The Song of Lewis Carmichael

by Sofie Laguna

  ‘That’s true ...’

  ‘There is nothing else we can do. I don’t think she’ll return.’

  ‘All right.’

  After a little while, Lewis said, ‘It was the same bear, you know.’

  ‘The bear we saw today? The mother bear?’

  ‘Yes. Though her cub wasn’t with her. She must have followed our scent.’

  ‘Really? How could you can tell?’

  ‘I am an animal, Matthew. Don’t forget that. I think she’ll leave us alone now. She has her cub to take care of.’

  Matthew hoped his friend was right.

  Matthew slept in fits and starts, expecting the polar bear to return at any moment. In his dreams, he saw her bright black eyes, hungry, shining. He saw her thick white fur, her powerful body. But in these dreams, Matthew didn’t feel afraid. He felt the strength of the bear in himself, her ferocity, her strength, her desire to protect her baby. He felt it all in himself.

  In the morning when Matthew opened the lid of the wooden box, the first thing he saw was a gaping hole in the wicker basket.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Lewis from Matthew’s shoulder.

  Matthew picked up the spare gas tank from where it lay on its side against the supplies chest. There was a dent in the steel. The bear must have thrown the tank in her search for something to eat.

  ‘From now on we will have to keep everything in the chest at all times,’ said Lewis.

  Their dishes were smashed. Across the way, lying on the icy grass, was the torn packaging that had held their food.

  ‘At least the balloon herself hasn’t been torn,’ Lewis added. ‘Though you can see how much she has deflated.’

  Matthew could now see wrinkles in the balloon’s fabric. Still, it was reassuring to see it there, a burst of colour against the white-and-grey sky.

  ‘I think we need to lie low for the day,’ said Lewis, examining the basket. ‘Attend to the damage. We can walk to the North Pole tomorrow. We will need to be sparing with our rations, but so long as you can survive on a bird’s diet, Matthew, we will be fine. How does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Matthew nodded. They were only left with seeds, honey biscuits, nuts, a little of the chocolate, and some oats. But Matthew felt the way he had in his dream. He wasn’t concerned about the hole in the basket, their depleted food supplies. He wasn’t worried that the balloon was sinking. He hardly wanted to eat anyway – he was too excited. Yesterday, they had seen reindeer and eagles and been followed by a snowy owl. He had faced a polar bear – given her food. And tomorrow they would cross the ice! They would see the North Pole.

  ‘What do you think we should do about this?’ said Lewis. He was looking at the tear in the wicker basket. ‘It won’t be safe to fly until we mend it, but really, I can’t think how ...’

  Matthew looked at the tear too, and remembered the polar bear’s claws. How sharp they were.

  ‘Matthew, any ideas?’

  Why was the bird asking him?

  ‘Matthew, we really can’t explore until this is fixed. It’s not safe. So, you need to think of something. I am going to drink tea.’

  Lewis hopped over to his cup, one of the only dishes that hadn’t been smashed, and looked at Matthew expectantly.

  Why was the bird being so bossy? Matthew wondered as he boiled the water in the tin pot. How irritating he was! After he had made the tea, Matthew looked again at the hole in the basket, trailing his fingertips over the jagged edges of the cane. It reminded him of the eagle’s nest they had seen the day before. Made from sticks placed over and over each other. Woven together. Those nests lasted years ...

  ‘Lewis!’ Matthew called out.

  ‘What is it?’ Lewis called back. He had abandoned his tea and had been hopping about on the snow gathering the torn bags that the bear had left behind.

  ‘We’re going for a walk.’

  Lewis hopped back to Matthew. ‘Where to?’

  ‘To the timberline.’

  ‘Oh...well ...I suppose that’s not too far. All right then. Yes. Important to stretch the legs ...’

  Matthew strapped the empty daypack over his shoulders and picked up his walking stick. Then he crouched so that Lewis could hop up his arm.

  ‘Going to put some supplies into that backpack, Matthew?’ Lewis asked, settling on his shoulder.

  ‘No ...not today,’ said Matthew distractedly.

