Chapter 2

"One of us," said Rodney, some time later, is the Wrong Way." He closed his eyes and then opened them again, but things were just as before. He sat up. "Oh, ha, yes, that solved that, then," he said, feeling a little foolish. Himself and the room now both being the same way up, he considered his position. "This seems a strange kind of place for a nap," he said. "Something isn't right, here." Rodney scratched his head, his arm feeling oddly short and not up to the job. He looked down at himself; his feet, his legs, his tummy, his red shirt. He waved his arms in front of his face until the blur of yellow made him feel dizzy and even more confused.

"I suppose," he said to himself, "it's what comes of being a Bear of Very Little Brain. Sometimes having a head full of fluff makes life difficult."

"Hello, Pooh."

"Hello, Piglet," said Pooh. His brow felt like it was trying to frown, but was too soft to hold the expression. "Have you always worn glasses?"

"Yes, samozřejmě, Pooh. Why are you sitting on the floor?"

Rodney thought hard.

"Either I'm thinking about Life or I'm hungry," he said eventually. "Or both."

"I'd go with hungry, Pooh," said Piglet. "Life's too big. Especially on an empty stomach. Shall I get you some haycorns?" he offered, helpfully.

"Er…" said Rodney, feeling as if there was something he'd rather have, but temporarily unable to recall its name. He realised that Piglet had scuttled away. "Oh," said Pooh, disappointed.

A 'boing' and a loud thud heralded the arrival of Tigger. Pooh looked up at Tigger; his shock of black hair didn't seem right, or the holster on his leg, but the eager expression and bouncing, pent-up energy were familiar.

"Hey, Pooh! Whatcha doin'?"

"Being hungry," said Rodney.

"That's no fun! Let's play!" said Tigger. He jumped up and down boisterously. "What shall we do, Pooh? Shall I throw you off something high 'nd see if you bounce? Shall I shoot you? Shall I?" he said, drawing his pistol and waving it around. "Bang! Bang! Or, we could fight! With thtickth!"

"Thtickth?" repeated Rodney.

"Yeah, thtickth! Whack! Whack!"

Suddenly there were two Tiggers, the one with the messy hair and another, with long, braided ropes coming from between his ears, which swung wildly as he bounced around the room, ricocheting off the walls. The two Tiggers cheerfully hit each other over the head with their sticks, collided and rebounded, merged and split, until Pooh felt it was all Too Much. He closed his eyes and waited.

"If I wait long enough," he thought ponderously, "it's bound to come round to a mealtime eventually."

Outside the darkness of his eyelids it sounded as if the Goings On had stopped Going On. The whacking and bouncing, however, had been replaced by a low-pitched rumbling. Rodney turned his fluff-filled mind to the problem and concluded that the rumbling came from his tummy. He placed both paws over its generous curve and wondered why it felt like there were things moving inside him, when there so clearly and emptily, weren't.

He sighed a long, hungry sigh and opened his eyes to find himself still on the floor, which was definitely a Bad Thing. He needed somewhere cosy and he needed something to fill his growling tummy and not necessarily in that order. The somewhere cosy was obviously his little house, down amongst the roots of the tree, and now that he turned his really very limited brain to the matter, he had a strong feeling that he might find something tasty stored there. Honey. That was the word. Golden, sticky, rich honey. Rodney scratched his fluffy head. He didn't think he had a jar of honey at the moment; perhaps a shining, dripping piece of honeycomb?

He rolled tubbily onto all fours prior to pushing himself to his feet. The floor had become familiar and Up There was a long way away and seemed to involve a lot of effort to achieve. Maybe he needed to do more Stoutness Exercises each morning? Or did they just increase stoutness? More rumbling and grumbling came from inside him, so he forced his top half to leave the safety of the floor.

"Honey and home," he said to himself. "Home and honey." And he set off, full of purpose.

The hundred-acre wood was a confusing place today. The trees seemed to have gone. Perhaps that meant it was a Sunday. Or a Tuesday. Or something.

Some figures appeared in the distance; dark figures, walking, even marching purposefully. They could be heffalumps. Maybe if he just kept walking, they'd pass him by? Heffalumps were strange, unpredictable creatures; sometimes they would ignore you and continue lumping along, their trunks in the air. Other times, though, they could be Fierce and might Charge. Better to be safe than sorry, thought Rodney; he'd pretend to be a tree, just one among the many trees of the hundred-acre wood. He stopped, faced the wall and stood as still as he could. The heffalumps marched closer. Maybe if he sung a song about being a tree, he'd be more convincing? Er… tree. What rhymes with tree? See? But he didn't want them to see!

"Dr McKay?"

"Er… tree, you can't see," he mumbled.

"Dr McKay, are you alright?"

Bother those heffalumps! Didn't they know a tree when they saw one?

"Sir?"

He turned, slowly and carefully, so that they wouldn't charge (although they didn't really have space to charge and if they decided to, they'd first have to back away to get a run up, and while they were doing that he'd sneak off). There was a row of them, all staring at him.

"Do you need help, Sir?"

"No, thank you very much! I'm just…" His mind was blank; he panicked. "I'm just out, er… hunting heffalumps!"

That was definitely the wrong thing to say to a single heffalump, let alone a herd. He put his hands over his ears so that they wouldn't see him and scurried away around the corner, then stopped and listened. He couldn't hear anything at all. He took his paws away from his ears and then he could hear the heffalumps clumping away safely into the distance and then, even more safely, into nothing. Rodney leant against the wall, wearily. More than ever, he wanted his cosy home and his tasty honey. There were Fierce, Wild Animals out here and no trees; something was very wrong. Home; his cosy home, down among the tree roots. Yes, down; that felt right. He found a staircase, which was odd in itself in a forest, but he set off down it anyway.

