The Willows and Beyond (20 page)

It was over lunch that the Mole reminded the Rat of the letter he had stuffed into his top pocket.

“There’s a good fellow and charge my glass again while I read what Sea Rat has to say” said the Rat, tearing open the envelope. The Mole did as he was asked and noted as he replaced the Rat’s glass that his friend was now frowning, sombre and still.

“Is it bad news?” enquired the Mole.

“Read it for yourself,” said the Rat gruffly, handing over the letter.

Shipmate,

Spring’s come round again and I must be off I’ve come and seen what I wanted, and what I needed to. My son’s well set, thanks to you and Mr Mole, and though the wandering life may yet appeal to him, and even take him from these shores, I’ll warrant you’ve given him enough education in land-lubbing ways for him to want to settle down and stay. I’ll go knowing I leave my boy in better hands than his Pa ever had.

I will always remember our chats of ships and suchlike. It’ll only take the sight of a river and the whiff of fresh water to remind me of days of happiness and comradeship I’ve rarely known.

I’m not much good at saying goodbye, but I’d be much obliged if you would come down to the Weir on the morrow morn, along with Mr Mole if he’ll oblige me, and anybody else who cares to wave goodbye and wish me well upon my way.

I’ll say my last farewell then, friend, but believe me when I say I hope all will be well with you till you reach your last mooring, and far beyond. Afore then, and knowing how you have a fancy for far off places, I’ll send you a card or two to put in that fine atlas of yours. Till tomorrow then.

Yours truly

Sea Rat

“We shall go and say goodbye, of course,” said the Rat sombrely, “but I shall be sorry to do so, sorry indeed.”

Mole observed that the happy light that had been in his eyes all morning seemed almost to have disappeared, and he gazed upon the River morosely now, and sadly, and in silence. The spirit of the day had quite gone out of him, and it was no good pretending otherwise.

“Ratty, there’s something I wanted to say,” essayed the Mole. “I mean, I — O dear!”

The Mole walked to the edge of the River and stared down into the water, which seemed suddenly dark and impenetrable, and vast, forever flowing, forever flowing south towards the sun.

“Ratty, I think I’ll take a little stroll along the bank by myself, if you don’t mind, just to stretch my legs before we embark once more.”

“You go ahead, Mole,” said the Rat quietly head low The Mole trudged slowly upstream, staring at the River, then stopping to stare some more, across its surface, into the shadows of the far bank, then letting his eyes light upon a drifting twig, and from that to a sudden swirl of water, and from that — from that —

Why, could he not hear something beyond that swirl, beneath and about?

He sat down on the bank, as he had so often seen the Rat do, with reeds rising all about him, and the willows swaying in the breeze.

“I am sure I can hear, if I only listen hard enough,” he whispered in wonder. “Help me hear, help me for Ratty’s sake!”

Was that the sound of the trees behind him parting to let someone past, or just the wind? Was it the clouds that cast that benign shadow? And was it the hand of Him who is bigger than the largest tree, more ancient than the oldest rock, that touched the Mole’s shoulder as gently as the River flowed?

“Listen, Mole, and hear her song. Listen now!”

The Mole obeyed His voice and listened as he had never been able to before, and heard a song that was wistful with longing, and adrift with the words of farewell, yet also full of encouragement.

“Help him, Mole, help your dear friend. It is up to you now, for my strength has all but gone and he is hardly able to hear me. Tell him what he has to do. Help him.”

“I will, I will!” cried the Mole, rising suddenly, shaking his head as if to break the spell that seemed cast all about him.

“Mole! Where are you?
Mole!
Why whatever is it?” For the Mole came running then, running as if there was no time at all, his eyes wild, his hands and arms waving all about.

“O Ratty, you’re here. Now listen —“Calm down, old fellow”

“No, I will not calm down, Ratty, for I am not calm, and will not be till I have said what I must. How long have you known me?”

“A very long time, Mole — a great many years.

“And have I ever given you any reason to doubt me? Or to think I cannot be trusted?”

“You have not, not once. I know nobody as sterling and trustworthy as you, except Badger, perhaps, or Otter. But I know you as the most reliable and most caring of good friends. But surely I do not need to tell you this, because —The Mole held up his hand to silence the Rat.

“Will you trust me now, Ratty, and not utterly reject what I am about to say without at least thinking about it for a little?”

“I suppose I must, old fellow! Whatever’s on your mind?”

“Pass me the letter the Sea Rat sent you.

The Rat did so, and the Mole perused it awhile before reading out a line from it:
“‘You have a fancy for far-off places.’
So the Sea Rat has written. It’s true, isn’t it, Ratty?”

“Yes,” said he, quietly and sadly.

“Then trust me, Ratty, and follow my advice. Travel with the Sea Rat tomorrow, go
with
him, Ratty. You need the change, you need the sun, you need —“

“But I could not possibly!” expostulated the Rat, utterly dumbfounded.

