How the Whale Became by Ted Hughes Page A

it was too dark to see a thing. At last they learned to find the grains by feeling with their feet. But it was slow work.
    Meanwhile Owl sat on the corner of the barn, overlooking the stackyard. Whenever he felt like it, he dropped down and snatched up a nightingale or a willow-warbler. In the pitch dark, the rest of the birds were no wiser. ‘This is better than rats and mice and beetles,’ said Owl, as he cleaned the blood from his beak. By the time the first grey light showed in the sky, Owl was fuller than he had ever been in his life.
    He gave a shout:
    ‘Here comes the grey of dusk. Hurry, hurry! We must get to our beds and close our eyes before the terrible dark comes.’
    Tumbling over each other and bumping into things, the birds ran towards his voice. When they were all gathered, he led them to a nearby copse which was full of brambles.
    ‘Here is good roosting,’ said Owl. ‘I will awaken you at dawn.’
    *
    And so, in the grey of dawn, which Owl had told them was the grey of dusk, the birds closed theireyes. All that bright day they stood in groups under the brambles, their eyes tightly closed. Some of them were too frightened to fall asleep. Not one of them dared to open an eye. One look at that darkness, Owl had said, and you are dead birds.
    Owl dozed happily in the dark hollow of a tree. His trick was working perfectly. He was very pleased with himself. No more mice and rats and beetles for him.
    At dusk he gave a shout.
    ‘Here is dawn,’ he told the birds. ‘Back to our feeding.’
    And he led them back to the farm where everything happened as the night before.
    In this way, Owl grew fat and contented, while the other birds grew wretched.
    They grew tired of scraping in the dark stackyard. Sometimes they swallowed a grain, but as often it was a cinder. The farm cocks and hens that picked the stackyard over from end to end all day long had not left much for the birds.
    And when they fell asleep, they were terrified lest they have a dream, open their eyes without thinking, and catch a glimpse of the deadly darkness. It was a great strain. Owl was continually warning them of the danger.
    ‘One peep at that darkness,’ he kept saying, ‘and you are dead birds.’
    If only one little bird had peeped, for only one second, with only one eye, he would have seen that there was no such thing as deadly darkness. He would have seen the sun, and the countryside heknew so well. But Owl made sure that none ever did.
    The birds grew thin. Their feathers began to fall out. Their feet ached with stumbling about in the darkness, and their wings ached with never being used. They did not like the new country.
    They complained among themselves.
    *
    At last one dusk, when Owl awoke them with his usual cry: ‘Dawn!’ they all went up to him and told him they could stand it no longer.
    ‘Please lead us back to our own country,’ said the birds.
    Owl was worried. He wanted to keep the birds in his power. He didn’t want to go back to eating rats, mice and beetles.
    Then he had an idea.
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You are right. This is a fine country, and not dangerous. But, as you say, it is hard to make a living here. Let us find the hole by which we came and return to our own country.’
    He led them up to the rabbit warren on the hill. It was almost dark.
    ‘Here are the birds playing that game again,’ said the rabbits, and they all ran up to stare.
    ‘Now,’ said Owl to the birds. ‘It was one of these holes, but just which one I cannot remember. Can any of you remember?’
    ‘I think it might have been this one,’ said Cuckoo.
    ‘Or perhaps this one,’ said Jenny Wren.
    ‘Let us try them all,’ said Owl.
    Most of the birds didn’t dare to enter the holes lestthey get lost. The ones that did were soon up again saying:
    ‘This one comes out here.’
    And:
    ‘This one comes out here.’
    Owl pretended to be distressed.
    ‘We have lost our way back, and it is all my fault. Oh dear!’ he cried. Then he