A Taste for Rabbit Page 14
Flying and shining, Gerard thought. Hmmm. I can do better. But I do like the sound of “quickly flies the newborn day.” Archaic yet … appealing. For a moment he sat gazing into the woods.
He became aware of an odd scent. Then he heard footsteps crunching on the forest floor behind him. Gerard stood and turned as a rabbit, dressed in a gray uniform, walked toward him. The rabbit was thin and hatless, and he had a knife tucked into his belt. There was that odd bald circle at the top of his head and long fur at the side of his face. There are cures for mange, Gerard thought fleetingly. Why not avail yourself of them?
The strange smell was rabbit-like, he thought, but with a difference. This scent held no attraction, no mouthwatering promise. It was an identifier, the way one would recognize the presence of a lilac or a rotten egg — or raccoon or rat, for that matter: duly noted, but not tempted to ingest. How could this be? If rabbits didn’t smell like food, why would they be of any interest to the foxes? Perhaps Isaac knew that once rabbit meat was sautéed with onions and oil and a white wine sauce no one would notice.
Gerard found he was breathing with difficulty. Yet at the same time it surprised him that the creature who was negotiating with a weasel should be so unprepossessing. Didn’t the rabbits have a more formidable representative? Someone who might intimidate by his sheer size or demeanor? (But could a rabbit of any size intimidate?) Gerard hastily put the pencil and paper back into his pocket. He’s going to speak next, Gerard thought. What will that be like?
The rabbit stopped some distance away and looked at Gerard.
“You know who I am?” it said in a high, almost female voice.
Did they all talk this way, like preadolescents? Why not! Anything was possible.
“I assume you are the rabbit named Dan,” Gerard replied, after clearing his throat. He reached into another jacket pocket and pulled out a small cigarette case. Stage business. Something to do while he tried to remember his lines. He was pleased to see his paws did not shake. Gerard lit the cigarette and the comforting aroma of sassafras filled the clearing.
“Yes. I am Dan, and you are …”
“Gerard,” he said, consciously making his voice one or two levels deeper than normal. How embarrassing to have such a voice, he thought. But how perfect on the stage in a female role! “You do not smell like prey.”
“And I do not detect a predator scent,” Dan said with obvious surprise.
So mutual self-awareness has neutralized the prey-predator bond, Gerard thought. I’ve never thought about it, but of course it’s true. Among all the sentient creatures I know, there are none who interest me as food, and vice versa, although surely this was not the case for my ancient ancestors. Interesting. Dan didn’t need to douse himself with skunk the night he visited Isaac after all. But how could he have known that? He’d never spoken to a fox.
Dan seemed to be thinking the same thing. “That will make this easier,” he murmured. “Follow me.” He walked farther into the forest and in a short while stopped. Gerard looked up and saw the wall of the fortress looming in the distance. Dan turned onto a narrow path for a few moments. He appeared to be looking for something. “Ah,” he said. “Here it is.”
He had stopped in front of the opening of a small cave, almost hidden by the thick foliage and underbrush that grew around it. Dan gestured to Gerard, and the two walked inside the shallow entry. The rabbit brushed away the sand and forest debris from the floor and revealed a roughly hewn round stone, almost flush with the surface. He reached for a short, sturdy oak branch with a chiseled point that rested against the side of the cave and, with some effort, pried up the stone.
Gerard stubbed out his cigarette and peered into the dark space beneath. “I see some steps. Is this the tunnel Isaac mentioned?”
“Yes. It begins on the other side of the fortress wall. No one knows about it except … a few of us. Here is where the product will be delivered.”
“And I assume this is where you want to receive payment?”
“Correct. I assume you would prefer to transport … inanimate … product?”
The rabbit’s face was blandly unreadable.
“Inanimate product!” Gerard exclaimed. “What a remarkable euphemism!”
Dan looked at him coldly. “You are taking money to transport freshly killed rabbits to serve as food for a limited number of wealthy foxes, in clear violation of the law; rabbits who can talk, think, read, work — who are in many respects not that different from you,” he said. “You are hardly in a position to feel superior to me. What euphemism do you employ to ease your conscience?”
