Ereth's Birthday, Page 4

  CHAPTER 9

  Ereth Speaks

  “HELLO, PORKY! You looking for someone?” yelped a high-pitched voice.

  Ereth opened his eyes. A young female fox, head cocked to one side, was looking at him quizzically with bright, orange eyes. Her fur was fuzzy red, her muzzle white, her ears too large for her young head. Her front paws seemed oversized too, while the dark fur that covered them made it appear as if she were wearing baggy knee socks.

  Ereth blinked. “Sparrow spittle,” he sputtered. “What did you call me?”

  “Porky,” the fox said cheerfully. “Isn’t that what you are, a porcupine?”

  “My name is Erethizon Dorsatum,” Ereth returned with hot dignity.

  “Are you a male or female?”

  “Male, needle nose!”

  “My name isn’t needle nose, it’s Nimble,” returned the fox. “And I’m a female.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “Oh, sure,” Nimble returned. “There’s me and my brothers, Tumble and Flip. Then there’s our mother. Her name is Leaper.”

  “Do you have a father?”

  “Silly. Of course we do. His name is Bounder.”

  “I suppose that’s him,” Ereth muttered even as it was perfectly clear that he had found the fox’s den and her three kits.

  “When we heard you coming,” Nimble said, “we thought you were Mom.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s been away an awfully long time.”

  “Oh, right,” Ereth said nervously.

  “Bet you’ll never guess what happened today?” Nimble said.

  “What?”

  “Some humans came by. They were walking around the field and the base of the bluff. Doing stuff. We don’t know what.”

  “The trappers,” Ereth thought with dread. “What did you do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Hid like Mom told us to do. Don’t worry. They never saw us.”

  Ereth took a deep breath and said, “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Here’s the news . . .” But Ereth could not go on. Tongue-tied, he could only mutter, “I’m not your mother.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Nimble said, laughing. “I may be young, but I’m not stupid. You don’t look like her at all. I mean, she’s very beautiful. And, no offense, you’re ugly. No way I’d confuse you with her. But by any chance, have you seen her? See, Mom went hunting this morning. To get us some fresh food. Like she always does. Only, like I said, she hasn’t been back for a very long while. We think it was this white stuff.”

  “You mean . . . the snow?” Ereth asked.

  “Oh. Is that what it’s called? We never saw snow before.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we were born only a couple of months ago, silly.”

  “Lungfish loogies,” Ereth said.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, lungfish loogies!” Ereth barked.

  Nimble cocked her head to one side. “Why did you say that?”

  “Because I wanted to, bean head!”

  The young fox stared open-mouthed at Ereth, trying to understand him. “Oh,” she said with a sudden grin, “I get it. You’re trying to be funny.”

  “Gallivanting glowworms!” Ereth roared. “I am not trying to be funny! I’m serious.”

  The next instant two more fox faces popped up behind Nimble and stared at Ereth. They looked very much like their sister, with red coats, white muzzles, ears much too big for their heads, and very large paws. Ereth could hardly tell them apart. When they looked at him, their faces showed disappointment.

  “Who is that?” one of them asked Nimble.

  “That, Flip, is a very funny old porcupine,” Nimble replied. “His name is Earwig Doormat.”

  “It is not Earwig Doormat! It’s Erethizon Dorsatum!”

  Nimble grinned. “But Doormat is easier to say.”

  “He smells nasty,” the other young fox whispered to Nimble. Ereth assumed it was Tumble.

  “Has . . . has he seen Mom?” Flip asked.

  “I asked him.”

  “What . . . what did he say?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Mr. Doormat,” Flip asked shyly, “have you seen our mother?”

  “Look here, brush tails,” Ereth cried. “The name is Ereth, not Doormat, and I’ve been out in the snow all day and night. I’m cold. I’m wet. I’m hungry. Do you think you could show some manners and invite me into your den? Or don’t foxes know how to be polite?”

  “Of course we do,” Nimble said brightly. “Mom taught us. I just didn’t think you’d want to. Come on in and make yourself at home.”

  With that the three foxes whirled around and disappeared. Though it happened right before Ereth’s eyes, he was not sure where they had gone.

