Of Lions and Unicorns: A Lifetime of Tales from the Master Storyteller. Michael Morpurgo

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СКАЧАТЬ expected to see her lying dead on the island the next morning. But she was not there. The cob was sitting still as a statue on his nest, his five cygnets around him.

      I went looking for her. I picked up the trail of feathers and blood at the lochside, and followed where I knew it must lead, up through the woods. I approached silently. The fox cubs were frolicking fat and furry in the sunshine, their mother close by intent on her grooming. There was a terrible wreath of white feathers near by, and telltale feathers too on her snout. She was trying to shake them off. How I hated her.

      I ran at her. I picked up stones. I hurled them. I screamed at her. The foxes vanished into the undergrowth and left me alone in the woods. I picked up a silver feather, and cried tears of such raw grief, such fierce anger.

      Spring came at long last the next day, and melted the ice. The cob and his five cygnets were safe. After that I came less and less to the loch. It wasn’t quite the same without my silver swan. I went there only now and again, just to see how he was doing, how they were all doing.

      At first, to my great relief, it seemed as if he was managing well enough on his own. Then one day I noticed there were only four cygnets swimming alongside him, the four bigger ones. I don’t know what happened to the smaller one. He just wasn’t there. Not so lucky, after all.

      The cob would sometimes bring his cygnets to the lochside to see me. I would feed them when he came, but then after a while he just stopped coming.

      The weeks passed and the months passed, and the cygnets grew and flew. The cob scarcely left his island now. He stayed on the very spot I had last seen my silver swan. He did not swim; he did not feed; he did not preen himself. Day by day it became clearer that he was pining for her, dying for her.

      Now my vigil at the lochside was almost constant again. I had to be with him; I had to see him through. It was what my silver swan would have wanted, I thought.

      So I was there when it happened. A swan flew in from nowhere one day, down on to the glassy stillness of the loch. She landed right in front of him. He walked down into the loch, settled into the water and swam out to meet her. I watched them look each other over for just a few minutes. When they drank, they dipped their necks together, as one. When they flew, their wings beat together, as one.

      Five years on and they’re still together. Five years on and I still have the feather from my silver swan. I take it with me wherever I go. I always will.

      

      Open one eye.

      Same old basket, same old kitchen.

      Another day.

      Ear’s itching.

      Have a good scratch.

      Lovely.

      Have a good stretch.

      Here comes Lula.

      “Morning, Russ,” she says.

      “Do you know what day it is today?”

      Silly question! Course I do!

      It’s the day after yesterday

      and the day before tomorrow.

      Out I go. Smarty’s barking his ‘good morning’ at me from across the valley.

      Good old Smarty. Best friend I’ve got, except Lula of course.

      I bark mine back.

      I can’t hang about. Got to get the cows in.

      There they are.

      Lula’s dad likes me to

      have them ready for milking

      by the time he gets there.

      Better watch that one with the new calf.

      She’s a bit skippy.

      Lie down, nose in the grass.

      Give her the hard eye.

      There she goes, in amongst the rest.

      And here comes Lula’s dad singing his way down to the dairy.

      “Good dog,” he says.

      I wag my tail. He likes that.

      He gives me another ‘good dog’.

      I get my milk. Lovely.

      Off back up to the house.

      Well, I don’t want to miss my breakfast, do I?

      Lula’s already scoffing her bacon and eggs.

      I sit down next to her

      and give her my

      very best begging look.

      It always works.

      Two bacon rinds in secret under the table,

      and all her toast crusts too. Lovely.

      There’s good pickings

      under the baby’s chair this morning.

      I hoover it all up. Lovely.

      Lula always likes me to go with her

      to the end of the lane.

      She loves a bit of a cuddle, and

      a lick or two before the school bus comes.

      “Oh, Russ,” she whispers. “A horse.

      It’s all I want for my birthday.”

      And I’m thinking, ’Scuse me, what’s so great about a horse?

       Isn’t a dog good enough?

      Then along comes the bus and on she gets.

      “See you,” she says.

      Lula’s dad is whistling for me.

      “Where are you, you old rascal you?”

      I’m coming.

      I’m coming.

      Back up the lane,

      through the hedge,

      over the gate.

      “Don’t just sit there, Russ.

      I want СКАЧАТЬ