Esmé

"Esmé" is a short story by Hector Hugh Munro, better known by his pen name Saki. The narrative follows a young girl named Esmé, who is both charming and mischievous, as she navigates life on a rural estate. The story is infused with Saki's characteristic wit and dark humor, exploring themes of innocence, the complexities of human relationships, and the often absurd nature of societal norms. Through Esmé's interactions, the tale highlights the contrasts between childhood innocence and adult preoccupations, ultimately leaving readers with a thought-provoking reflection on the nature of love and loss.

• Short story

								
"All hunting stories are the same," said Clovis; "just as all Turf
stories are the same, and all--"

"My hunting story isn't a bit like any you've ever heard," said the
Baroness.  "It happened quite a while ago, when I was about
twenty-three.  I wasn't living apart from my husband then; you see,
neither of us could afford to make the other a separate allowance.  In
spite of everything that proverbs may say, poverty keeps together more
homes than it breaks up.  But we always hunted with different packs.
All this has nothing to do with the story."

"We haven't arrived at the meet yet.  I suppose there was a meet," said
Clovis.

"Of course there was a meet," said the Baroness; all the usual crowd
were there, especially Constance Broddle.  Constance is one of those
strapping florid girls that go so well with autumn scenery or Christmas
decorations in church.  'I feel a presentiment that something dreadful
is going to happen,' she said to me; 'am I looking pale?'

"She was looking about as pale as a beetroot that has suddenly heard
bad news.

"'You're looking nicer than usual,' I said, 'but that's so easy for
you.'  Before she had got the right bearings of this remark we had
settled down to business; hounds had found a fox lying out in some
gorse-bushes."

"I knew it," said Clovis, "in every fox-hunting story that I've ever
heard there's been a fox and some gorse-bushes."

"Constance and I were well mounted," continued the Baroness serenely,
"and we had no difficulty in keeping ourselves in the first flight,
though it was a fairly stiff run.  Towards the finish, however, we must
have held rather too independent a line, for we lost the hounds, and
found ourselves plodding aimlessly along miles away from anywhere.  It
was fairly exasperating, and my temper was beginning to let itself go
by inches, when on pushing our way through an accommodating hedge we
were gladdened by the sight of hounds in full cry in a hollow just
beneath us.

"'There they go,' cried Constance, and then added in a gasp, 'In
Heaven's name, what are they hunting?'

"It was certainly no mortal fox.  It stood more than twice as high, had
a short, ugly head, and an enormous thick neck.

"'It's a hyaena,' I cried; 'it must have escaped from Lord Pabham's
Park.'

"At that moment the hunted beast turned and faced its pursuers, and the
hounds (there were only about six couple of them) stood round in a
half-circle and looked foolish.  Evidently they had broken away from
the rest of the pack on the trail of this alien scent, and were not
quite sure how to treat their quarry now they had got him.

"The hyaena hailed our approach with unmistakable relief and
demonstrations of friendliness.  It had probably been accustomed to
uniform kindness from humans, while its first experience of a pack of
hounds had left a bad impression.  The hounds looked more than ever
embarrassed as their quarry paraded its sudden intimacy with us, and
the faint toot of a horn in the distance was seized on as a welcome
signal for unobtrusive departure.  Constance and I and the hyaena were
left alone in the gathering twilight.

"'What are we to do?' asked Constance.

"'What a person you are for questions,' I said.

"'Well, we can't stay here all night with a hyaena,' she retorted.

"'I don't know what your ideas of comfort are,' I said; 'but I
shouldn't think of staying here all night even without a hyaena. My
home may be an unhappy one, but at least it has hot and cold water laid
on, and domestic service, and other conveniences which we shouldn't
find here.  We had better make for that ridge of trees to the right; I
imagine the Crowley road is just beyond.'

"We trotted off slowly along a faintly marked cart-track, with the
beast following cheerfully at our heels.

"'What on earth are we to do with the hyaena?' came the inevitable
question.

"'What does one generally do with hyaenas?'  I asked crossly.

"'I've never had anything to do with one before,' said Constance.

"'Well, neither have I.  If we even knew its sex we might give it a
name.  Perhaps we might call it Esmé.  That would do in either case.'

"There was still sufficient daylight for us to distinguish wayside
objects, and our listless spirits gave an upward perk as we came upon a
small half-naked gipsy brat picking blackberries from a low-growing
bush.  The sudden apparition of two horsewomen and a hyaena set it off
crying, and in any case we should scarcely have gleaned any useful
geographical information from that source; but there was a probability
that we might strike a gipsy encampment somewhere along our route.  We
rode on hopefully but uneventfully for another mile or so.

"'I wonder what that child was doing there,' said Constance presently.

"'Picking blackberries.  Obviously.'

"'I don't like the way it cried,' pursued Constance; 'somehow its wail
keeps ringing in my ears.'

"I did not chide Constance for her morbid fancies; as a matter of fact
the same sensation, of being pursued by a persistent fretful wail, had
been forcing itself on my rather over-tired nerves.  For company's sake
I hulloed to Esmé, who had lagged somewhat behind. With a few springy
bounds he drew up level, and then shot past us.

"The wailing accompaniment was explained.  The gipsy child was firmly,
and I expect painfully, held in his jaws.

"'Merciful Heaven!' screamed Constance, 'what on earth shall we do?
What are we to do?'

"I am perfectly certain that at the Last Judgment Constance will ask
more questions than any of the examining Seraphs.

"'Can't we do something?' she persisted tearfully, as Esmé cantered
easily along in front of our tired horses.

"Personally I was doing everything that occurred to me at the moment.
I stormed and scolded and coaxed in English and French and gamekeeper
language; I made absurd, ineffectual cuts in the air with my thongless
hunting-crop; I hurled my sandwich case at the brute; in fact, I really
don't know what more I could have done.  And still we lumbered on
through the deepening dusk, with that dark uncouth shape lumbering
ahead of us, and a drone of lugubrious music floating in our ears.
Suddenly Esmé bounded aside into some thick bushes, where we could not
follow; the wail rose to a shriek and then stopped altogether.  This
part of the story I always hurry over, because it is really rather
horrible. When the beast joined us again, after an absence of a few
minutes, there was an air of patient understanding about him, as though
he knew that he had done something of which we disapproved, but which
he felt to be thoroughly justifiable.

"'How can you let that ravening beast trot by your side?' asked
Constance.  She was looking more than ever like an albino beetroot.

"'In the first place, I can't prevent it,' I said; 'and in the second

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