As you may imagine, all the beasts and birds went back to the jungle
very discontented. They didn't see why they shouldn't have babies. They
were wild to have babies. They talked of nothing else. No sooner had
they got down the hill from visiting the cave than they turned round and
started to climb back again. They kept urging the Woman to be frank with
them and to confess how her baby had happened. Of course she couldn't
confess, seeing that she didn't know herself. All that she knew was that
she hadn't felt well since she had eaten the forbidden fruit in Eden
and, now that the baby had been born, she felt completely restored. Such
information wasn't of much use to the animals, for the forbidden fruit
grew inside of Eden and the gates of Eden were locked. At last the Man
had to interfere to prevent her from being bothered. He stuck up a
notice at the entrance to the cave, _December 25th. Mother And Child
Both Doing Well. Don't knock._ When the animals came to call, he
prevented them from entering by explaining gravely that having a baby
was a very touch-and-go business and left one decidedly exhausted. To
have listened to him you might have supposed that he'd spent all his
life in rocking cradles, whereas he was such a novice that, had it not
been for the elephant, he wouldn't even have known that babies were
called babies. Like all fathers he deceived himself that there was
nothing he didn't know about baby-lore. What was very much more
surprising, by whispering and looking secretive he managed to impress
the animals with his new-found learning and paternal importance.
But what had happened to the robin while all these excitements were
going on? The last time we mentioned him he was sitting perched on the
Woman's shoulder, singing her his very finest song.
The robin, though you may not have heard it, has always been a most
religious bird. He had made up his mind, the moment the Man had come
back, that the first thing to be done was to go and tell God. The chief
difficulty about accomplishing this errand was due to God Himself; as
you will remember, in returning to Heaven God had destroyed the sky-blue
stairs behind Him. But the robin had wings; moreover he was an optimist.
He hoped that by fluttering up and up he would be able to reach Heaven
in safety. The reason that he had never tried before was because he had
been afraid that God would not want him. He felt sure of his welcome now
that he was the bearer of such glad tidings.
He found the journey much harder than he had expected. There were parts
of it that were so bitter that his wings would scarcely flutter. After
he had lost sight of earth, he had to wind his way between the burning
stars; they were so close together in places that his feathers were
scorched. But he pressed on valiantly till he made out the quiet shining
of the gates of Heaven and entered through the unguarded walls of jasper
into a garden, which was in no way different from the one that God had
planted upon earth.
Beneath scented trees the angels were scattered about disconsolately.
There were black rims under their eyes; it was easy to see they had been
worrying. Their beautiful white gowns had come unstarched; it was many
days since they had tidied themselves. There wasn't a sound of any
sort--least of all of music. Some of them still carried their harps; but
most of them had stacked them in open spaces the way soldiers stack
their rifles. When the robin sank spent to the grass in front of them,
they paid him scant attention. When he weakly chirped his question,
"Where's God?" they jerked their thumbs, indicating the direction, too
listless to waste breath on words.
"What's the matter?" asked the robin.
"We're unhappy." After they had said it, they had difficulty to choke
back their sobs.
"But why are you unhappy? Whoever heard of being unhappy in Heaven!"
"Because--because----." They glanced at one another forlornly, hoping
that someone else would be the first to answer. "Because of the
forbidden fruit. It's made God cross."
"Pshaw!" The robin swelled out his little breast with importance. "You'd
better visit earth and see our baby. If the Woman hadn't eaten the
forbidden fruit, there wouldn't be any baby."
The word "baby" was entirely new to them. They sat up beneath their
scented trees and began to ask questions. But the robin didn't want to
be delayed; he spread his wings and fluttered on.
At last he came to the smoothest of smooth lawns, in the midst of which
grew a mulberry-tree, beneath whose shadow God was seated with the
Virgin Mary. Despite the flakes of sunlight falling and the gold-blue
peace by which They were surrounded. Their attitudes were no less
despondent than the angels'. God sat with His elbows digging into His
knees. His face was buried in His delicate hands. His eyes, peering
through His fingers, were strained and red with always staring
broodingly straight before Him. Of the Virgin Mary, crouching at His
feet, the robin could only see the glint of her flaxen hair and the
paleness of her narrow shoulders. Her head was bowed in the lap of her
Maker as if she had been beseeching Him always.
