Prevod
Nekega lepega pomladnega dne je z juga priletela velika jata kanadskih žerjavov. Leteli so visoko in tiho, saj je bilo vreme jasno. Če bi bilo nevihtno ali če bi leteli ponoči, kakor so navadno počeli, bi se držali bliže tlom, njihov vodja pa bi glasno trobil, da bi tisti, ki so mu sledili, vedeli, kam leti. Tudi oni bi trobili, vendar tiše, da bi mu povedali, da letijo za njim.
Čudovit prizor so bili: urejeni, močni in dostojanstveni. Dolge vratove so iztegnili naravnost naprej, dolge noge naravnost nazaj, z močnimi perutmi pa so počasi in enakomerno zamahovali po zraku. Ko so se približali ribniku, so leteli vse niže in niže, dokler se niso vsi spustili na zemljo in pristali ob robu vode, visoki in veličastni.
Že več dni niso ničesar jedli in kmalu so začeli iskati hrano, nekateri na kopnem, drugi v vodi, saj so se ustavili, da bi se najedli in odpočili. Tisti, ki so lovili v vodi, so to počeli zelo tiho. Žerjav je stal na eni nogi, z glavo naslonjeno na prsi, tako mirno, da bi človek pomislil, da spi; toda brž ko se mu je približalo kaj užitnega, se je sklonil, iztegnil vrat, odprl dolgi, vitki kljun in vse pogoltnil v enem grižljaju. Potem se je zdelo, kakor da je spet zaspal.
Medtem ko se je večina žerjavov še hranila, so nekateri z dolgimi koraki hodili po gozdu in pogledovali sem ter tja, vzletali na drevesa in nato spet pristajali na tleh. To so bili tisti, ki so razmišljali, da bi tam ostali čez poletje.
Ko se je jata dvignila, da bi odletela naprej, je osem žerjavov ostalo zadaj. Gledali so za prijatelji, ki so odletavali, in stoje na tleh, z dvignjenimi vratovi in kljuni ter odprtimi usti, trobili oziroma klicali: »Zbogom! Jeseni se ustavite in nas vzemite s seboj!« Žerjavi v zraku so jim odtrobili: »Bomo! Ne pozabite na nas!«
Tisto noč so spali tesno skupaj, kakor takrat, ko so bili še v veliki jati, in eden izmed žerjavov je ostal buden ter pazil na nevarnost, medtem ko so drugi skrili glave pod peruti. Čedni so bili celo v spanju, nekateri pa so videti dobro le, kadar so budni. Bili so rjavkasto sivi, brez vsakršnih živobarvnih lis, dolge noge pa so jim dajale zelo imeniten videz. Vrh glave jim je prekrivala bradavičasta rdeča koža, iz katere so rasla kratka črna peresa, bolj podobna dlakam.
Nekega jutra, ko so se žerjavi prebudili, se je pred drugimi začel postavljati čeden mladenič: korakal je gor in dol, se globoko priklanjal, skakal visoko v zrak in tu in tam zatulil, kolikor glasno je mogel. Galebi, ki so preživeli zimo ob ribniku, so drug drugemu zakričali: »Žerjavji ples se je začel!« Celo žabe, ki se žerjavov bojijo, so se tiho priplazile bliže, da bi gledale.
Kmalu je tudi drug mlad žerjav začel poskakovati, skakati in se vrteti v krogih, pri tem pa povešati peruti in tuliti. Plesali so prav vsi žerjavi, bratje, sestre in vsi drugi, se ljubeče pogledovali, občudovali imenitne korake in uživali v tuljenju. Tako je šlo, dokler niso bili tako utrujeni, da so komaj še stali, in so se morali ustaviti, da bi jedli in počivali.
