Suddenly in the Depths of the Forest

31

And after another stroll around the garden, Maya and Matti already knew how to utter a few words in sparrow-song and a sentence or two in cat-talk and in cow- lowing, and they understood a breath here and a flutter there of the language of flies. Nehi and all the creatures in the garden begged Matti and Maya to stay there with them for at least a few weeks.

But Matti took Maya's hand and said, They're worried about us down there. We shouldn't distress them so much.

Then Matti also remembered that right now, at this very moment, just as darkness fell, all the houses in the village were being sealed, all the shutters were being closed, and every door was being locked with two or three iron bolts. Their parents must be so worried about them, and maybe the whole village had gone out to look for them with torches and maybe they'd already given up searching and were in their houses now, each family behind its bars and iron shutters.

So Maya and Matti asked Nehi to send a swift deer with them, or a dog, to show them the way home down the mountain. Of course, they promised never ever to tell anyone about what they'd seen with their own eyes or what they'd heard with their own ears in the mountain demon's hiding place, and never to say a single word about all the magic they'd seen in his garden.

But Nehi once again gave them a pensive smile, a modest, almost shy, even sad smile, but a tiny bit sly, a smile that didn't begin on his lips, but in the wrinkles around his eyes, and spread down through the network of furrows in his cheeks till it stopped and lingered briefly at the corners of his mouth. And after his smile, he said that he needed no such promises: after all, even if they did tell it all down there, even if they piled up detail upon detail upon detail, who would ever believe them? All the villagers would only laugh at them and ridicule them if they told what they had seen: the punishment of doubters is to always cast doubt, even on the doubt they themselves cast. And the punishment of the suspicious is to suspect everyone all the time. To suspect even themselves and their own suspicions.

Matti said, The minute Emanuella the Teacher or Almon the Fisherman start telling us animal stories, everyone makes fun of them. Grownups and children. But sometimes a grownup forgets to mock for a minute — maybe he suddenly feels regret or longing — and starts talking about all the things he's going to deny completely in another minute. There's always one who starts, and all the others shut him up. But every time, it's someone else who starts. And sometimes, before class, one boy or another will tell everyone that, very early in the morning, when he was still half awake and half asleep, he thinks he heard a cheep in the distance, or a buzz or a chirp. Everyone shuts him up quickly, tells him not to talk and not to make them angry. Do the parents deny everything because they're so ashamed? Or maybe they decided not to talk so they could put an end to the sorrow. But I don't think anyone really forgot what it was the whole village decided to forget.

Then Nehi asked them to tell him a little about life in the village during the daytime. Because he goes down there only at night. He asked them to please tell him what the stone square is like during the long summer evenings between the light of day and the light of sunset. And what it's like when Danir the Roofer and his helpers and other young men and women come there to talk, drink beer, laugh, and sometimes even sing for thirty minutes or an hour. And how is Almon the Fisherman? Does he still argue with the trees in his garden? Still carve wooden creatures with his penknife? One day I almost couldn't control myself or wait till midnight, that's how much I wanted to go down to his vegetable garden in the daylight, to take down the scarecrow and stand there in its place with my arms spread like a cross. Almon's almost blind — maybe he wouldn't notice the difference and then he and I could argue.

And how are the ladies' conversations in the grocery store? And the council of women who do their washing at a bend in the river? And how is Emanuella now? And the old men who come to the riverbank at ten in the morning to sit together on benches and smoke their pipes? If I weren't afraid that everyone would run away from me screaming in terror, I might still go down there once in the daytime. Just once. Slip over and sit with them, take part in their arguments-memories, and inhale the aroma of pipe smoke. Maybe some of them haven't completely forgotten me?

Maya said, The ones who remember are ridiculed. The silent ones stay silent.