A Taste for Rabbit Read online

  Harry took the pen and signed the book. His stomach growled. “Do you have enough food here?” he asked. “The storm …”

  “Yes,” Becky replied, “we do, thanks to Allison’s good planning and a bountiful early harvest. It’s almost exclusively vegetarian, I should warn you, and not much variety, I have to admit. But our other guests seem pleased. Of course, nothing lasts forever,” she said with a sigh. “We’ll have to start thinking about a contingency plan soon if this terrible weather continues.” It was more than Harry needed to know about the food, but Becky didn’t notice his impatience. She took the pen from him and looked briefly at his name.

  “Harry,” she said with a smile. “We’ll see you at dinner in about an hour.”

  “Follow me,” said Allison curtly, and led him through the lobby, past the still-silent groups of guests, and down a long corridor toward the back, until she stopped in front of a door numbered 27. She reached into a deep pocket in her overalls and removed a large ring of keys, all of which looked exactly alike to Harry. Without hesitation, she picked one and opened the door. Allison lumbered around the room, lit the table lamp with a match she took from her pocket, then turned to Harry. “Becky always likes to see the goodness in creatures,” she said. “But the foxes she mentioned were more than dreadful — they were despicable. It took us weeks to repair the damage….” She shook her head. “Anyway, it always ends badly with foxes. Maybe you’ll be different.” She looked him up and down again. “Maybe not.” She closed the door behind her.

  Harry bolted it. The fox visitors must have been the scouts Isaac referred to. Considering the lowlifes Isaac associated with, it seemed more than likely. Harry placed his pouch on the battered table, took off his boots, and fell onto the bed.

  The room was very much like one he had stayed in the last time — small and minimally furnished, with a vase of faded paper flowers perched at the corner of a small dresser. A multicolored rag rug at the foot of the bed was the only bright spot. Everything else was brown or gray, including the curtains and the bedspread. The earthy colors gave the room a warmth that belied the temperature. Harry could see his breath.

  He dived under the blankets. For a few moments, his mind was blank as his body heat warmed him and his toes tingled. Yesterday he had been pacing his apartment, gnawing on a moldy sandwich and wondering when he’d have his next meal. Today he was considerably richer, having been paid by his disgusting brother to do something he’d been planning to do anyway.

  Wait a minute. Harry sat up in bed. What a fool he was! Why bother to travel through this unpleasant weather to the fortress at all? There was food at the Inn. He could stay here, relax during the evening, hunt during the day if he liked, and return home at the appropriate time with a story he could invent without too much trouble.

  As for the story, no explanation of what had happened to the scouts — that would be the first thing. Their disappearance would forever be a mystery. And as for the rabbits, suppose Harry told Isaac that there were no rabbits? That they had all died of a mysterious and contagious disease that had made them inedible? Or they had been decimated by a marauding band of feral wolves who had descended from the gods-know-where and vanished, their bellies full, leaving skin and bones and not much else behind? Or the rabbits were gone, perhaps migrated to a better climate — who could blame them? — leaving nothing but their burrows and the not-very-tasty aged and weak, who had quickly expired in the frigid weather? Harry could collect the balance of the payment — he would have fulfilled his part of the bargain, after all — and live comfortably for the rest of his life somewhere warm. Isaac and his friends would not discover the truth until Harry was far away and it was too late to do anything about it. Perhaps Isaac, unable to keep his promises, would be drummed out of Foxboro, humiliated, revealed to be the hypocritical manipulator he truly was. The snowstorm had to end sooner or later, other prey would return and multiply, the fox community would survive. The little children Isaac professed to care about would grow plump and happy.

  Harry couldn’t resist following this line of thought. Isaac would be living in exile, his resources depleted. Under cloak of darkness, a ragged and starving Isaac would search out Harry to beg for shelter. Harry would be living in luxury…. And if his lies were discovered? Isaac would be held accountable, not Harry. Isaac would be blamed for not having chosen a more reliable investigator. Even better. He fell back in bed, imagining himself embroidering a tale of the demise of the rabbits, and picturing Isaac’s rapt expression as he swallowed every word.

