A Taste for Rabbit Page 5

  The raccoon looked at him sharply. “Now, now. Let’s not get fleas up our socks! I’m the new owner, along with my partner. Yes, we have one vacancy, our last room. The place is packed.” The raccoon peered at Harry suspiciously. “You aren’t from the foxes up North, are you? Because if you are, you can just keep moving. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  The air about them had become colder, and a breeze had picked up. Snow began to fall again in fine, powdery flakes.

  “No, I’m not from the North,” Harry lied. “Now may I please come in?” He tried to walk inside, but the raccoon shifted slightly to prevent Harry from getting closer.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Harry was losing patience. “Look,” he said. “I want a room. I’ll pay in advance. Here.” He reached into his pocket, fumbled for one of the large bills, and waved it.

  The creature was silent for a moment, as if weighing the risks. “All right. I know I’ll regret this.” The raccoon turned away. “My name is Allison.”

  Harry followed her inside as a gust of wind slammed the door behind him.

  When Quentin arrived at the café the next morning, Zack was staring out the window at the gently falling snow, his naturally sad expression even more thoughtful and tense than usual. It was still early in the day and the café was chilly — he’d kept his black jacket on. What’s going on? Quentin thought. He was about to ask, when Zack said, “How are you feeling? And how was guard duty?”

  “I’m all right — still a little sore, though. Listen, you won’t believe who my supervisor was.”

  “Who?”

  “Wally! Remember him?”

  “Of course I do. S.E. — old Small Ears! I thought he’d moved away.”

  “Me too.”

  “What’s he like?”

  Quentin thought about it. “A little heavier, but pretty much the same. Seeing him again brought it all back. I’m afraid I lost my head.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Quentin picked up the menu, then put it down. “You remember Wally was never the ripest apple on the tree.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “I decided to find ways to annoy him. He’s so dense, I don’t think he even realized what was happening. He aimed that bow at me at least five times — I was warm and toasty for the rest of my watch. Even the pain in my ribs went away.”

  “You really like to live on the edge! If Wally is a perimwall supervisor, he must be pretty important in the military establishment.”

  “I know.”

  “He could make trouble for you.”

  “True. I guess I don’t care. For the moment.” He paused. “I think.”

  “Well, at least you know your own mind,” Zack said with a laugh. “All right, then, tell me what you did. I’m all ears.”

  “Very funny. I don’t remember everything, but I can tell you it felt wonderful. I know I disguised my voice at least three different times. I spoke in a heavy north county dialect and then pretended I had a cold. I had a coughing fit every time I was about to say the password, which of course was wrong anyway. Once I sang it, and he couldn’t decide if the password was valid because the guidelines didn’t mention singing.”

  Zack had got caught up in the story and was chortling with delight. “That must have been satisfying. I wish I’d been there.”

  “Mind if I join you?” a voice said above them.

  A very tall rabbit, deep chested and large about the middle, wearing a cap at a rakish angle, stood alongside the table.

  “Frank! How great to see you!” Quentin said. “Of course, sit down.” He pulled over a chair from a nearby table and gestured. “Do you know Zack? Zack, this is my old friend, Frank.”

  “My pleasure,” Frank said. He shook Zack’s paw warmly. “Thanks. I will join you, if you’re sure it’s all right.” He pulled out the chair and sat down heavily. “It’s great to see you too, Quentin. Of course it hasn’t been that long, has it? Only a year, but it feels like ten.” He picked up the menu. “It all looks good,” he said. “I could eat a field of cabbage. In fact, I think I did, just yesterday!” He laughed and patted his stomach. “Enjoyed every bite.”

  “You do look a little … larger than when we last saw each other,” Quentin agreed. There were other changes too. Frank’s light gray fur was still mottled with irregular patches of brown and his hazel eyes were still warm and friendly, but there was a deep crease in the middle of his brow that had not been apparent a year ago. He seemed more … serious. “Frank and I spent a lot of time together his last year of Upper School. We met in the choir — two rather raucous tenors, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I prefer to think of us as enthusiastic,” Frank said to Zack with a smile.