“I can think of no reason why not, not one’ said the Mole, turning and staring at the River, his eyes as clear as its surface suddenly seemed.

“But — !“ cried the Rat, once more lost for words.

“But what?” said the Mole mildly.

“I couldn’t leave the River Bank, and I couldn’t leave
you!”

Mole stared at him in silence for a time and then said, “You could, and in a way you have already Something has broken in you, Ratty, as it has in the River you love.”

“The River’ breathed the Rat, going to its edge and staring at her flow.

“Ask her what she wants you to do,” said the Mole; “ask her
that!
Once you nearly followed your heart and I stopped you. Now you have a second chance. Take it, dear friend, grasp it, for it will not come again.”

“I am too old,” murmured the Rat.

“It will make you younger.”

“Mole, I am afraid!”

The Mole went to his side and put his hand upon his shoulder.

“Ask her with all your heart and she will answer you, urged the Mole, retreating quietly to pack up the picnic things. Then, while the Rat still stared at the flowing water, the Mole stowed the gear in the boat once more, hardly daring to look at his friend.

“Well, Moly,” sighed the Rat at last, lighting up his briar and kicking at the bank.

“Yes, Ratty?” said poor Mole, no longer able to hide his curiosity, his excitement or his trepidation. Never had he felt more certain that something was right; never had he understood better that it was for the Rat to decide.

“Do you really think I still
could?”
asked the Rat suddenly trying to conceal his excitement.

“I do.”

“And that I would enjoy it as much as I have always thought?”

“Probably”

“And that the Sea Rat would have me aboard?”

“Certainly”

“Then I’ll go, Mole, I
will
go and — why, there’s no need to look quite so relieved. It’s almost as if you’ll be glad to see the back of me.”

The Mole laughed, and perhaps cried a little too.

“It’s not that at all,” he said, “for I shall miss you more than words can ever say. No, it is simply that I had myself resolved, while standing upon the bank earlier, that if you did not go,
I
would!”

“Why, my dear fellow!” cried the Rat.

The Mole held up his hand.

“I do not say I want to, indeed such travel is not for the likes of me, for I am a home bird through and through. But if my going is what would have been needed for you to go, then —“

The Rat stared at his friend then, much moved.

“Mole,” he said huskily, “no animal ever had a truer friend than you have been to me.”

“I have often thought and said the same of you, Ratty,” said the Mole simply.

The Rat let go of the painter and the boat gently drifted out into the River, to begin the homeward journey, and in a way, to begin another, greater, journey too.

As they drifted on the sun began to set, and the westward sky was filled with the warm glow of a happy day nearly accomplished, and a momentous decision having been taken, there was no need for words.

The shore seemed almost enshadowed, though the River itself was aflame with the sunset sky, and as they passed Rat’s House, the Mole saw Young Rat watching quietly, and the Otter and Nephew too, and waved to them and pointed towards the Island to indicate where they were heading before they finally put back to shore.

Mole knew well enough when to stop and turn, for the Rat had often told him: “When you hear the Weir’s roar, that’s when to turn about. It’s all very well for practised oarsmen like myself and Otter to go right round the Island, Mole, but those with less experience had best be cautious.”

That roar came to the Mole’s ears now, just as the Rat raised a hand to point at the Island, saying, “Look, Mole, just look at that!”

The Mole pulled in the oars a little and turned to look, and saw the sun red and gold across the sky, and the Island rising from the River, no more than a silhouette; the Island where so many years before, searching for Portly and finding him safe in the arms of the Friend and Helper who watched over them all, they had together known for a time something of Beyond, and its wonder had never left them.

“O my” whispered the Mole, “it’s so beautiful, Ratty, so beautiful.”

Behind him, watching too, the Rat said softly “Mole, old fellow, I never thought I would want to leave the River Bank, but now —“

“It is for the best, Ratty, and one day you’ll return, I’m sure of that.”

Then he turned to look at the Island once more as the Rat murmured, “I never wanted it to end, Mole, never. But you’re right, one day I shall come back here and all will be well again.

“I shall be here, Ratty, and so will the River and the Island; all waiting, just as they were and ever will be.”

“That’s in a time beyond,” whispered the Rat, “for Beyond is here as it always was and always will be, its song waiting to be heard by those of us who can hear it.”

“O Ratty’ whispered the Mole turning to him, and so forgetting himself in the strange and wistful magic of the moment that he let the oars drop into the water. “O my dearest friend, what contentment we have been privileged to know together here.”

“Yes,” whispered the Rat dreamily “and will know together again one distant day when I return.”

What cared they then that the River turned and turned the boat, for all they saw was the light that shone about the Island, and a future in Beyond that would one day embrace them both.