  …“I tell you, Isaac, it was the most horrifying sight I have ever seen. Thousands of rabbits, dead and dying, trapped behind the fortifications, covered with disgusting lumps and pustules and stinking of rotting flesh, even those who still lived. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat rabbit again.”

  Isaac shook his head. “What a tragic waste,” he said. “How can I ever thank you for risking your life this way?”

  “It was nothing, brother,” Harry replied, holding out his paw as Isaac counted out the remaining five thousand. “Nothing.”…

  Harry smiled.

  … “I tell you, Isaac, it was the most horrifying sight I have ever seen. The bones of thousands of rabbits, stripped bare, with only bloody skin and fur brutally shredded by the sharp teeth of the feral wolves. The survivors flung themselves about on sharp stones until they too were dead. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat rabbit again….”

  Isaac shook his head. “Feral wolves! We can’t go near their territory — the stories one hears! How can I thank you for taking such a risk?”

  “It was nothing, brother, etc., etc.”…

  Satisfying. Very satisfying.

  After a while, Harry got out of bed and picked up the pouch to go downstairs. Briefly he acknowledged that this was exactly the kind of deception Isaac himself would have tried, had their positions been reversed. Yes, he thought, but I could die in this snowstorm, couldn’t I? Don’t I have a right to try to save my own life? Why should I lift a paw to help Isaac anyway? I hate him and he hates me. He deserves to be deceived.

  He walked into the bathroom, used the facilities, and ran some water, brushing the thick, reddish brown fur on his head and ears with damp paws. He looked briefly into the mirror, put his boots back on, turned out the lights, and made his way to the dining room, carefully locking the door behind him.

  * * *

  The knotty pine walls of the dark, dimly lit dining room were bare except for a very large painting of the Inn itself, silhouetted against an impossibly glowing sunset. In one corner a lone rat of indeterminate age, dressed all in gray, sat on a low stool and strummed songs on an ancient stringed instrument, barely in tune. Each table had been set with what appeared to be good-quality utensils and a pear-shaped vase of bright paper flowers. The low hum of conversation and the clink of silverware and glasses gave the room a pleasant, surprisingly intimate ambience.

  Harry found the only vacant table, near the entry, and in a few moments Allison appeared before him. “You don’t need to spend much time on the menu,” she said, handing him a green piece of paper. “Not a lot there for one of your kind, I wouldn’t think.”

  “Yes,” Harry murmured. “The result of your good planning and a bountiful early harvest.” In spite of Isaac’s comment, he’d been anticipating a good meal at the Inn, where years ago he’d had some excellent vole au vent. He sighed and ordered the specialty of the day called sans-mouse and a glass of what he hoped was a drinkable red wine. He looked around.

  There were approximately a dozen tables scattered about the room in a roughly defined semicircle around a crackling hearth. He noted a quiet family of ermine, a few fierce-looking older rats eating alone, and a youngish, bespectacled badger in tweeds, but the rest of the guests were raccoons, in twos and threes, of varying ages and gender combinations. When the wine came, he sniffed it cautiously and took a sip. Sans-cabernet.

  Behind him, he heard a sound and looked up. It was
the older weasel who had been reading in the entry lobby when Harry had arrived. Harry noticed — he could hardly help it — a gleam of gold at his wrist and a ring with a large stone that caught the light. The weasel, who carried a worn briefcase, looked around the room and, not finding an empty table, turned to Harry.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked. “There doesn’t seem to be another spot anywhere.” His voice was velvety smooth, like that of an actor, and he flashed a wide smile. Harry was searching for a polite way to say no when Becky appeared with his dinner.

  “Oh,” she said to Harry, as the weasel sat down — apparently his question was rhetorical — “thank you so much for being willing to share your table. I told Allison she was wrong about you.” She set Harry’s dinner in front of him. She turned to the weasel. “The usual?” she asked.

