Watership Down (45 page)

       
"Hazel-rah," said Pipkin, coming up from among the soapwort, "are you all right? Your leg looks queer--you're dragging it."

       
"No, it's all right," said Hazel. "Look, Hlao-roo, where's Kehaar? I want to talk to him."

       
"He's flown out to see if there's a patrol anywhere near, Hazel-rah. Bigwig woke some time ago and he and Silver asked Kehaar to go. They didn't want to disturb you."

       
Hazel felt irritated. It would have been better to be told at once which way to go, rather than to wait while Kehaar looked for patrols. They were going to cross a river and, as far as he was concerned, they could not do it too soon. Fretting, he waited for Kehaar. Soon he had become as tense and nervous as he had ever been in his life. He was beginning to believe that after all he might have been rash. It was clear that Holly had not underrated their danger near Efrafa. He had little doubt that Bigwig, by sheer chance, had led the fox onto a Wide Patrol which had been following their trail. Then, in the morning, again by luck and the help of Kehaar, they had evidently just missed another at the crossing of the iron road. Perhaps Silver's fear was well founded and a patrol had already spotted and reported them without their knowing? Had General Woundwort got some sort of Kehaar of his own? Perhaps a bat was at this moment talking to him? How was one to foresee and guard against everything? The grass seemed sour, the sunshine chilly. Hazel sat hunched under the firs, worrying dismally. He felt less annoyed, now, with Bigwig: he could understand his feelings. Waiting was bad. He fidgeted for some kind of action. Just as he had decided to wait no longer, but to collect everyone and go immediately, Kehaar came flying from the direction of the cutting. He flapped clumsily down among the firs, silencing the bats.

       
"Meester 'Azel, ees no rabbits. I t'ink maybe dey no like for go across iron road."

       
"Good. Is it far to the river, Kehaar?"

       
"Na, na. Ees close, in vood."

       
"Splendid. We can find this crossing in daylight?"

       
"Ya, ya. I show you pridge."

       
The rabbits had gone only a short distance through the wood when they sensed that they were already near the river. The ground became soft and damp. They could smell sedge and water. Suddenly, the harsh, vibrating cry of a moor hen echoed through the trees, followed by a flapping of wings and a watery scuttering. The rustling of the leaves seemed also to echo, as though reflected distantly from hard ground. A little further on, they could distinctly hear the water itself--the low, continuous pouring of a shallow fall. A human being, hearing from a distance the noise of a crowd, can form an idea of its size. The sound of the river told the rabbits that it must be bigger than any they had known before--wide, smooth and swift. Pausing among the comfrey and ground elder, they stared at each other, seeking reassurance. Then they began to lollop hesitantly forward into more open ground. There was still no river to be seen, but in front they could perceive a flicker and dance of mirrored light in the air. Soon afterward Hazel, limping ahead with Fiver near him, found himself on a narrow green path that divided the wilderness from the riverbank.

       
The path was almost as smooth as a lawn and clear of bushes and weeds, for it was kept cut for fishermen. Along its further side the riparian plants grew thickly, so that it was separated from the river by a kind of hedge of purple loosestrife, great willow herb, fleabane, figwort and hemp agrimony, here and there already in bloom. Two or three more of the rabbits emerged from the wood. Peering through the plant clumps, they could catch glimpses of the smooth, glittering river, evidently much wider and swifter than the Enborne. Although there was no enemy or other danger to be perceived, they felt the apprehension and doubt of those who have come unawares upon some awe-inspiring place where they themselves are paltry fellows of no account. When Marco Polo came at last to Cathay, seven hundred years ago, did he not feel--and did his heart not falter as he realized--that this great and splendid capital of an empire had had its being all the years of his life and far longer, and that he had been ignorant of it? That it was in need of nothing from him, from Venice, from Europe? That it was full of wonders beyond his understanding? That his arrival was a matter of no importance whatever? We know that he felt these things, and so has many a traveler in foreign parts who did not know what he was going to find. There is nothing that cuts you down to size like coming to some strange and marvelous place where no one even stops to notice that you stare about you.

