The Second Part of the Tale
Now, began Soto, you must remember all that I have told you about the cat bound on the mountain top, the magic ax hanging in the tree, and the hundreds and hundreds of years that passed, with the cat growing larger and larger. As the cat grew, so did the house, for the wise man had promised that it should be just big enough for the cat, and he kept his word. But you must also remember that the cat could not move, but could certainly dream. So she dreamed of many lands, and the dream man was very active indeed, though he vanished whenever the cat woke.
When you come to think of it, you will see that it was a most excellent thing that the cat was bound, for had she not been, she would have worked her mischief on the world and a sheep might have been as terrible as a wild boar or flies as annoying as mosquitoes or horses as bold as wild bulls or the very fish as poisonous as serpents. While the cat did not dream, of course the fox-faced man was nowhere, and then all went very well and trees put out their blossoms and fruits, the grass was softly green, the rain was like silver, and gentle were the hearts of men as they went about their affairs.
But there was a day on which the cat dreamed and the fox-faced fellow was busy. To the place where lived the people who guarded the magic ax, there came a stranger. His eyes were aslant and little, the hair of him was reddish, and he was in rags and tatters and altogether dirty in appearance. To be sure, no one would look twice at rags and tatters, for one coming through the forest must needs be torn by thorns and bushes in all that tangle, but dirt was quite another matter, especially when the dirt included blood stains, because in that place was much water and many running streams, nor was the water chill to the skin. So, because of the uncleanness of the man, people looked at him with unfriendly eyes, and though they were neither insolent nor rude they hoped that he would go farther and not stay there. Nor would it have been any great hardship for him to do so, seeing that it was a place of much fruit and of many berries, and roots pleasant to the taste and full of nourishment. As for the night, any man might well stretch himself under that star-sprinkled sky, nor except for the beasts that the cat had made unfriendly were there creatures to do harm. But the stranger had no notion of doing anything to please the people, nor indeed could he do anything, seeing that he was the creature of the cat’s dream, walking the world.
For a time then he stood under a tree bewailing his lot and crying out that all the world was against him and saying that none were kind to him. Strange things he did, too, as is the manner of dream people, making himself sometimes shoot far far away so that he looked small, then coming near again and getting big, or sometimes pointing his finger at someone, then throwing his arm round and round in great circles, the finger always pointing, the circles he made growing smaller and smaller, little by little, but his finger always pointing, until it came close to the watcher’s eyes. The people thought this an annoying thing for a stranger to do; but so it was. And always he woefully wailed. So those there stood about him in a little circle, none going close, but all wondering much at the great outcry, the like of which none there had heard before. Then he began to sing, noisily, wildly. This was his song:
“Over the world I walk,
Alone, for ever alone.
Trouble and trial and care,
Alone, I bear alone.
Torture and pain I bear,
Alone, for ever alone.
Wandering day and night,
Alone, for ever alone.
Sad and wretched my plight,
Alone, for ever alone.”
Then he gave a long, long cry, like a wolf:
“A—a—a—a—a——lone, Oo—oo—oo—oo!”
Nor did he stop at that, for his song done, he began to act stupidly, leaping from side to side in rage and fury, mouthing and grimacing, opening and closing his fists, but making no noise. Then he talked again, but it was a jabber of idle words, so presently those about him shook their heads at one another, looking at him as one who had lost his wits, never thinking of course that he was a cat’s dream.
While all this was going on, there came from the little lake where he had been fishing a lad named Nasca, bearing a basket of fish, a happy fellow who always made music and song as he walked, and seeing the people gathered about the stranger he drew near. No sooner did the stranger clap eyes on the fish than he leaped at the basket and began devouring the silvery things, eating them raw, heads, bodies, and tails, for thus ran the cat’s dream and cattishness must out. But the meal being done, the stranger redoubled his lamentations, all the time swinging his arm in circles, sometimes great, sometimes small, with his finger pointed at the boy.
“A—a—a—a—a——lone, Oo—oo—oo—oo!” he screamed, and the boy thought that such a fellow well deserved to be alone, but he was too polite to say so.
“I am hungry and travel-worn,” the stranger went on. “Is there no one here who will give me shelter? Is there no one in this place with a kind heart to pity me?”
Hearing that, the heart of Nasca was touched, for never had he, nor never had his grandmother with whom he lived, turned a hungry creature away empty. Indeed, so gentle in spirit was Nasca that if the stem of a flower was broken by a heedless creature he was full of grief. Yet the doings of the stranger astonished him and troubled him, for the man without seeming to move his feet thrust his face close to the boy’s, then somehow took his face far off. That silly trick he did again and again as dream creatures do, so that seeing him Nasca was well nigh made dizzy. Then the lad, blushing red as fire because of all the people thereabouts who did not offer what he offered, said:
“Come home, then, with me. Our house is small but there is room enough. Believe me, it is not that these people are hard-hearted that they do not seem to welcome you, but more because you must have been too weary with walking to wash yourself. But behind the hill and under a tree near where we live is a still pool, and there doubtless you will clean yourself.”
Then Nasca led the way and the stranger went with him, yet not walking, but leaping up and down as he went, and sometimes not touching the ground at all. Nasca was not comfortable with the stranger by his side, for he felt him to be more like a shadow than a man, and a shadow that hung over him and tormented him, a shadow that might pounce upon him.
Having come to the place where his grandmother was, Nasca was sorely troubled to see the old woman fall to trembling when she heard the voice of the stranger, who was making an idle jabber of words again. Indeed, after a time she put her hands to her face and wept, though that was after the man having eaten had left the place to rest under a tree. Nasca comforted her as best he could, then asked her to tell him the cause of her grief. Be it remembered that she was very, very old and her eyes were weak and dim with age.
“Tell me,” she said, taking Nasca’s hand, “has this man eyes aslant, like the eyes of a fox?”
“Indeed and he has,” answered Nasca. Then his heart bade him say some good of the fellow, and he added: “Yet no man makes his own face, wherefore must some be pitied.”
“Tell me,” said the grandmother eagerly, “has he sharp teeth like a cat?”
“That he has,” said Nasca, then wondering, asked: “Have you seen this man, then, when your eyes were bright and strong?”
“No, Nasca,” she answered, “never have I set eyes on him, yet I greatly fear him; and long, long ago I heard stories about such a creature and it was said that much evil he wrought, yet none could slay him.” She was silent for a little, then again she asked this: “Did you see his ears, Nasca, and are they pointed, like those of a fox?”
“Yes,” said Nasca.
At that answer the old woman was sad again and Nasca had to comfort her with sweet words, telling her that she should come to no hurt, since he was there, for he would die defending her.
“That I know, Nasca,” she said. “If the hurt came to me alone, glad would I be, for I have seen my golden days and now there is little left for me but the brief sunset hour. But I fear for others. Of such a creature I have heard it said that he comes from nowhere and goes into nothing, but somehow looses evil upon men. Because of that I fear. So, Nasca, promise me that if this man asks anything of you, you will do nothing that promises hurt to any living thing.”
That Nasca promised gladly enough, then said: “Yet it may be that this man is not the evil creature you have heard of. It may well be some unfortunate whose wits are loose. True, his face is far from pleasant to see, but a rough face may go with a good heart, and a man’s face may change.”
“Yes, with wickedness,” said the old woman, “but in truth it has been said that a man’s face and his character both go with him to the grave, if indeed there is any grave for such as this.”