The Key to Eve
a fantasy
1
The Falcon
PEREGRINE was a carefree lad. In fact, he really had nothing to care about. It had been that way all his life, which he cared so little for, he didn’t even know how old he was.
His friends would have called him Peri—would have, if he had any friends. Oh, he knew many people, but only a bit. He met them as he wandered about the countryside, working a little here and there as was needed to receive food or to buy clothing. As a hard worker when called upon, he developed into a strong lad. He was fair of face, not growing more than a few foolish wisps of beard, which he plucked out as an annoyance. Lately, people had begun to notice him for more than his strong back and ability to talk to animals.
Peri, however—we’ll assume we are friends—was never lonely. It seemed wherever he lay his head, this animal or that would cuddle up next to him for warmth and company. They would have excellent conversations.
“Br’er Fox,” Peri might ask one night as he lay on a bed of pine needles, “I think I will turn toward the south for a while. What think you of that?”
“My home lies that direction. If I might accompany you so far, perhaps I can persuade your help in a certain matter.”
“My friend, you have only to ask. My arms and legs are yours.”
And so, Peri began traveling south with the fox. Of course, the fox had a proper name, but it is irreproducible by the letters on a keyboard, so we’ll forget about that.
“Tell me what it is that has you in need of my help.”
“For many years, my family has lived peacefully near the farm of Old Mik Dohnel. He’s a kind old man and in the depth of winter has overlooked an occasional missing chicken, which has served to keep my own kits alive.”
Now, if Br’er Fox had to make all those words with his mouth, he would have been as hopeless at communicating as if we tried to type his language. But Peregrine had always—as long as he remembered—been able to talk to most animals and to understand what they said in return. For this reason, he was called upon to help one poor animal or another as often as he was called upon to help a person.
“Farmer Dohnel is a kind man,” Peri said. “I would love to pay him a visit.”
“He is getting very old and his son is doing much of the farming now. I fear the son is not as kindly as his father. He has actually been out hunting my family and one of my kits narrowly escaped this fall. Can you speak to him? Plead for him to leave us alone?” asked the fox.
“I will certainly do my best,” said Peregrine. “Perhaps if I agree to help bring in the harvest, he will listen to me.”
And so, they traveled companionably until they reached the lands of Old Mik Dohnel. Fox went to his den and Peri went to the farmhouse to inquire after the old man.
“Ah, Peregrine! Come in and have dinner with us,” the old man said when he saw the wanderer nearing his house. “Tell us the news of the world as you sup with us.”
And so, Peregrine sat at table with the farmer and his wife, the son and his wife, and their small child.
“I hope I can repay your kindness by helping with the harvest,” Peri began.
“Yes!” the son responded before his father could answer. “There is more to be done in the fields than ever. We need to build a new storehouse for grain because the mice are infesting the old one. My father is too old to do the work he once did and it all falls on me!”
“How does it come that the grain house is infested with mice? I thought the cats were taking care of them,” Peregrine asked.
“Cats! Worthless excuses for animals. Won’t obey. Won’t come when called. Can’t eat them. They scratch if you pet them. Vicious little pests. What are they good for?” the younger Dohnel growled.
“I’m afraid the cats have all left,” the farmer said. “My son, Maks, got in the habit of throwing stones at them. You know, they don’t stay where they aren’t appreciated.”
“If we build a better storehouse, we won’t have need of such nonsense,” the son shook his head. “We’ll make it so strong the mice can’t get in.”
“That’s an expensive proposition,” the farmer said. “And to be that strong, there would need to be no holes or gaps anywhere in the grain rooms. Without air, the grain will compost and you know rotting grain is explosive. We could lose everything.”
“There is a way to reduce the mice problem without building a new storehouse,” Peregrine ventured.
“And without cats?”
“Yes. But you would need to allow the fox into the grainery.”
“The fox!” exploded the young man. “Miserable vermin. Took a chicken last winter. I’ve been hunting for them. Almost got one last week.”
“We’ve never suffered from the fox’s occasional theft of a chicken,” Old Dohnel said. “He has to feed his family just as we do. And there is plenty to feed our family and his.”
