A SHORT STORY

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 86, 2 July 1927, Page 5

A SHORT STORY

NIMBA THE PIGMY

By

DAVID FLEAY

The little mother feathertail slept cosily with her three tiny babes. She lay curled into a comfortable furry ball amid a snug leaf nest far up in a hollow of the tall dead tree.

As the diminutive mother dreamed of the long ago, the outside trees of the great forest, the tangled hazel dogwood and musk of the gullies, showed dimly through a mist of driving rain, while the river at the foot of the heavilytimbered slope flowed steadily between its damp grassy banks, eddying round bends as only a river can. Under the home tree of the little feathertailed possum the litter of bark and leaves was sodden and soft, for the rain had been almost ceaseless that early spring. The gaunt old peppermint had been the home of pygmy possums for generations —the little animals being known to the white humans as “flying mice,” or correctly, as pygmy flying possums—for the little mother represented the smallest flying possum species found in the whole of Australia. The mother stirred in her sleep and the three tiny babes in her pouch stirred also.

Though three weeks of age they were only pink helpless mites, unable to see or to do much more than move their stunted undeveloped limbs. When a few days old their father had been borne away into the night, grasped in the cruel talons of an owl, and thus the little mother was still sad at heart. The light of the forest was fading, and darkness came down like a softwinged night bird, as the kookaburras chorused their evening farewell. The rain had ceased, and on every side could be heard the “drip,” “drip” of big rain drops falling from the narrow leaves to the ground. The mother opened her eyes, pressed back the comfortable leaves which almost surrounded her, and ran up the long narrow passage-way toward the entrance of the hollow.

The young ones which were contained in her little pouch were only betrayed by a slight bulge in her undersurface. Pausing awhile at the entrance, the dainty little animal surveyed the wet stillness of the mysterious forest. She heard the lapping of the river against its banks, and the howl of a dread fox away in the distance.

Then forth she sallied to the branches of a neighbouring tree, to quest for dainty moths and insects, and to lick the nectar from the freshlyopened blossom of yet another tree. Three months passed by, as surely if not as rapidly as the smooth water which flowed down the river.

The forest, with the tops of old dead monarchs projecting above the surrounding foliage, was tinted in blues and greens and reds and greys, as it lay bathed in the glorious sunlight of summer.

In the hollow of the old peppermint tree lay the little mother feathertail, with the three young ones, now halfgrown, and clothed in soft grey fur. Even their little tails were becoming more feather-like, as the lateral hairs grew out on each side of the common midrib.

The mother was but sin. in total length, from nose to tip of tail, but she was as proud as any larger animal of her healthy babes. The latter had left the shelter of the pouch some six weeks after birth, owing to the fact that they had gained a covering of close fur, and were too large to be contained in the maternal shelter any longer. When first born and for several weeks later they had been attached to the mammae in her pouch, and nourishment was forced into their little bodies. Now the young ones were alert and vigorously alive. One of them was outstanding, for his upper fur was silver-brown in colour and the under surface a clear white. His small rounded ears and bright eyes gave him a dainty appearance, while the pink-soled feet and leg-to-leg flying membrane added to his air of importance. Nimba was indeed a healthy little feathertail, and well deserved the additional name of pygmy acrobat, which some learned humans had conferred upon his kind.

His brother Crota and little sister Soma engaged in scampering races with nim at night, and performed fairylike antics as they hid behind the leaves. They admired their fine brother immensely, though they did not tell him so.

As the summer sun pursued its westering course the little family was still wrapped in slumber. They lay on their backs with little pink paws in the air, for the atmosphere of the hollow was uncomfortably hot. Gradually the calm of evening descended over forest and plain, and the gauzy-winged cicades gave forth a noisy evensong. Moths flitted by in the cooling air. and the stars twinkled forth one by one. Soon the pygmy mother, followed by her three young ones, went forth to hunt for food among the rustling leaves and trailing bark of the big trees.

For some time Nimba had felt a growing desire to explore by himself, and on this beautiful night, as the seven sisters twinkled at him from the Heavens, he was not quick enough in following the family round the mossy bole of a huge tree, with the result that he lost sight of them.

Nimba, the little forest dwarf, had performed some short-distance gliding flights from branch to branch, but his mother had told him to wait until he grew bigger and stronger before attempting longer flights.

Then, as he ran down a sloping branch among the long-curved leaves, he smelt some lovely blossom on the branches of a neighbouring tree and this tree was very near; it would take a very small gliding jump to reach it, for the foliage of the two trees almost touched.

Poising on the branch, Nimba gath - ered himself together, and launched forth into the air, spreading his little membrane wide by stretching out his limbs. But the little animal sadly misjudged the distance, and when he should have been safe among the sweet blossoms he found himself falling, falling, falling, and still falling down through space.

