The Wind Singer. William Nicholson

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      ‘You, boy,’ he said sharply to Bowman. ‘What’s she doing? Who is she?’

      ‘She’s my sister,’ said Bowman.

      ‘And who are you?’

      ‘I’m her brother.’

      The fierce official made him nervous, and when nervous, Bowman became very logical. Momentarily baffled, the official looked up and called to Kestrel:

      ‘Get down, girl! Get down at once! What do you think you’re doing up there?’

      ‘Pongo!’ Kestrel called back, climbing ever higher up the structure.

      ‘What?’ said the official. ‘What did she say?’

      ‘Pongo,’ said Bowman.

      ‘She said pongo to me?’

      ‘I’m not sure,’ said Bowman. ‘She might have been saying it to me.’

      ‘But it was I who spoke to her. I ordered her to come down, and she replied, pongo.’

      ‘Perhaps she thinks it’s your name.’

      ‘It’s not my name. No one is called Pongo.’

      ‘I didn’t know that. I expect she doesn’t know that.’

      The official, confused by Bowman’s tremulous but reasonable manner, turned his face back up to Kestrel, who was now almost at the very top, and called out:

      ‘Did you say pongo to me?’

      ‘Pongo pooa-pooa pompaprune!’ Kestrel called back.

      The official turned to Bowman, his face rigid with righteousness.

      ‘There! You heard her! It’s a disgrace!’ He called back up to Kestrel, ‘If you don’t come down, I’ll report you!’

      ‘You’ll report her even if she does come down,’ said Bowman.

      ‘I certainly shall,’ said the official, ‘but I shall report her more if she doesn’t.’ He shouted up at Kestrel, ‘I shall recommend that points be deducted from your family rating!’

      ‘Bangaplop!’ called Kestrel. She was on a level with one of the wide leather scoops as she called out this rude word, and the sound travelled down the pipes of the wind singer and emerged from the horns, a second or so later, in a fuzzy distorted form.

      ‘Bang-ang-anga-plop-op-p!’

      Kestrel then put her head right into the leather scoop, and shouted:

      ‘Sagahog!’

      Her voice came booming out of the horns:

      ‘SAG-AG-AG-A-HOG-G-G!’

      The official heard this aghast.

      ‘She’s disturbing the afternoon work session,’ he said. ‘They’ll hear her in the College.’

      ‘Pompa-pompa-pompaprune!’ called Kestrel.

      ‘POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA-PRU-U-UNE!’ boomed the wind singer across the arena.

      Out of the College of Examiners, in a flurry of white robes, poured the high officials of the city to see what was intruding on their afternoon.

      ‘I HA-A-ATE SCHOO-OO-OOL!’ cried Kestrel’s amplified voice. ‘I HA-A-ATE RA-A-ATINGS!’

      The examiners heard this in shock.

      ‘She’s having a fit,’ they said. ‘She’s lost her wits.’

      ‘Get her down! Send for the marshals!’

      ‘I won’t strive ha-a-arder!’ cried Kestrel. ‘I won’t rea-ea-each hi-i-igher! I won’t make tomorr-orr-ow better than today-ay-ay!’

      More and more people were gathering now, drawn by the noise. A long crocodile of children from Maroon District, who had been on a visit to the Hall of Achievement, appeared between the double row of columns to listen to Kestrel’s voice.

      ‘I don’t love my Emperor-or-or!’ Kestrel was now crying. ‘There’s no glor-or-ory in Aramanth-anth-anth!’

      The children gasped. Their teacher was too shocked to speak. A band of grey-coated marshals came running down the steps, their batons in their hands.

      ‘Get her down!’ cried the scarlet-robed official.

      The marshals formed a ring round the wind singer, and their captain called up to Kestrel:

      ‘You’re surrounded! You can’t get away!’

      ‘I don’t want to get away,’ Kestrel replied; and putting her head back into the leather scoop, she called out,

      ‘PONGO-O-O TO EXAM-AM-AMS!’

      The Maroon children started to titter.

      ‘Oh, the evil child!’ exclaimed their teacher, and herded her class back to the Hall of Achievement. ‘Come along, children. Don’t listen to her. She’s a wild thing.’

      ‘Come down!’ roared the captain of the marshals. ‘Come down or you’ll be sorry!’

      ‘I’m sorry now,’ Kestrel called back. ‘I’m sorry for me, and I’m sorry for you, and I’m sorry for this whole sorry city!’

      She put her head into the scoop and called out over the wide arena:

      ‘WON’T STRIVE HAR-AR-ARDER! WON’T REACH HI-I-IGHER! WON’T MAKE TOMORROW-OW-OW BETTER THAN TODAY-AY-AY!’

      Bowman made no more attempts to control his sister. He knew her too well. When she got into one of her rages, there was no reasoning with her until her passions were exhausted. The schoolteacher was right: Kestrel had become a wild thing. The wildness coursed through her, glorious and liberating, as she swung from side to side on the top of the wind singer, and shouted all the terrible unthinkable thoughts that had been buried within her for so long. She had gone so far now, she had broken so many rules and said such wicked things, that she knew she would suffer the most severe punishment; and since what was done could not be undone, she was free to be as bad as she wanted to be.

      ‘Pongo to the Emperor!’ she cried. ‘Where is he anyway? I’ve never seen him! There isn’t any Emperor!’

      The marshals started to climb the wind singer to bring her down by force. Bowman, afraid they would hurt her, slipped away to fetch their father from the sub-library in Orange District where he worked. As he left the arena on one side, the Chief Examiner himself entered from the other, and stood gazing down on the chaotic scene in grim silence.

      ‘POMP-PA POMP-PA-PRU-U-UNE TO THE EMPEROR-OR-OR!’ rang out Kestrel’s amplified voice.

      Maslo Inch drew a long breath and strode steadily down the steps. By СКАЧАТЬ