"It is in the old story that all the beasts can talk, in the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the morning, though there are very few folk that can hear them, or know what they say."
Beatrix Potter, "The Tailor of Gloucester"
Catullus the sparrow-cock peered out from his nest in the eaves. It had been an unusually warm day after two brutal weeks of frost and wind. Although there was yet another layer of new snow on the ground, this stuff was wet and heavy, unlike the glittering powder that had blown into his nest hour after hour on Midwinter-day several days ago.
Lesbia spoke, and Catullus popped around in amazement. The enchantment of the old magic had taken hold again as the sun was setting, and he twitched his head in that darting, instantaneous manner of listening sparrows as he tried to process what his wife was saying.
"The little men-children have made an idol! A great idol in the snow!"
Catullus peered out again and saw a grotesque image of a bull-human with sticks for arms and stones for eyes piled up in muddy snow of the backyard. He flitted down to the wire, circled the snow-image twice, and then flew back up to Lesbia.
"An image! An image! It has an old flowerpot for a hat, and driveway gravel for eyes!"
Catullus saw some of his neighbors emerging from the other corners of the yard and flew down to consult with the cardinals.
Dr. Mr. Cardinal had already seen the snow-image and assured Catullus that he had overheard the men-children talking of it while they piled it up in the morning.
"It is what they call a 'gune' in their language. I intend to write a paper on 'snow-gunes' and to read it at my college once I've studied it further."
"It isn't a snow-gune, it isn't a snow-gune!" called his excited wife, Dr. Mrs. Cardinal. "It is the image of one of their athletes, I'm sure of it! Every day these men-children pretended to be football athletes in the backyard, and now they made an image of one!"
Catullus left the cardinals to their argument and lit down beside one of the rabbits which was nosing around in some of the grass that the men-children had exposed, and nibbling at some still-green clover that poked up. A boar-squirrel was also poking through the muddy snow, looking for food.
"Do you know what's odd?" asked the rabbit, a third-year named Rosemallow. "The bull-human has been home all day today. He left for a bit in his suit, but then he was back just over an hour later. He's never home on the enchanted night. He's always out playing that metal noisemaker all around the city until well after the moon is up, and even then some."
The boar-squirrel nodded in agreement. "Aye, there've been nights in years past when he's been gone for more of the darkness than he was home for. What do you suppose it is that he does with that noisemaker?"
Catullus and Lesbia had wondered that same thing.
"We think," said Catullus, "that it's his employment, just as the employment of owls is to catch the mice, and the employment of crows is to squawk and argue, and the employment of robins is to eat slimy, wriggling worms."
"But how could that awful racket that he makes be of any use to anyone?"
"I know how," said Caelius, a house sparrow from behind the hedge "I saw one of his performances once. I think that he plays on his noisemaker in front of a large crowd of other humans, sometimes with lots of other noisemakers as well. And then the audience humans are trapped, and they pay our bull-human money so that he'll stop making such an awful racket."
"Hmm," said Rosemallow, "can't they just run away?"
"I don't think so," said Caelius. "I think the doors are locked. And that must be why everyone stands up and claps their hands once the noise is over--they're all relieved to finally be free!"
Catullus wondered aloud, "He isn't sick, is he? I've heard that he's nearly forty winters old!"
Rosemallow nodded. "I think that's true, but you must keep in mind that men age differently. A human being, even at forty winters, is still of some use, at least. He probably still has some of his teeth, and it seems like he can see well enough--for a human, that is, although of course he can't smell or listen anything like we can. I don't think he's dying. His mate seems glad to have him home this year, at any rate."
The little circle of animals chatted some more, but the temperature was dropping rapidly and there was always the danger of the fox passing through. Catullus returned to Lesbia and the safety of their nest in the eaves.
She nestled down next to him and asked, "Shall we remember the story together again this year?"
"Once upon a time, many generations ago, there were some sparrows who lived in a stable..."
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