Touché, Gerard thought. Still, I’m not knowingly serving up my own kind into the ovens and sauté pans of enemy gourmands. I am merely a facilitator. But all he said was, “Let’s not quibble about morality. You have your reasons, I have mine. Don’t you agree?”
Dan did not answer and turned away. “I will meet you here at midnight on the appointed evening. If you bring a lantern you should have no trouble finding the cave. I’ve drawn a map, just in case.” He handed Gerard a folded piece of paper. “We will deliver no more than two or three … at a time.”
“‘We’?”
“My … assistant, a rabbit named Wally. You will probably need help in transporting the product back to Foxboro. Find someone you can trust and pay him well.”
Martin, Gerard thought, recalling the greasy apron and the ugly plaid cap. He’d be perfect.
“And if you’re not here?”
“I’ll be here. We’ll be picking up the gold you are going to be bringing, remember?”
“Ah. The gold, of course.”
“Any questions?”
“Yes. What weapons are you going to buy with the gold, and from whom?”
Dan laughed. “Do you really think I’m going to answer that?” He pulled a candle from his pocket, lit it with a match, and climbed down into the dark tunnel, taking the oak staff with him, and closing the lid from the inside.
Gerard retraced his steps and returned to the Inn. It wasn’t until much later that he thought about food, but found, once he sat down to eat, that he had no appetite. Instead he spent the evening drinking red wine in the lobby, smoking cigarettes, and staring into the fire.
* * *
A few nights later, Martin sat beside him in the Inn the Forest dining room, studying the map, his bushy brows furrowed in concentration,
“It don’t look too far from here,” he said, following the route with a stubby, unmanicured paw.
“It isn’t,” Gerard said. Martin had ordered beer and was finishing his second, gulping from the bottle and wiping his mouth on a ragged sleeve.
Gerard looked away. He’d paid Martin well and had promised him more. The weasel, seeing a financial advantage, had turned over the operation of his store to a distant relative and promised to devote himself entirely to Gerard’s service. He seemed trustworthy enough, in that he obviously needed money, and when Gerard had mentioned that there was a connection to Isaac — without being too specific — Martin gasped.
“Isaac?” he breathed. “The same Isaac who runs Foxboro?”
“Yes. I see you’ve heard of him.”
“Ain’t everyone?”
“So you understand what can happen to you if you talk about this.”
Martin nodded. “It ain’t necessary to spell it out none.” He counted the gold coins Gerard had dropped into his paw. “I ain’t never saying nothing to nobody.”
“Good. Then we have a deal.”
“Deal.” They shook on it. Gerard wiped his paw on his trousers.
Gerard had persuaded Becky to lend him a duplicate key to the front door, explaining he would be out late and didn’t want to disturb her.
“How thoughtful,” Becky had exclaimed, without questioning where he would be going. “Of course you may have a key. You have an honest face, Mr. Gerard. I know I can trust you.”
Interesting how everyone says that, Gerard thought. He bowed. “And so you can, my
dear Miss Becky,” he said, taking the key from her outstretched paw. “And so you can.”
Martin had arrived at the Inn shortly before dinner with a tattered suitcase and a small wheelbarrow but, as previously agreed, had provided no explanation to the innkeepers. Becky, sensing his unwillingness to discuss it, had simply offered storage space for the wheelbarrow inside a toolshed at the back of the main building.
Much later, when the fire in the hearth had burned to cinders, Gerard and Martin left the Inn. The front door opened silently on well-oiled hinges; the air was dry and mild. Gerard met Martin emerging from the shed with the wheelbarrow and dropped the sack with the gold coins into it. He walked ahead, swinging the lantern.
When they reached the entry to the cave, Gerard checked his dented, tarnished pocket watch under the lantern light. “We’re a few minutes early,” he said. Martin rested the wheelbarrow on the ground and probed the cave entry with the lantern. Gerard lit a cigarette and looked at the starry sky. Let’s get this over with.
