Toby Alone

  “Aaaaaaaaaahhhh!”

  An enormous lump dropped out of the sky in front of them, causing a spectacular wave.

  Crying out in terror, the porter threw the bag a few paces away and managed to cling on to a blade of grass. The bag with Toby in it floated. The waves washed to and fro, but he stayed on the surface. A final surge of water wedged him between two grass roots.

  When he came to, his hands and feet were still tied up, but Toby managed to poke his nose through the rip in the bag. As if in a dream, he discovered what had fallen out of the sky.

  It was a living lump of something, and Toby noticed the shadow it cast over the Grass forest. A sort of monster tucked into itself with two big fat legs broken in two. He could now see the animal’s impenetrable eyes staring at the porter, who bravely refused to flee. The monster’s skin was shiny and grainy. It was about fifty times the size of a beetle or a slug.

  The horror only lasted a moment. The monster shot out its enormous tongue, and snatched up the poor porter. Toby heard just one cry, and the Grass man disappeared, arms and legs flailing, into a mouth as wide as any tunnel. Toby caught the man’s burning stare for the last time. Down at the bottom of his bag, Toby swore he would never wish for his own death again.

  The creature, unlike any he had seen before, made a small leap in Toby’s direction and gave the pocket of soaked cloth a long hard stare. Its bulging eyes almost touched the bag. Toby didn’t move a muscle. He could see a tip of slimy tongue peeping through its green mouth now and then. When the animal cleared its throat, the sound was like thunder. Toby shuddered, and the effect of this tiny movement combined with the wave’s wake was enough to flood the bag and make it slowly sink.

  Regretfully abandoning his prey, the terrifying creature uttered its war cry once again and took off.

  Toby had vanished beneath the surface of the water.

  It was perhaps the fiftieth time that Toby thought he was going to die, but this time he was convinced it was true.

  A child left to drift in water, deep in the heart of a forest, with his feet and hands bound, imprisoned in a sack, and with his sole companion gobbled up by a frog, doesn’t stand much chance of making it out alive.

  Totally submerged and in the pitch black, unable to breathe, Toby still carried on counting each second as if anything could still happen.

  He didn’t want to die any more. Just when it was too late. Why is it always like that?

  Toby was hardly surprised when he felt his bag being dragged for a few seconds, then lifted up and emptied like a wineskin. He swallowed a great gulp of pure air, filling his lungs.

  He saw a small hand search the sack and felt it tickle his chin.

  “It’s me…”

  Toby recognised the voice. The bag opened. What he saw made his eyes well up with tenderness. It was Moon Boy. The tiny Grass boy with his yellow belt had followed them every step of the way.

  No other face could have reassured Toby as much as this one. A child. The most innocent thing left under the sky.

  “That was a naughty frog,” said the moon-faced boy. “She ate Vidof.”

  Toby thought of his poor porter. So his name was Vidof.

  “Did he have a family?” Toby asked.

  “No. He wanted to marry Ilaya.”

  Once again, Toby noted how fragile life was here in the Grass. You couldn’t rely on anything. The lot of the Grass people was as hazardous as that of pollen grains. Moon Boy went over to the lamp, which miraculously hadn’t gone out on its float.

  “Ilaya’s going to cry,” he stated.

  There was no answer to that.

  The boy’s skin was glowing, because all the mud had been washed off in the water. His white shoulders were clearly visible. He undid Toby’s cords so that he could stretch out now he’d been released from the bag.

  Toby stood up with his chest above the water.

  “You’re free to go,” the little boy said to him. “Wait for the morning. Your Tree is that way.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going back to comfort Ilaya.”

  “Aren’t you frightened? How old are you?”

  Moon Boy gave a broad grin.

  “If I get caught by a lizard or a frog, Ilaya will cry even more. So I’d better watch out.”

  “Who is Ilaya?” asked Toby.

  “My big sister.”