With a slight jerk he came to rest on a big feathery plant with frond leaves, growing in a small creek. Nimba had never seen tree-ferns before, so that the big waving leaves puzzled him greatly. Suddenly something with big staring eyes and level wings swished through the air above him and the wind alone nearly knocked him off the fronu. With quaking heart Nimba ran under the frond, and then down the shaggy trunk to tho ground. Hesitating for a moment to make sure that the monster had gone he made a frantic bolt for the butt of a big tree, and his little tree-climbing feet appeared so funny on the ground that a sturdy, duskj'-footed rat. squatting on its haunches under the tree fern, nearly lost its habitual gravity.

Nimba had seen those ghostly, staring eyes before as the spotted owl perched on the summit of his home tree, but he grew cold at the thought of what might have happened. With quick climbing jumps he partly spiralled the tree, and soon reached the upper branches, along which he ran to the leafy extremities,®

He paused as a wallaby thumpthumped near the swordgrass and prickly acacias of the tree-fern gully, and from afar came the faint “porpoke” of that dread spotted owl. At this point the little possum regained some of his shaken composure, and indulged in a tidy-up. He squatted on his hindquarters, licked his forepaws and then wiped his ears and face with them.

Feeling more comfortable after a vigorous toilet he looked up, and became aware that a beetle was crawling along a nearby dead bough. Curiosity stirred within Nimba, and he advanced with his little feather tail held in the air, while the opposable thumbs of his hind feet suggested the progression of a miniature monkey. The insect saw him coming, and evidently took him for a fierce little bush mouse, for it put its feelers under its hard head-shield and tucked its six legs under the equally well-protected body.

More curious than ever, Nimba turned the beetle over, but he was not prepared for what was to follow. How could he be expected to know 7 for this was his first meeting with a click beetle.

Suddenly the rigid insect drew its head back; then came a rapid click and the beetle shot upwards, striking Nimba with its hard wingcase right on his tender little nose.

With a quivering sob of alarm Nimba tumbled backwards off the branch, and dropped as if shot far down into the foliage of a lower bough. Once more he gathered his scattered wits together, and, after licking some honey from gum blossoms on the extremity of the bough, catching several palatable moths, and licking some sweet sap from a wound in the tree he commenced to wend his way back through the treetops to the little arboreal home.

His mother had told him about the delicious manna which formed when the cicadas drilled the branches with their sucking beaks, and how it was esteemed the delicacy of bushland. Nimba longed to find some.

The moon in its last quarter was climbing above the tree-fringed eastern horizon. On the trunk of the tree next to the home the pygmy encountered a big hairy cocoon adhering to the bark. The moth had emerged leaving anarrow slit in one end. Nimba pushed his nose into the slit, but an irritating little spine stuck in his pink nose as he sniffed eagerly and he sneezed very hard. At length lie reached home, just as a terrifying screech came from a giant owl down by the river. A fox sniffed the air beneath the old tree, and from afar was wafted the brief howl of a dingo.

Nimba heard some of his larger relatives, the lesser flying possums or squirrels, yapping in desultory fashion at the silent moon, and from the mysterious darkiYess came the snarl of a native cat.

The little pygmy was severely scolded by his mother as she licked his small pink nose where the spine wound was still stinging. But each night Nimba became more venturesome, and he had many exciting adventures. One evening, while running in and out of a big bunch of leaves he stepped on to a cup moth caterpillar, which elevated its head brushes and stung him severely on the underpads of his little pink feet. On another warm night a huge golden stag beetle painfully nipped his feathertail in its strong mandibles.

He grew quite unafraid of the big, stout ’possums and the smaller ringtails beside whom he was an insignificant mite. He recognised his relative, the pretty lesser flying squirrel, which was grey in colour, but ,oh! so exquisite in shape and habits. The dainty little Nimbj* felt quite jealous. He also knew the squirrel-like flying possum and the big, sooty, giant squirrel which swished as it sailed through the air from tree to tree.

He learnt much from his mother concerning other inhabitants of the forest and sounds which had formerly terrified him now came to have a definite meaning. He heard the swift overhead flight of duck as the birds pursued an unerring course toward distant reed-strewn pools. He heard the high squeals of bush rats in the darkness below when they fell victims to prowling cats which had left the humans and gone wild. The sounding “whoo-whoo!” of the giant owl came to him, and occasionally the shrill call of the sooty squirrel. He saw the glory of the moon and stars at night, and heard the soft wind stir the leaves. He rejoiced with his brother and sister at the soft and mysterious wonder of the world. Then came a fateful day which, like a thunderbolt, was to change the whole of Nimba’s world.

Gruff voices—human voices the little mother had called them—came faintly to the inmates of the small hollow, as they had done for several days, but on this bright morning as the pied bell magpie “cough-coughed” through the trees, a gruff voice said: “Well, Joe, there’s nothing for it but to fall this old tree. You see it is right in the way of those big sleeper-trees which we want.” A little later thudding blows, which made the whole tree vibrate, sounded on the butt of the old forest giant. Its dignified old head was destined to fall from the lofty grandeur of the forest, and never more would the little pygmy family view the world of billowing trees from its massive height.

