The Four Old Friends

The donkey had carried sacks of grain up and down the same hill for more years than he could count. His knees creaked like old floorboards. His back had a dip in it where the saddle always sat. One morning the farmer looked at him and said, “That beast is worn out. I’ll get what I can for his hide.”

The donkey heard. He didn’t wait to hear more. He slipped through the gate, walked down the lane, and turned toward the town of Bremen. Music, he thought. In Bremen there are musicians. I could be one.

He had never played a note in his life. That didn’t bother him much.

By afternoon he came to a dusty crossroads. A dog lay in the shade of a signpost, ribs showing, tongue out.

“Where are you off to, long-ears?” the dog asked.

“Bremen,” said the donkey. “To be a musician.”

The dog lifted his head. “A musician? You?”

“I can bray. It carries.” The donkey looked him over. “You’ve got a voice too.”

“I used to,” said the dog. “My man said I’m too slow to hunt. He was going to drown me in the pond.”

“Then come with me,” said the donkey. “We’ll be a band.”

The dog stood up. “A band of two.”

“It’s a start.”

***

By evening they had walked a long way. The sun sat low and red behind the trees. On a fence post beside the road, a cat sat washing her face with one paw.

“Evening,” said the donkey. “Are you coming to Bremen?”

“Why would I go to Bremen?” said the cat.

“To make music.”

The cat stopped washing. “I’m too old for music.”

“Too old for what?” said the dog.

“For anything,” said the cat. “My people said I’m no good for mice anymore. They were going to put me in a sack.”

“They won’t find you in Bremen,” said the donkey.

The cat looked down the road. “I suppose I could sing.”

“You could,” said the dog.

So the three of them walked on. The road grew dark. Then a rooster called from a farmyard, loud and long and sad.

“That’s a fine voice,” said the donkey. “What’s wrong with him?”

A rooster perched on a gatepost, feathers dull, comb drooping. “They’re having me for dinner tomorrow,” he said.

“Tonight is better,” said the cat.

“Come to Bremen,” said the donkey. “We’re making music.”

“Music,” said the rooster. “I’ve never done anything but crow.”

“Then you’re already ahead of us,” said the dog.

The rooster hopped down. “Lead on.”

Four old animals walked down the dark road together. None of them could play an instrument, and none of them cared. They were going somewhere, and they were going together.

The road went on and the sky went dark. Trees closed in on both sides, and the four of them walked close together. The donkey’s hooves made a soft thud on the packed earth. The dog’s nails clicked. The cat walked without a sound. The rooster rode on the donkey’s back, and every so often he muttered, “Still hungry.”

“We all are,” said the dog.

“Hush,” said the cat. “Look.”

Through the black trunks, a light burned. It was small and steady, the colour of butter. It came from a window.

“A house,” said the donkey. “Someone’s home.”

“Someone with a fire,” said the rooster.

“Someone with supper,” said the dog.

They left the road and crept through the trees. The house was low and wide, with a crooked chimney and a red door. Light spilled out of the window and painted a yellow square on the ground. Inside, voices rumbled and laughed.

The donkey put his eye to the window. Then he pulled back and whispered, “Robbers.”

“How many?” said the cat.

“Six. Maybe seven. They’re sitting around a table. There’s a goose. There’s bread. There’s a bowl of something steaming.”

The dog pushed up to look. “They’re counting coins,” he said. “And eating with their fingers.”

“I hate them,” said the cat.

“We don’t know them,” said the donkey.

“I hate them anyway,” said the cat. “They have a goose.”

The rooster flapped down from the donkey’s back and peered through the window himself. “They’ve got a fire,” he said. “And a kettle. And a whole chair by the fire with nobody in it.”

“We could knock,” said the dog.

“And say what?” said the donkey. “Good evening, we’re old and we’re hungry, please move out?”

“It’s worth a try,” said the dog.

“No,” said the cat. “Robbers don’t share.”

They stood in the dark and thought. The fire crackled inside. The robbers laughed again, a big rolling laugh that shook the window. The donkey looked at his three friends. He looked at the window. He looked at the ground.

“I have an idea,” he said. “It’s a terrible idea.”

“Good,” said the cat.

***

“Here’s what we do,” said the donkey. “We make them think we’re one thing. One big, awful thing.”

“One thing,” said the dog.

“I’ll stand at the window,” said the donkey. “Dog, you climb on my back. Cat, you climb on the dog. Rooster, you climb on the cat.”

The rooster tilted his head. “And then?”

“And then we sing,” said the donkey.

The dog shook his head. “I can’t sing.”

“You can howl,” said the donkey.

“I can howl,” said the dog.

“I can screech,” said the cat.

“I can crow,” said the rooster. “I’m very good at that.”