  ‘Oh ...oh, I see. Well, up to you, up to you.’

  They walked across the tundra towards the mountain. Was Matthew imagining it, or was there more snow today on the plain that led to the trees?

  ‘More snow every day, Matthew,’ said Lewis. ‘It’s getting colder and colder. Polar darkness draws ever closer.’

  How did the bird know his thoughts? Matthew wondered, breaking the ice with his stick.

  As they walked on, Matthew heard the crying again. It was the sound of a baby, Matthew was sure. ‘Can you hear that, Lewis?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A baby. Crying.’

  Lewis put his head to the side, listening. ‘I can’t hear anything, Matthew. It was a baby, you say?’

  ‘Yes...I think so...’

  ‘Well, it is a sound I know well. There are a lot of prams in the park. Babies crying. All that. No, I don’t hear it.’ Lewis shook out his feathers. ‘Perhaps it was Boreas.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so …’ But it didn’t matter; Matthew couldn’t hear the sound anymore either.

  When they reached the timberline, which was easier for Matthew than it had been the day before, he went to a pine tree with low-growing branches. He brushed off the snow, then snapped away the twigs that grew from the branches and stuffed them into his pack.

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I see, I see. Well done, well done,’ Lewis said as Matthew dug at the snow around the base of the tree, finding more fallen sticks to put into the pack. While Matthew worked, the bird sang.

  In all the world, in all the world.

  Never did I see, never, never did I see.

  In all the lands, in all the lands...

  This one boy, this one boy.

  Soon the pack was full, twigs poking from the flaps at the top.

  When they returned to the camp, Lewis asked, ‘Matthew, what do you plan to do next?’

  ‘Lunch,’ said Matthew, smiling.

  ‘Ah!’ Lewis clacked his beak. ‘Lunch. Yes, that’s thinking straight, ha!’

  They ate their lunch ration of oats and seeds – Matthew was starving – and then Matthew said, ‘Lewis, I need your help.’

  ‘My help, Matthew?’ said Lewis. ‘Yes, yes, all right. Of course.’

  Matthew tipped the sticks from the daypack onto the basket floor. ‘Lewis, you’ve never had to make a nest, have you?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I have ever had the good fortune,’ the bird replied.

  ‘But you know how, right?’

  ‘Of course I know how. I am a bird. But, Matthew, I am not planning on hatching any chicks here in the Arctic.’ Lewis clacked his beak.

  Matthew was already sorting the sticks into piles of similar sizes, close to the tear in the basket’s side. ‘Can you help me weave these together into the basket,’ he asked Lewis, ‘as if you are making a nest?’

  ‘Oh, I see, I see! A nest ...yes, clever boy!’

  They worked together, weaving the sticks into the cane surrounding the gap in the basket. Matthew found that if he stayed right under the balloon it was warm enough to work without his gloves. Lewis used his beak to push the smaller twigs into the cracks in the wicker, while Matthew worked with the larger sticks, bending them into place, entwining them and the cane.

  Lewis sang as he weaved.

  In all the world, in all the world.

  I never did see, I never did see.

  In all the lands, in all the lands.

  Matthew was hardly aware that he had joined in – that they sang together as they worked.

  In all the world, in all the world.

  Neve
r did I see, never did I see.

  In all the lands, in all the lands...

  They wove the sticks into the cane until Matthew’s fingers ached. When they were done, Matthew sat back and surveyed their efforts. He was surprised: the place that had been damaged by the bear now appeared stronger than any other part of the basket. Unbreakable. As strong as the nest of the white-tailed eagle; as strong as the nest of an Australian crow.

  ‘I think we must reward ourselves with tea,’ said the bird.

  ‘And chocolate,’ said Matthew, grinning.

  ‘Matthew! Matthew!’ It was Lewis, in the night, waking Matthew through his dreams. It must be very late. ‘Matthew, open the lid. It’s the northern lights – they’re here, they’re here!’

  Aurora borealis. Lights of the north. Matthew rubbed his eyes and pushed open the lid of the chest.

