Young Fredle - Louise Yates [47]
“There’s not enough meat on a frog. Give me a plump mouse anytime, especially a plump house mouse,” Rec said. “Mouse is better than squirrel, too, because they don’t have all that fur. Fur—ick-ko.”
“I see you’re bored with the story,” Rilf said crossly.
“No, Cap’n, not a bit of it,” Rec answered quickly. “Or anyway, I’m not. You two, snap shut. And you”—he turned to Fredle—“no questions. Understood?”
Fredle wasn’t about to answer. It was the frogs that did it. Those frogs reminded him of what it was he’d been trying to think of, ever since Rilf took him across the field to eat ramps and drink water—from the stream! He remembered hearing Sadie’s voice saying something. But he couldn’t remember what it was he’d heard.
Rilf went on with the story, and now there were two things Fredle was paying close attention to, both at the same time: the full moon question and the stream-Sadie memory. He took a deep breath, looking straight at Rilf. I can do this, he thought.
“For a long time,” Rilf was saying, “the raccoons left food out for the moon, all the things the moon likes, fish bones and chicken bones, grassy stalks, eggshells, apple cores, too. The moon has a real taste for apple cores. The moon ate everything and grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger. He grew so big the raccoons began to get worried. Do you want to know why, young Fredle?” he asked.
Fredle nodded. He could think about two things at the same time, but he couldn’t talk as well. Three was too many for him.
“The moon was grown so big, it was starting to crowd down from the sky onto their territory. The raccoons were afraid that before long that moon would either crush them or crowd them back into corners where nothing grew and no prey lived. After that, they knew, it wouldn’t be very long before there were no raccoons left at all. But what could they do?”
“They could stop feeding him,” Fredle suggested, unable to stop himself.
“Wow, Fredle, that’s a really good idea,” Rimble said, in a sarcastic voice. “Like it wasn’t already way too late for that.”
Rilf ignored both of them. He went on with his story. “What they did was gather together the wisest and strongest raccoons. To talk about ways to get rid of the moon, all the wisest and strongest raccoons, each one cleverer than the last—because raccoons are famous for being clever. Even mice know that, right, Fredle? But that big fat moon was right there, always, listening in on everything they said.”
He waited, to let them consider that problem.
In the silence, Fredle remembered: Sadie had said she wanted to run over to the stream for a drink of water, that it was close by, but she couldn’t go because she had her job of watching the baby. He remembered being in the garden and Sadie saying that to him. He almost melted into the dirt with relief.
“They did stop feeding the moon and they totally ignored him, hoping that he would go away to another sky. But the monstrous thing hung around. Getting bigger. Not getting bigger as fast as he had, but still … Things were dire, you can imagine. Until finally they had an idea. Just one hope, the only plan they could think of.”
“It was a great plan,” Rad told Fredle. “If it hadn’t been for them, we wouldn’t be here today.”
Fredle wasn’t sure that would be such a terrible thing, but he certainly didn’t say that out loud. He was being careful to pay close attention to Rilf’s story so as not to give away his excitement at what he had just remembered. He asked, “What was the plan? How could raccoons stop the moon?”
“I said no questions,” growled Rec.
Rilf’s voice grew proud. “Way back then, there was a raccoon living who was bigger and stronger, and therefore wiser, too, seven times bigger and stronger and wiser than the biggest and strongest and wisest raccoon that has ever lived. His name was Rasta and he would have made even Rec look scrawny and thin.”
“Woo-Hah,” laughed Rimble.
“Rasta had long, clawed paws that could break boulders, and he was brave, too. Raccoons are always brave—”