  The weasel nodded and settled back into his chair.

  Harry, ravenous, began to eat.

  “My name is Gerard.” The weasel held out his paw, but Harry ignored it, pretending not to see. Maybe if he was implacably rude Gerard would leave. He had just hit upon a way to combine the contagious disease and the feral wolves. The interruption was annoying.

  The food turned out to be better than Harry expected, although, he had to acknowledge, his hunger surely influenced his judgment. When Gerard’s food and wine came, he too began eating with considerable relish.

  “Are you traveling on business or for pleasure?” Gerard inquired between mouthfuls.

  Harry sipped his wine. “A little of both.”

  “Ah, the best kind of trip, don’t you agree?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “A balance. A little of this, a little of that. In my profession, creating a balanced life is not always easy. In fact, it’s a challenge.”

  It was obvious Gerard was fishing, but Harry would not bite. He didn’t care what Gerard’s profession was and he wasn’t going to ask. The silence between them grew.

  Allison and Becky came in to clear the dishes from the other tables and then returned to stoke the fire. They left chatting in a low undertone, arm-in-arm. Shortly after that the rat stood up, said, “Thank you, everyone,” in a gravelly voice to no one in particular, and left as well.

  The weasel Gerard leaned back in his chair, reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of sassafras cigarettes and proceeded to light one in an annoyingly deliberate and self-conscious way. The aroma filled the room.

  “I’m an actor by profession …,” Gerard said through the smoke, which he at least had the decency to exhale away from the table, “…although I confess I am … between engagements at the moment.” He coughed and inhaled again. “As I was saying, finding a balance between the drama of the stage and the more humdrum reality of the day to day can be quite difficult. At least it was for me. One can become addicted to the theater — the attention, the applause. Don’t you agree?” He looked intently at Harry. “Have you ever tried acting?”

  “Gods, no,” Harry replied, feeling pleased that he had guessed so well about Gerard, who now reminded him of Isaac in his political mode. Was it the phony smile, the forced camaraderie? Politicians, actors — both pretended to be something they were not, while the gullible audience only applauded and demanded an encore. Of the two professions, Harry preferred politicians. At least you didn’t have to buy a ticket to see them perform. But one way or another, he reflected, you did end up paying.

  “I was an actor for much of my life,” Gerard was saying. “Started quite young — ran away from home, joined a group of traveling players — a familiar story — and have been working at my craft ever since. Or at least I was until recently.” He sipped his wine and looked away.

  “Mmm,” said Harry, hoping his lack of interest would discourage the revelation of more details.

  No such luck.

  “You see, the troupe I was with disbanded — dissension in the ranks, you might say,” the weasel continued. “Constant arguments about what plays to perform, who would take which parts, agreements broken, gossip, backstabbing … I expected theater people to be more … honest, more idealistic, more devoted to the calling, so to speak. I didn’t expect politics.”

  Harry looked up. “That seems naïve, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Perhaps,” Gerard replied. “But sometimes I think I’d give anything to be that innocent again….” He stared into space for a moment, then shook his head. “Well! This delightful wine has put me in a sentimental mood, it seems. How do you know about politics? Are you by any chance connected to the dark and mysterious world of government bureaucracy? Foxboro, perhaps?”

  Harry nodded and regretted it immediately. Why should this stranger know where I live? But it was too late. “No, I’m not involved in government, thank the gods,” he said curtly.

  “Ah.” Gerard exhaled a cloud of blue smoke and leaned forward with interest. “Interesting. So you are from up North, after all. I live in Foxboro myself, on the outskirts of the city. What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t. It’s Harry.”

  Gerard held out his paw again. “Glad to meet you, Harry.”

  They shook briefly. Gerard returned to his wine. “I have … acquaintances in your community.”

  Harry’s senses began to tingle. “Oh? Anyone I might know?”

