The Willows in Winter (14 page)

“Mole’s no more passed away than you have,
Otter said the Rat softly “At least I don’t think so. Why, without Mole nothing
would be the same, would it, nothing at all? But it
is
the same, isn’t
it? It’s just that he’s not here. But, Otter —”Yes, Ratty,” said Otter gently,
for his friend sounded a little frail.

“Did you look really hard for him?”

“Right up past Toad Hall and right down to the
weir and over its dreadful edge,” said the Otter, “and there was neither sight
nor sound of him. Not a thing. We called and called, in case he was trapped,
but — nothing. And I myself, without
Badger’s
knowing,
made the stoats and weasels help me with one last search, but it was no good.”

“He
was
alive,” said the Rat, his voice
dropping to a whisper, as it sounded as if the Badger was coming back, “for the
River told me so. And I do not feel — I do not think — No, Otter! I’m sure he’s
all right and this is just a dreadful dream. But we had better go through with
Badger’s plan — if only for his sake! He’s the one who needs to say goodbye!”

There was a sudden twinkle in the Rat’s eye,
brief but comforting to the Otter, for it suggested that shaken though the Rat
was he was on the road to recovery, rather than heading for dementia as the
Badger seemed to think.

“Tomorrow it is then!” said the Badger,
returning.
“At dusk.
Assemble Portly, assemble the
rabbits, assemble Mole’s Nephew and let us say goodbye to our good friend Mole
in a splendid and fitting manner and with due decorum!”

“Yes, Badger,” said the Otter, before sliding
away back down to the river, thinking that he would get a few helpers together
and have one last final look and then, if that did not produce anything, he
supposed he could say goodbye to Mole feeling he had done all he could.

The night passed; dawn came; the morning was bright and cold. Then as
the afternoon wore on a strange discoloured sky appeared which portended the
return of snow — the same sky that Mole had also seen, and which made him think
that perhaps he ought to venture onto the water and try to return home — and it
cast its pall all along the river.

The animals assembled at the very tree where
the Mole had written his generous last will and testament, and the Badger,
looking very serious and wearing a black armband, led the Water Rat, the Otter,
Portly and Mole’s Nephew through the throng of rabbits who had long since
gathered, more out of curiosity than anything else.

There was a certain solemnity about the scene,
despite the fact that at least two of those present — Rat and Mole’s Nephew —
were utterly unconvinced that the Mole had passed away Nothing
felt
as
if he had, nothing at all. Rather the contrary, in fact. Yet now they had
gathered in the late afternoon, with the river flowing heavily and mournfully
by, and the threatening sky finally swirling and changing as the first snow
began to fall.

“My friends,” said the Badger, “we are gathered
here today to celebrate the memory of one who —”

As the Badger spoke, even those who had had
doubts — even the Rat himself — began to think that Mole had indeed gone from
them and would not walk their way again. Indeed, the more the Badger’s voice
intoned on the sadness of passing, and the bleak comfort of memory, and the
darker and more cold and snowy it got, with flakes of snow swirling about them
and adhering to their heads and coats, and to the trees about, the sadder and
more mournful the group became.

The rabbits, always much affected by such
things, were beset by sniffles and tears. Mole’s Nephew stood ever more sombre,
ever more still, while the Rat seemed to age with each new rolling, funereal
phrase the Badger uttered — his voice deepening, and sometimes shaking a little
to betray the depth of his emotions.

But it was poor Portly who was affected most of
all.

Mole’s Nephew had had to support him all the
way from Mole End, from where the party had set out. He felt (not without
reason) that it had all been his fault and began by sobbing to
himself
, at first quietly and with decorum. As the Badger
droned on, however, and the snow fell, Portly grew wilder in his distress,
crying out, “O, it was
all my
fault, all mine!” and “I
shall never forgive myself!” and “How can I live after this!”

Which did not improve the Badger’s
temper or composure one bit, for he was forced to stop in mid-sentence and order
Otter to quieten Portly down a little.
Which he did with soft words
and persuasion and by telling him to sit down on the tree roots and watch the
proceedings from there.

“Also I’m hungry,” said Portly in a whisper
loud enough for others to hear. “Maybe I should go back to Mole End and leave
you to it?”

“
Sssh
!” said the
Badger sternly “Wretched animal. You will stay and mourn, and show respect for
this great and much loved Mole who —”

Badger was off again, and with each word he
spoke Mole — ordinary Mole, humble and familiar Mole — was elevated inexorably
into Great and Noble Mole, certainly the greatest and noblest Mole
they
were
likely ever to meet, whose like would never —As the Badger went on, Portly,
sitting down out of the breeze and so more comfortable, began to feel himself
grow drowsy It was, of course, a pity about Mole but, well, there was Mole’s
Nephew to fill his place and perhaps it had been Mole’s own fault for going out
onto the ice …

“Yes!” Portly told himself comfortingly as his
eyes began to close, “if Mole hadn’t been foolish and — and—”

His sleepy gaze went past the sombre upright
forms of the Badger and the others to the grey flow of the river.

