City lights and Forest Shadows

Which one would you run to?

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“Nature is not a place to visit. It is home.”

The Etiquette of Freedom, by Gary Snyder

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Ten steps.

He was in the forest. His training shoes cleared the road barrier as he jumped on the crumbly path, and he sprinted across the dry meadow, leaping over heaps of pine needles. It had been raining and thin clumps of earth were clinging to the hard soles. The thick layer of pine needles took his weight and he felt his body rocking slightly. At moments like this, he always remembered his soft childhood bed that he so much enjoyed jumping on.

He looked up. The summer sky had vanished behind the greenish-brown pine tops. They looked like slim geishas, gathered for an afternoon chat, flirting with their broad, rustling fans. A slight wind was blowing in the branches and he could swear it was wafting the scent of a female perfume.

Twenty steps.

He wasn’t carrying the rifle with him — the last time he had used it, two cartridges were released at the same time; one from the cartridge chamber and the other from the magazine. Petrov explained that the breaker’s spring needed fixing. The hunting knife was hanging from his leather belt, simply by habit — there was nothing he could do with it except to prune some branches when he reached the glade.

He looked up again. The trees were denser now. He thought, smiling, that his colleagues would have picked out their mobiles by now, looking for a network. He didn’t even have a smartphone. Sometimes he was trifling with an old Nokia in his pocket in case someone called him. He never wrote messages. He didn’t use a computer at home. He never watched TV. During the week, he would drink wine in the evening and work in the yard. Over the weekends he was out hunting or doing wood crafting. He sometimes wondered how he was going to find a wife with this wild way of living, but he didn’t dwell much on it. For now, short affairs would do.

Thirty steps.

The wind was stinging the skin of his hands and face. He pulled up the collar on his leather jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets. Here in the mountains, it was cold even in the summer. He preferred the cold to the sticky heat of the city, additionally increased by the numerous air-conditioners. Air-conditioners, cars, buses, mobile phones, computers, drones flying in the air chased by children gone stupid by modern society — how could one ever stay there without wanting to escape?

He looked left — a few pine trees had fallen and their broken trunks lay on top of each other like dead soldiers. The storm last week, probably. He turned towards them, climbed onto the trunks, and sat down for a while. He slipped his hand across the rough, lifeless bark. It was icy, like a human corpse.

Maybe I should pass this way? I’ll go over the trunks and continue straight through the trees. I’ll cut my way to the glade.

He stood up.

. . .

‘Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!’

The sharp, metal voice was echoing among the pines like a scream of a monstrous bird. Dimo jumped at each shout of the toy. It sounded eerie, especially in this thick forest. Why did Nasko have to drag him here, they could have gone to the test area, everything was smooth and clean and bright over there and it didn’t…

He slipped over the heap of pine needles and tumbled down, landing on his bottom. A splinter stuck him in the thigh and made him gasp. He rose slowly and examined his legs. The trousers were muddy all over and covered with pine needles, and so was his jacket. The palms of his hands were also soiled and smarting. He grumbled angrily.

‘Nasko, wait!’

He caught up with him by a fallen heap of trees. The drone was stuck in there and his friend was trying to pull it out.

‘I told you we shouldn’t be here!’ Panting, Dimo leaned his hands on his hips. ‘Now you’re going to break it and your dad’s going to kill you!’

In one cautious movement the tall, black-haired boy pulled the brand-new toy out of the trunk. He patted the dust off it. The big metal rabbit was goggling at him. His white ears were jutting out like antennas, and there were pine needles stuck on his brown waistcoat. A small watch was glistening on one of its paws.

‘Now, stop being a crybaby!’ Nasko snapped, jumping over the trunks. ‘Come, we’ll pass this way!’

Frowning, Dimo climbed over the stumps.

‘It’s a real drag, this rabbit, anyway! We should have stayed at home and played ‘Battlefield’.

‘So you started killing people in ‘Battlefield’ and now you’re totally rocking it, eh? Well, you won’t be getting away with it next time! I’m going to cut your head with the hatchet!’

‘You’re going to cut it, my ass! Just watch!’

‘I’m going to break your leg and you won’t be able to follow me!’

‘Like hell you are!’

Nasko adjusted his heavy backpack and his fingers ran along the smartphone’s screen. The rabbit hopped up and rushed forward.

‘Oh my fur and whiskers, I’m late! I’m late!’ It raised its paw and its head bent towards the watch. Nasko gave an idiotic grin.

‘Look how funny he is! Listen to his talk!’

‘So what, you think he’s going to find a hole to crawl into?’

‘It’s in his software. He has to find one!’

…

Sixty steps.

He had never been in this part of the forest. Here the trees were so dense that at times he needed to bend down to duck under barriers formed by the intertwined branches. They were like hands, clasped together. He could feel the unity of the forest clearer than ever before. It wasn’t just a forest, it was an army of soldiers. They grew up, breathed, fed, and slept next to each other. They fought against the pressure of the wind, the stinger of hail, the teeth and nails of foxes, wild cats, wolves, and bears, and even the axes of loggers. They enjoyed together the sun’s warm caresses on their needle tips, the squirrels’ soft steps on their branches, and the chickadee’s refreshing songs in the air. Together they laughed and together they shed tears of resin. Together.

