The End of the Beginning (4 page)

"Will it tell us where we're going?"

"If we're looking that way."

Avon took a long look around. "I think I have a poem to say," he announced.

"Go on then."

Avon closed his eyes, and recited:

"
How I wonder why the air
Is the same here as it was there.
"

"Bravo!" Edward clapped. "
Now
do you know where you are?"

"Well," said Avon, "I have narrowed it down to two places."

"Where?"

"Here or there."

"Good," said Edward. "You've got to start somewhere."

A day later Avon and Edward came upon a caterpillar busily building a cocoon.

"That's the oddest house I ever saw," said Avon. "I don't think it will last very long—it's nothing but silky string. The first puff of wind will just blow it away."

Paying the two adventurers no attention, the caterpillar worked steadily on, never once stopping until she was through.

"I'd be a bit worried if I were going to stay there," Avon said to the caterpillar. "It's so flimsy, anyone might break in, or it might even fall apart. How long do you expect to be stopping here?"

"A month," replied the caterpillar.

"Coming and going, I suppose."

"No, just sleeping."

"The whole time?"

"Yes indeed," said the caterpillar, and she yawned.

Avon made up his mind at once. "I'm going to stand guard outside your house while you sleep," he announced.

"That's very kind of you," said the caterpillar, "but I'm sure—"

Avon interrupted. "No, I won't be put off. I'm going to do it. Adventurers are supposed to protect creatures."

"I really don't think it's necessary," insisted the caterpillar, "but you're free to do as you wish." Crawling into her new house, she closed the door behind her.

"I'd better check the windows and doors," said Avon. He went about making sure all was secure. "Things are just fine," he told Edward. "No one will trouble her."

They stayed there for a month, Avon constantly checking the house.

Each morning Edward asked Avon how the night had gone.

"Nothing happened," said Avon.

"I'm impressed," said Edward, "with how much you're getting done."

One month from the day the caterpillar had gone into her house, Avon heard some sounds from the inside.

"Edward," he called, "I think the caterpillar is waking up! She's going to come out." Dashing around, he did a final check to make sure things were in proper order, then went by the door to wait. As he waited, he said, "Edward, you'll have to admit I've done a good job."

"Avon," said Edward in sincere admiration, "you have been wonderful."

"I do think," said Avon, "I can truly say that this has been an adventure at last!"

"Quite right," agreed Edward. "We might be able to go home immediately."

The door of the cocoon opened a little bit. Avon peered around to get a better look but couldn't see anything. Slowly the door swung open and out came ... a
butterfly.

The butterfly walked to the edge of a leaf and fanned her wings.

Avon was astonished. Edward was speechless.

Avon looked into the house to see if perhaps the caterpillar was still there. When he saw that the cocoon was empty, he rushed over to the butterfly.

"What have you done with the caterpillar?" he cried.

The butterfly looked curiously at Avon. "Were you speaking to me?" she asked.

"There was a caterpillar in there," Avon said.

"I am afraid," said the butterfly in a haughty tone, "that I don't know what you are talking about. As you can plainly see, I am a butterfly. I have nothing to do with caterpillars."

Before Avon could ask another question, she flew away.

Avon felt so bad, he almost cried.

"I didn't do very well," he confessed.

Edward was glum. "It looks that way."

"What do you think I did wrong?"

"As far as I can tell, you did nothing."

"I promise you," said Avon with a shake of his head, "that the next time I do nothing, I'll do it better. But I guess we can't quit."

"I'm afraid not, Avon. Not now, anyway."

So they started off again.

The two adventurers were going along. Avon was singing:

"
March, march
Golly, golly, golly.
March, march
Golly, golly—
"

"Stop!" cried Edward.

"Are you referring to my speed or my song?" Avon asked.

"Lookwhat's there," said Edward, pointing straight ahead.

"I don't see a thing."

"Exactly. We've reached the end of the branch."

"Good heavens," said Avon. "I hadn't noticed. I might have fallen off."

With great care the two creatures edged to the very tip. From there they looked out at the cloudless sky.

"The end of the branch," said Avon, mostly to himself.

"The beginning of the sky," said Edward, mostly to
him
self.

"Which is it?" asked Avon. "The beginning or the end?"

"I should think," said Edward, "it depends on what there's more of, the tree or the sky. How long did it take us to get here?"

"All my life," said Avon.

Edward nodded. "It's a very long branch, then. How long would it take to climb the sky?"

"I can't tell," confessed Avon. "I've never done it."

"Use your brain, Avon. Think of all the things that get in your way along the branch—leaves, bark, other creatures, a million things to slow you down. Now look at the sky."

Avon looked. "There's nothing there."

"Exactly. So it's bound to take less time."

"I see your point."

"Which means," continued Edward, "that it will take
longer
to climb the branch. And if it takes longer, the branch must be bigger. And if the branch is bigger than the sky, that means we're at sky's end, but only at the beginning of the branch."

"You mean," asked Avon, quite amazed, "that after all this time, we're just
beginning?
"

"Worse," Edward pointed out. "Since this is the beginning, if we hadn't gotten to this point, we would not have begun."

"Oh goodness," said Avon. "All that traveling, and we haven't even started. I had no idea how far you have to go before you can start. Almost makes me want to stop."

"You can't do that, either," said Edward severely.

"Why?"

"Can't very well stop if you haven't started, can you?"

"Edward," cried Avon, "I never knew how important it was to start before you begin."

And turning around, they began.

"
Cik, cik, cik, cik, cik, cik.
"

"What's that?" asked Avon.

"A cricket," explained Edward. "Isn't it irritating the way all crickets sing the same song? That's the trouble with most creatures. They have no creativity. They do the same thing, the same way, day in, day out, from parent to child, without ever doing anything differently."

"My father never wanted to seek adventures," said Avon.

"What did he do?"

"He wrote about fast food for
Reader's Digestion.
"

Edward went up to the cricket and said, "I beg your pardon, but that song—where did you find it?"

The cricket was bewildered. "It's what all crickets sing."

"Surely," said Edward, "you are not just the same as all the other crickets, are you?"

"I've never given it much thought," said the cricket.

"Now's your opportunity," announced Edward. "Em a creative songwriter. What sorts of things interest you in particular?"

"Now that you mention it," said the cricket, "I'm ever so fond of cheese."

"Good job!" said Edward. "What you clearly need is a cheese song. Avon, you and the cricket have yourselves a chat. I'm going off to write a song."

Two hours later Edward came back.

"I've worked up a beautiful cheese song," he told the cricket. "I've used your melody, but the words are my own creation." Edward cleared his throat and sang, "
'Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese.'
"