in the house, the little girl cried. To cheer her up, the friends stood on each other’s backs and made themselves into the four-headed monster. The little girl laughed, and they climbed down and said she could stay with them. In the morning they breakfasted on what they hadn’t eaten the night before. The little girl showed them more cupboards of food, and a cave full of treasure behind the house.
“‘The robbers were going to knock me on the head and cut my throat. The captain said they would skin me, and stuff me, and hang me outside the cave to scare away burglars.’
“‘Stay with us and play the fiddle!’ said the donkey. ‘There’s enough here for us to live on for ever. A place of our own!’
“Each night they had music. The donkey brayed, the dog barked, the cat miaowed, the rooster crowed, and the little girl played the fiddle. They ate and drank well, and they all lived happily ever after.”
“Happily ever after,” Chak mumbled, half-asleep. Kimi, the little girl, stirred and said, “Ever after.” Even the bigger children had joined the circle and listened to the story. Only two sat apart, the girl and the boy, Puli and Tama, still hunched in despair. Immersed in silence and misery. Unaware of the world about them. Maka, the older girl who had carried the baby for Lutha, wrapped them in deerskins, as I laid Chak and Kimi on a bunk.
“Goodnight,” I said. Somewhere in the dark, a voice said, “Hee-haw!” Another said sleepily, “Woof-woof!” and they were silent. As I closed the door I thought I heard, “Yee-owl!” and a mumbled, “Cock-a-doodle doo!”