“You would let him just steal from us?” young Dohnel asked in horror.
“I would say trade with him,” Peregrine answered. “If the fox agrees to rid you of your mouse problem, perhaps you could find it in your heart to overlook his occasional need for a chicken or an egg. Why, the mice themselves would feed the fox family much of the winter.”
“And how would we make such a deal with a dumb beast?” the younger man asked. It was obvious he had no respect for any animal he could not leash or harness.
“I can negotiate such a treaty, if you like,” Peregrine said. “I would need to know, however, that you would be faithful in your treatment of the animals.”
“Done!” Farmer Dohnel said before his son could respond. “My son, you will not hunt or in any way seek to harm the foxes when they come to our farm. Had I known you were hunting them, I would have put a stop to it long ago. Let Peregrine negotiate with the foxes and help bring in the harvest. We will not need a new grain bin.”
The son growled and shook his head, but said nothing to contradict his father.
Peregrine thanked the family for dinner and said he would return in the morning to begin harvest. Then he went off to the woods to locate Br’er Fox and his family. The foxes welcomed Peregrine who greeted Ma Fox and the kits and settled in to enjoy the warmth of the foxes’ den. In the morning, he and Br’er Fox went to the farm.
“He’s going to rid the grainery of mice?” the son demanded, scowling at the fox.
“As long as you agree not to harm him or his kits, they will be happy to join in the harvest by hunting the mice,” Peregrine answered.
“So be it,” Farmer Dohnel said. His son held his silence. His father’s word was still law on the Dohnel farm. “Br’er Fox, thank you for your help. If when the mice are gone and the winter sets in, you find yourself in need of an egg or a Sunday chicken dinner, I’ll make that part of our agreement.”
Peregrine spoke to the fox and the fox immediately headed to the grain bin. Only seconds later, he returned with two fat mice in his mouth to head off to the den to feed his family.
Harvesting the grain was not a quick process, so the grain bin was not immediately needed. The entire family still participated in the harvest. Ma Dohnel kept the little Vika with her as she prepared the dinner for her harvesters. Peregrine and Maks picked up the heavy scythes and started at opposite ends of one side of the field to be harvested. Old Mik Dohnel followed Peregrine and bundled the cut stalks into sheaves to dry. Maks’ wife, Zoya, did the same for her husband.
When they finally left the field for dinner, many sheaves of grain stood in the partially harvested area. It looked like days of work before they would be ready to bring the grain to the threshing floor.
And so it went. As was customary, Peregrine and the Dohnels helped other nearby families with their harvest and others showed up to help the Dohnels with bringing in the sheaves, threshing, and storing the grain. Everyone was excited about the abundant harvest and the neighbors exchanged portions their plenty. During the weeks it took to cut, dry, and bring in the grain, the foxes were busy. When Ma Dohnel swept out the grain bin, she found no trace of mice left.
The Dohnels, their neighbors, and even the foxes gathered for one last dinner together to celebrate the harvest. It was a time of plenty for the land, and neighbors brought the fruits of their own harvests to share. Ma Dohnel even set out fresh eggs for the Foxes. At the end of the evening meal, as people were leaving for their own homes, Tala, the daughter of a neighbor, caught up with Peregrine.
“You needn’t sleep alone tonight young falcon,” she whispered. “We can sleep on the fresh straw and enjoy what nature has to offer.”
“Oh, would you like to come with me?” he asked, completely misunderstanding her offer. “I’m taking a load of fresh straw to the Foxes’ to line their den with and will spend the night there.”
“You’ll sleep with foxes?” she asked, bewildered.
“Of course. They have been my gracious hosts during harvest.”
“Well, I really need to be getting home now. It was very nice meeting you. Maybe we’ll meet again next year,” she said, backing away and turning toward the gate and home.
“Yes, of course! Have a pleasant night.”
Peregrine picked up a large bundle of straw and made his way to the Foxes’ den.
In the morning, the Fox family sat at Farmer Dohnel’s gate and nodded to the family as Peregrine bid his farewells and continued his journey south for the winter.