  Wisps of light danced across the night, flaring and billowing. Matthew gasped as the light made shapes in the sky – geese and bears, and the eyes of owls and wolves – purple and pink and green. One creature moved into the next – birds became animals, animals turned into flakes of snow, snow dispersed into nothing but colour. Matthew was held spellbound.

  Finally, the lights danced away and the sky was dark again. Matthew was tingling, as if the northern lights had brushed against his skin. As if they were dancing inside him.

  ‘You know,’ said Lewis from the hood of Matthew’s coat, ‘in Norse mythology it was believed that the northern lights were a fire-bridge to the sky, built by the gods.’

  ‘Really?’ said Matthew, finally looking away from the sky. ‘I read that the lights come when there is a storm on the sun. The particles of energy are carried here by the solar winds.’

  ‘Yes, yes ...how interesting. Well, a fire-bridge to the sky, storms in the sun. Perhaps both are true.’

  Matthew nodded. Both were true. He thought to himself: This is where I belong. Where bridges are made of fire. Where the lights dance in the shapes of animals. Where the things I do make a difference.

  Matthew settled back into the chest, pulling the blanket around him, and closed his eyes – squeezed them tight. Ignoring the insistent cry that came and went, he was soon fast asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE NEXT MORNING Matthew put the jar of seeds into his daypack and was just about to prepare Lewis’s tea when the bird stopped him. ‘No need to boil the water, Matthew. I won’t have tea today. We can’t spare the gas; the balloon must stay afloat.’

  ‘But you love your tea.’

  ‘Let’s just be on our way. It could be quite a walk,’ Lewis said, sounding anxious. ‘And we don’t have much food. We can’t waste time.’

  The balloon had sunk further overnight, but Matthew barely noticed. Today they were going to walk to the North Pole!

  ‘I hope we see an Arctic wolf,’ Matthew said as he pushed the last packet of honey biscuits into the pack with the seeds.

  ‘They don’t travel alone, you know,’ said Lewis. ‘They live in packs – like all dogs, if dogs had their way. They are a real danger for a bird like me. Make sure you bring enough seeds.’

  ‘But you know you’ll be safe with me, don’t you?’ said Matthew. How different it felt – how surprisingly good – to be reassuring.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose. Yes. Arctic wolves are wary of humans, which means, by deduction, that I too will be safe. Hmm, still …’ Lewis hopped onto Matthew’s outstretched arm. ‘…I don’t fancy meeting one. Now, let’s walk, or we shall see nothing more than this sinking balloon.’

  The ocean was a patchwork of ice and seawater. Walking along the shore, Matthew liked to hear the ice break beneath his stick and his boots. He could hardly imagine walking without the stick now, its perky black feather cheering him on. He felt like a new person, a different person. There was no before here; it was as if he was only being made now, in this moment of placing his boots on the ice.

  At first Matthew’s legs felt tired from the work of the day before, but he soon warmed up. As they followed the shore north, he saw birds – terns and ducks and gulls, bobbing on the sea, flying up and swooping down.

  ‘We’re not alone, I see,’ Lewis said, peeking out from the hood of Matthew’s coat. It was the only thing he did say. He didn’t sing, or speak words of encouragement, or chat. He kept quite still on Matthew’s shoulder, watching the other birds.

  After a long time, Matthew saw a large rocky outcrop ahead. He squinted against the light. What were those lumpy shapes covering the rocks? Were they moving? Matthew put the binoculars to his eyes and saw a huge herd of walruses. There must have been a thousand, all in one place. They were enormous. The two tusks that jutted from their jaws were long and pointed. ‘Let’s go a little closer,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Yes, why not?’ said Lewis. ‘Yesterday you defeated a polar bear, so what’s a thousand tusked walruses to us today?’

  Matthew edged closer to the walruses as they snorted and rolled across the rocks, turning their great brown bellies to the sky. He watched, enchanted, as the animals slouched and clambered against each other, rubbed their whiskered snouts, their wrinkled skin, not seeming to care that he and Lewis were there. How could a creature as awkward as this on land swim so fast in the sea?

  ‘I only wish I could snort like that,’ said Lewis, clacking his beak.