  The water came up to Toby’s hips. But on the little boy it was at least as high as his shoulders. It was a miracle he had got this far.

  “Why did you follow us?” asked Toby.

  “Don’t know. Didn’t think about it.”

  And he walked away, saying, “Farewell, Little Tree.”

  Toby took a step in the direction the boy had pointed. He pushed the lamp in front of him, but no sooner had he done so than it spluttered and went out. The night was black.

  Once again, Toby thought he saw eyes blinking in the darkness. He’d never felt so lonely in his life.

  A long time passed.

  Dampened noises slid over the Grass forest.

  “I’m frightened.”

  The voice came from right next to Toby. It was the little boy, and his natural fear made Toby’s own worries fly away. He drew strength from the little cold hand that curled up inside his own.

  Toby had never been a big brother to anyone. But at that moment, he became one, of sorts. He felt responsible for this child. He wouldn’t let go of his hand until it was clasped around the neck of a sister or a mother.

  This simple responsibility gave a sense of direction to Toby Lolness’s life again. He was no longer a tiny piece of flotsam floating in black bark juice, being given a rough ride by life.

  “Don’t be frightened. I’ll take you back home.”

  He helped the little boy climb up on to his shoulders and together they forged their way into the marsh.

  27

  Another Life

  The arrow struck the lizard, hitting exactly the pale neck area where the body armour is at its softest. A ten-year-old boy appeared, without waiting for the animal’s final death throes. He was brandishing a long blowpipe.

  He watched the lizard’s final collapse. It was a tiny beast, but there was enough meat on it to feed a family for a whole winter.

  The child gazed proudly at the animal. After making a capture like that, he would be able to choose his own name. He wouldn’t be known as Strand of Linen any more.

  The size of cloth worn by the Grass people was granted according to age. Small children went about stark naked, then a little linen band was placed around their waist and they were called Strand of Linen. Every year they added a few new rows. You would say of a young girl, “She wears little linen,” or of an old man, “He wears a field of white linen.” At fifteen, the garment stretched from the thighs to the chest. At the end of a life, a final row of cloth would transform the garment into a shroud.

  Shortly after they were ten, and once they had performed an act of bravery, the children could choose their own names.

  The young hunter already knew what name he would take on. He wanted to be called Moon Boy.

  He started running between the yellow Grass. The earth was giving off a real August heat. From one moment to the next, a vole might appear and snatch the lizard. Moon Boy needed to call in reinforcements in order to cut the creature up and put the nice red meat in storage for the winter.

  After running for ten minutes, he reached a stem and scaled it easily. At the top was the wheat ear where he and his sister had made their summer home. A grain had been rolled out and pushed overboard to create a round room that smelled of delicious bread.

  “Ilaya! I got one!”

  Ilaya opened an eye. It was afternoon nap time. She was sleeping on the floor in the yellow light, with just a straw pillow. Her long hair formed dark bundles around her, sprinkled with a golden powder.

  “What’s the matter, Strand of Linen?”

  The little boy pulled up short.

  “
Don’t call me that ever again.”

  She smiled as she stretched.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I caught a lizard.”

  She smiled again. Moon Boy loved this smile, which had only reappeared on his sister’s lips a few months ago. Ilaya had experienced terrible grief two years earlier. She had been engaged to a young man called Vidof. He had died in tragic circumstances. For months, in fact for two whole years, she had been inconsolable. But, just recently, she had begun to lead a normal life again.

  “I’m going to ask for help,” said Moon Boy as he climbed to the top of the ear.

  He could hear Ilaya calling out, “What are you going to be called? Hey, Strand of Linen! Which name?”

  He reached the top of the ear.

  “My name is Mooooooon Boooooy!”

  He was level with the tops of the other ear of wheat, and the vast golden field spread out on every side with, in the distance, the heavy shadow of the Tree. It was a dazzling view. The tall stems were swaying gently, making ripples across the Prairie. Summer was the only enjoyable season out of the whole year. Only the clouds could spoil this blessed period and transform it into a living hell.