Every time he came here, he felt part of a society. With people, those solitary beings, trapped in isolated brick cages, he felt alone.

Seventy steps.

He stopped counting. He was deep enough now. He had reached the heart of the forest.

He was breathing with a full chest now and his lungs were filling with oxygen. The smell of thick, sticky resin was intoxicating his brain. He lowered his eyelids and continued forward with his eyes closed. He wanted to dissolve into the surrounding noise, to melt with the trees, to become a part of them. His hands were feeling their way ahead, his feet were looking for the right gap to step through. His head was dizzy with the tender whistling of the wind, the squealing of the three-toed woodpecker, and the pattering of invisible small feet in the shrubs. Are they rabbits? Most probably. Wolves make a louder noise. In fact, is it wise to walk so deep in the forest without my weapon, what if…

…his leg fell into an invisible abyss. At that moment he suddenly lost his balance and opened his eyes sharply but it was too late. His body tumbled noisily downwards, he was falling into a hole, he was falling, falling, for an eternity. What kind of hole was this, oh God, there was soil, and branches, all tumbling down with him, he tried to grab hold of something but everything was wet, the roots were slippery and he was falling further and further down and the damp earth and rotten thorns were scattering around, entering his mouth. Then there was a bolt, a white-hot bolt of pain. He screamed. He spread his arms but failed in his attempts to cling to the sides of the pit, buried again in the stony earth. He had stopped falling but something terrible had happened. Otherwise, it wouldn’t hurt so much and there wouldn’t be so many stones around him. Stony bottom — how deep was it? He cast a dizzy glance upwards — the edge of the pit was looming up high above him, at least seven meters from the bottom. Everywhere around him there were black walls with sharp stones protruding from the damp earth.

His whole right side, waist down, was burning with pain.

‘Fuck…damn it…damn it…’ when he tried to move, another scream escaped his lips. The leg. It’s the leg. The right one. Stop screaming! The animals will hear you! In this condition, you’re easy prey not only for bears, but wolves as well. If they catch you, it will be the end!

Teeth clenched, face bathed in sweat, he leaned back and unbuttoned his jacket so that he could see better. His hip was unnaturally twisted. The pain was around the hip joint. Broken? Probably. He tried moving both his legs. The left one he could, but the right one, no.

His brain was working feverishly. The cabins were far from the village. There were four, five of them outside the forest. They were empty except for the one filled with children’s laughter this morning — his neighbors had come with their kids. They, however, never entered the forest. No one entered this forest except for hunters like him. He knew a few of them but it wasn’t their day for meeting; they came at the end of the month.

He wasn’t carrying his mobile phone. He had no relatives. Just colleagues, but they wouldn’t be looking for him before Wednesday. It was Saturday today.

Five days!

He turned around and tried to pull himself up the wall of the pit. It was steep, almost vertical. What is it, a sinkhole, a gravity well? Was it formed recently? He could see broken trees around the edge. Parts of the branches had fallen inside and were sticking between the stones in the walls. His hands were slipping on the damp surface of the wall, they were missing their hold. He took his knife out of the case, reached as high as he could, and stuck it into the hard soil. He pulled himself up on its handle and, using his other hand as a booster, managed to climb up a meter. Clinging to the wall, he drew out the knife and was about to stick it in again, higher, when, to keep his hold, he involuntary folded his right leg.

Pain shook him. He screamed again and the next instant he was at the bottom again, his leg twisted under his body, the fabric of the trousers tight over the hip and what was that bulging from under it, a protruding bone? Hot liquid was pouring over his skin under the fabric. It was running like a river, flowing out of the trousers’ edge, wetting his training shoe, it was running bright red, running, running, the femoral artery was there, oh, God, the bone must have pierced through it, don’t faint, faint and you will die, just stay here, stay here, take off your jacket but it’s too hard, too bulky. Take off your shirt, fine, it’s soft. Groaning through his teeth, he wrapped the shirt around his thigh, right under the loins, and tightened it as hard as he could. Then he covered his naked body with the jacket and lay back, panting, trembling, soaked in sweat.

He closed his eyes. He could still feel the forest all around him; the wind was still playing its flute, the chickadees were still trying to outsing each other, and the fallen sticks were creaking, crushed by the scurrying legs of hares. The freshness of the air was still penetrating his chest, making his skin prickle and his head swim. No, it’s not just the pain, it’s the oxygen, this oxygen, this is life. Maybe this is what should happen. Maybe, I should die here, here, where it’s full of life, here, at the threshold of eternity. Maybe this is what I’ve always wanted.

He reached out and clutched a handful of crumbly, wet earth.

…

‘Dimo! Hey! I see a hole! Over there, at the end of the path! Follow the rabbit!’

