The Year of the Hare Read Online Free Page B

over the note Vatanen had left on the table: Leave me in peace. Vatanen.

4
    Grasses
    M ikkeli in sunshine, total liberty. Vatanen was sitting on a bench in Central Park. The hare was nosing about in the grass for something to eat. On their way from the bus station, four Gypsy women dressed in bright multicolored skirts stopped to have a look at the hare and chat with Vatanen. They were in high spirits and wanted to buy the hare.
    They knew where the South Savo Game Preservation Office was and directed him. One of them was very insistent on telling Vatanen’s fortune. “A great turning point in your life,” she explained: he’d been under great pressure and had made a big decision. His fate line, down the middle of his hand, was now showing a fabulous future ahead; many journeys in view, no need for anxiety. When Vatanen tried to give her money, she refused.
    “Goodness gracious, darling, I don’t need money in the summer.”
    The Game Preservation Office had a note on the door, announcing that the game warden, U. Kärkkäinen, was available at his home. Vatanen took a taxi to the address. In the yard a big dog started barking, and when it caught scent of the hare it took to howling. Vatanen didn’t want to risk going farther.
    A heavy-set youngish man came out to control the dog, and Vatanen was able to go in. Then the game warden invited his visitor to sit down and asked how he could help.
    “I want to know the kind of things an animal of this sort eats,” Vatanen began, and he pulled the hare out of the basket and onto the table between them. “A vet in Heinola said lettuce, but it’s not always convenient, and the creature doesn’t seem to go for grass.”
    Kärkkäinen looked at the young hare with expert interest.
    “A buck. Hardly even a month old, I’d say. Is this a pet, or what? That’s strictly forbidden, you know, by the game-protection laws.”
    “Yes, but it would’ve died, you see—no question. Its leg was broken.”
    “So I see. But we’d better make it legal. I’ll write you an official permit. Then you can hold on to it as a fostered pet.”
    He began to type a few lines on a sheet of paper; he added an official stamp and signed his name at the bottom. It read:
    PERMIT TO RETAIN A WILD ANIMAL
    It is herewith certified that Kaarlo Vatanen, the possessor of this permit, is officially authorized to take care of and rear a wild forest hare, on the grounds that the permit holder took charge of the young hare when injured in its left hind leg and consequently at risk of death.
    U. Kärkkäinen, Game Warden
South Savo Game Preservation Office, Mikkeli
    “Feed it early clover. You’ll find a lot of that almost anywhere now. And for drinking, give it plain water; no point in forcing milk on it. Besides clover, fresh grass may do, and barley aftermath. . . . Bonnet-grass it likes, and meadow vetchling. In fact, it likes all the vetches, and Alsike clover, too. In the winter, you’d better give it the cambium of deciduous trees, and deep-frozen bilberry twigs as well, if you’re keeping it in town.”
    “What sort of a plant is meadow vetchling? I don’t know it.”
    “But the vetches you do know?”
    “I think I do. They belong to the pea family, don’t they? They’ve got the same sort of clinging tendrils as peas.”
    “Meadow vetchling’s very much like vetch. It’s got yellow flowers—they’re the easiest way to know it. I’ll draw a picture of it for you; then you’ll be able to spot it.”
    Kärkkäinen took out a large sheet of paper and began to draw plants with a lead pencil. A skillful drawer he was not. The pencil advanced across the paper in his hefty fist. The lead dug deep into the paper, and a couple of times the lead snapped. After a long effort, an image began to form.
    Vatanen was peeping at the developing image with keen interest. Kärkkäinen pulled the sheet away, showing a desire to bring his creative work to a conclusion undisturbed.
    “And then there are