The air was so thick with falling snow that he was well-nigh stifled.
His eyes were blinded as though they were padded with cottonwool. The
flakes brushed against his cheeks like live things. At his sixth step
from the entrance he had lost his direction. His feet commenced to
slide; against his will he went avalanching and cavorting down the path.
At the bottom he lay panting for a time; then, because he was cold he
picked himself up and went blundering on, not in the least knowing where
he was going. Bushes clutched at his feet. Trees slashed across his
face. He was inclined to weep, but checked himself, remembering that on
one of those sunny afternoon walks God had told him that to cry wasn't
manly. "And I must find God. I must find God," he kept repeating to
himself. The only way he knew of finding God was by pressing forward.
God had once confessed to him, "The reason I am God is because I show
courage."
"Then I'll show courage, too," he thought.
Presently he found himself in the heart of the forest and began to
breathe more freely. Avenues of giant trees stretched before him, which
criss-crossed one another and faded into the gloom of twilit, colonnaded
tunnels. He could almost feel the gnarled trunks bracing themselves
and the crooked branches linking arms to bear up the weight of the
down-poured roof of whiteness. As his eyes grew accustomed to the
dimness, he saw the animals strewn flat among fallen leaves, their noses
pressed between their paws, shivering with terror. Overhead birds and
monkeys sat in rows, squeezed side by side for companionship, weeping
silently. Of a sudden he regained his majesty, being filled with
contempt for their cowardice. "For I am Man," he reminded himself, "so
like to God that I could easily be mistaken for Him--and these are the
creatures who dared to talk of punishing me."
Throwing out his chest, he strode valiantly past them, utterly ignoring
their presence.
From behind him a voice called whimperingly. It was the lion's, the King
of Beasts, squeaky and falsetto with panic. "Master, thou art wise. What
has happened? Tell us."
Had he known how, the Man would have laughed. But the laugh comes later
in the story. Without turning his head, still going away from them he
answered. "It is a punishment for what thou and thy people have done to
me and my Woman, oh, lion."
He had made the answer up on the spur of the moment; he knew no more
than they did what had happened. But he loved inventing and was never
so content as when he was pretending that he was God.
Immediately they forgot the wrong answers he had given them and how he
had deceived them in the past. The leaves rustled as they lifted up
their heads from between their paws. Their voices trembled as one when
they besought him, "Master, stay with us. We are in terror. Make it
leave off."
Turning slowly, he blinked at them through the dimness. Folding his
arms, he regarded them thoughtfully with his legs wide apart. He did it
as he supposed God might have done it. He spoke at last. "It's only just
begun. Why should I make it leave off?"
"Because thou art strong and we are repentant."
Their manner was so humble and adoring that he felt sorry for them.
They had begged his pardon in the same words that he had intended to
beg God's. And then he was just--the only just creature that God had
created. In his heart he knew that he had merited their revenge--there
was scarcely one of them at whom he had not hurled his rocks. He came
back walking in stately fashion till he stood fearlessly in the centre
of them. Looking up through the burdened branches at the calamity which
he did not understand, he commanded, "Leave off."
To his immense surprise, on the instant the snow ceased falling. It
settled gently like a tired bird into its nest. The serenity of the
stillness was unbroken.
"I am hungry," he said.
The animals hurried to their stores of food and waited on him.
"I have not slept."
The squirrels scraped fallen leaves into a bed, and the bear and the
wolf stood guard.
When he awoke it was a brilliant winter's morning. The sun was
charioteering in highest heaven. The forest was white as though
cotton-wool had blown through it. As far as eye could search, everything
glittered, sheathed in a film of glass. Snow bulged from branches like
pillows filled to bursting. Icicles hung down like fantastic swords.
Down the colonnaded avenues trees cast their shadows in heavy bars; the
spaces between them were golden splashes.
[Illustration: The Man yawned. "I am still tired. Fetch the horse, that
he may carry me back to my dwelling."]
The Man yawned. "I am still tired. Fetch the horse that he may carry me
back to my dwelling."
He ordered the horse to be fetched because he had forgotten where his
cave was. It was clever of him. He did it to keep the animals from
knowing his ignorance.
The horse came galloping up obediently. Clutching him by the mane, the
Man bestrode him. Off they started at a sharp trot, with the animals
shouting and bounding beside them. As they travelled, the Man could
hardly keep from smiling at picturing what a fine fellow he was. He made
no attempt to restrain himself from giving orders. All the time he kept
urging the animals to shout louder. He wanted the Woman to hear them, so
that she might crawl to the entrance of the cave and be a witness of his
triumphant home-coming. It wasn't good enough merely to picture himself
as a fine fellow. He was anxious to hear her say to him, "Oh, Man, what
a fine fellow you are!" He'd forgotten completely the purpose of his
errand--that he'd set out through the world's first snowstorm in search
of God.
So at last they burst forth from the forest and reached the foot of the
slippery ascent. Because it was so slippery, the Man dismounted; the
horse could carry him no further. Having commanded the animals to go on
shouting for at least half-an-hour, he left them and commenced to climb
the steep and narrow path. He had to go gingerly on his hands and knees.
There were places where he slipped back two steps for every one he
advanced. By snatching at rocks and bushes, he dragged himself slowly to
the turning which brought him in sight of the entrance. There, seated in
the entrance to the cave, he saw ...
You must remember that by now it was the twenty-fifth of December.
To remember that is most extraordinarily important. What he saw is so
exciting that it deserves another chapter.