I was less successful in scrounging food in the next town, although I still ate adequately enough. The road was becoming more and more familiar and I knew I was nearing my home. My excitement grew.
When dusk fell I was between towns, so I left the roadside and entered a deep wood. Hungry (of course) and tired (naturally), I searched for a safe place to sleep. I don’t know if you’ve ever spent the night in a wood alone, but it’s very creepy. It’s pitch-black for a start (no street lights), and there’s a constant rustling and cracking of dry twigs as the night animals mooch around. My night vision’s good – better than yours – but even so, it was still difficult to detect much in the darkness. Eerie glowing lights set my heart racing until I investigated and discovered a couple of glow-worms going through their meeting routine. Another blue-green glow upset me until I realized it was only honey fungus growing on a decaying tree-trunk.
I could hear bats flapping around, their high-pitched squeals making me jump, and a hedgehog trundled into me and pricked my nose with its spikes. I considered going back to the roadside, but the blinding lights and roaring engines of passing cars were even more frightening.
The woods at night are almost as busy as in the daytime, except everything seems even more secretive. I adopted this secretive attitude myself and skulked around as stealthily as I could in search of a resting-place. Finally I discovered a nice soft mound of earth beneath a thick roof of foliage, just under a tree. It made a snug hiding-place and I settled down for the night, a strange feeling of portentousness filling me. My instincts were right, for later that night my sleep was disturbed by the badger.
And it was the badger who explained things to me.
I had failed to fall into a comfortable sleep and lay dozing in the dark with my eyes constantly blinking open at the slightest sound. A shifting of earth behind me made me jump and twist my head round to see the cause of the disturbance. Three broad white lines appeared from a hole in the sloping ground and a twitching nose at the base of the middle stripe sniffed the air in all directions.
It stopped when it caught my scent.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice said.
I didn’t reply – I was ready to run.
The white lines widened as they emerged from the black hole. ‘Funny smell,’ the voice said. ‘Let me see you.’
I now saw there were two shiny black eyes on either side of the middle stripe. I realized it was a badger speaking, and it was, two black stripes running down his white head which gave him this white-striped appearance. I backed away, aware that these creatures could be fierce if alarmed or angered.
‘Is it . . . is it a . . . dog? Yes, it’s a dog, isn’t it?’ the badger guessed.
I cleared my throat, undecided whether to stay or run.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ the badger said. ‘I won’t cause you any bother unless you mean us harm.’ He waddled his great coarse-haired body out of his sett and I saw he was at least three feet long and very tall.
‘Yes, I thought I recognized the smell. We don’t get many dogs in here on their own. You are on your own, aren’t you? You’re not night-hunting with one of those cattle farmers, are you?’
Like the fox, he didn’t seem to trust the dog’s association with man. I found my voice and nervously assured him I wasn’t.
He seemed puzzled for a moment and I felt rather than saw him regard me curiously. Whatever was going on in his mind was interrupted as another badger shuffled from the sett. I assumed this was his sow.
‘What’s going on? What’s this?’ came a sharp voice.
‘Hush now. It’s only a dog and he means us no harm,’ the boar told her. ‘Why are you alone in the woods, friend? Are you lost?’
I was too nervous to speak up right then and the sow piped up again: ‘Chase him away! He’s after the babies!’
‘No, no,’ I managed to say. ‘No, please, I’m just passing through. I’ll be on my way now. Don’t get upset.’ I turned to trot off into the darkness.
‘Just a moment,’ the boar said quickly. ‘Stay awhile. I want to talk to you.’
Now I was afraid to run.
‘Chase him away, chase him away! I don’t like him!’ the sow urged.
‘Be quiet!’ the boar said quietly but firmly. ‘You go on about your hunting. Leave a good trail for me to follow – I’ll join you later.’
The sow knew better than to argue and huffed her way rudely past me, emitting a vile odour from her anal glands as a comment.
‘Come closer,’ the boar said when his mate had gone. ‘Come where I can see you better.’ His enormous body had shrunk and I realized his hair must have become erectile on seeing me and had now returned to its normal smoothness. ‘Tell me why you’re here. Do you belong to a man?’
I shuffled forward, ready to flee.
‘No, I don’t belong to anyone. I used to, but don’t any more.’
‘Have you been mistreated?’
‘It’s a lucky dog who hasn’t.’
He nodded at this. ‘It would be a fortunate animal or man who hasn’t,’ he said.
It was my turn to regard him curiously. What did he know of man?
The badger settled himself into a comfortable position on the ground and invited me to do the same and, after a moment’s hesitation, I did.
‘Tell me about yourself. Do you have a man name?’ he asked.
‘Fluke,’ I told him, puzzled by his knowledge. He seemed very human for a badger. ‘What’s yours?’
The badger chuckled drily. ‘Wild animals don’t have names, we know who we are. It’s only men who give animals names.’
‘How do you know about that? About men, I mean.’
He laughed aloud then. ‘I used to be one,’ he said.
I sat there stunned. Had I heard right? My jaw dropped open.