  “Where the frosted frog flip-flops are you?” he screamed.

  Nimble stuck her head up from behind a boulder. “Right here, Doormat.”

  “Stop calling me ‘Doormat’!” demanded Ereth as he lumbered up to where the young fox, a saucy look on her face, was waiting. “The name is Ereth.”

  “Perish?”

  “Ereth!”

  “Oh, okay,” Nimble returned. “Whatever you say is fine with me. Just watch your step.”

  Ereth scrambled over a mound of snow, then poked his nose down into a hole. Out of it wafted a smell of rotting meat so strong he gagged.

  “Are . . . are you coming?” Flip called.

  Deciding he had no choice, Ereth yelled, “Of course I’m coming!”

  The porcupine lumbered down a steeply sloped tunnel some six feet in length. At the bottom it opened up into a large, roomy area. It was warm but rank with the stench of old meat.

  As Ereth came into the den, the three young kits—lined up side by side—were sitting on their haunches, tongues lolling, heads cocked to one side, eyes bright and eager, staring at Ereth with curiosity.

  Trying hard to recall who was who, the porcupine looked around.

  In one corner, old leaves had been heaped together into a mound. Ereth assumed it was where the foxes slept. In another corner lay a small pile of gnawed bones. From the look of them Ereth guessed it was the remains of small animals, voles, mice, and the like: meals. Ereth, who hated even the thought of eating meat, felt revulsion.

  Nimble said, “I’m sorry we can’t offer you any food. We’ve eaten everything. That’s why Mom went out.”

  “But she’ll be back any minute,” Tumble insisted in his sulky way.

  “She doesn’t usually stay away so long,” Flip offered.

  “Which is okay,” Nimble added, “except we’re pretty hungry. We think,” she went on, “that with all this white stuff—it’s called snow”—she explained to the others—“that covered everything, Mom probably had to go a long way. That’s why she hasn’t gotten back yet.”

  “What . . . what . . . do you think?” Flip asked Ereth in a quavering voice.

  Ereth hardly knew what to say. Twice he opened his mouth and tried to deliver his prepared speech, only to have the words stick in his throat.

  “Are you trying to say something?” Tumble demanded.

  “I was going to say, ‘Giraffe gas.’”

  The young foxes looked at one another in puzzlement.

  “What?” Tumble asked.

  “I said, ‘Giraffe gas’!” Ereth shouted.

  For a moment no one said a thing. Then Tumble demanded, “Mr. Perish, how come you’re here?”

  “The name,” the porcupine yelled, “is Ereth! As for why I’m here . . . Well, I . . . I like taking walks. That’s why.”

  “In all that . . . snow?” Flip cried.

  “Do you have a problem with that, dribble nose?”

  The foxes looked at one another again. Nimble giggled. Flip grinned shyly. Even Tumble—though he seemed more reserved and serious than the other two—smiled.

  “I guess not,” Flip replied.

  Ereth shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Loo
k here,” he began, trying to find the courage to speak the truth. “I’ve got something to say to you. Something . . . really important.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Nimble said. “We’d really like to hear it. What is it?”

  “It’s . . . it’s . . . Oh, sugared snail spit . . . I . . . spoke to your mother.”

  “You did! Where is she? Why hasn’t she come home?” the kits cried out.

  “She . . . she . . . won’t be coming home,” Ereth blurted out.

  The young foxes stared at him in bewilderment.

  Ereth swallowed hard. “And that’s . . . because . . .”

  “Because of what?” Tumble asked sharply.

  “Great gopher underpants!” Ereth cried out. “What makes you think I know?”

  “Because you just said you did,” Nimble pointed out.

  “Moth milk.” Ereth sighed. He stared at the kits. They were gazing at him with rapt attention. Nimble had her mouth open, panting gently. There were lines of anger over Tumble’s eyes. Flip’s eyes were full of tears.

  The emotion was too much for Ereth. “Sour snake sauce on spaghetti!” he suddenly cried. “Forget it!” Whirling around, he scrambled for the entry tunnel.

  “Mr. Perish Doormat,” Flip called after him, “did . . . did something happen to Mom?”