Med hranjenjem je mladenič, ki je začel ples, z dolgimi koraki stopil k sestri enega svojih prijateljev. Stala je ob robu ribnika in se graciozno držala na eni nogi. Ni obrnila glave k njemu, čeprav bi s tako dolgim in vitkim vratom to lahko storila brez posebnega truda. Stala je z glavo naslonjeno na prsi in gledala v vodo. Čez nekaj časa je tiho zatrobil, kakor da bi le preizkušal svoj glas. Tedaj je ljubko trznila in rekla: »O, ti si tukaj? Kako si me prestrašil!«
»Žal mi je,« je rekel. »Nisem te hotel prestrašiti.« In jo je občudujoče gledal. »Samo za hip,« je odgovorila. »Zdaj, ko vem, kdo je, me seveda ni več strah.«
Potem sta dolgo stala in lovila ribe, ne da bi kaj rekla. Ko je odletela, je dejala: »Tukaj je prav prijetno loviti ribe.« Nekaj časa je stal na drugi nogi in razmišljal, kako ljubko je zvenel njen glas, ko je to rekla. Nato je pomislil, da bo morda naslednji dan spet prišla tja, če ji je kraj tako všeč. Spraševal se je, zakaj ne bi prišel tudi on, čeprav vsakdo ve, da žerjav ujame več, kadar lovi sam.
Naslednje jutro, ko so žerjavi plesali, se je njej priklanjal pogosteje kakor vsem drugim in zdelo se mu je, da je to opazila. Plesali so, dokler niso bili skoraj preutrujeni, da bi se še premaknili, in on si je moral res za nekaj časa odpočiti, preden se je šel hranit. Ko je z dolgimi koraki krenila proti ribniku, je šla mimo njega in mu čez ramo rekla: »Gotovo si lačen. Jaz skoraj umiram od lakote.« Ko je odšla, se je spraševal, zakaj je to rekla. Če bi bil starejši žerjav in bi nekoliko bolje poznal svet, bi vedel, da je s tem mislila: »Ali ne prideš tja, kjer sva lovila ribe? Jaz grem zdaj.« Pa vendar, čeprav je bil tako mlad žerjav in pred tem letom še nikoli ni plesal, je začel misliti, da ji je všeč in da rada vidi, da je v njeni bližini. Zato je odletel na kraj, kjer jo je videl prejšnji dan, z dolgimi koraki stopil do nje in stal tik ob njej, medtem ko je lovila ribe. Ko je nekoč nekaj ujel in pogoltnil v enem grižljaju, ga je občudujoče pogledala in rekla: »Kako imenitne, velike grižljaje lahko požiraš!«
To mu je seveda ugajalo, saj žerjavi menijo, da so veliki grižljaji najboljši. Zato je nagnil glavo vstran in opazoval svoj vrat, ko je grižljaj drsel proti želodcu. Od zunaj ga je lahko videl kot veliko izboklino, ki se je počasi pomikala navzdol. To je med jedjo pogosto počel. Zdelo se mu je zelo zanimivo. Smilili so se mu vsi s kratkimi vratovi. Potem je rekel: »Pih! Lahko požiram še večje grižljaje. Morala bi videti, kako velike grižljaje lahko pogoltnem.«
Prestopila se je na drugo nogo. »Zjutraj sem te videla plesati,« je rekla. Prav nič nenavadnega ni bilo, da ga je videla plesati, saj je vseh osem žerjavov plesalo skupaj, njemu pa se je to zdelo nekaj čudovitega.
»Si opazila, komu sem se priklanjal?« je vprašal. Bil je tako vznemirjen, da so se mu tresla kolena in je moral stopiti na obe nogi, da ne bi padel. Kadar je žerjav tako zelo vznemirjen, je stvar že precej resna.
»Moji sestri?« je ravnodušno vprašala, medtem ko si je skozi kljun vlekla eno od dolgih repnih peres. »Ne,« je rekel. »Njeni sestri sem se priklanjal.« Zdelo se mu je, da je to zelo domiselno povedal. Ona pa je nenadoma dvignila glavo in rekla: »Ojej! Nekaj sem pozabila,« ter odletela, kakor prejšnji dan. Spraševal se je, kaj neki. Šele veliko pozneje jo je vprašal, kaj je takrat pozabila, in rekla je, da se ne spomni — da se nikoli ne more spomniti, kaj je pozabila.