  “Probably not,” Gerard replied. He patted his mouth with a napkin and stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of his plate. “Performing arts — you know, musicians, theater people, that sort of thing.” He seemed eager to change the subject. “Don’t worry — I won’t mention your … evasion … to the ladies.” He chuckled, then grew serious. “I’ve been here for a while and I heard about the four foxes. They were scouts, I’m guessing. Are you the fifth, may I ask? You don’t seem like the others.”

  “In what way am I different?”

  “Oh, well, they were apparently very crude, each of them. Loud, vulgar creatures — drank beer, and quite a bit of it — cooked food in their rooms, although what they found to prepare — and where they found it — I hesitate to say. Apparently the aroma was extraordinary! Many guests complained and left, demanding a refund. Treated the ladies rather badly too. Sneaked out without paying. I understand they vandalized their rooms, as well. A reprehensible lot, most definitely.”

  “That’s not my style,” Harry said, and started to leave.

  “I heard they were traveling to the fortress,” Gerard said as Harry stood. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard any of the rumors about the place?”

  Harry slowly sat down. “I’ve heard some. What have you heard?”

  Gerard lit another cigarette and lowered his voice, even though the dining room had virtually emptied. “I’ve heard the rabbits become enchanted in the full moon and dance on the fortification walls. That anyone who comes close is put under a spell and forced to fly eternally, without rest, like an owl in the dark. Others say they’ve heard music coming from within, and a wild keening and wailing, and a drumming. They tell of ghastly rituals being enacted, always in darkness.” Gerard’s voice fell to a whisper. “I heard that the bodies of three of those foxes were found outside the wall, horribly mutilated, as if powerful, vengeful beasts had viciously hacked them to pieces. The fourth has … never been found.”

  So that’s what Isaac didn’t tell me, Harry thought. It wasn’t only that the scouts had not returned. They’d been killed, and by a force that was inexplicably cruel and violent. Harry shivered. The dining room seemed suddenly dark and very cold.

  Gerard leaned back in his chair and inhaled, looking just a little self-satisfied.

  Ah. The actor.

  “Powerful, vengeful beasts, eh?” Harry said. “Feral wolves, perhaps?”

  “Possibly,” said Gerard, nodding seriously. “Possibly. What do you think?”

  “I think you have mastered your craft. I don’t believe a word of it. We’re talking about rabbits. Rabbits! They are mindless prey and have been since the beginning of time. They are no different from the voles or mice or possum o
r squirrels or any of the others we have always hunted and eaten. It’s preposterous to believe that rabbits — enchanted or not — are capable of such things!”

  Gerard did not protest. “I see you don’t frighten easily,” he said with a slight nod of approval. “Still, we can’t be certain which parts of the stories are true and which are the embellishments of an imaginative mind in a snow-locked burrow nearby. And you are heading in that direction, aren’t you?” He indicated the back of Harry’s chair. “Your leather pouch could be filled with supplies for an extensive journey. Except for those empty cabins not far from here, there’s nothing else around for miles. It’s the only possible destination. The other guests are just weekenders, mostly. It’s quite clear you are traveling with a purpose.”

  Harry did not respond immediately. His mind had returned to Gerard’s earlier comment about having friends in the Fox community. At home, the performing arts organizations were very small and consisted almost entirely of amateur singers and players recruited from the political parties to perform at campaign events and fund-raisers. There was, in fact, hardly an activity in Foxboro that was not, directly or indirectly, connected to the political structure. Even if he lived on the periphery of the city, Gerard must know Isaac.

  In other words, the weasel was lying.

  Harry recalled standing on the snowy, deserted street with Isaac. “I wouldn’t stop at Inn the Forest if I were you,” he’d said, making it all the more likely that Harry would do exactly that. Knowing that Gerard would be there, waiting for him, because Isaac had sent him. But why? Harry took a moment to compose himself.

  “Yes,” he said cautiously. “I am heading south, but I haven’t decided when I’ll be leaving.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I was planning … to head in that direction tomorrow,” Gerard replied. “I’m … tired of these woods. It’s time to move on, and I would like some company. Perhaps we could make the journey together.”