  “Frank made a permanent connection right after he graduated,” Quentin went on. “How is Mary?”

  “Great, great. And here are some pictures.” He patted several pockets and pulled out some small, flat pieces of wood on which several small portraits had been painted. He handed them to Quentin with obvious pride. “These are recent.”

  Quentin studied the paintings as Frank and Zack chatted. There were several pictures of four young bunnies; one, the smallest, looked like a miniature version of his father. Frank turned and pointed. “That one — Charlie — I’m afraid he’s become my favorite, and not just because he looks like me! Very bright, amazing energy, very loving. Like his mother. I never really appreciated babies,” he continued, “but it’s completely different when they’re yours.”

  Another single painting of a dark brown female with soft eyes and a quiet smile made Quentin look up. “Mary looks terrific,” he said. “I always liked her.” He handed the portraits back and Frank tucked them away carefully. “I can see your new life suits you.”

  “It does. What about you? Still playing the field, you rascal?”

  Quentin nodded. “The field suits me fine, I’m happy to say.”

  “What about after graduation?”

  “Too far away to think about,” Quentin said. “Besides, these days, anything’s possible.” He glanced at Zack, who nodded in agreement.

  “True. I heard you had your first guard duty last night. How did it go?”

  “Bad news travels, eh?” said Quentin. “I was just telling Zack what a good time I had. Did I ever mention a rabbit named Wally who made my early school days so miserable?”

  “Don’t think so. But I’ve heard of him recently. Nasty creature, apparently. Go on.”

  Quentin related the story of the swimming hole and the nickname.

  “Sounds like a rabbit who deserves some retribution,” Frank said. “Not that I actually approve of that kind of thing. At least not publicly. I’m going to try to teach my children that most creatures can be reasoned with, and that kindness is more effective than a stick or a punch in the face. I wish I believed it! So what did you do?”

  “Let me,” said Zack.

  Frank’s hearty laugh when Zack finished was gratifying. “Brilliant, as usual, Quentin,” he said. “You haven’t changed a bit! But possibly very dangerous,” he added, suddenly serious.

  “Speaking of dangerous,” Zack said, “I’m curious. How do you see the current situation?”

  Frank shook his head. “Do you mind if I order first? I have a hard time talking politics on an empty stomach.” He gestured to the waiter, and in a few minutes there was a large salad and two vegetable sandwiches in front of him. He began with the salad. “Mmm. The current situation. Let me be frank.”

  Quentin smiled. It was an old joke.

  “I think something has to be done.”

  Quentin was surprised. Frank had never been interested in radical causes. He had been focused on what he’d called the four Fs — Food, Females, Frivolity, and Frank. The occasional rebellion on the part of the more activist students had found him on the sidelines, making funny, wry observations and providing the food when the crowd returned from wherever they’d been, hungry and tired. Like many big eaters
, Frank had been a great cook.

  Now Frank lowered his voice even more. “Can I trust you?” he said, looking first at Quentin, then at Zack.

  “Of course,” Quentin said, bemused. They all leaned closer.

  “Well,” Frank said, between mouthfuls of salad, “are you aware that many of those who have disappeared in the last few months were among the rabbits who questioned some of the government’s recent decisions?”

  “That can’t be!” Quentin said.

  Frank nodded. “It’s true.”

  “Wait a minute,” Quentin said. “These disappearances started in the spring. There were no dissidents then.”

  “Are you sure? I think …” Frank broke off as the diners at the next table exchanged looks.

  “Maybe we should have this conversation another time,” Quentin said, leaning back in his chair. There was no point in taking chances. “How about tonight, my place, before curfew. Do you have any plans, Zack?”

  “Not really.”

  “Frank?”

  “No … no plans.”

  “Fine.” Quentin wrote down his address.

  Frank started on his second sandwich. “I can understand why Wally bothers you so.”

