Translation:The Man Who Lost a Button/VI.
VI.
[edit]The man entered the thicket.
Right away he realized that searching here would be difficult, even unpleasant, for the thicket was not only plain and empty but also hostile.
He pulled his cap down hard on his head, wrapped his scarf snug around his neck, and curled his hands into his sleeves so that the thorns would prick him as little as possible.
He slipped into the thicket and crouched down beneath a bush. He first wanted to see what the thicket was like and how best to carry out his task within it. Maybe there would still be signs of his previous passage. But in the few days since, the thicket had fully leafed out and burst into bloom, and every trace within had vanished.
He kept searching the thicket with his eyes.
Suddenly, he heard that it wasn’t so quiet in there.
Everything was rustling beneath the leaves, crawling along branches, buzzing around flowers, flapping wings, and tapping with beaks. He brushed aside the leaves in front of him, and a black beetle with tiny horns on its head emerged and crawled onto his leg. A thin branch swayed, and he saw on it a small bird with a red throat and yellow spots on its tail, cocking its head slightly, looking at him.
Surprised by such boldness, he clapped his hands together.
“Creak! Creak!” There it stopped, chirping, but did not move.
“What kind of wonder is this now?”, thought the man who lost a button.
He heard a rustling beside him and saw another little bird, pushing its way into something near the root of a flowering cornel.
“Ha, a nest! I’m in their way.”
And for the first time in so many days of misery and trouble, his face brightened, a smile blossomed on his lips.
A nest! The laying of eggs! Love for the young!... Things so tiny, yet so... big. And in this thicket!
He wanted to stand up; to quietly slip away on his toes.
But he startled and came to himself.
“Button! Button, small and gray!”
And he set about searching through the thicket.
He dug all around. He crept beneath the bushes. He crawled on his belly at times, lifting the dry leaves and moss, tearing what bothered him.
“Button!”
But instead of the button, small fragrant mushrooms came onto his palms, with delicate caps, adorned with thin, spiraling stems, and seeds that barely sprouted. Hazel catkins hit his cheek, showering yellow dust on his cheeks and hands. Violet flowers clung to his clothes. And the birds sang in the thicket; they sang as though speaking to him:
“We don't fear those who are constantly looking at the sky. You didn't look at us before, and now it seems as if we don’t see you.”
The man stopped in front of a stone. It seemed to him that he saw something beneath it, small and gray.
He jumped and turned it over.
But instead of the button, he saw an army of tiny worms and insects, barely prepared to make their first journey into the sunlight. They twisted and struggled, unpracticed in their crawling and walking. And because his hands were within their reach, they all began to squirm and crawl up his fingers. For a moment, he felt as if something from the earth was gently caressing his hands, eager to climb up to his chest.
The man who lost a button shook the tiny burden into the grass. A strange restlessness grew over him, and he realized that now he didn’t even know how to continue searching.
He emerged from the thicket, his face and hands scratched, dusted with leaves and pollen.
As he descended the path from the peak, he saw the little snail on the path again.
“Look! He was on the other side, grazing, but now he's coming back.”
As he descended, he encountered a peasant woman carrying a heavy burden on her back.
He wrestled with himself for a few moments, but he couldn't hold back.
“Madam, be careful as you walk!”
“What is it?”
“Look over there! In the middle of the path.”
“What?” she wondered, staring at the empty stretch of path.
He extended his finger and said:
“A snail.”