Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang (20 page)

       "The other trees heard him and laughed, and they began to tell each other about the crazy little woji who yelled at the ice wind, and finally the last tree, at the place where the trees end and the snow begins, heard the story. It was a maple tree, and it laughed until its leaves shook. The ice wind heard it laughing and came blowing up, storming and throwing ice, and demanded to know what was so funny. The maple tree told the ice wind about the crazy little woji who had challenged his powers to take the leaves off the trees, and the ice wind became madder and madder. It blew harder and harder. The maple leaves turned red and gold with fear and then fell to the ground, and the tree stood naked before the wind. The ice wind blew south and the other trees shivered and turned color and

dropped their leaves.

       "Finally the ice wind came to the spruce tree and screamed for the woji to come out. He wouldn't. He was hidden deep in the spruce needles where the ice wind couldn't see him or touch him. The wind blew harder and the spruce tree shivered, but its needles held tight and they didn't turn color at all. The ice wind now called up the ice rain to help, and the spruce tree was covered with icicles, but the needles held on and the woji stayed dry and warm. Then the ice wind got madder than ever and called the snow to help, and it snowed deeper and deeper until the spruce tree looked like a mountain of snow, but deep inside, the woji was warm and content, close to the trunk of the tree, and soon the tree shrugged and the snow fell away from it and it knew the ice wind could no longer hurt it.

       "The ice wind howled about the tree all winter, but the needles held tight and the woji stayed snug and warm, and if he nibbled on a needle now and then the tree forgave him, because he had taught it not to cringe and turn colors and stand naked all winter shivering before the ice wind just because that's what the other trees did. When spring came the other trees begged the woji to turn their leaves into needles too, and the woji finally agreed. But only for those trees that hadn't laughed at him. And that's why the evergreen trees are evergreen."

       "Is that all?" demanded one of the Carver brothers.

       Mark nodded.

       "What's a woji? You said we'd know when the story was over."

       "That's the thing that lives in spruce trees," Mark said, grinning. "He's invisible, but sometimes you can hear him. He's usually laughing." He jumped down from the chair. "I've gotta go." He trotted to the door.

       "There's no such thing!" one of the brothers yelled.

       Mark opened the door and looked out cautiously. He wasn't supposed to be there. Then he looked over his shoulder and asked the brothers, "How do you know? Have you ever gone out there to try to hear him laughing?" He left them quickly before a doctor or nurse showed up.

       Before dawn one morning near the end of May the families began to gather at the dock once more to see off the six boats and crews of brothers and sisters. There was no gaiety now, there had been no party the night before. Barry stood near Lewis and watched the preparations. They were both silent.

       There was no way to draw back now, Barry knew. They had to have the supplies that were in the big cities, or die. That was the alternative they had. The toll had been too high, and he knew no way to reduce it. Special training had helped a little, but not enough. Sending groups of brothers and sisters had helped, but not enough. So far in the four trips downriver, they had lost twenty-two people, and another twenty-four had been affected by the ordeal, perhaps permanently affected, and through them their families. Thirty-six of them this time. They were to stay out until frost, or until the river started its usual fall rise, whichever was first.

       Some of them were to build a bypass around the falls; some would dig a canal to link the Shenandoah to the Potomac to avoid the danger of the rough water they now had to face with each trip. Two groups were to go back and forth between the falls and Washington and bring out the supplies that had been found the previous year. One group was on river patrol, to clear the rapids that the capricious rivers renewed each winter.

       How many would return this time? Barry wondered. They would stay out longer than any of the others had; their work was more dangerous. How many?

       "Having a building at the falls will help," Lewis said suddenly. "It was the feeling of being exposed that made it particularly bad."

       Barry nodded. It was what they all reported—they felt exposed, watched. They felt the world was pressing in on them, that the trees moved closer as soon as the sun set. He glanced at Lewis, forgot what he had started to say, and instead watched a tic that had appeared at the corner of his mouth. Lewis was clenching his fists; he stared at the dwindling boats, and the tic jerked and vanished, jerked again.

       "Are you all right?" Barry asked. Lewis shook himself and looked away from the river. "Lewis? Is anything wrong?"

       "No. I'll see you later." He strode away swiftly.

       "There's something about being in the woods in the dark especially that has a traumatic effect," Barry said later to his brothers. They were in the dormitory room they shared; at the far end, apart from them, sat Mark, cross-legged on a cot, watching them. Barry ignored him. They were so used to his presence now that they seldom noticed him at all, unless he got in the way. They usually noticed if he vanished, as he frequently did.

       The brothers waited. That was well known, the fear of the silent woods.

       "In training the children to prepare for their future roles, we should incorporate experience in living in the woods for prolonged periods. They could start with an afternoon, then go to an overnight camping expedition, and so on, until they are out for several weeks at a time."

       Bruce shook his head. "What if they were adversely affected to the point where they could not go out on the expeditions at all? We could lose ten years of hard work that way."

       "We could try it with a sample," Barry said. "Two groups, one male, one female. If they show distress after the first exposure, we can slow it down, or even postpone it until they are a year or two older. Eventually they'll have to go out there; we might be able to make it easier on them."

       They no longer were holding the number of like clones to six, but had increased them to ten of each group. "We have eighty children almost eleven years old," Bruce said. "In four years they will be ready. If the statistics hold up, we'll lose twofifths of them within the first four months they are away, either to accidents or psychological stress. I think it's worth a try to condition them to the woods and living apart beforehand."

       "They have to have supervision," Bob said. "One of us."

       "We're too old," Bruce said with a grimace. "Besides, we know we're susceptible to the psychological stress. Remember Ben."