  “I haven’t told you the half of it, Frank — he used to beat me up every day. He’d wait for me after school and leap out from behind the hedges near the ball field. He told terrible lies to his friends about how my father died. He called me horrible names. He made my school days a living hell — and why?” Quentin leaned forward. “Because he was stronger than I was and could get away with it, that’s why.” He leaned back. “He’s perfect for the military, in my opinion. They’re all bullies.”

  Zack shook his head. “That’s a big generalization.”

  “Really? What about coming home from the library?”

  Zack turned to Frank and told him about their confrontation after curfew.

  Frank put down his sandwich. “Nefarious? You said that?”

  “Yes,” Quentin replied, a little defensively. “It was a test of his intelligence. Unfortunately, the rabbit passed it.”

  Frank patted him on the shoulder. “Good old Quentin.”

  “For a moment I thought he might be all mouth and no teeth,” Quentin went on. “Especially with that voice. But I was wrong.”

  Frank finished eating. “Scary.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe you’re right about Wally and that rabbit from the other night,” Zack said to Quentin. “But couldn’t there be someone in the military with a conscience?” He laughed at Quentin’s expression. “No? You’re tough, Q.”

  The door to the café opened and a cold blast of air rushed into the room. Quentin turned, along with several other diners who glanced briefly at the doorway. “Oh, gods,” he said in a whisper. “It’s Wally — and that rabbit is with him.”

  The two sat down at a reserved table near the fire. A waiter hurried over and bent down to take their order.

  “Is he the one you were talking about?” Frank said. “I think that’s Dan. I’ve been hearing about him too. He has a reputation for being ruthless. Not good.”

  Quentin turned to Zack. “Smart and ruthless, huh? Maybe joining the rebels is not such a crazy idea, after all.”

  Frank looked up sharply. “The rebels?”

  “Never mind, Frank,” Quentin said with an embarrassed laugh. “We’ve just been sunshining.”

  Zack was silent.

  Frank turned. “Wally doesn’t look evil from here,” he said. “With all that white fur, he looks almost fatherly.”

  “Looks are deceiving,” Quentin said, glancing in the same direction. “Especially in his case.”

  Wally said something to Dan, and they both looked at Quentin. Wally smiled.

  Quentin froze. “Oh, gods. I know that smile. Pretend we’re talking.”

  “We are talking.”

  Wally gave him a casual salute and mouthed the words “Vole-hole.” Quentin turned away. “Notice that? When Wally smiles, his eyes stay cold and serious. That’s how I always knew he was planning something … and now he has an accomplice.”

  Frank glanced at the rabbits who sat at the table next to them, silently eating, and slapped a paw on the table. “This has been terrific.” He stood up with difficulty and burped quietly. “Seeing you has made me nostalgic for the old days when I had no responsibilities and could …” He pulled out the small paintings and stared at them for a long moment. “What am I talking about?” he said softly. “This is the happiest time of my life.” He cleared his throat, replaced the paintings, and tossed some money on the table. “Listen, I need to get home. Thanks for letting me join you. Quentin — I look forward to this evening.” They shook paws all around and Frank walked slowly out of the café, not looking at Wally and Dan, who watched him with interest as he made his way to the door.

  “This is really unsettling.” Quentin caught the eye of the waiter and waved his paw in the air as if writing. The waiter nodded and brought the check in a few moments. Quentin got up, but Zack didn’t move.

  “So, Zack. What’s going on?” Quentin asked, sitting down again. “I know there’s something. Is it Dan and what happened the other night? I could see it in your face the moment I walked in.”

  “No, it’s not just Dan.” He sighed. “It’s my upcoming guard duty.”

  Quentin searched for the right words. “It could be worse. It could be the draft.”

  “True, although that’s surely next.”

  “And besides,” Quentin continued, “it’s not that bad. I did it, and I’m the one who hates physical exercise.”

  “It’s not the physical part.” Zack leaned forward and spoke in a passionate whisper. “There’s something else going on. Frank obviously thinks so too.” He stood up. “Maybe we can come up with something tonight. Maybe he has a few ideas….” Zack’s face was grim.