They climbed. The donkey braced his old legs. The dog scrambled up and dug his paws into the donkey’s shoulders. The cat walked up the dog’s back like a staircase, tail high, and settled between his ears. The rooster hopped up last, light as a leaf, and spread his wings for balance.

“Ready?” said the donkey.

“No,” said the dog.

“Now,” said the donkey.

They made a noise. It was not music. The donkey brayed low and long, a sound like a gate coming off its hinges. The dog howled, high and wild. The cat screeched a thin, sharp line through the middle of it. The rooster crowed right into the window, loud enough to shake the glass.

Inside, a chair fell over. A cup smashed. Someone shouted, “What is that?” Someone else shouted, “Run!”

The red door banged open. Robbers poured out into the dark, tripping over each other, dropping coins and bread and a whole roast goose. They ran into the trees and did not look back. Branches whipped their faces and they kept running.

The four animals held their stack for one more breath. Then the dog slid off, and the cat jumped down, and the rooster fluttered to the ground. The donkey’s legs trembled, but he stayed standing.

“That,” said the cat, “was the worst song I have ever heard.”

“It worked,” said the donkey.

“That’s why it was the worst,” said the cat.

The window glowed. The fire still burned. The goose still sat on the table, golden and warm. The dog licked his lips. “Do you think they’ll come back?” he said.

“Not tonight,” said the donkey. “Tonight, we eat.”

The robbers did not stop running until the trees closed behind them and the house was only a glow through the leaves. They stood in a clearing, bent over, breathing hard. Their chief counted them with a stick. “All here,” he said. “But nobody has the gold.” A thin robber named Pieter rubbed his elbow. “It was a monster,” he said. “I saw it through the window. Four heads. One body. It screamed like the end of the world.” The chief spat. “Monsters don’t eat roast goose,” he said. “Somebody go back and look. Pieter, you go.” Pieter’s face went pale. “Why me?” “Because you talk the least,” said the chief. “And because you owe me.” Pieter looked at the dark trees. He looked at the house. Then he took a lantern and walked back alone.

Inside the house, the four animals had eaten. The goose was bones. The bread was crumbs. The dog lay by the fire with his paws in the air. The cat sat on the windowsill, washing her face. The rooster perched on the back of a chair. The donkey stood by the door. “We should sleep in turns,” he said. “In case they come back.” “I’ll take the first watch,” said the dog. “I’m not sleepy.” But his eyes were already closing. The cat licked her paw. “I’ll watch,” she said. “I always watch.” The rooster tucked his head under his wing. “Wake me if there’s trouble,” he said. “I’m very loud.” The donkey nodded. He was tired too, but he didn’t say so. He stood by the door and listened to the night.

***

Pieter crept up the path with his lantern low. The house was dark now. The fire had burned down. He put his ear to the door. Nothing. He pushed it open, one inch at a time. The hinge creaked. Inside, the cat opened her eyes. She saw the lantern light slide across the floor. She saw a man’s boot. She did not move. Pieter stepped in. He held the lantern high. The room was a mess of bones and crumbs. He took another step. Then the cat jumped. She landed on his face, all claws and yowling. Pieter screamed. He dropped the lantern. The dog woke and barked, deep and loud, right at his knees. The rooster flapped from the chair and crowed into his ear. The donkey charged from the door and kicked him with both back hooves. Pieter did not see any of them clearly. He saw shapes. He felt claws and teeth and noise. He ran out the door, leaving the lantern behind. He ran down the path, through the trees, back to the clearing. “It’s worse!” he shouted. “It’s four monsters! One has knives for hands! One has a voice like a drum! One has a beak like a sword! And one is a horse with iron feet!” The chief stared at him. “A horse?” “A horse!” said Pieter. “I’m not going back.” The other robbers shook their heads. Nobody went back.

***

The four animals stood in the doorway and watched the lantern light bob away through the trees. It got smaller and smaller, and then it was gone. The dog sat down hard. “That was close,” he said. “Close?” said the cat. “That was perfect.” The rooster strutted back into the house. “I told you I was loud,” he said. The donkey leaned against the doorframe. His legs were shaking, but he was smiling. “We did it,” he said. “We really did it.” The cat jumped onto the table. “We should stay here,” she said. “There’s a roof. There’s a fire. No one will bother us now.” The dog looked at the soft rug by the hearth. “I could sleep for a week,” he said. The rooster found a beam near the ceiling. “I’ll take this spot,” he said. “It’s high. I like high.” The donkey looked around the room. It was old and crooked and smelled of smoke and goose. It was not Bremen. But it was warm. “I never wanted to be a musician,” he said. “Not really. I just wanted somewhere to be.” The cat yawned. “So be here,” she said. The donkey closed the door. He bolted it. Then he lay down on the floor with the dog, and the cat curled between them, and the rooster watched from above. Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Inside, the fire whispered. The four of them slept, and no one came back, not that night, and not any night after.