  Matthew laughed, and every walrus joined him, snorting and belching and blowing and whistling. Matthew closed his eyes and felt himself part of a chorus – a thousand laughing walruses strong.

  After the rocky outcrop there was more and more ice on the ocean, and fewer and fewer birds. Lewis seemed himself again, and Matthew was glad when he heard him sing.

  In all the world, beneath all the skies.

  All the skies, I never did see, never did see...

  All was silent but for his friend’s song. A light snow fell. The sky above was white and grey.

  I never did see, in all the world.

  In all the lands, just this one.

  This one boy...

  Matthew walked to the rhythm of the bird’s singing. His feet, the walking stick, and the song of Lewis Carmichael – all in time. Up ahead, he could see that the ocean had turned completely to ice. He was dazzled.

  ‘The North Pole ...’ he whispered.

  ‘The one and only,’ said Lewis.

  ‘We’re really here.’

  Matthew knew the North Pole was not really a land at all; that it was ice floating on the sea. But knowing couldn’t prepare him for seeing it there. It glittered, so white it hurt his eyes. What would it be like to live in a place so empty? Matthew wondered. A place so cold?

  ‘Shall we head for that snowy shelf in the distance? Do you see it, Matthew, up ahead?’

  Matthew used his binoculars and saw a small valley made of snow, leading up to the snowy shelf on the other side.

  ‘We might get some sort of view from there,’ said Lewis. ‘It seems as good a spot as any.’

  As they entered the North Pole, Matthew put the binoculars to his eyes again and saw clouds and snow, the shadows between them. He moved the binoculars from the sky to the snow, back and forth, sky and snow, and sky again, until it seemed there was no difference between them.

  The next time Matthew looked through his binoculars, he saw a polar bear.

  ‘Lewis!’ he gasped.

  But Lewis had already seen. ‘Oh dear.’

  Matthew adjusted the binocular lenses. The bear was standing over a cub. There was something in the way she held her body. ‘I think it might be her ...’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The bear that took our food. The bear from the mountain. It’s her, Lewis, I’m sure it’s her.’

  ‘Not again!’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Does she have her cub with her? I can’t quite tell.’

  ‘Yes, but ...’

  ‘But what?’ Lewis asked.

  Matthew could see blood on the snow beside the baby animal. The mother bear was nosing
her cub, trying to raise it. Something was preventing it from moving. ‘She is with the cub, but I think it’s hurt.’

  ‘Hurt? How do you know?’ Lewis asked.

  ‘It’s just lying there.’

  ‘Oh ...We had better give them a wide berth,’ said Lewis. ‘The bear will be feeling threatened. Afraid for her cub.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Matthew lowered the binoculars. He could still see the small patch of blood in the snow, even without them. ‘But it’s not right, just to leave the cub like that, is it?’

  ‘Lewis, the mother bear ...she would attack ...’

  Matthew remembered the first day he’d seen the cub – the way it had trundled down the mountain towards him, as if it trusted him. ‘Lewis, can we just go a little closer and see if there is anything at all we can do?’

  ‘I don’t know if that is very sensible.’

  ‘But the cub is in trouble.’

  ‘Matthew, this is the Arctic. Every animal here is in trouble, every day, every minute.’

  ‘I have to at least see if we can help,’ said Matthew.

  ‘It’s very dangerous.’

  ‘I can’t just walk away.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can see that. Oh dear. Well, all right then.’

  ‘You’ll let me?’

  ‘You are your own master, Matthew.’

  ‘You can stay here,’ said Matthew. ‘Where it’s safe. I can build up the snow around you, and you can wait for me.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Matthew, I’m coming with you! Let’s get on with this.’

  Matthew wondered if anyone had ever had a friend as good as Lewis Carmichael.

  Taking a very deep breath, he began to cross the ice towards the mother bear and her cub. The mother bear watched him. She growled as he came closer. Matthew felt his legs tremble and kept a tight grip on his walking stick. Closer and closer ...

  Matthew could see, now, that blood stained the ice at the cub’s paw. He could see that something long and pointed and white stuck from its leg. ‘I think it’s ...’