  Ereth stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned back to face the young foxes.

  “We . . . need to know,” Flip said.

  “No, you don’t!” Ereth snapped.

  “We do too!” Tumble insisted.

  “No!”

  “But why?”

  “Because,” Ereth shouted with complete exasperation, “oh, fish feather fruitcakes . . . because your mother is dead, that’s why!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Ereth and the Kits

  THE THREE YOUNG FOXES gazed at Ereth with eyes full of disbelief. No one spoke.

  It was Flip who finally stammered, “Would . . . would you repeat that?”

  “Sorry,” Ereth grumbled. “I . . . ah . . . didn’t mean to say it that way.” Flustered, wishing he could be anywhere else in the world but where he was, he backed up a step. “And I wouldn’t have either if . . . you hadn’t made me. I mean, I’m . . . sorry. I am. . . .” His voice faded away.

  “But,” Flip asked in a quavering cry, “did you say that Mom . . . died?”

  “Yes.”

  “How . . . how do you know?”

  “It had nothing to do with me,” Ereth said. “I was an innocent bystander.”

  “Died?” Nimble echoed, her voice rising tremulously.

  “I said yes, didn’t I?”

  “But how’s that possible?” Tumble wailed. “Moms . . . can’t die. They’re supposed to take care of us. Always.”

  Ereth swallowed hard. “There is this cabin. With salt. And it’s my birthday. Except that has nothing to do with it. Only, because I was there, I heard her. She . . . stepped into a trap. And . . . she . . . couldn’t get out. She bled . . . badly . . . too much.”

  “Did . . . did you speak to her?” Flip asked. “Before she . . . died?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?” Nimble asked.

  “Look here,” Ereth sputtered. “I never had to . . . do this before. Never wanted to. And I . . . oh, spread peanut butter on a pink poodle!” he screamed. “I don’t know what to say!”

  “I don’t care what you have to say,” Tumble barked angrily. “Just tell us what she said!”

  “Oh, right,” Ereth muttered. “She . . . said a . . . lot of things. Mostly . . . sentimental slip-slop. No! I didn’t mean that. I mean, well, she said you were helpless. That you couldn’t take care of yourselves. Wanted me to find you and tell you . . . what happened. Asked me to take care of you. It was all . . . well, ridic—I mean, sad. And I suppose I will stay . . . but only until your father comes home. Understand that? Only till then. That’s what she said.”

  “Nothing . . . else?” Flip asked after a moment.

  “Well . . . she also said . . . she . . .”—Ereth almost choked on the word—“loved . . . you.”

  Nimble stared at Ereth dumbly. Tumble, tail between his legs, backed away. Flip’s eyes filled with tears.

  Ereth turned away and shuffled into a corner. Hearing nothing from the trio, he looked back over his shoulder. The young foxes were gazing after him as if they could not believe what had been said.

  Then Flip slowly lifted his head, squeezed his eyes shut, opened his mouth, and let forth an earsplitting, dismal yowl that saturated the den with its misery. The two other foxes did the same until all three were howling together. Howl after howl they cried, filling the den with their anguish. On and on they went, with such a volume that Ereth, becoming fearful that he would lose his mind, spun about and shouted, “Stop it! Stop it at once!”

  As if a switch had been flicked, the foxes ceased their cries and just sat and sniffled.

  “Food!” Ereth cried in desperation. “You have to eat food.”

  The foxes looked at him blankly.

  He said, “You said you hadn’t eaten all day.”

  “That was because Mom . . .” Nimble stopped in midsentence.

  “Right,” Ereth snapped. “She went out to get you some. Now, just tell me, what do you eat?”

  Tumble shrugged. “Whatever she brought us. Chipmunks, moles, and voles. Rabbits if she was lucky. Mice, too. They’re great appetizers. But then I’m very particular about what I eat.”

  Ereth grimaced. “I hate meat eaters,” he said.

  “Well, we love meat,” Tumble threw back defiantly. “It’s what Mom always gave us.”

  “Don’t you eat anything else?”

  “Bugs,” Tumble snapped.