       
The rabbits were uneasy and confused. They crouched on the grass, sniffing the water smells in the cooling, sunset air: and moved closer together, each hoping not to see in the others the nervousness he felt in himself. As Pipkin reached the path a great, shimmering dragonfly, four inches long, all emerald and sable, appeared at his shoulder, hovered, droning and motionless, and was gone like lightning into the sedge. Pipkin leaped back in alarm. As he did so there came a shrill, vibrant cry and he caught sight, between the plants, of a brilliant azure bird flashing past over the open water. A few moments later there came, from close behind the plant hedge, the sound of a fairly heavy splash: but what creature might have made it there was no telling.

       
Looking round for Hazel, Pipkin caught sight of Kehaar, a little way off, standing in a patch of shallow water between two clumps of willow herb. He was stabbing and snapping at something in the mud and after a few moments pulled out a six-inch leech and swallowed it whole. Beyond him, some distance down the path, Hazel was combing the goose grass out of his coat and evidently listening to Fiver as they sat together under a rhododendron. Pipkin ran along the bank and joined them.

       
"There's nothing wrong with the place," Fiver was saying. "There's no more danger here than anywhere else. Kehaar's going to show us where to get across, isn't he? The thing to do is to get on with it before it gets dark."

       
"They'll never stop here," replied Hazel. "We can't stay and wait for Bigwig in a place like this. It's unnatural for rabbits."

       
"Yes, we can--calm down. They'll get used to it quicker than you think. I tell you, it's better than one or two other places we've been in. Not all strange things are bad. Would you like
me
to take them over? Say it's because of your leg."

       
"Fine," said Hazel. "Hlao-roo, can you get everyone along here?"

       
When Pipkin had gone, he said, "I feel troubled, Fiver. I'm asking so much of them, and there are so many risks in this plan."

       
"They're a better lot than you give them credit for," replied Fiver. "If you were to--"

       
Kehaar called raucously across, startling a wren out of the bushes.

       
"Meester 'Azel, vat for you vait?"

       
"To know where to go," answered Fiver.

       
"Pridge near. You go on, you see."

       
Where they were, the undergrowth stood close to the green path, but beyond--downstream, as they all intuitively felt--it gave way to open parkland. Out into this they went, Hazel following Fiver.

       
Hazel did not know what a bridge was. It was another of Kehaar's unknown words that he did not feel up to questioning. Despite his trust in Kehaar and his respect for his wide experience, he felt still more disturbed as they came into the open. Clearly, this was some sort of man place, frequented and dangerous. A short way ahead was a road. He could see its smooth, unnatural surface stretching away over the grass. He stopped and looked at it. At length, when he was sure that there were no men anywhere near, he went cautiously up to the verge.

       
The road crossed the river on a bridge about thirty feet long. It did not occur to Hazel that there was anything unusual in this. The idea of a bridge was beyond him. He saw only a line of stout posts and rails on either side of the road. Similarly, simple African villagers who have never left their remote homes may not be particularly surprised by their first sight of an airplane: it is outside their comprehension. But their first sight of a horse pulling a cart will set them pointing and laughing at the ingenuity of the fellow who thought of that one. Hazel saw without surprise the road crossing the river. What worried him was that where it did so there were only very narrow verges of short grass, offering no cover. His rabbits would be exposed to view and unable to bolt, except along the road.

       
"Do you think we can risk it, Fiver?" he asked.

       
"I can't see why you're bothered," answered Fiver. "You went into the farmyard and the shed where the hutch rabbits were. This is much less dangerous. Come on--they're all watching while we hesitate."

       
Fiver hopped out on the road. He looked round for a moment and then made his way to the nearer end of the bridge. Hazel followed him along the verge, keeping close beside the rail on the upstream side. Looking round, he saw Pipkin close behind. In the middle of the bridge Fiver, who was perfectly calm and unhurried, stopped and sat up. The other two joined him.