  “What do you mean, come up with something?”

  Zack just shook his head.

  By tacit agreement they left the café by a side door and walked around to the front, where they took shelter for a few moments on a wide porch with a deep overhanging roof and looked at the snowy landscape. They stood before another park, a large, open square in the exact center of Stonehaven. Quentin looked across the expanse of white, which in warm weather was a pleasantly green, landscaped space, with large trees, a small pond, and the occasional statue of a former leader. Now the benches were drifted or buried in snow; the statues wore white epaulettes, the pond was frozen solid. The white branches of the trees bent low to the ground. The snow fell in powdery flakes, covering the already buried roads and making white turbans of the distant rooftops of downtown.

  “If it weren’t so endlessly cold, it would be very beautiful,” Zack said. His dark eyes were sad and his mouth turned down as if he’d eaten something bitter.

  “The two things don’t cancel each other out,” Quentin said. “You’re just worried. Listen, I’ve got some chores to do. Want to come along?”

  Zack didn’t respond.

  “Come on,” Quentin said, clapping his friend on the back. “You have nothing else planned.”

  They started down the road.

  The Rabbittampers had been through and the walkways had been flattened, but they were becoming icy and maintaining balance was difficult. Ahead of them, rabbits walked slowly in twos and threes, bundled up in blue scarves and long coats, clutching mittened paws for balance. A few youngsters sledded down the icy streets without fear of interference.

  Quentin and Zack were silent. All around them the snow fell straight down. Without a wind the air felt warmer. Quentin was thinking about the conversation over lunch: the charming pictures of Frank’s family; their run-in with Dan, last seen seated next to Wally at the table near the fire; and Wally’s icy smile. He shivered.

  Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he turned. Dan stood behind him, holding out an envelope. Standing next to him were four large rabbits in uniform, their fa
ces grim and impassive. “We meet again,” Dan said, in his odd, high voice. “What a coincidence!”

  Quentin took the envelope, and Dan turned away, marching confidently on the slippery path. The others followed, four abreast, behind him.

  Zack stared after them, then came closer. “What is it?” he said. “It looks official.”

  Quentin removed his mittens, tore open the envelope, and looked briefly at the contents.

  “Ah,” he said, trying to make light of it, but his heart sank. “The chubby, white paw of Wally falleth upon me. I’ve been drafted. Tomorrow at this time, I will be in the army.”

  The lobby of Inn the Forest had not changed since Harry’s last visit. The brightly lit interior only exaggerated the shabbiness of the furnishings: a worn, plaid couch; an oval, braided area rug, slightly askew on the dark wood floor; and the brown velvet armchairs, whose cushions held the permanent impression of many a large guest. Several raccoons sat or stood around the crackling hearth, warming paws in silence or conversing quietly. They looked up when Harry entered, and their conversations ceased. Some groups moved away, while others stared. A weasel, somewhat older than the others, sat in a chair by the fire, smoking a cigarette that reeked of sassafras and scribbling into a notebook. He looked up briefly as Harry entered and then returned to his writing.

  Harry noted he was the only fox in the room.

  Someone called from beneath the reception desk. “Who was that, sweetie? The mail carrier?” It was a voice with a pleasant, hoarse undertone, as if the creature had been laughing.

  “No,” Allison growled. “It’s a fox. I told him he could have our last room.”

  There was a brief silence, and then a flustered figure emerged. Another raccoon, somewhat smaller, looked out at Harry, and the professional, welcoming smile faded almost immediately.

  “Oh,” she said. “You’re not one of the foxes from up North, are you? We’ve had some of those. I don’t consider myself an inhospitable creature, but those foxes were dreadful. Well, are you one of them?”

  Harry lied again.

  “Well, in that case, of course you can have a room. Where are my manners?” The raccoon opened a guest book and handed a pen to Harry. “My name is Becky. Allison and I are the new owners. Welcome to Inn the Forest.”