At the sound of stone grating on stone, he stubbed out the cigarette and sighed with relief. Martin stood near him with the lantern, and they watched as the circular stone on the floor of the cave slowly moved. Gerard could see a dim light flickering against the walls of the tunnel, then Dan’s face and his arm, holding a small lantern. In a moment the rabbit was standing before them, pulling a sack behind him. Gerard heard heavy breathing and cursing.
“Damn it!” a growly voice said. “Why are they so damn heavy?”
“Push!” Dan squeaked.
“What in the gods’ names do you think I’m doing?” the deep voice replied. Dan heaved the large blue burlap sack tied with a rough cord onto the floor and reached a paw into the tunnel.
“Here. Can you see the steps?”
“I see them,” the voice replied. “And I don’t need your help.”
Another rabbit, this one larger, with what appeared to be prematurely white fur and cold blue eyes, lifted himself with difficulty out of the tunnel. He wore a gray military uniform, snug around the middle, that gave the impression he had been stuffed into it, like a sausage. Wally, the assistant.
“Gods!” Martin gasped. “It’s true.” He backed up against the cave wall and slid to the ground, breathing rapidly through his mouth.
The large rabbit turned to Dan. “You were right,” he said “They can talk! And they don’t have the predator stink.”
“Yes, yes,” Dan said impatiently. “Now can we get on with this, Wally?”
Wally thrust his face into Dan’s, and Dan backed up. “You have a problem with something, little baby-voice? Just remember — this may have been your idea, but without my muscle to set it in motion you would still be a small-time thief, stealing wood from the community lumberyard and cheating widows out of their life savings.”
Dan moved aside. “You don’t frighten me. I can always find someone to take your place — and your gold.”
“Just try it.” Wally raised a huge paw over his head and moved closer to Dan.
“Please, please!” Gerard said, lifting the sack out of the wheelbarrow. “We’re wasting time. Here.” He offered it to Dan, who grabbed it and hefted it appreciatively.
“We need to count this,” he said, and handed it to Wally, who sat down with the sack. He moved the lantern close and started to count the gold coins, stacking them in neat piles before him. At one point he looked up. “There’s dinner,” he said to Gerard, pointing to the blue sack on the cave floor. “Enjoy.”
Dan caught Gerard’s eye, then looked away.
Gerard gestured to Martin, who leaped to his feet and heaved the burlap sack into the wheelbarrow. “Maybe there ain’t nothing in it,” he whispered to Gerard. “Maybe we should check to see what’s inside.”
“You do it.”
Martin undid the cord and opened the sack, then lifted the lantern and peered into it. He turned to Gerard and nodded. “Two adults, one small one. No blood. Nice clothes,” he added as he retied the heavy cord.
Still clothed? What kind of barbarians were these creatures?
“It’s all here,” Wally interrupted, getting up from the floor and replacing the coins in the sack. “Let’s go.”
Dan walked over to Gerard. “In the future, we don’t have to have these discussions. A simple exchange of … product … will be all that’s required. That and counting the gold, of course,” he added.
“Of course.”
“Stop talking to them,” Wally said. “They’re weasels.”
Wally took the sack of gold and stepped down into the tunnel. Dan followed with the lantern. Gerard leaned down, touched his arm briefly, and had the small satisfaction of seeing Dan jump. “Next time,” he said softly, “no clothes.”
“Sensitive, are we?” Dan said with a short laugh.
“No clothes,” Gerard repeated firmly.
“We’ll see.”
Gerard turned away. When he turned back, Dan and Wally had disappeared into the tunnel and the stone was being scraped back into place.
“Here.” Gerard reached into his pocket and dropped two more coins into Martin’s outstretched paw. “Do your job.”
“Right.” Martin started slowly down the path with the wheelbarrow and its contents. Gerard followed, holding the lantern. “One thing I don’t understand,” Martin said, turning back to him. “I seen those rabbits, but I don’t got no appetite for them. That ain’t never happened to me before. Of course, I ain’t never seen no rabbit talkin’ and not wearin’ no clothes before, neither. Maybe that’s it?”
Gerard did not reply.
