The dew and gossamer had dried early from the grass and by midmorning the finches had fallen silent. Now, along the lonely expanses of wiry turf, the air wavered. On the footpath that led past the warren, bright threads of light-watery, a mirage-trickled and glittered across the shortest, smoothest grass. From a distance the trees along the edge of the beech hanger appeared full of great, dense shadows, impenetrable to the dazzled eye. The only sound was the 'Zip, zip' of the grasshoppers, the only scent that of the warm thyme.
In the burrow, Fiver slept and woke uneasily through the heat of the day, fidgeting and scratching as the last traces of moisture dried out of the earth above him. Once, when a trickle of powdery soil fell from the roof, he leaped out of sleep and was in the mouth of the run before he came to himself and returned to where he had been lying. Each time he woke, he remembered the loss of Hazel and suffered once more the knowledge that had pierced him as the shadowy, limping rabbit disappeared in the first light of morning on the down. Where was that rabbit now? Where had it gone? He began to follow it among the tangled paths of his own thoughts, over the cold, dew-wet ridge and down into the dawn mist of the fields below.
The mist swirled round Fiver as he crept through thistles and nettles. Now he could no longer see the limping rabbit ahead. He was alone and afraid, yet perceiving old, familiar sounds and smells-those of the field where he was born. The thick weeds of summer were gone. He was under the bare ash boughs and the flowering blackthorn of March. He was crossing the brook, going up the slope toward the lane, toward the place where Hazel and he had come upon the notice board. Would the board still be there? He looked timidly up the slope. The view was blotted with mist, but as he neared the top he saw a man busy over a pile of tools-a spade, a rope and other, smaller implements, the use of which he did not know. The notice board lay flat on the ground. It was smaller than he remembered and fixed to a single, long, square post, sharpened at the further end to put into the earth. The surface of the board was white, just as he had seen it before, and covered with the sharp black lines like sticks. Fiver came hesitantly up the slope and stopped close to the man, who stood looking down into a deep, narrow hole sunk in the ground at his feet. The man turned to Fiver with the kind of amiability that an ogre might show to a victim whom they both know that he will kill and eat as soon as it suits him to do so.
'Ah! An' what am I doin', eh?' asked the man.
'What
'I'm just putt'n up this 'ere ol' board,' said the man. 'And I s'pose you wants t' know what for, eh?'
'Yes,' whispered Fiver.
'It's fer that there old 'Azel,' said the man. 'On'y where 't'is, see, we got t' put up a bit of a notice, like, on 'is account. And what d'you reckon it says, eh?'
'I don't know,' said Fiver. 'How-how can a board say anything?'
'Ah, but it do, see?' replied the man. 'That's where we knows what you don't. That's why we kills you when we 'as a mind to. Now, you wants take a good look at that there board and then very likely you'll know more 'n what you knows now.'
In the livid, foggy twilight, Fiver stared at the board. As he stared, the black sticks flickered on the white surface. They raised their sharp, wedge-shaped little heads and chattered together like a nestful of young weasels. The sound, mocking and cruel, came faintly to his ears, as though muffled by sand or sacking. 'In memory of Hazel-rah! In memory of Hazel-rah! In memory of Hazel-rah! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!'
'Well, that's where 't'is, see?' said the man. 'And I've got t'ang 'im up on this 'ere board. That's t' say, soon's I gets it stood up proper. Same as you'd 'ang up jay, like, or old stoat. Ah! Gon' 'ang 'im up.'
'No!' cried Fiver. 'No, you shan't!'
'On'y I ain't got 'im, see?' went on the man. 'That's why I can't get done. I can't 'ang 'im up, 'cos 'e've gone down th' bloody 'ole, that's where 'e've gone. 'E've gone down th' bloody 'ole, just when I'd got 'n lined an' all, and I can't get 'n out.'
Fiver crept up to the man's boots and peered into the hole. It was circular, a cylinder of baked earthenware that disappeared vertically into the ground. He called, 'Hazel! Hazel!' Far down in the bole, something moved and he was about to call again. Then the man bent down and hit him between the ears.
Fiver was struggling in a thick cloud of earth, soft and powdery. Someone was saying, 'Steady, Fiver, steady!' He sat up. There was soil in his eyes, his ears and nostrils. He could not smell. He shook himself and said, 'Who is it?'
'It's Blackberry. I came to see how you were. It's all right; a bit of the roof's fallen, that's all. There've been falls all over the warren today-it's the heat. Anyway, it woke you from a nightmare, if I know anything. You were thrashing about and calling out for Hazel. You poor old chap! What a miserable thing it is to have happened! We must try to bear it as best we can. We've all got to stop running one day, you know. They say Frith knows all the rabbits, every one.'
'Is it evening?' asked Fiver.
'Not yet, no. But it's a fair time after ni-Frith. Holly and the others have come back, you know. Strawberry's very ill and they haven't any does with them-not one. Everything's as bad as it could be. Holly's still asleep-he was completely exhausted. He said he'd tell us what happened this evening. When we told him about poor Hazel, he said-Fiver, you're not listening. I expect you'd rather I kept quiet.'
'Blackberry,' said Fiver, 'do you know the place where Hazel was shot?'
'Yes, Bigwig and I went and looked at the ditch before we came away. But you mustn't-'
'Could you go there with me now?'
'Go back there? Oh, no. It's a long way, Fiver, and what would be the good? The risk, and this fearful heat, and you'd only make yourself wretched.'
'Hazel isn't dead,' said Fiver.
'Yes, the men took him away. Fiver, I saw the blood.'
'Yes, but you didn't see Hazel, because he isn't dead. Blackberry, you must do what I ask.'
'You're asking too much.'
'Then I shall have to go alone. But what I'm asking you to do is to come and save Hazel's life.'
When at last Blackberry had reluctantly given in and they had set out down the hill, Fiver went almost as fast as though he were running for cover. Again and again he urged Blackberry to make haste. The fields were empty in the glare. Every creature bigger than a bluebottle was sheltering from the heat. When they reached the outlying sheds beside the lane, Blackberry began to explain how he and Bigwig had gone back to search; but Fiver cut him short.
'We have to go up the slope, I know that: but you must show me the ditch.'
The elms were still. There was not the least sound in the leaves. The ditch was thick with cow parsley, hemlock and long trails of green-flowering bryony. Blackberry led the way to the trampled patch of nettles and Fiver sat still among them, sniffing and looking about him in the silence. Blackberry watched him disconsolately. A faint breath of wind stole across the fields and a blackbird began to sing from somewhere beyond the elms. At last Fiver began to move along the bottom of the ditch. The insects buzzed round his ears and suddenly a little cloud of flies flew up, disturbed from a projecting stone. No, not a stone. It was smooth and regular-a circular lip of earthenware. The brown mouth of a drain, stained black at the lower edge by a thin, dried thread of blood: of rabbit's blood.
'The bloody hole!' whispered Fiver. 'The bloody hole!'
He peered into the dark opening. It was blocked. Blocked by a rabbit. That was plain to be smelled. A rabbit whose faint pulse could just be heard, magnified in the confined tunnel.
'Hazel?' said Fiver.
Blackberry was beside him at once. 'What is it, Fiver?'
'Hazel's in that hole,' said Fiver, 'and he's alive.'
27. 'You Can't Imagine It Unless You've Been There'
My Godda bless, never I see sucha people.