Dimo ran faster to catch up with his friend. Nasko was pointing ahead.

‘Where? Where?’

‘Over there! Can you see it? It’s a whole pit! He’s moving towards it!’

Dimo saw it. The hopping metal toy got to its edge, swayed, tumbled down, and vanished out of sight.

….

Steps above him. It wasn’t a human being, the steps were tiny. A rabbit? Yes, they sounded like rabbit’s feet. Such a noisy one? They are usually cautious, maybe this one is hurt? Gone wild with fear? Maybe he’s being chased by a predator, or…

His right hand opened quickly, instinctively. The clods of earth, warmed by his skin, spilled out on the ground. He looked up. His heart, languid in its lethargic resignation, started beating madly again. The crackling sounds were getting stronger. He leaned on his palms and went upward a little, trying not to move his leg. He didn’t dare embrace the hope that was burning his chest. He didn’t dare think that…

…something shiny and metal fell over the edge of the hole and started tumbling downwards. Earth was sticking to the silver body, the clattering of metal limbs was slashing through the inebriating silence. He followed the object with astonishment and when it finally came to a stop at the bottom, watched it for a long time, without moving.

A rabbit. It was really a rabbit but an artificial one. Pointed arms and legs, bending square joints, funny cone-shaped ears, and an oval muzzle with whiskers like thin little wires. It was wearing a bizarre, miniature waistcoat. And it has…it has…a watch? Is this a watch on its hand?

‘Oh, dear!’ The lopsided rabbit uttered suddenly, ‘Oh, dear, I shall be too late!’

He burst out laughing. Hallucination. I fell into Alice’s hole and here comes the rabbit…and in the most terrifying form at that…as a toy, bought from a children’s shop.

‘Hey!’ He heard a child’s distant voice overhead. ‘Hey, Dimo…whoa…Dimo…there is someone down there!’

He looked up again. There, at the edge of the hole, two pairs of children’s eyes were fixed on him.

A deep silence ensued. He was quiet. The children were quiet. The forest, having moved suddenly aside like a theatre set, was also quiet.

‘Sir?’ One of the boys cried out finally, his voice trembling with fear, ‘Hey, are you…a-are you okay?’

‘Nasko…’ the other boy, in a quieter and thinner voice, ‘there’s blood…can you see it? There’s blood all over the bottom…’

‘Shall we call for help?’ Shouted the first boy.

‘Nasko…can people really bleed that much…’

He never took his eyes off the children. Oh, how dear they were to him now. The moment he got out of there he would go back to the city, get married, and have kids of his own. He would buy tons of drones for them and he would never come back to this cursed forest again.

He finally collected all his strength, and shouted hoarsely:

‘Yes…go find help…if you have a mobile phone, call the fire department, and the hospital…they will track our signal and find us…’

‘Okay…’ the boy showed him the mobile in his hand, ‘right away.’

‘I didn’t know people could bleed that much….it’s not like in the computer games…’

The man smiled, drew the toy rabbit towards himself, and caressed its metal ears. He pressed it tight to his chest. It had saved him.

Thank you.

The forest was still silent.

. . .

The same evening the boys were sitting in the yard, picking at the loose soil with two short sticks. Dimo was amazed at the agility with which the long brown worms were wrapping themselves around his stick. They were holding on very tightly — even hard shaking wouldn’t make them fall. One needed to grab the slippery little body and tear it away with the fingers.

‘Will the man be all right?’ He loudly asked the question that had been bugging him all day. He couldn’t get the stranger out of his mind. The firemen had used a ladder to take him out of the hole and put him on a stretcher. He was groaning, gasping, and laughing at the same time, and he couldn’t move. There was blood everywhere and he was clutching their metal rabbit and he didn’t want to let go of it. He was babbling: ‘This tin gadget saved me. It saved me.’ The boys didn’t demand the rabbit back. It was obvious the man was in a state of shock, and he might have freaked out a little bit. They left him the toy.

So, this is what it’s like, in the real world. You bleed out. You can’t walk. Then you go crazy. Or die — but you die for real.

Dimo didn’t worry about the lost toy at all. He didn’t want to see any metal rabbits ever again. Nor robots, for that matter. Nor helicopters. He didn’t want to play ‘battlefield’ anymore. He had seen reality and although it turned out to be quite scary, he realized he liked it better than the virtual one.

From now on, all he wanted to do, was to sit on the stump in the yard and wrap little worms around his stick. Caress the grass, inhale deeply the sharp, fresh mountain air, and listen to the playful song of the grasshoppers.

‘Of course, he’ll be all right’, Nasko muttered by his side. ‘It was just a broken leg, big deal. Bones heal.’

Dimo looked up and stared at the trees across the road. There were hundreds of them. They watched him, waving their thin, black pine needles. Their pointed branches bent as if saying hello.

Hi, the boy thought back, tilting his head to mimic them.

The trees smiled.

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Always yours,

Nev