       "Exactly," Bob said. "We're too old to make any difference here. Our young brothers are taking over our functions more and more, and their little brothers are ready to step into their places when needed. We are expendable," he concluded.

       "He's right," Barry said reluctantly. "It's our experiment, our

obligation to see it through. Draw lots?"

       "Take turns," Bruce said. "Each of us to have a crack at it before it's over."

       "Can I go too?" Mark asked suddenly, and they all turned to look at him.

       "No," Barry said brusquely. "We know you're not hurt by the woods. We don't want anything to go wrong with this, no pranks, no tricks, no bravado."

       "You'll get lost then," Mark shouted. He jumped down from his cot and ran to the door and paused there to yell back, "You'll be out in the woods with a bunch of crying babies and you'll all go crazy and the woji will die laughing at you!"

       A week later Bob led the first group of boys up into the woods behind the valley. Each carried a small pack with his lunch in it. They wore long pants and shirts and boots. Watching them leave, Barry could not banish the thought that he should have been the first to try it with them. His idea, his risk. He shook his head angrily. What risk? They were going for a hike in the woods. They would have lunch, turn around, and come back down. He caught Mark's glance and for a moment they stared at each other, the man and boy, curiously alike, yet so distant from each other that no similarity was possible.

       Mark broke the stare and looked again at the boys, who were climbing steadily and coming to the thicker growths. Soon they were invisible among the trees.

       "They'll get lost," he said.

       Bruce shrugged. "Not in one hour or two," he said. "At noon they'll eat, turn around, and come back."

       The sky was deep blue with puffs of white clouds and a very high band of cirrus clouds with no apparent beginning or end. It would be noon in less than two hours.

       Stubbornly Mark shook his head, but he said nothing more. He returned to class, and then went to the dining room for lunch. After lunch he was due to work in the garden for two hours, and he was there when Barry sent for him.

       "They aren't back yet," Barry said when Mark entered the office. "Why were you so certain they would be lost?"

       "Because they don't understand about the woods," Mark said. "They don't see things."

"What things?"

       Mark shrugged helplessly. "Things," he said again. He looked from one brother to another and again shrugged.

       "Could you find them?" Bruce asked. His voice sounded harsh, and deep frown lines cut into his forehead.

       "Yes."

       "Let's go," Barry said.

       'The two of us?" Mark asked.

       "Yes."

       Mark looked doubtful. "I could do it faster alone," he said.

       Barry felt a shudder start, and drew himself away from his desk with a brusque motion. He was holding himself rigidly under control now. "Not you alone," he said. "I want you to show me those things you see, how you can find your way where there's no path. Let's go before it gets any later." He glanced at the boy in his short tunic, barefooted. "Go get changed," he said.

       "This is all right for up there," Mark said. "There's nothing under the trees up there."

       Barry thought about his words as they headed for the woods. He watched the boy, now ahead of him, now at his side, sniffing the air happily, at home in the silent, dim woods.

       They moved quickly and very soon they were deep in the forest where the trees had reached mature growth and made a canopy overhead that excluded the sun completely. No shadows, no way to discover directions, Barry thought, breathing hard as he worked to keep up with the nimble boy. Mark never hesitated, never paused, but moved rapidly with certainty, and Barry didn't know what clues he found, how he knew to go this way and not that. He wanted to ask, but he needed his breath for climbing. He was sweating, and his feet felt like lead as he followed the boy.

       "Let's rest a minute," he said. He sat on the ground, his back against a mammoth tree trunk. Mark had been ahead of him, and now he trotted back and squatted a few feet away.

       "Tell me what you look for," Barry said after a moment. "Show me a sign of their passage there."

       Mark looked surprised at the demand. "Everything shows they came this way," he said. He pointed to the tree that supported Barry's back. "That's a bitternut hickory tree—see, nuts." He brushed the dirt aside and uncovered several nuts. They were half rotted. "The boys found some and threw them. And there," he said, pointing, "see that sprout. Someone bent it to the ground, it still isn't straight again. And the marks of their feet, scuffing the dirt and leaves on the forest floor. It's like a sign saying, this way, this way."

       Barry could see the difference when Mark showed him, but when he looked in another direction, he thought he could see scuff marks there also.

       "Water," Mark said. "That's a runoff trail from melting snow. It's different."

       "How did you learn about the woods? Molly?"

       Mark nodded. "She couldn't get lost ever. She couldn't forget how things looked, and if she saw them again, she knew. She taught me. Or else I was born with it, and she showed me how to use it. I can't get lost either."

       "Can you teach others?"

       "I guess so. Now that I showed you, you could lead, couldn't you?" He had turned his back, scanning the woods, and now faced Barry again. "You know which way to start, don't you?"

       Barry looked carefully about them. The scuff marks were on the path they had just made, where Mark had pointed them out. He saw the water trail, and looked harder for the trail they should follow. There was nothing. He looked again at Mark, who was grinning. "No," he said. "I don't know which way to go now."

       Mark laughed. "Because it's rocky," he said. "Come on." He started again, this time keeping to the edge of a rocky trail.

       "How did you know?" Barry asked. "There's no sign of them among the rocks."

       "Because there was no sign anywhere else. It was all that was left. There!" He pointed, and there was another bent tree, this one stronger, older, more firmly rooted. "Someone pulled that spruce down and let it spring back up. Probably more than one did, because it's still not quite straight, and you can see now that the rocks have been kicked around."

       The rocky trail deepened and became a creek bed. Mark watched the edges carefully and soon turned again, pointing to scuff marks as he went. The woods were deeper, the gloom more intense here. Thick evergreen trees covered the slope they began to descend, and sometimes they had to wind their way among the branches that touched one another in the spruce forest. The floor was brown,