  “What’s going on?”

  The question came from a neighbouring ear of wheat, where somebody had heard his wild cry.

  “Ah! Is that you, Strand of Linen?”

  “My name’s Moon Boy! I need some help over by the thistle. I’ve caught a lizard.”

  The other person, on his wheat ear, shouted out in the opposite direction. And so the news was passed from ear to ear. Soon, a crowd had gathered around the remains of the lizard, each of them cutting off his share of the fresh meat.

  It was rare to hunt lizards. Even though the meat from the dangerous reptile was a delicacy, the advantage of lizards was that they protected the Grass people from mosquitoes, which they wiped out by the dozen. Mosquitoes posed a nastier threat than lizards. The expression “Not a lizard in the Grass” actually meant “If there’s no lizard that means there aren’t any mosquitoes either so life is sweet.” As a result, the lizard was only hunted four days a year.

  “Nice catch, Strand of Linen. Well done!”

  “I’m not called Strand of Linen any more. My name’s Moon Boy.”

  Moon Boy walked round his trophy. He was looking for somebody.

  “Who are you looking for, Strand of Linen?”

  “My name is Moon Boy! Get that into your head!”

  Moon Boy couldn’t find the person he was looking for, which was a shame, because he wanted to share this joy with him. He went over to an older boy.

  “Aro, take my share of the meat up to the ear of wheat and give it to my sister, Ilaya. There’s something I must do urgently.”

  Aro tried not to laugh, but he was touched by Strand of Linen’s sudden change of tone. The previous evening, he’d been a little boy. Now he was giving him orders and acting as if he was on urgent and important business.

  “Whatever you say, Strand of Linen.”

  Moon Boy sighed.

  “I’m not called Strand of Linen…”

  He disappeared behind the thistle, grunting.

  It didn’t take him long to reach a clump of dried reeds – long leaves that curled inside themselves. From late summer onwards, they were bathed in water and attracted mosquitoes, but now, in the middle of the hot season, the reed bundles looked like tall towers that could have framed a green palace. And somebody had chosen this palace as their home, the same person who…

  An arrow brushed against Moon Boy, piercing the small linen ribbon that hung down from his cloth. The arrowhead ended its flight in the reeds, where it stuck nicely. Moon Boy was pinned to a big post. He tried to detach himself from the arrow, but couldn’t manage it. The linen was woven so it would last a lifetime.

  Where had this arrow come from? Moon Boy realised his only chance of escape was to abandon his clothing and dash off, naked. But that was out of the question. He wasn’t a Strand of Linen any more!

  He strained his ears.

  The noise was coming from a little pile of dried grass, a bit further off.

  A deep croaking. Terrified, Moon Boy spun around and around, unwinding himself from his yellow cloth, and ran off in the opposite direction.

  Just then he heard a peal of laughter. Turning back, he saw a boy who was at least fifteen years old, not particularly tall, but with strong legs and solid shoulders. He was holding a blowgun that was taller than he was.

  Moon Boy dived into the straw for cover.

  “Did you do that, Little Tree?”

  Toby hadn’t really changed. But two years with the Grass people had naturally left their mark.

  He was wilder-looking.

  When Toby had returned with Strand of Linen on his shoulders, everybody had been touched by this act of bravery from a boy who was prepared to confront those who had condemned him. He had told them about Vidof’s death, and in so doing he triggered Ilaya’s harrowing pain. She had thrown fistfuls of mud at him to begin with, before trying to eat the mud herself.

  “You killed him! You killed him!”

  She shoved her blackened fists into her own mouth. It took four of them to hold her down.

  Moon Boy had explained to his sister that it wasn’t Toby’s fault. But nobody could contain the young girl’s grief and bitterness. She wore a mask of hatred.