Zelo ga je potrlo, da ga je tako zapustila. Želel si je priložnosti, da bi ji nekaj povedal, a vsakič, ko je poskusil, se mu je zdelo, kakor da mu besede obtičijo v kljunu. Začel se je bati, da ji ni všeč; in ko so žerjavi naslednjič plesali, se ji ni več toliko priklanjal, zato pa se je še bolj postavljal, skakal in tulil. Tudi ona se je postavljala, skakala in tulila skoraj tako glasno kakor on. Ko so bili vsi povsem izmučeni in so nehali plesati, mu je rekla: »Tako sem utrujena! Pojdiva v gozd počivat.«
Lahko ste prepričani, da je z veseljem šel z njo, in ko sta z dolgimi koraki odhajala, jo je odpeljal do ljubkega kotička za gnezdo. Ni prav vedel, kako naj ji pove, kar si je želel, vendar je videl, da se ji priklanja še neki drug žerjav, in bal se je, da se bo poročila z njim, če sam ne bo dovolj hiter. Zdaj je z eno perutjo pokazal na tisti kotiček za gnezdo in rekel: »Kako bi ti bilo všeč, če bi tam zgradila gnezdo?«
Pogledala je tja, kamor je pokazal. »Jaz?« je rekla. »Saj je res krasen kraj, ampak sama nikakor ne bi mogla imeti gnezda.« »Naj ti pomagam,« je rekel. »Rad bi se poročil in si ustvaril dom.«
»No,« je rekla, medtem ko si je urejala perje, »to je pa zelo dober načrt. Kdaj si se ga domislil?« Tako sta se poročila in gospa kanadska žerjavka je pozneje prijateljicam pogosto pripovedovala, da je bil gospod žerjav tako zelo zaljubljen vanjo, da se je preprosto morala poročiti z njim. Bila sta zelo, zelo srečna in čez nekaj časa — ampak to je že druga zgodba.
Izvirnik
One fine day in spring, a great flock of Sand-hill Cranes came from the south. They were flying high and quietly because the weather was bright. If it had been stormy, or if they had been flying by night, as they usually did, they would have stayed nearer the ground, and their leader would have trumpeted loudly to let his followers know which way he was going. They would also have trumpeted, but more softly, to tell him that they were coming after.
They were a fine company to look upon, orderly, strong, and dignified. Their long necks were stretched out straight ahead, their long legs straight behind, and they beat the air with slow, regular strokes of the strong wings. As they came near the pond, they flew lower and lower, until all swept down to the earth and alighted, tall and stately, by the edge of the water.
They had eaten nothing for several days, and were soon hunting for food, some on land, and some in the water, for they had stopped to feed and rest. Those who hunted in the water, did so very quietly. A Crane would stand on one leg, with his head against his breast, so quietly that one might think him asleep: but as soon as anything eatable came near, he would bend his body, stretch out his neck, open his long, slender bill, and swallow it at one gulp. Then he would seem to fall asleep again.
While most of the Cranes were still feeding, some of them were stalking through the woods and looking this way and that, flying up to stand on a tree, and then flying down to stand on the ground. They were those who thought of staying there for the summer.
When the flock arose to fly on again, eight Cranes stayed behind. They watched their friends fly away, and stood on the ground with their necks and bills uplifted and mouths open, while they trumpeted or called out, "Good-bye! Stop for us in the fall!" The flying Cranes trumpeted back, "We will! Don't forget us!"
That night they slept near together, as they had done when with the large flock, and one Crane kept awake to watch for danger while the others tucked their heads under their wings. They were fine looking, even when they slept, and some people never look well unless they are awake. They were brownish-gray, with no bright markings at all, and their long legs gave them a very genteel look. The tops of their heads were covered with warty red skin, from which grew short black feathers that looked more like hairs.
One morning, when the Cranes awakened, a fine young fellow began to strut up and down before the rest, bowing low, and leaping high into the air, and every now and then whooping as loudly as he could. The Gulls, who had spent the winter by the pond, screamed to each other, "The Crane dance has begun!" Even the Frogs, who are afraid of Cranes, crept quietly near to look on.
It was not long before another young Crane began to skip and hop and circle around, drooping his wings and whooping as he went. Every Crane danced, brothers, and sisters, and all, and as they did so, they looked lovingly at each other, and admired the fine steps and enjoyed the whooping. This went on until they were so tired they could hardly stand, and had to stop to eat and rest.