“— and I think it was
definitely
his
fault!”

Even as Portly said these uncharitable words to
himself
, and eased into a position in which he hoped
none would see his eyes close, he saw, or thought he saw through the falling
snow, something strange upon the river.

Something that moved slowly and smoothly
Something
pale and odd.

He leaned forward, peered and woke up with a
sudden jolt.

“It looks like — it — it is coming —”

These were not words that Portly was actually
able to speak aloud as he struggled to make sense of the dreadful apparition
that had undoubtedly come into view on the river a little way downstream and
was making its slow way up it; these were the mute appeals of an animal
who
had quite lost his voice.

He half rose as that apparition, all white and
unearthly, became clearer and ever clearer and, even as he watched, turned
across the great river and came towards
him.

“Badger!”
Portly tried to call, though no sound came
out.’
“Rat!”

Then, finally, he turned to Otter and looked at
him, mouthing silent words of terror and anguish, his eyes nearly popping from
his head in alarm as he raised his right hand and pointed at the Thing that
came ever nearer.

It was Mole’s Spirit that came, for it had the
shape of Mole, of that there was no doubt, and it —”Sit down, Portly, and stop
being such a nuisance,” said the Otter, placing a firm paw on his miscreant
son’s shoulder.

“But —”

He saw that Mole’s Spirit rode in an ancient
craft, also pale and ghostly, and this now carried him — no, It — to the bank
in full view of the others, if only they would turn round. But they did not,
and would not hear
Portly’s
silent cries of warning,
or understand his wild gesticulations, which grew ever more desperate as the
form approached.

It was undoubtedly in the shape of Mole, but
ghastly white and slow-moving.

“Look out!” cried Portly, finding his voice at
last. “It’s Mole returned to punish me!”

“
Sssh
!” hissed the
Badger and the Otter together. “Not long now,” said the Rat, patting him in a
friendly way.

“Nobody’s blaming you, Portly,” said Mole’s
Nephew kindly.

“But —” whispered Portly, for the Thing, having
tied up the ghostly boat with a ghostly painter, was turning now towards them
and beginning to ascend the bank.

It was then that the rabbits saw it too, and
with one accord, turned tail and were off into the night. Which made the Otter
look towards where his son was pointing in time to see for himself the ghostly
shape of Mole, his ascent completed, standing there staring at them, without a
word.

“Badger —” growled the Otter, for though he was
a sturdy creature and not easily frightened, this was very much beyond his
experience.

“Silence!” cried the Badger, who had reached
the climax of the memorial service.

“For we are nearly done.
We must pay homage in silence to
one
who
—”

Otter reached out to Rat and he to Mole’s
Nephew, and pointed wordlessly at where the apparition stood.

Then all the animals but the Badger himself,
who would not be stopped, backed away as the ghastly form began its determined
advance towards them.

“Badger, I really think you had better come
with us,” said the Rat quietly, the only one among them who seemed to have
retained some presence of mind. “You had better come now!”

“Now?” cried the Badger. “Not now!”

“Now might well be better than later,” said the
Rat, backing away with the others.

Then panic overtook them all; just as a
whirlwind among trees sets first one and then others falling, fear set Portly,
Otter, Rat and all but Badger scampering away behind the great tree on which
Mole’s will and testament had been written, and to which he had now returned in
spirit form, no doubt in judgement of them all.

“Better get clear, Badger. It’s nearly upon
you!” cried the Rat from his place of vantage.

“Unworthy animals!” cried the Badger after
them, shaking his fist. “Does a little snow cause you to run and hide? What
could be nearly upon me, as you put it, but grief and sorrow and heavy thoughts
of—
”

He was about to launch off yet again when some
sense must have told him that there really was something creeping up behind
him. He turned, and saw, and stared, open-mouthed.

For there it stood staring up at the Badger,
pale and awesome in the twilight, Mole’s Spirit. No doubt about it at all.

“Badger!” it whispered terribly with a strange
chattering voice. “Badger, I am alive!”

The Badger’s response was extraordinary and
unforgettable, perhaps aided and abetted by the many irritations he had
suffered in the past days.

He stared, he wondered, he thought, and he was
not afraid.

Raising his great paw most impressively, he
cried out, “Whatever you are, whatever you want, go back whence you came! Leave
us in peace! Leave us, I say”

“But, Badger it whispered.

“No
but’s
, no
if’s
!” thundered the Badger. “Wherever you came from you
shall return to and we shall lay thy restless soul in peace. This is hallowed
ground now and thou
shalt
not sully it!”