Beverley Nichols - The Tree that Sat Down

‘Friends?’ Mr Bruno was not quite sure what ‘friends’ were; he had never had any friends; but the word had a pleasant sound. Friends … they did not sound as though they were the sort of people who would whip you or starve you or lock you up.

‘Friends?’ he muttered, in a sort of daze.

‘Indeed,’ said Mr Justice Owl. ‘We are all friends; we wish to help you.’

His voice was so kind that Mr Bruno slowly took his paws away from his face. And at last his head cleared; he remembered his escape, he remembered coming to the wood, he remembered, above all, the strange feeling of kindness and comfort that he had known as he had plunged deeper and deeper into it, as though the very branches were there to protect him. And as soon as he remembered all those things he began to revive very quickly – he was able to sit up and drink some water and take a nibble of the honeycomb.

But Bruno’s troubles were by no means over. Mr Justice Owl, seeing that he was now well on the way to recovery, decided that he was well enough to answer a few questions. He liked the look of Bruno; he was prepared to welcome him to the wood, but first he would have to explain where he came from. They could not have mysteries in the wood … and, after all, the sudden appearance of a large bear in the early morning, seriously wounded, and lying in a bramble bush, was something of a mystery.

In grave tones Mr Justice Owl demanded:

‘Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?’

Bruno closed his eyes for a moment. He had been afraid that this would happen. However, he would have to go through with it; he might as well get it over.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘Good!’ Mr Justice Owl preened himself. ‘Now, first of all – where have you come from?’

*

It was the question Bruno had been dreading.

He looked round him desperately, trying to think of a reply. They said they were ‘friends’, these animals, but he did not trust them – not yet. How could he trust the animals, seeing that he knew nothing of their nature? He only knew human nature, and he had every reason for distrusting that.

‘Where do I come from?’ he repeated. They were waiting for his answer. At all costs he must avoid telling them the truth; they might give him away.

Then he had an inspiration. He remembered the big paper placard that they used to hang over his cage when the circus went on the road. It had been a long time before he had been able to read it, because he had always been inside the cage, looking through the placard, so that he had been obliged to read it backwards, and even then only when the sun was shining on it. This was what he had read:

If you take this book to the looking-glass you will be able to read the words on the placard. You will not be surprised to know that it took Bruno a long time to understand them, considering that he had to read them backwards in a tiny cage, with no mirror to help him.

‘The steppes of Russia.’ The words floated through Bruno’s head – it was as though they were coming to his rescue. He had never been to Russia, but he knew that it was hundreds of miles away, and that none of the other animals would have been there either. Besides, he had learned a little about it because there had been a Russian dancer in the circus who had sometimes slept in a tent near his cage, and late at night he had heard her talking about her country, which seemed to be very vast and always covered with snow. He never quite understood what the steppes were; he thought they were a sort of staircase, and it seemed very odd to spend your life on a staircase. However, none of the other animals knew either, so it did not matter.

He took the plunge.

‘Where do I come from?’ he said. ‘I come from Russia.’

‘From Russia!’ There was a great rustling and panting and squeaking and twittering from the animals; this was indeed exciting.

‘From Russia?’ repeated Mr Justice Owl. He blinked, very wisely, at Bruno. To tell the truth, Mr Justice Owl knew even less about Russia than Bruno, but he had no intention of betraying his ignorance. From the way he blinked, you would have said that he knew it inside out.

‘What part of Russia?’ he enquired.

‘The steppes,’ gasped Bruno.

‘The steps?’ echoed Mr Justice Owl. There was a rather sharp note in his voice. He wondered if Bruno was trying to make a fool of him. What did he mean – the steps? The doorsteps? The steps leading up to the attic? He was about to rebuke Bruno, when he stopped short, and a melancholy ‘Too-wit, too-woe’ echoed from his beak.

For Bruno, exhausted by all he had gone through, had fallen into a dead faint.

AND NOW WE can go on with our story, which we left on a bright sunny morning when Bruno was lumbering through the wood on his way to The Shop in the Ford.

Many years had passed since all the sad things which we have been recalling in the last two chapters, and today if you had seen Mr Bruno, you would have said that never in your life before had you met a bear so happy, so plump, and so prosperous; he had developed into one of the most respected citizens in the wood.

‘Top of the morning, Mr Bruno! … All the best, Mr Bruno! … My! Mr Bruno, you’re looking fine!’ Such were the cordial greetings that welcomed him, all along the way. Miss Fox gave an extra twitch to her brush when she saw him, and Mrs Hare gave a very gracious bow. And even Mr Peacock, who only spread his tail on very special occasions (except, of course, when he was by himself, standing by the edge of the lake watching his own reflection, which was so beautiful that sometimes he felt quite giddy and fell into the water), even Mr Peacock greeted Bruno by spreading his tail to its fullest extent.

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