  “Oh, green goose cheese!” Ereth cried with disgust. “How about some decent food? Like . . . like vegetables.”

  Nimble wrinkled her nose. “Only if we have to. You know, berries and stuff. No offense, but we like meat a whole lot better.”

  “In fact,” Tumble said, “we hate vegetables.”

  “Yeah,” Flip agreed. “They’re really nasty.”

  Ereth studied the faces of the young foxes. They were looking at him as if he knew what to do, as if he had answers. “Do you do any hunting for yourselves?” he asked.

  “I . . . I caught a grasshopper once,” Flip said with pride. “It was crunchy.”

  Ereth almost threw up.

  “Did your mother hide any food?” he asked. “Foxes do that, you know.”

  “They do?” Nimble said. She turned to her brothers with a questioning look. They seemed equally surprised.

  “’Course they do,” Ereth snarled. “Everybody knows that. She probably had another den, too. Or more. A just-in-case den. Am I right?”

  “Oh, that,” Nimble replied. “Sure. It’s down along the bluff a bit. Not too far from here.”

  “Would there be any food there?”

  Nimble shrugged. “Mom only told us what we needed to know.”

  “Can you find it?”

  The foxes exchanged glances again. “Yes . . . I suppose. Maybe.”

  “Then why the mangy muskrat mites, if you were so hungry, didn’t you go look there for food?”

  There was a moment of embarrassed silence. “I guess we didn’t think of it,” Flip offered after a moment.

  “We were waiting for Mom,” Tumble said belligerently. “The way she told us to.”

  “And we always do what she tells us,” Nimble explained more softly.

  “Anyway, the . . . white stuff came,” Flip added.

  “Snow,” Nimble reminded him.

  Ereth said, “I suppose we’d better check that place. Now you, Nimble, take the lead. You seem to know where this place is. Then Tumble, Flip, you follow. I’ll come behind. Come on, let’s hit it.”

  For a moment the foxes just looked at him.

  It was Flip who said, “Mr. Doormat are . . . are you going to be our mother from now on?”

  “Look here, you simpl
e smear of wallaby wax,” Ereth roared, “the name is Ereth, not Doormat. Secondly, I am not your mother. I can’t be a mother. I don’t want to be a mother. I’m only taking care of you until—” Ereth stopped.

  “Until what?” Tumble prompted quickly.

  “Until . . . your father gets back. Which better be fast as bees buzzing buttercups. Do you understand?”

  The foxes stared at him.

  Exasperated, Ereth asked, “Do you have any idea where he is?”

  “He happens to be doing his business!” Tumble returned hotly. “He’s got a lot of it.”

  “Sorry I asked,” Ereth returned in the same tone. “Just hop it! To the other place.”

  The three foxes, energized by Ereth’s yelling, tumbled out of the den. The weary porcupine followed, close enough to hear Tumble whisper to the others, “Wow, he’s a nasty one, isn’t he?”

  CHAPTER 11

  Marty the Fisher

  IN THE FIELD BELOW the bluff sat Marty the Fisher, up to his neck in snow. The skies had cleared. The moon was full. The air was still. Not a sound could be heard. The world glowed with a serene whiteness.

  Not that Marty the Fisher cared or even noticed any of that. He was angry at himself for allowing Ereth to get away. His strategy, once he realized that the porcupine was heading toward the far side of the field, was to trap the prickly creature against the wall of earth. He was quite sure this would work. But to Marty’s great puzzlement, Ereth had simply vanished. It was as if he had been swallowed up by the bluff itself.

  “Perhaps,” he thought, “he found an old badger’s den. Or a cave. Maybe he’s holing up till morning. Sleeping.

  “Should I wait?” he asked himself. “Should I come back tomorrow? Should I forget all about this annoying Ereth? How irritating that he should get away from me!

  “No,” Marty decided. “I’ll wait a bit. Until the moon’s shadow goes from over there to over here.”

  He was still studying the scene when he saw three young foxes burst out of the bluff, followed momentarily by the porcupine.

  “Not good,” Marty said to himself with a frown. “I can deal with the porcupine, but not if those foxes are with him. They look young, but the four of them together will be too much to handle.”