In the hollow the mother and her three young ones stirred in terrified bewilderment. Two hours of suspense went by, and then a gradual swaying movement acted like lightning on the little mother. With the young ones after her she scrambled through the entrance to. the trunk, and there they clung in utter fright, for the tree was falling—down and down, faster and faster.

Then with a thunderous crashing roar which echoed and re-echoed through the forest the old giant smashed its way through several saplings, shattering its upper portion on the ground. “Gawd, Joe —look out!” yelled the foreman as he dashed forward. “Call the dogs, quick!” Harry Dawson, the foreman of the railway camp, was a lover of animals. He had seen three furry little mites scurrying across the ground toward the butt of a nearby eucalypt, and Joe’s fox terriers were in hot pursuit. Dawson hurled his great bulk forward and cowed the dogs with a thundering shout of “Lie down, you brutes!” The little possums gained the tree and soon disappeared as they scaled the upper trunk. The mother, with Soma and Crota, had escaped, but where was Nimba?

Suddenly Dawson noticed one of the dogs sniffing eagerly at a little furry bundle which lay limply near the fallen tree.

With a bound he reached it, and had it in his hand. Almost at the same time he saw the scattered leaves of the nest lying in all directions about the shattered trunk.

“Poor little beggar,” he muttered, “I wonder whether he will get over it?” The tiny creature lying in Dawson’s huge hand slowly opened its eyes, and became aware that two big hairy faces were bending over it. Dawson noticed the opening of the little creature’s eyes, and, turning «.o Joe, he said: “I’ll just run over to the house, Joe, and put the little chap in the wife’s care.” * * n Eight weeks had passed, and Nimba was firmly established in the affections of motherly Mrs. Dawson.

He had been stunned by a piece of wood when the great tree fell, but had suffered no serious effects.

Mrs. Dawson had called him “the little flying mouse,” and kept him in a small fly-wire cage which Dawson had constructed. Nimba jumped backwards and forwards at night, feeding on delicious, honey-soaked bread and milk. Dawson often rested a big hand on his wife’s shoulder in the homely lamplit kitchen, and they watched the antics of the dainty little animai. One evening Dawson and his wife

were hastily summoned to the men’s quarters, where a ganger had sustained a severe wound from a broken bottle. The cat, which had taken a lively interest in Nimba from the beginning, took advantage of their absence and managed to knock the cage over; but, finding that she could not reach the pygmy possum, she walked into another room. In the meantime, the frightened Nimba discovered that the door to his cage had swung partly open, and before long he crept out. The window was wide open, and from the sill he could see the beloved forest trees but a short distance ahead, while right below the house the river lapped its banks as it flowed steadily onward. With a quick jump Nimba glided to the ground, and then, with a painfully throbbing heart, he made a series of running jumps for the nearest tree, but suddenly a dark shadow shot out from the house. It was the cat. With a great burst of energy Nimba reached the first tree trunk and spiralled partly round it as he climbed. The cat also climbed, slowly but surely overtaking him. With a heart at bursting point Nimba realised that he could go no further, and that this would be the end. Then just as the hot breath of the cat reached him he noticed, througn the hazy film over his eyes, that he was on the edge of a deep, narrow hollow, and with the last ounce of strength he struggled into it, and fainted. Some time later a very frightened little animal peered forth from the hollow which had saved him. Gradually he came forth and worked his way to the top of the tree, and then through the treetops deeper and deeper into the forest.

The first streaks of dawn found him established in the cosy little hollow of a tall dead tree, very like the old peppermint in which he had been born. He was free once more, and throughout the nights that followed he sniffed the sweet air of the forest as he gathered fresh leaves for his new home.

He always picked up both fresh and dry leaves in his handlike forepaws, and then, turning round, curled his prehensile tail round them, carrying the load in this fashion to the hollow.

But Nimba felt very lonely, and when one night he heard a familiar little hissing call in a nearby tree a flood of recollections came back to him. It reminded him of his gentle little mother’s voice, and all the happy days of his babyhood.

Nimba answered the call, and ran through the leaves to the visitor in the neighbouring tree.

But before he reached the spot he halted in amazement, for there, squatting on her haunches, facing him, was the prettiest little lady pygmy that he had ever seen. She had bright eyes, like his own, dainty little whiskers, sil-ver-brown fur, and a beautiful feather tail.

Nimba fell in love with her at first sight—he had found that which was to fill the loneliness of his life.

He sat up and displayed his shapely forepaws, his pretty white front, and little rounded ears. He hissed entreatingly, and the little lady sidled up to him.

The great full moon had climbed above the eastern forest, and it showed them sitting with little feather tails twined together, and their pretty heads close as they talked in slight hisses of the happy future.

Not even the screech of a giant owl disturbed them. Oh! how the handsome feathertail loved the dainty little features of his newly-found mate, and the river flowing steadily onward saw the opening of a glorious chapter in the history of Nimba the Pygmy.—The “Australasian.”