       
"Let's put on a bit of an act," said Fiver. "Make them inquisitive. They'll follow us just to see what we're looking at."

       
There was no sill along the edge of the bridge: they could have walked off it into the water three feet below. From under the lowest rail they looked out, upstream, and now, for the first time, saw the whole river plainly. If the bridge had not startled Hazel, the river did. He remembered the Enborne, its surface broken by gravel spits and plant growth. The Test, a weed-cut, carefully tended trout stream, seemed to him like a world of water. A good ten yards wide it was, fast-flowing and smooth, spangling and dazzling in the evening sun. The tree reflections on the even current were unbroken as on a lake. There was not a reed or a plant to be seen above the water. Close by, under the left bank, a bed of crowfoot trailed downstream, the wheel-like leaves all submerged. Darker still, almost black, were the mats of water moss, their thick masses motionless on the bed of the river and only the trailing fronds waving slowly from side to side. Waving, too, were the wider expanses of pale green cressweed; but these rippled with the current, lightly and quickly. The water was very clear, with a bed of clean yellow gravel, and even in the middle was hardly four feet deep. As the rabbits stared down they could discern, here and there, a very fine scour, like smoke-- chalk and powdered gravel carried along by the river as dust is blown on the wind. Suddenly, from under the bridge, with a languid movement of its flat tail, swam a gravel-colored fish as long as a rabbit. The watchers, immediately above, could see the dark, vivid spots along its sides. Warily it hung in the current below them, undulating from side to side. It reminded Hazel of the cat in the yard. As they stared, it swam upward with a lithe flicker and stopped just below the surface. A moment later its blunt nose thrust clear of the stream and they saw the open mouth, pure white inside. Rhythmically, without haste, it sucked down a floating sedge fly and sank back under water. A ripple spread outward in subsiding circles, breaking both the reflections and the transparency. Gradually the stream grew smooth and once more they saw the fish below them, waving its tail as it held its place in the current.

       
"A water hawk!" said Fiver. "So they hunt and eat down there, too! Don't fall in, Hlao-roo. Remember El-ahrairah and the pike."

       
"Would it eat me?" asked Pipkin, staring.

       
"There may be creatures in there that could," said Hazel. "How do we know? Come on, let's get across. What would you do if a hrududu came?"

       
"Run," said Fiver simply, "like this." And he scurried off the further end of the bridge into the grass beyond.

       
On this far side of the river, undergrowth and a grove of great horse chestnuts extended almost down to the bridge. The ground was marshy, but at least there was plenty of cover. Fiver and Pipkin began at once on some

scrapes, while Hazel sat chewing pellets and resting his injured leg. Soon they were joined by Silver and Dandelion, but the other rabbits, more hesitant even than Hazel, remained crouching in the long grass on the right bank. At last, just before darkness fell, Fiver re-crossed the bridge and coaxed them to follow him back. Bigwig, to everyone's surprise, showed considerable reluctance, and only crossed in the end after Kehaar, returning from another flight over Efrafa, had asked whether he would like him to go and fetch a fox.

       
The night that followed seemed to all of them disorganized and precarious. Hazel, still conscious of being in man country, was half expecting either a dog or a cat. But although they heard owls more than once, no elil attacked them and by the morning they were in better spirits.

       
As soon as they had fed, Hazel set them to exploring the surroundings. It became even more plain that the ground near the river was too wet for rabbits. Indeed, in places it was almost bog. Marsh sedge grew there, pink, sweet-scented valerian and the drooping water avens. Silver reported that it was drier up in the woodland away from the bank, and at first Hazel had the idea of picking a fresh spot and digging again. But presently the day grew so hot and humid that all activity was quenched. The faint breeze vanished. The sun drew up a torpid moisture from the watery thickets. The smell of water mint filled all the hydrophanic air. The rabbits crept into the shade, under any cover that offered. Long before ni-Frith, all were drowsing in the undergrowth.