They parted company at the front door of the Inn. Martin was to continue on the road through the night and meet one of the guards at the gate to Isaac’s mansion. The guard would take the contents of the wheelbarrow to Isaac; Martin would go home and sleep and later in the week would return to the Inn with the wheelbarrow.
Gerard would spend a few days at the Inn and at some point return to Foxboro, pick up the gold from Isaac — no one trusted Martin with that task — and meet Martin at the Inn for the next exchange.
“Don’t waste any time,” Gerard said, as he handed Martin the lantern. “I’m going to be seeing Isaac. He’ll know if you followed instructions.”
“I don’t never waste no time,” Martin said cheerfully. “Not when there’s gold in my pocket and more to come.” He disappeared down the path.
Gerard lit another cigarette and stood silently at the entry to the Inn. He’d already been paid handsomely and could see a future of luxury and freedom: a new, larger living space, a gold watch and fob, a ring he’d seen in a store window and admired wistfully. Birthday presents for his nephews. His sad and disappointing departure from the theater company could be put behind him forever, and while his fellow actors scraped out a living performing the classics for the unappreciative masses, Gerard would be living well, never having to worry about his next meal, or cigarettes, or nice clothes.
Clothes.
They were wearing clothes.
Harry tossed and turned on the upper bunk bed for hours. Elton’s regular snoring had become an irritant instead of a soporific, and Harry was restless. I’m wasting time, he thought. Why not leave now? I could be at the fortress by the end of the day tomorrow. I’ll find Gerard, confront him with what I know, and get the answers I need. If I take Elton’s lantern, traveling in the dark will be easier. He probably has another one collapsed inside his sample case.
Harry jumped down and lit one of the stubby, fat candles. He packed his things in the flickering darkness, keeping the map and the compass close to the top. Then he picked up the lantern and unfolded Isaac’s walking stick, blew out the candle, and left the cabin, closing the door quietly behind him.
On the porch, Harry struck a match and lit the lantern. The night was calm and not very cold; the snow had stopped. He started walking along the lake and soon found the main road, where he turned south.
It felt good to be alone again. The time wi
th Elton had been diverting: throwing moochy-poochy stones, playing — and winning — badger checkers, but now Harry was focused on his mission. He trotted along the path, the lantern swinging, the walking stick thumping. The floor of the forest on either side of him, periodically illuminated by moonlight, looked strangely magical; the firs were dark against the starry sky. Harry doused the lantern.
He had been on the road for some time when he smelled rabbit in the distance, although there was something odd about the scent. What was it? He broke into a run and in a short while heard something rolling and bumping on the hard-packed snow ahead of him, accompanied by a voice, singing. The strange scent became stronger.
Harry stepped off the road into the trees.
Coming around a bend in the road was a weasel, pushing a heavy wheelbarrow with a lantern dangling from one of its arms. He drank regularly from a bottle he kept in his jacket.
“Gold in my pocket and more to come,” he sang in a boozy baritone and thumped on the handle. “Gold in my pocket” — he held a long high note — “and more” — thump thump — “much more” — thumpity thump thump thump “to come!” He stopped to chug-a-lug.
The weasel dropped the wheelbarrow and sat down heavily alongside it. In the lantern light Harry could see a worn, plaid cap and a tattered jacket. The creature’s face was hidden by the cap’s visor, but when he tilted the bottle to gulp the contents, Harry saw a flash of bushy eyebrows and a scar on his chin.
What is a weasel doing alone at night, pushing a wheelbarrow and singing about gold in his pocket?
Harry stepped onto the path.
The weasel started. “Oops,” he said, hastily stuffing the bottle into a deep pocket and leaping unsteadily to his feet. “Who’s that?” He squinted into the dark. “You ain’t never plannin’ to rob me none, I hope. I ain’t got nothin’ on me but what’s in this ’barrow, and that ain’t for takin’.” Then he seemed to remember his song. “Those words didn’t never mean nothin’,” he added hastily. “I ain’t got no gold. Honest. No gold.”
The weasel took a step closer. “Oh, it’s you, sir! Mr. Gerard told me you might be joinin’ us to see the operation. He ain’t never said when, though.”