The badger laughed again, and the sound of a badger laughing is enough to unnerve anyone. Fighting the urge to run I managed to stammer, ‘Y-you used . . .’
‘Yes. And you were too. And so were all animals.’
‘But . . . but I know I was. I thought I was the only one! I . . .’
He stayed my words with a grin. ‘Hush now. I knew you weren’t like the others at my first whiff of you. I’ve met some who have been similar, but there’s something very different about you. Calm down and let me hear your story, then I’ll tell you a few things about yourself – about us.’
I tried to still my pounding heart and began to tell the badger about my life: my first recollections in the market, my first owner, the dogs’ home, the breaker’s yard, the Guvnor, Rumbo, the old lady, and my episode with sly old fox. I told him where I was going, of my man memories and, as I went on, my nerves settled, although an excitement remained. It was wonderful to talk in this way, to tell someone who would listen, who understood the things I said, how I felt. The badger remained quiet throughout, nodding his head from time to time, shaking it in sympathy at others. When I had finished, I felt drained, drained yet strangely elated. It seemed as though a weight had been lifted. I was no longer alone – there was another who knew what I knew! I looked eagerly at the badger.
‘Why do you want to go to this town – this Edenbridge?’ he asked before I could question him.
‘To see my family, of course! My wife, my daughter – to let them know I’m not dead!’
He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘But you are dead.’
The shock almost stopped my racing heart. ‘I’m not. How can you say that? I’m alive – not as a man, but as a dog. I’m in a dog’s body!’
‘No. The man you were is dead. The man your wife and daughter knew is dead. You’d only be a dog to them.’
‘Why?’ I howled. ‘How did I become like this? Why am I a dog?’
‘A dog? You could have become any one of a multitude of creatures – it depended largely on your former life.’
I shook my body in frustration and moaned, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Do you believe in reincarnati
on, Fluke?’ the badger asked.
‘Reincarnation? Living again as someone else, in another time? I don’t know. I don’t think I do.’
‘You’re living proof to yourself.’
‘No, there must be another explanation.’
‘Such as?’
‘I’ve no idea. But why should we come back as someone or something – else?’
‘What would be the point of just one existence on this earth?’
‘What would be the point of two?’ I countered.
‘Or three, or four? Man has to learn, Fluke, and he could never learn in one lifetime. Many man religions advocate this; and many accept reincarnation in the form of animals. Man has to learn from all levels.’
‘Learn what?’
‘Acceptance.’
‘Why? Why should he learn acceptance? What for?’
‘So he can go on to the next stage.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t reached it. It’s good, I believe. I feel that.’
‘So how do you know this much? What makes you special?’
‘I’ve been around for a long time, Fluke. I’ve observed, I’ve learned, I’ve lived many lives. And I think I’m here to help those like you.’
His words were soft and strangely comforting, but I fought against them. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m confused. Are you saying I have to accept being a dog?’
‘You have to accept whatever life gives you – and I mean accept. You have to learn humility, Fluke, and that comes only with acceptance. Then will you be ready for the next level.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said, taking on a new tack out of desperation. ‘We all become animals when we die?’
He nodded. ‘Nearly all. Birds, fishes, mammals, insects – there are no rules as to which species we’re born into.’
‘But there must be billions upon billions of living creatures in the world today. They can’t all be reincarnated humans, our civilization just hasn’t been going that long.’
The badger chuckled. ‘Yes, you’re right. There are at least a million known animal species, over three quarters of which are insects – the more advanced of us.’
‘Insects are the more advanced?’ I asked in a flat tone.
‘That’s right. But let me answer your first point. This planet of ours is very old and it’s been washed clean many times so that life can start all over again, a constant cycle of evolvement which allows us to learn a little more each time. Our civilization, as you call it, has not been the first by any means.’
‘And these . . . these people are still coming back, still . . . learning?’
‘Oh yes. Much of our progress owes itself to race memory, not inspiration.’
‘But no matter how long ago it all began, man evolved from animals, didn’t he? How could animals have been reincarnated humans if they were here first?’
He just laughed at that.
You can imagine the state I was in by now: half of me wanted to believe him because I needed answers (and he spoke in such a soothing matter-of-fact way), and the other half wondered if he was demented.
‘You said insects were more advanced . . .’ I prompted.
‘Yes, they accept their lives, which are shorter and perhaps more arduous. A female fruit-fly completes her whole lifecycle in ten days, whereas a turtle, for instance, can live for three hundred years.’
‘I dread to think of what the turtle has been up to in his previous life to deserve such a long penance,’ I said drily.
‘Penance. Yes, that’s a good way of putting it,’ he said thoughtfully.
I groaned inwardly and was startled when the badger laughed out loud. ‘All too much for you, is it?’ he said. ‘Well, that’s understandable. But think about it: Why are certain creatures so repugnant to man? Why are they trodden on, mistreated or killed, or just plain reviled? Could these creatures have been so vile in their past lives that the malignance lingers on? Is this their punishment for past crimes? The snake spends his life crawling on his belly, the spider is invariably crushed whenever he comes into contact with man. The worm is despised, the slug makes humans shudder. Even the poor old lobster is boiled alive. But their death comes as a blessing, a relief from their horrible existence. It’s nature’s way that their lives should be short, and man’s instinct that makes him want to crush these creatures. It’s not just abhorrence of them, you see, but compassion also, a desire to put an end to their misery. These creatures have paid their price.
