But Maya mixed some pomegranate juice with snow water in the hollow wooden cup, drank, laughed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and said to the man, I'm Maya. And this is Matti. Matti's afraid you're a sorcerer. Are you a sorcerer?
And then she said, Drink some too, Matti. Come on, taste it. It's cold and delicious. You won't get whoopitis from it, don't be scared. Look, none of the animals here is afraid of this man.
Matti didn't say a word, just grabbed Maya's arm and tried to pull her back. But Maya absolutely refused to be pulled back, and jerked her arm out of Matti's grasp. And she didn't say a word either.
Suddenly, some peculiar, low sounds came out of the stranger's mouth, twisting sounds that weren't like words, and when he uttered them, an entire flock of excited, twittering honeysuckers, gold and turquoise and blue-spotted, landed on his shoulders and his head, and also on the children's heads and shoulders.
When the man and his guests were surrounded by the birds, he told them how, many years ago, when he was still a child, the other children had always snubbed him. After all, every class or group has one like that, the man said — unwanted, different, and wherever groups of children go, he always insists on trailing after them, and he always drags his feet a few steps behind everyone, self-conscious and shy, but ignoring the insults and ridicule, desperate to be accepted, to belong. That's why he's ready to do anything, ready to be their servant, at their beck and call, ready to play the fool to make them laugh, to volunteer to be the jester, and they can ridicule him as much as they want, even abuse him a little, he doesn't care, look, he's handing them his whole, rejected heart free of charge.
But the group just isn't interested in having him around. And not for any special reason: they absolutely don't want him and that's that. And he should get out of their sight as fast as he can. Because he's not like us and doesn't fit in. So he should go away because really, but really, no one needs him here.
Maya said, We have a boy like that too: Nimi. Nimi the Owl.
And Matti said, No. Nimi is something different. Nimi just has whoopitis. Everyone keeps away from him because it really is dangerous to get close to someone with whoopitis.
Then he leaned over to Maya and added in a whisper, It'll be dark soon, Maya, we have to try to escape right away.
Maya said, Escape? But the gate's open and no one is keeping us here. You can leave, if you're in such a hurry. But I'm staying. There's still so much to see.
And the man said, Sit down now, both of you, here, on this stone. Have a little pomegranate or fig juice with snow water. And don't worry, Matti, about the coming darkness. It'll be a bit late tonight, so we can continue talking. Just don't be afraid of this mole. He gets insulted when people are afraid of him. He's very, very old, and almost deaf, but he took the trouble to come out of his burrow just to sniff you. Sit quietly for a minute and please let him sniff. Look at how amazingly delicate his ears and paws are, and how his pink nose is quivering so gently in your honor, like the rapid beating of an excited heart. Your smell must be stirring memories from the time before his parents were born.
Matti looked from the old mole to the man, then back at the mole, and, once again, a vague remembrance passed through his mind: I've been here before, all this happened to me once, I was here and forgot everything, and even now, I still can't remember what actually happened. But I definitely remember that I forgot. I think this man must be a little lonely. Or maybe he just seems that way to me? Is he setting a trap for us? Because from up close, Matti thought he'd seen a spark of slyness, the glimmer of a secret scheme flash across the man's wrinkled face. And when did he see it? At the moment when the man laughed and said that the darkness would be late in coming tonight, so we can all continue talking.
What if he was planning to imprison them here? Forever?
The man's veiny fingers suddenly looked to Matti like stubborn roots that clutch and entwine and never let go.
And what if this sorcerer is actually plotting to hold us here so he can take revenge against our parents and the whole village? Or not only hold us, but cast a spell on us and turn us into animals?
Matti said, It'll be dark soon. I want to go home now.
And Maya said, But I don't. I want to hear more. And I want to see more.
24
Then the man told them that when he was about ten and a half, he gave up on being friends with children his own age or adults and began spending his days with cats and dogs until he learned to understand and even to speak dog-words and cat-talk, not to mention horse-lingo.
After about two or three weeks, the whole village decided that the poor boy had come down with whoopitis, and everyone was very careful not to get close to him. Finally, things became so unpleasant that even his parents gave up on him: they were shamed by the whole village and they were ashamed of him, and also made sure that his younger brothers and sisters didn't get too close to him and catch his disease.
And so, in the end, his parents and all the grown-ups let him wander around the forest alone, as free as the wind and the water, both day and night. Eeorrrriarrr, the man said suddenly in a different voice, and in a moment, a bear with thick, tangled brown fur came out of the bushes, rubbed its heavy head against the man's hand, looked at Matti and Maya with damp beary eyes that were full of curiosity, affection, friendship, shy modesty, and a slight sense of wonder, as if those eyes wanted to explain and say, Sorry, don't be angry, I just don't understand what all this is, I'm very sad to say that I don't understand anything, forgive me, don't expect anything from me; after all, I'm just a bear.
Then the bear turned over and lay down clumsily on its broad back, its legs waving in the air, and began to rub its fur on the carpet of grass and make all sorts of humming sounds in a dark brown bass voice, a deep but warm, wintry voice. Matti quickly retreated three or four steps and tried to pull Maya by the arm, but Maya jerked her arm out of his grasp this time too: Enough, let me go! Matti, run home if that's what you want, no one is forcing you to stay. But I for one want to get to know this place.
And the man said, You're Maya. You're Matti. I'll introduce myself too: I'm Nehi. I'm the Mountain Demon. The sorcerer. And now, meet Shigi. You don't have to be afraid of Shigi. He's a slightly childish bear, a bear that suddenly starts to dance in the middle of a rainstorm, or tries to swat flies with his too-short tail, or hides for hours among the river plants and splashes all the animals that pass by. Shigi. Stop interrupting. I'm in the middle of a story here.
As time went on, the man continued his story: I also learned the language of pigeons, crickets, frogs, goats, fish, and bees. And a few months later, after I disappeared and went off all by myself to live the life of a mountain boy in the forest, I tried to learn more and more animal languages. It wasn't hard, because the languages of animals and birds have many fewer words than the languages of people, and they have only the present tense, there's no past or future at all, and they have only verbs, nouns, and interjections, no other forms.
With the years, I realized that animals sometimes lie too, to escape danger or to show off, or to mislead their prey, or to frighten others, and sometimes just to charm when they're courting. Like we all do.
Creatures even have special words that express joy, excitement, amazement, and pleasure. And the creatures that are considered mute — for instance, butterflies, fireflies, fish, snails — even they have certain words that aren't spoken out loud but are conveyed by all sorts of small vibrations that reach the listener only through the skin, fur, or feathers, not through the ears. Those vibrations are like the gentle ripples made by a leaf that falls onto the smooth surface of a lake when the water is very calm and still.