The robin was overwhelmed with terror. All his chirpiness was gone.
"Dear God," he quavered, "I beg Thy forgiveness. I have come when I was
not bidden."
He paused, hoping that God would encourage him. When God took no notice,
he felt himself to be the most insignificant and impertinent of living
creatures. He spoke again, lest the silence should kill him on the spot.
"I have brought glad tidings--at least, we on earth think they are
glad. The Woman, whom Thou didst cast out for eating the fruit that was
forbidden, has been very sick. She has been sick since April till just
before day-break this morning, when she miraculously recovered. At her
side she found lying a little thing--such a little thing--so like
to Thyself, oh, God. It has bandy legs and arms no thicker than Thy
smallest finger. It has a baldy head, about the size of an apple, with
threads of gold spread over it like floss. It has a pink, wee face and
a rose-bud of a mouth. It's eyes are like patches of Thine own blue
Heaven. And it's soft and cuddly. The Women calls it her 'Belovedest.'
And it smells sweet like the flowers we used to breathe in Eden. We
didn't know what it was. Even the Man didn't know. He summoned the
animals to come and find a name for it. While they were sitting on their
hind-legs, behold, it awoke and told us that its rightful name was baby.
And now, oh, God, we birds and animals want to have babies. We're all
trying to find out how it happened. And I want to find out most
especially, because----"
"A baby, thou sayest! What is a baby? I, thy Creator, know nothing of
it. The last thing I fashioned was the Woman, who has brought this deep
shame upon Us."
God had spoken through His hands very softly, yet His voice was like a
great wind blowing. It took the robin some seconds to recover from the
shock. By the time he was ready to answer, the angels were rustling
through all the glades of Heaven and the Virgin was gazing at him with
wistful intensity.
"What is a baby!" he said audaciously repeating God's words. "It is a
little Man and a little God. Surely, Thou knowest?"
"I know nothing," God thundered, letting fall His hands from before His
face. "Be gone."
When the hurricane of sound had ended, the robin found himself hovering
in the gateway between the jasper walls, where the sheer drop which lies
between earth and Heaven commences. He turned to look back before he
took the leap and saw that behind him the angels were following.
Following most closely was the Virgin.
"Tell me again," she pleaded. "It's little and soft. It's cuddly and it
smells like the flowers that bloom in Eden."
Perched on her shoulder, with his beak against her ear, he twittered to
her his tale once more. While he was telling her, the angels crowded
round, smoothing his feathers with shy caresses. But he didn't dare to
stay too long, for distantly from beneath the mulberry tree, he still
felt the brooding eyes of God. Launching himself from the Virgin's
shoulder, he sank between the burning stars and through the bitter
coldness of clouds snow-laden, till late in the wintry afternoon he
reached the cave on the limestone ridge, whence a murmur of secret
singing was emerging.
X
On the threshold he paused to listen. Yes, it was the Woman. It was the
first time she had been happy enough to sing since she had been cast out
of Eden. But her song was entirely different from anything that she had
sung before. It was more little and tender. It was a lullaby of
mother-nonsense, which she hummed when she couldn't find the proper
rhymes and made up as she went along.
As the robin fluttered through the gloom to her shoulder, she pressed
her finger to her lips to warn him. The baby eyes were the merest slits
of blueness. The little thumb was in the mouth and the baby lips were
sucking hard. The tiny knees were digging into the Woman's body and the
baldy head was cushioned on her bosom. The dog snoozed across her feet.
The Man crouched against her, shrouded in the mantle of her hair,
overcome with weariness. She was mothering them all, rocking herself
slowly and singing gently her silly little song. The crooning of it over
and over seemed to hush them with a sense of security.
"You are my ownty,
Dear little donty,
Sweetest and wonty,
Pudding and pie;
Good little laddie,
Just like your daddie.
Fallen from Heaven,
Come from the sky."
"But he didn't," whispered the robin.