‘And there are many more, Fluke, many, many more creatures below the earth’s surface. Beings that no human ever laid eyes on; bugs who live in fires near the earth’s core. What evil have they done to earn such an existence? Have you ever wondered why humans think of hell as an inferno, why its direction is always “down there”? And why do we look skywards when we speak of “Heaven”? Do we have an instinct born in us about such things?
‘Why do many fear death, while others welcome it? Do we already know it’s only an enforced hibernation, that we live on in another form, that our wrongdoings have to be accounted for? No wonder those who have lived peaceful lives are less afraid.’
The badger paused at that point, to regain his breath or to give me time to catch up with him.
‘How do you explain ghosts, then? I know they exist, I’ve seen them – I keep seeing them,’ I said. ‘Why haven’t they been born again as animals, or have they passed that stage? Is that the level we’re reaching for? If it is, I’m not so sure I want it.’
‘No, no. They haven’t reached our stage of development, I’m afraid, Fluke. They’re closer to our world though than their previous one – that’s why it’s easier for us to see them – but they’re lost, you see. That’s why there’s such an aura of sadness about them. Confused and lost. They find their way eventually with a little help. They get born again.’
Born again. The words struck me. Was this why my vision, the colours I could see, was so incredible? Was this why I could appreciate scents – the most delicate and the most pungent – so fully? Was it because I’d been born again yet still retained vague memories? I had past senses to compare with the new! A new-born baby sees freshly but quickly learns to adapt his vision, to mute colours, to organize shapes – he learns not to accept. That’s why you’re nearly blind at birth; it would be too much for you otherwise. Your brain has to sort things out first, then let you in on it gradually. My own sight was now nowhere as clear or unprejudiced as it had been when I was a young pup. Nor was my hearing. My brain which had been born with the ability to appreciate my senses was now organizing them so they were acceptable to it, so they no longer dazzled it as much as before.
I shook the train of thought from my head and said, ‘But why can’t others remember? Why aren’t they the same as me?’
‘I can’t answer that, Fluke. You’re different and I don’t know why. Perhaps you’re the first of a new development. An evolvement. I’ve met others similar, but none quite like you. Perhaps you are only a fluke after all. I wish I knew.’
‘Aren’t you the same as me? Wasn’t Rumbo almost? And a rat we met once, he seemed like us.’
‘Yes, we’re a little like you. I suppose me more so than your friend Rumbo and the rat. But you’re special, Fluke. I’m special too, but in a different way, as I told you: I’m here to help. Rumbo and the rat may have been similar, but I doubt they were the same. I think perhaps you’re a kind of forerunner; everything may be about to go through a change.’
‘But why do I only remember fragments? Why can’t I remember it all?’
‘You’re not supposed to remember anything. Many creatures carry the characteristics of their past personalities, many may even have vague memories; but they don’t think as you do, not in human terms. There’s a struggle going on inside you – man versus canine – but I think it will eventually resolve itself. You’ll either become a dog completely, or a balance between the two will be reached. I hope it’s the latter – that could
mean a development for all of us is taking place. But listen to me: you’ll never be a man again physically in this life.’
Despair gripped me. What had I expected? That some day, by some miracle, I might return to my old body? That I would live a normal life again? I howled into the night and wept as never before.
Finally, and with no hope in my voice, I said to the badger, ‘What do I do now? How can I live like this?’
He moved closer to me and spoke very quietly. ‘You accept now. Accept you’re a dog, accept you are a fluke – or perhaps not a fluke. You must live as a dog now.’
‘But I have to know who I was!’
‘No, it won’t help you. Forget your past, your family – they’re nothing to do with you now.’
‘They need me!’
‘There’s nothing you can do!’
I rose to my feet and glowered down at him. ‘You don’t understand. There’s someone evil near them. They need protection from him. I think he killed me!’
The badger shook his head warily. ‘It doesn’t matter, Fluke. You can’t help any more. You have to forget your past, you might regret it if you go back.’
‘No!’ I growled. ‘Maybe this is why I can remember, why I’m different. They need my help! It stayed with me when I died! I’ve got to go to them!’
I ran from the badger then, afraid he would make me stay, afraid to hear more, but when I was a safe distance away, I turned and called back.
‘Who are you, badger? What are you?’
There was no reply. And I could no longer see him in the darkness.
16
Pretty heavy stuff, right? A bit frightening? Well, it scared me. But do you see the sense of it? If there is this great goal we’re all reaching for – call it perfection, happiness, ultimate peace of mind, whatever you like – then it seems right that it doesn’t come easily; we have to earn it. I don’t know why and I’m still not sure I believe it myself (and I’m a dog who was once a man), so I don’t blame you for doubting. But, like I keep saying: keep an open mind.