Abel's Island by William Steig

Author:William Steig [Steig, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9781466839175
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2013-07-30T07:00:00+00:00

The next day the signs were placed in well-chosen parts of the island, leaning against trees or stones, with the arrow always pointing to his home, the log. He had to drag the tablets along the ground with a rope, they were so large. He noted that there were thin wafers of ice along the shore, and for a moment he had excited visions of a frozen river that could be crossed by walking; but he quickly remembered that such swiftly flowing water could not freeze.

He was curious to know if the watch would run. Some prodding and shoving with a pole in the grooves of the stem-winder made it turn round a dozen times. The watch began to tick. The sounds he had become accustomed to, the roaring and gurgling of the river, the wailing and whining of the wind, the pattering and dripping of rain, the chirruping of birds and the chirring of insects, had natural, irregular rhythms, which were very soothing, but the steady, mechanical tempo of the watch gave him something he had been wanting in this wild place. It and the book helped him feel connected to the civilized world he’d come from. He had no use for the time the watch could tell, but he needed the ticking.

Abel led a busy life. He had used up the pages of his scratch pad floating messages down the river, but he still occasionally sent up smoke signals, and once in a while, futile as it seemed, he would climb a tree and wave his stained and tattered shirt. He had his book to read and think about, there was the winding of the watch to be attended to, he kept working at sculpture, and of course he had his practical needs to provide for.

Abel also kept busy taking it easy. Only when taking it easy, he’d learned, could one properly do one’s wondering. One night while he was resting under the stars and enjoying the noise of the river and of the November wind, a winged shadow suddenly hung over him, blacking out the stars at which he’d been gazing. Instinct brought him to his feet and sent him diving into a crevice between two rocks.

In mute terror he crouched in the crevice while the owl, with grappling talons, tried to fish him out. It stood on the rock and poked in, while Abel made himself smaller and smaller and receded farther and farther into the seam. Then the poking stopped and the owl scrabbled about on the rock, staring into the night with unfathoming eyes. It took off at last and perched in a tree.

Abel could see the dark shape of the owl in the branches above, and the vibrating stars beyond. Where had this trespasser come from? Why? Had it perhaps seen Abel’s signals? He’d been astounded by the stillness with which it had dropped from the sky. There’d been no beat, no ruffle, of wings. This was bone-chilling, to be approached so noiselessly by a winged assassin.

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