When they were eating, the young fellow who had begun the dance, stalked up to the sister of one of his friends, as she stood in the edge of the pond, gracefully balanced on one leg. She did not turn her head towards him, although, having such a long and slender neck, she could have done so with very little trouble. She stood with her head on her breast and looked at the water. After a while, he trumpeted softly, as though he were just trying his voice. Then she gave a pretty little start, and said, "Oh, are you here? How you did frighten me!"
"I am sorry," he said. "I did not want to frighten you." And he looked at her admiringly.
"It was just for a minute," she answered. "Of course I am not frightened now that I know who it is."
Then they stood and fished for a long time without saying anything. When she flew away, she said, "That is a very pleasant fishing-place." He stood on the other leg for a while, and thought how sweet her voice sounded as she said it. Then he thought that, if she liked the place so well, she might come there again the next day. He wondered why he could not come too, although everybody knows that a Crane catches more if he fishes alone.
The next morning, when the Cranes danced, he bowed to her oftener than to any of the rest, and he thought she noticed it. They danced until they were almost too tired to move, and indeed he had to rest for a while before he went to feed. As she stalked off toward the pond, she passed him, and she said over her shoulder, "I should think you would be hungry. I am almost starved." After she had gone, he wondered why she had said that. If he had been an older Crane, and understood the ways of the world a little better, he would have known that she meant, "Aren't you coming to that fishing-place? I am going now." Still, although he was such a young Crane and had never danced until this year, he began to think that she liked him and enjoyed having him near. So he flew off to the fishing-place where he had seen her the day before, and he stalked along to where she was, and stood close to her while she fished. Once, when he caught something and swallowed it at one gulp, she looked admiringly at him and said, "What fine, big mouthfuls you can take!"
That pleased him, of course, because Cranes think that big mouthfuls are the best kind, so he tipped his head to one side, and watched his neck as the mouthful slid down to his stomach. He could see it from the outside, a big bunch slowly moving downward. He often did this while he was eating. He thought it very interesting. He pitied short-necked people. Then he said, "Pooh! I can take bigger mouthfuls than that. You ought to see what big mouthfuls I can take."
She changed, and stood on her other leg. "I saw you dancing this morning," she said. Now it was not at all queer that she should have seen him dancing, for all the eight Cranes had danced together, but he thought it very wonderful.
"Did you notice to whom I bowed?" he asked. He was so excited that his knees shook, and he had to stand on both legs at once to keep from falling. When a Crane is as much excited as that, it is pretty serious.
"To my sister?" she asked carelessly, as she drew one of her long tail-feathers through her beak.
"No," said he. "I bowed to her sister." He thought that was a very clever thing to say. But she suddenly raised her head, and said, "There! I have forgotten something," and flew off, as she had done the day before. He wondered what it was. Long afterward he asked her what she had forgotten and she said she couldn't remember--that she never could remember what she had forgotten.
It made him feel very badly to have her leave him so. He wanted a chance to tell her something, yet, whenever he tried to, it seemed to stick in his bill. He began to fear that she didn't like him; and the next time the Cranes danced he didn't bow to her so much, but he strutted and leaped and whooped even more. And she strutted and leaped and whooped almost as loudly as he. When they were all tired out and had stopped dancing, she said to him, "I am so tired! Let us go off into the woods and rest."
You may be very sure he was glad to go, and as he stalked off with her, he led the way to a charming nesting-place. He didn't know just how to tell what he wanted to, but he had seen another Crane bowing to her, and was afraid she might marry him if he was not quick. Now he pointed with one wing to this nesting-place, and said, "How would you like to build a nest there?"
She looked where he had pointed, "I?" she said. "Why, it is a lovely place, but I could never have a nest alone."
"Let me help you," he said. "I want to marry and have a home."
"Why," said she, as she preened her feathers, "that is a very good plan. When did you think of it?"
So they were married, and Mrs. Sand-Hill Crane often told her friends afterward that Mr. Crane was so much in love with her that she just had to marry him. They were very, very happy, and after a while--but that is another story.