  Toby’s bravery and his concern for Ilaya were proof that he wasn’t an enemy like the rest of his people, but once again the Grass people decided to take him back to the Tree. Too many misfortunes had descended from that brown and green planet. Everything that came from the Tree had to go back there. Toby couldn’t believe his ears when he heard the new verdict.

  The expedition set out the next day. This time, Toby was escorted by two men. They carried him rolled up in a hammock, hanging from a pole propped on their shoulders. On the third morning, the two Grass men realised they were carrying a piece of cloth containing a clay doll.

  Toby had given them the slip once again.

  They turned back for home, ready to give the news that Little Tree had escaped. But they found him sitting next to Moon Boy, in front of a perplexed gathering. Toby had arrived before them.

  How were they going to get rid of this will-o’-the-wisp?

  “You must go back home.”

  “Then you’ll have to kill me. I don’t have a home.”

  An approving murmur rose up from the crowd of Grass people every time Toby answered. This little boy spoke like one of them. It was as if he had been born in the Grass.

  For the third time, volunteers were found to escort him as far as the Border.

  Before dawn on the day of their departure, a fine rain began to fall over the Prairie. From high up on a grass spindle, Toby watched the Grass people come out of the shelters to expose their bodies to the pure water in the moonless night.

  He watched the mud run down their skin.

  Suspended in midair, Toby also threw his head back to catch the raindrops. A drop bigger than the rest fell on him and instantly washed his skin.

  Just then, all the Grass people nearby turned towards him. Toby could see a blue reflection in their staring eyes. The children were the first to draw near, under the beating rain. Then everybody gathered below him.

  They were staring at the soles of his feet.

  Toby realised that the blue colour came from the sliver of light on the soles of his feet. It was the line Elisha had drawn with caterpillar ink, just before he had left. Washed in rainwater, this line glowed in the night, just as it did on the soles of Elisha’s feet.

  Toby was untied from his grass stem. He had no idea what was going on.

  “Stay. Do whatever you like. You have the sign.”

  These were their words before they left him alone, free, under the rain. The crowd dispersed in a blueish halo. The same line of luminous ink also shone under their rain-washed feet.

  That morning, hardly able to believe his luck, Toby
had crawled as far as the little clump of reeds. He spent the first few months there, with no visitors apart from Moon Boy, who came without his sister’s knowledge.

  “She doesn’t want me to have anything to do with you. She’s too sad.”

  “Do what she says. Don’t come and see me any more.”

  But Moon Boy, who everybody still called Strand of Linen, went to visit Toby every day. Slowly and secretly, the young boy taught him how to live in the Grass. And gradually, Toby found out about a new harsh life.

  He was excluded to begin with. The community was afraid of the boy who had appeared out of nowhere but who wore their sign.

  That first summer, Toby had no reason to worry about what a lifetime spent in the Grass might mean. The weather was mild and dry – ideal conditions. By Moon Boy’s side, he learned to hunt with a blowgun. He always had enough to eat, and he fitted out his shelter in the reeds. He rediscovered the joy of being free. It was the only joy he had left.

  But the first storms at the end of August brought him back to reality. The whole Prairie was flooded. From that day on, and for the next six months, he didn’t see Strand of Linen once.

  By the time autumn came, he had already moved home three times to flee the water, mud and wind. But the worst was still to come. The first frosts were merciless. Then came the snow.

  Winter was one long battle. Abused by the sky, bogged down by the earth, Toby stopped thinking or even suffering. All he did was survive. Luckily, before the snow came he had procured a tiny bit of tuber that provided him with sustenance. He became a wild child, a tiny animal all huddled up, who faces the winter with a single instinct: survival.

  On the first day of spring, when a group of Grass hunters discovered a small being with dishevelled hair and a look in its eyes as hard as ice, they no longer recognised Toby.

  “It’s me, Little Tree.”

  The hunters all pulled back. The will-o’-the-wisp had survived the hell.

  From then on, the Grass people looked at Little Tree differently. Gradually, they included him in community life. And so Toby came to find out about the secrets of survival gathered by these people over generations.