The Trumpet of the Swan. Fred Marcellino

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СКАЧАТЬ he looks all right,” said the swan. “And heaven knows he eats enough. He’s healthy and bright and a great swimmer. But have you ever heard Louis make any sound, as the others do? Have you ever heard him use his voice or say anything? Have you ever heard him utter a single beep or a single burble?”

      “Come to think of it, I never have,” replied the cob, who was beginning to look worried.

      “Have you ever heard Louis say good night to us, as the others do? Have you ever heard him say good morning, as the others do in their charming little way, burbling and beeping?”

      “Now that you mention it, I never have,” said the cob. “Goodness! What are you getting at? Do you wish me to believe that I have a son who is defective in any way? Such a revelation would distress me greatly. I want everything to go smoothly in my family life so that I can glide gracefully and serenely, now in the prime of my life, without being haunted by worry or disappointment. Fatherhood is quite a burden, at best. I do not want the added strain of having a defective child, a child that has something the matter with him.”

      “Well,” said the wife, “I’ve been watching Louis lately. It is my opinion the little fellow can’t talk. I’ve never heard him make one sound. I think he came into the world lacking a voice. If he had a voice, he’d use it, same as the others do.”

      “Why, this is terrible!” said the cob. “This is distressing beyond words. This is a very serious matter.”

      His wife looked at him in amusement. “It’s not too serious now,” she said. “But it will be serious two or three years from now when Louis falls in love, as he will surely do. A young male swan will be greatly handicapped in finding a mate if he is unable to say ko-hoh, ko-hoh, or if he can’t utter the usual endearments to the young female of his choice.”

      “Are you sure?” asked the cob.

      “Certainly I’m sure,” she replied. “I can remember perfectly well the springtime, years ago, when you fell in love with me and began chasing after me. What a sight you were, and what a lot of noise you made! It was in Montana, remember?”

      “Of course I remember,” said the cob.

      “Well, the thing that attracted me most to you was your voice—your wonderful voice.”

      “It was?” said the cob.

      “Yes. You had the finest, most powerful, most resonant voice of any of the young male swans in the Red Rock Lakes National Wildlife Refuge in Montana.”

      “I did?” said the cob.

      “Yes, indeed. Every time I heard you say something in that deep voice of yours, I was ready to go anywhere with you.”

      “You were?” said the cob. He was obviously delighted with his wife’s praise. It tickled his vanity and made him feel great. He had always fancied himself as having a fine voice, and now to hear it from his wife’s own lips was a real thrill. In the pleasure of the moment, he forgot all about Louis and thought entirely of himself. And, of course, he did remember that enchanted springtime on the lake in Montana when he had fallen in love. He remembered how pretty the swan had been, how young and innocent she seemed, how attractive, how desirable. Now he realized fully that he would never have been able to woo her and win her if he had been unable to say anything.

      “We’ll not worry about Louis for the time being,” said the swan. “He’s still very young. But we must watch him next winter when we are in Montana for the season. We must stay together as a family until we see how Louis makes out.”

      She walked over to where her sleeping cygnets were and settled down next to them. The night was chill. Carefully, she lifted one wing and covered the cygnets with it. They stirred in their sleep and drew close to her.

      The cob stood quietly, thinking about what his wife had just told him. He was a brave, noble bird, and already he was beginning to work out a plan for his little son Louis.

      “If it’s really true that Louis has no voice,” said the cob to himself, “then I shall provide him with a device of some sort, to enable him to make a lot of noise. There must be some way out of this difficulty. After all, my son is a Trumpeter Swan; he should have a voice like a trumpet. But first I will test him to make certain that what his mother says is true.”

      The cob was unable to sleep that night. He stood on one leg, quietly, but sleep never came. Next morning, after everyone had enjoyed a good breakfast, he led Louis apart from the others.

      “Louis,” he said, “I wish to speak to you alone. Let’s just you and I take a swim by ourselves to the other end of the pond, where we can talk privately without being interrupted.”

      Louis was surprised by this. But he nodded his head and followed his father, swimming strongly in his wake. He did not understand why his father wanted to speak to him alone, without his brothers and sisters.

      “Now!” said the cob, when they reached the upper end of the pond. “Here we are, gracefully floating, supremely buoyant, at some distance from the others, in perfect surroundings—a fine morning, with the pond quiet except for the song of the blackbirds, making the air sweet.”

      “I wish my father would get to the point,” thought Louis.

      “This is an ideal place for our conference,” continued the cob. “There is something I feel I should discuss with you very candidly and openly—something that concerns your future. We need not range over the whole spectrum of bird life but just confine our talk to the one essential thing that is before us on this unusual occasion.”

      “Oh, I wish my father would get to the point,” thought Louis, who by this time was getting very nervous.

      “It has come to my attention, Louis,” continued the cob, “that you rarely say anything. In fact, I can’t recall ever hearing you utter a sound. I have never heard you speak, or say ko-hoh, or cry out, either in fear or in joy. This is most unusual for a young Trumpeter. It is serious. Louis, let me hear you say beep. Go ahead, say it! Say beep!”

      Poor Louis! While his father watched, he took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and let the air out, hoping it would say beep. But there wasn’t a sound.

      “Try again, Louis!” said his father. “Perhaps you’re not making enough of an effort.”

      Louis tried again. It was no use. No sound came from his throat. He shook his head, sadly.

      “Watch me!” said the cob. He raised his neck to its full height and cried ko-hoh so loud it was heard by every creature for miles around.

      “Now let me hear you go beep!” he commanded. “Say beep, Louis—loud and clear!” Louis tried. He couldn’t beep.

      “Let me hear you burble! Go ahead and burble! Like this: burble, burble, burble.”

      Louis tried to burble. He couldn’t do it. No sound came.

      “Well,” said the cob, “I guess it’s no use. I guess you are dumb.”

      When he heard the word “dumb,” Louis felt like crying. The cob saw that he had hurt Louis’s СКАЧАТЬ