"Down and down and round and round," he sang, "Down the tree to reach the ground! That's where all the honey's found!" Rodney was pleased with his song, and sang it again several times, until he rounded a corner of the stairs and on the next landing stood Kanga with Roo in her pocket. A large tub of water steamed gently next to her, Things that didn't look as if they Belonged bobbing on the surface, in amongst the foamy bubbles.

"Hello, Kanga! Hello, Roo!" said Pooh, puffing slightly from the downing, and swaying dizzily from the rounding.

"Hello, Pooh," said Kanga, leaning forward and attempting to touch her forehead to his. She gave up after a couple of tries, Pooh's head, still spinning, seeming to dodge her of its own accord. Roo squeaked a greeting.

"What are you doing here, Pooh?"

"Oh, just going home, in a lunchtime-ish kind of way." He gave her a hopeful look. "I don't suppose you might have some small item of snackage about you, hmm?"

"I have some tuttle roots," she offered, gesturing to the bath water.

"Oh, er, I don't think…" began Pooh.

"Have you had a bath today, Pooh?" Kanga's eyes narrowed in a way that made Rodney feel that she could see right through his fur and into his fluff.

"Yes! I'm clean! Clean as… the sky… when it's raining… hard! What are the tuttle roots for?"

"The tuttle roots are my secret ingredient," she said. "For extra cleanliness. Are you sure you've had a bath?"

A welcome distraction arrived in the form of a large, blue balloon, rising slowly up through the centre of the stairwell. As it rose, Pooh saw that it had a string attached, and as it rose further still he saw that the string had a Christopher Robin attached.

"Winnie-the-Pooh!" exclaimed Jennifer, drifting gently upward.

"Hello, Christopher Robin. Did you know you're flying?"

"Oh, yes," said Jennifer carelessly. "It wasn't inte-, intesh-… I didn't mean to. I found a balloon and blew it up and then this happened." She leant toward Pooh, as far as her upward progress would allow and said, conspiratorially, "It's a bit high, actually."

Once again, Rodney found his face unwilling to hold the concerned expression that this behaviour deserved. Also, there was a tiny piece of fluff stirring in the depths of his mind that he felt had something to say about the balloon-blowing business, but he could only get as far as the sound 'He' before it hid from him. Worth a try, though, he thought.

"Hee, hee," he said. But in the time it had taken this sound to work its way free, Christopher Robin had gone. And when Pooh turned round to continue his journey, he found that Kanga and Roo and the bathtub had gone too.

"Home and honey, honey and home, no more bathtubs, no more foam, no more balloons that want to roam." He thudded softly down the stairs, feeling that, as ways or getting down stairs went, it had its advantages over being dragged down by one leg, his head bumping rhythmically, but as it meant that he had to do all the work, on the whole he preferred the head-bumping way.

Something stirred in the shadows. Could it be a Hostile Animal?

"Hello?"

"Hello?" came a response.

Pooh rubbed his head with one paw. What a lot of Thinking and Working Out there was today.

"Are you an echo?"

"Am I an echo?"

This didn't seem quite right. And besides, he thought he recognised the voice.

"Hello, Rabbit. Is that you?"

"Let's pretend it isn't," said Woolsey, "and see what happens."

Rodney decided to ignore this confusing advice.

"I'm going home for a little, no a large something," said Pooh. "In fact," he continued, thoughtfully, "I'm going home for the very largest something I can find. Would you like to come, Rabbit?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Pooh, I have all these reports to write."

Pooh peered at Rabbit and saw that he did look very busy and businessy, with his glasses and tie and collar and the sheafs of paper spilling out of his arms.

"Can you write, Rabbit? I write things in my head, but when I try to arrange them on the paper the letters get tangled and words go in the wrong places." He looked at his paws. "I think they get stuck in my fur. It's the honey, you know," he said, sadly. There was no response, and when he looked up, Rabbit had disappeared.

"Oh, well," said Pooh, resigned to being alone. He continued: down and down and round and round until he had to stop, his furry yellow paws clinging to the railing, his head spinning. "It's all Too Much for a bear of very little brain," he said to himself. "Honey and home, home and honey, that will make it right."

And, at long last, feeling like a traveller returning from an epic journey of at least, oh, two whole miles, he arrived at the door to his home. A cosy glow reached out to him, welcoming him in. Rodney entered, his poor old tummy feeling very empty indeed.

"Even bears of very little brain are good at some things," he said, his paws pressing here and there, without his tired, fluffy head having to do any thinking at all. And there was his honeycomb, rising out of its little nest all shining bright with beautiful, golden honey. Rodney picked it up and it stopped glowing as brightly, but that was quite alright because it was still his beautiful honeycomb and he loved it. He cuddled it to his chest, knowing it would make him sticky, but thinking the stickiness would be pleasant and lickable so that was quite alright too. The floor seemed to want to make friends, so he sank down to say hello, while sucking at one of the pointy bits of the honeycomb, and it didn't matter that everything was the Wrong Way again, because both he and the honeycomb were the same way and, he thought, an afternoon nap is always welcome after a large lunch.

A face appeared above him. A face with very large, round eyes: Owl.

"H'llo, Owl," he said, drowsily. "You want some h'ny?"

Owl said something that his ears couldn't catch and Rodney closed his eyes, knowing that Owl was very wise and always knew What To Do and correct proseedcakes and things like that. He relaxed into dreams of the sweetness of honey and the sweetness of home.