Suddenly the stranger turned around and smiled easily, not the least bit surprised, as if he'd known the whole time that unexpected guests had arrived and he'd only been waiting till he could stop tending his fire for a moment to act like a proper host and welcome them:
Maya? Matti? Would you like to sit down? Rest awhile? How about some roast potatoes? I also have vegetables, fruit, mushrooms, and nuts. Come and sit here.
16
Matti and Maya were shocked to see that the man wasn't a man, but a child, and not a child they didn't know, but, of all people, Nimi, the boy everyone called Nimi the Owl, Nimi, with the constantly runny nose, who used to insist on telling everyone his dreams — shoes that turned into hedgehogs in the middle of the night, or a rubber hose that turned into a snake or an elephant's trunk — and everyone used to laugh at him. Nimi, who once went into the forest alone, where he must have come across something that frightened or shocked him so much that he came down with whoopitis. The disease had made him stop talking altogether and begin wandering around the village, whooping, his front teeth with the gap between them sticking out, one eye constantly weeping. And ever since, he'd been roaming around the village day and night, winter and summer, without a home, without a friend. Maya and Matti couldn't help him. Even his family was ashamed and gave up on him.
And here, in this cave, Matti and Maya found Nimi: not the Nimi who whooped, not the Nimi who ran away from people and climbed trees, making strange faces from up on the highest branches, but a Nimi who spoke and touched them both on the shoulder and even asked them to share his roast potatoes and onions browned in the fire. Even his weepy eye smiled at them affectionately.
Later, when the three of them sat together around the coals, full and relaxed, Nimi told them that his owl-whoops weren't a sickness at all, but a decision: He had been fed up with the taunting, the humiliation, and the ridicule, and decided he would lead the life of a free child alone, without parents, neighbors, classmates, with no one to hurt his feelings, no one in the village or the whole world to tell him what to do or not to do. He decided to live all alone. To live in comfort and freedom. True, he has a too-large gap between his buck teeth, but at least he has a head behind his stupid teeth, not a poison mushroom like all those people who make fun of him. Sometimes he goes down to wander around the village yards and whoop a little and everyone runs away from him, scared they'll catch his disease. But this is his home, this is where he lives, in this cave where he keeps all sorts of things he collects from people's backyards: books and jars, ropes and rusks, magazines, candles, fruit and vegetables, and pieces of clothing he snatches off the clotheslines. And Almon the Fisherman lets him dig for potatoes in his garden at night and pick as much fruit as he wants from the trees and gather vegetables from the garden.
How come you're not afraid of the forest? Of Nehi?
Sometimes I really am a little scared, especially at night, but not of Nehi, said Nimi. In fact, when I'm here in my cave, I'm a lot less scared than when I'm with the kids who hate me and whoop and throw stones and roof tiles at me, or when I'm with the grownups who point at me and say look-here-comes-that-sick-little-whooper-pity-his-poor-parents, and always warn the smaller children to keep away from me.
Tell me, Nimi, have you ever seen any living creatures here in the forest? No? What about Nehi? Have you ever seen Nehi? And tell us something else: is there really such a sickness as whoopitis?
Instead of answering that question, Nimi the Owl got up, stretched, waved at them, inhaled his snot, smiled with his crooked teeth and one weepy eye — smiled to himself, not at Maya and Matti — jumped between them, and squeezed his way to the opening of his cave. Then suddenly he let out a long, trilling, ear-splitting whoop that sounded despairing and belligerent at the same time. He raced out of the cave into the thick trees, whooping with joy at the top of his lungs, his voice fading as he moved farther away until it was swallowed up in the depths of the forest.
When the fire died in Nimi's cave, Matti and Maya decided to continue climbing the forested mountain road that grew steeper and more tortuous, more and more like a narrow dark tunnel in the tangle of dense bushes.
Very soon, there were no more paths or cobwebs of forest trails, only a dark, dense labyrinth filled with thick plants, more black than green, that blocked out the light. Some pricked and some burned, and some stung the skin like poisonous bites.
Matti and Maya tried hard not to get too far away from the river, but they couldn't stick too close to its twists and turns because in several places the river flowed through two sheer cliffs or was swallowed up under the ground, only to reappear in a totally unexpected place. But the sound of the river's flow helped Maya and Matti navigate their way up the mountain, as if it were an angry, noisy guide that was never silent: sometimes it ground its teeth as it ran over the pebbled riverbed, sometimes it growled faintly as it wandered among the cliff walls, and sometimes it roared wildly in foamy cascades.
After a few hours, they lost the river. They couldn't hear even a distant murmur of its flow. Instead, they began to hear other echoes from the hidden depths of the forest, squeals, sighs, splutters, as if something somewhere were inhaling, exhaling, and whispering, something fairly close, and yet — invisible. And not far away, something else was stifling a cough, and yet another thing was sawing away stubbornly, or gnawing with strong teeth. It would stop for a moment as if it had grown tired, then begin gnawing again.
Maya and Matti figured it must be evening already and they wanted to find themselves a cave where they could wait for morning to come. They thought it strange that daylight still filtered through the treetops. Matti stopped to take a breath of air and shake off some of the thorns and dry pine needles that were stuck in his clothes. Maya, who was almost always a few steps ahead, stopped to wait for him. She suggested that they continue up the mountain as long as there was some light. Then, because she could guess what his answer would be, she stated more than asked, You want us to go home.
In his heart, Matti did want to go home, but the suggestion to give up and go home had to come from her, not him.
So he asked her: What do you think, Maya?
And Maya said: And you?
He hesitated for a moment, then said in a gallant, firm voice: I think we should do whatever you say.
And Maya said: It's good that we ate with Nimi, around the fire, but I'm hungry again now, and a little tired.
Matti said: So we go back?
And Maya: Maybe. Yes. Okay. But not home. Let's go back to Nimi's cave and stay there till morning. Then in the morning, we'll keep climbing.
So they turned back. And this time, Matti was the one in the lead, struggling to pave a way for them through the thick vegetation. But the vegetation grew thicker and thicker. The more they propelled themselves forward like tired swimmers battling strong waves, the denser the bushes grew. Instead of going down, they found themselves still climbing the steep, forested slope. Again it seemed to them that the day was beginning to fade and darkness was probably not far off, and they would never find Nimi's cave again.
A low, dark shadow suddenly passed over their heads in the total silence, sailed right over the treetops and almost touched them, hovering and darkening the tangle of trees and shrubs for a moment. Then a moment later, it moved away into the distance without a sound. As if for a while, a heavy black blanket had covered everything. And for a moment, their hearts filled with fear at a huge magic trick, fear of a day that wasn't day and a night that wasn't night. But neither Maya nor Matti said a word about it. They were silent and kept climbing, till they reached a place on the mountainside where they could rest and make plans. Maya went alone to see what lay ahead because she thought she heard the whisper of the river in the distance.