Wabi

Table of Contents

 

When I opened my eyes again, it was no longer night. I was flat on my back and the bright sun was shining down on me through the leaves. Things looked different. It was as if I was seeing the light in a different way. I tried to close my inner eyelid, but nothing happened.

I wasn't in pain, but when I turned my head, my neck felt unusually tight. I raised my wing to my beak and was shocked at how soft it was. What were these even softer things under it and around my mouth? Lips. I had lips. For that matter, what were these wiggly worms at the ends of my wings? Fingers?

I started to sit up, but was pushed back by two big paws that pressed down on my chest. A large head thrust itself into view, mouth open, long sharp teeth exposed.

Then a tongue came out and lapped my face.

Are you you?
Malsumsis whined.

I lifted my legs, as an owl would do, and pushed against my wolf friend with my feet.

“Get off me,” I said.

My voice sounded strange, but it seemed to please Malsumsis.

SPEAK

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First published in the United States of America by Dial Books,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2006
Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2007

Copyright © Joseph Bruchac, 2006

All rights reserved

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE DIAL BOOKS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

Bruchac, Joseph, date.
Wabi : a hero's tale / Joseph Bruchac.

p. cm.

Summary: After falling in love with an Abenaki Indian woman, a white great horned owl named Wabi transforms into a human being and has several trials and adventures while learning to adapt to his new life.

eISBN : 978-1-440-68441-8

1. Abenaki Indians—Fiction. [ 1. Abenaki Indians—Fiction. 2. Great horned owl—Fiction. 3. Owls—Fiction. 4. Indians of North America—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.B82816Wab 2006 [Fic]—dc22 2005015392

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

I ALMOST DIED BEFORE I could fly. That is what I remember most about when I was little.

It's not the first thing I remember. The first thing was feeling surrounded by a wall that was wrapped around me. The wall had never bothered me before. I'd always felt warm and secure. But then a frantic feeling came over me. I had to get out of there. I pushed against the wall with my head, attacked it with my beak. Finally, when it seemed as if I couldn't fight any longer, I broke through.

My brother was waiting for me on the other side. He is the second thing I remember. Unfortunately. He gave me a big shove. Then he bit me.

“That hurt!” I said.

“Get used to it,” he replied.

Actually, what I said was, “Hrttt-rrrrllll!” And what he said back to me was, “Hrrllll.” Then he bit me again.

There wasn't much I could do to fight back. I was really little. You wouldn't think it to look at me now, but I was the smallest one in my family. My sister and brother were both bigger than me.

My sister never paid much attention to me. She had bigger things to worry about, namely our brother. But I learned a lot from her, just by watching. I saw how she could sidestep to keep out of my brother's way when our mother wasn't around. I started doing the same thing and began to avoid most of his pecks and pushes. When our mother came back, my brother ignored us. He was too interested in seeing what food she brought and making sure that he got most of it.

“KURRULLL, KURRULLL, KURRULLL,” he would shriek, opening his mouth as wide as he could and shouldering us aside.

What he said meant: “Mine, mine, mine!”

That was pretty much it as far as the food our mother brought to us. From the half-digested bits of yummy little critters that she coughed up when we were owlets to the nice crunchy whole mice that hung limp and delicious from her beak as we got older, my big brother always got more than my sister and me.

Of course I got the least. That is what happens when you are the last one to hatch.

My sister kept her eyes open for anything else that might be dangerous. Lots of creatures like to eat little owls. She was always looking up, looking down, turning her head around. I learned to do that too. Or at least I did so when I wasn't sidestepping as fast as I could to keep away from my big brother's beak. The only good thing about his eating more than us was that it also meant he slept more.

Keeping very quiet and still was also something my big sister did really well, especially when the shadow of another wide-winged bird went over. Being silent is useful in other ways than avoiding the attention of a hungry hawk or crow. For one, it makes you a better listener. Listening is very, very important. When you are small, you can hear things that might eat you. When you are grown, it's the other way around.

Although I learned a lot from her, I know that my big sister wasn't trying to teach me. She acted as if I didn't exist.

My brother, though, did pay attention to me. Unfortunately.

“Whoool-tooo, Rrrtrrbrrll!” Move, Runt!

“Grrraaaccc!” Drop that food!

“Hrrllll.” Get used to it.

I'm not sure how I survived. From other owls, I've learned that every nest was not as bad as ours. In most nests, the chicks squabble a little around feeding time, but otherwise just live and let live. It was just my luck to have been hatched into one with an ornicidal maniac.

I remember waking up one night from a dream in which our whole tree was being shaken by a big scary wind. I was being thrown around, all right, but not by the wind. The next violent push against me made me realize two things real fast. The first, of course, was that my brother was the one shoving me. The second realization was that I had been pushed up onto the edge of the nest. I was about to fall.

I didn't know for sure what was down there. I'd never touched the earth or seen things like grass and flowers close up. My whole world was our nest and the branches around us, the sky, and my mother's wide wings overhead. There was also, every now and then, another presence in the high branches of the tree some distance from ours. It wasn't threatening, like the crows our mother warned us about.

“Black-wings come in, they eat you then,” was what she said. Things that wanted to devour tender little owlets made up a good part of her conversations. “Don't get eaten,” was the only advice she ever gave us.

But even though that distant presence seemed to me to be another owl rather than a crow, it never came close to feed us the way our mother did.

At the moment when my brother had shoved me to the very edge of our nest, I didn't think about that other owl. All I could think was that I was about to be pushed out.

I grabbed the side of the nest with both feet, dug my claws in hard, and shoved back at my brother. To my surprise, he yelped and went rolling into the center of the nest. He landed on his back and stayed there, threatening me with his claws.

I ignored him as I hopped down to safety. Even though I was small, I was tougher than I'd thought. Was I stronger than my big brother? It was an interesting thought. All the rest of that day he didn't push me or nip me even once. He clacked his beak a time or two, but I could live with that. Especially as opposed to being pushed out to fall to what I suspected was certain death below. Foxes, weasels, wolverines, wolves, minks, fishers, bears, snakes. Our mother had mentioned all of them as well as a few more creatures that were even larger, scarier, and just as likely to view a little owl as a nice snack in between bigger meals. “Monsters,” she said. “They want to eat you.”

The thought of being strong enough to actually defend myself made me feel self-confident. I wasn't used to feeling confident. Hungry, uncertain, wary, confused, disappointed, and bruised, yes. But not confident.

It turned out that being confident was not as good a thing as I thought. I felt so self-confident that I stopped watching my brother as closely as I had been. Instead, when my mother fed us the next day, I hopped forward, beak open, and got a limp fat mouse all to myself. As I gulped it down, I watched her spread her wings and float into flight. It looked easy. I'd never thought about being able to fly before. I hopped over to the edge of the nest and peered up as she sailed away.

I could do that someday,
I thought, extending one wing to look at it. My feathers had been growing in nicely. Not one bit of yellow fluff was left.

Then something hit me hard from behind.