Мауглі

           Theyonlygrunt,andthebuffaloesveryseldomsayanything,butgetdownintothemuddypoolsoneafteranother,andworktheirwayintothemudtillonlytheirnosesandstaringchina-blueeyesshowabovethesurface,andthentheylielikelogs.Thesunmakestherocksdanceintheheat,andtheherdchildrenhearonekite(neveranymore)whistlingalmostoutofsightoverhead,andtheyknowthatiftheydied,oracowdied,thatkitewouldsweepdown,andthenextkitemilesawaywouldseehimdropandfollow,andthenext,andthenext,andalmostbeforetheyweredeadtherewouldbeascoreofhungrykitescomeoutofnowhere.Thentheysleepandwakeandsleepagain,andweavelittlebasketsofdriedgrassandputgrasshoppersinthem;orcatchtwoprayingmantisesandmakethemfight;orstringanecklaceofredandblackjunglenuts;orwatchalizardbaskingonarock,orasnakehuntingafrognearthewallows.Thentheysinglong,longsongswithoddnativequaversattheendofthem,andthedayseemslongerthanmostpeople’swholelives,andperhapstheymakeamudcastlewithmudfiguresofmenandhorsesandbuffaloes,andputreedsintothemen’shands,andpretendthattheyarekingsandthefiguresaretheirarmies,orthattheyaregodstobeworshiped.Theneveningcomesandthechildrencall,andthebuffaloeslumberupoutofthestickymudwithnoiseslikegunshotsgoingoffoneaftertheother,andtheyallstringacrossthegrayplainbacktothetwinklingvillagelights.