The Song of Lewis Carmichael

by Sofie Laguna

  ‘What?’ Lewis whispered.

  Matthew squinted. ‘It looks like it might be ...’ He adjusted the lenses on the binoculars.

  ‘What, Matthew? Tell me!’ Lewis said.

  ‘It’s the tusk of a walrus, Lewis. It’s speared the cub.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘The polar bear must have attacked ...’ Matthew said.

  ‘…and the walrus fought back. Yes. It can happen.’ Maybe it was too late. The mother bear growled again, louder this time, standing protectively over her cub. Matthew stopped, heart hammering. What if she wouldn’t allow him to get close enough to help?

  ‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t want to hurt your baby.’ He ran his eyes over the mother bear’s piercing claws, her massive jaw and teeth ...What was he thinking? The bear shook her head.

  ‘It’s too dangerous, Matthew,’ Lewis whispered. ‘She doesn’t trust us.’

  Matthew knew Lewis was right – but there was the cub in the snow, and if he didn’t help it, what would happen? How long would the mother bear wait before she gave up? ‘We want to help you,’ he said. ‘Please ...’

  The bear stood on her hind legs and roared. Matthew held his ground. He should turn back, he knew – run. But he didn’t move. Shaking, he kept his eyes lowered, away from the great pink mouth, the black gums, the teeth.

  The bear dropped down, her front paws landing heavily. She walked towards Matthew. At that moment, Matthew looked up, directly into her eyes. The air bristled between them.

  ‘Matthew ...’ the bird whispered. The polar bear growled.

  Oh no, thought Matthew.

  Then, to his surprise, the bear turned and lumbered away. She was leaving! Abandoning her cub! The enormous animal loped across the ice, then when she had gone a small distance, she stopped and faced them.

  ‘Matthew,’ said Lewis, ‘she’s giving us a chance!’

  Matthew ran as fast as he could across the ice. The small bear lay on its side, whimpering. Matthew let his walking stick fall into the snow and crouched beside it, looking at where the tusk had pierced its leg.

  ‘Poor little bear ...’

  He touched the blood on the ice, and the fingers of his gloves came away red and sticky.

  ‘The wound is fresh,’ said Lewis. ‘That’s a good thing. The cub won’t have lost all its strength.’

  ‘I need to pull out the tusk.’

  ‘Yes. Yes ...you do.’

  Matthew put his hands on the tusk. The cub whined, struggling to raise its head. Across the way, the mother bear paced back and forth over the snow.

  ‘Quickly, Matthew,’ Lewis said.

  Matthew looked at the blood that seeped from around the base of the tusk. ‘We need to have a bandage ready,’ he said.

  ‘A bandage?’

  ‘Yes.’ Matthew knew that if a wound was deep, it could bleed a lot. It had happened to him – he had fallen from his bike when he was first learning to ride, and his father had wrapped the cut on his ankle tight with a long fabric strip from the first-aid kit.

  Matthew looked around him, as if there might be something in the landscape that he could use for a bandage. There was nothing but ice and snow. The cub moaned. The mother bear kept pacing.

  There has to be something, Matthew thought. He looked down at his coat.

  ‘Matthew ...’ Lewis said.

  ‘There is nothing else.’

  ‘But Matthew ...’

  Matthew was already doing his best to tear a strip from the bottom section of his coat. His gloved hands were clumsy. He pulled off the gloves, but it was freezing – he couldn’t use his hands in such cold!

  ‘Can you tear the coat for me, Lewis?’

  ‘Oh, Matthew.’

  ‘Please, Lewis ...’

  ‘Matthew, you need this coat.’

  ‘Lewis, you have to!’

  ‘I don’t have to!’ Lewis hopped from Matthew’s shoulder. ‘But all right! If it’s what you want. All right!’

  He began to peck at the coat’s fabric, pecking and pecking at the shiny material that had kept Matthew warm in the coldest weather in the world.

  ‘Hurry!’ Matthew said.

  ‘I am trying!’ Lewis kept pecking until a small tear appeared in the fabric around the hem.

  ‘I can take it from here,’ said Matthew, grabbing the coat. The bird hopped back and Matthew pulled at the tear.

  ‘Oh no!’ said Lewis.

  Matthew tore away more fabric than he’d meant to. Now there was a large piece of the coat missing at the bottom on one side. Inside was a thick white downy stuffing. It would make a good bandage for the cub.

  Matthew passed the long blue strip to Lewis. ‘You hold this ready, Lewis.’

  Lewis held the strip in his beak.

  Matthew bent down over the cub. The mother bear came closer. Lewis nodded, the fabric dangling from his beak. ‘Go on,’ said the bird. ‘Do it.’

  Matthew put both hands around the tusk. The cub squealed.

  ‘Pull, Matthew.’

  Matthew kept his hold steady and pulled. The tusk slipped out from the cub’s paw. Matthew dropped the tusk, shocked by the blood that oozed from the wound.

  The mother bear roared. She began crossing the ice towards them.

  Matthew, hands shaking, took the bandage from Lewis’s beak and wrapped it around the cub’s paw, round and round, as quickly as he could. The cub looked up at him, dazed.

  ‘That’s the way, Matthew,’ said Lewis. ‘That’s the way, keep going, nice and firm, you’ve got it, good work.’

  Matthew tied the two ends of the bandage together as firmly and neatly as he could, tucking the loose pieces back into the bandage. Lewis hopped up his arm, and Matthew stepped back from the cub.

  Suddenly the bear was thundering towards them! Matthew’s heart stopped. The cub cried out again and then, realising it was free, pulled itself to its feet. The mother bear came to a sudden halt, and then entwined herself around her cub. The cub nuzzled into her side, then began to feed, the blue bandage firm and bright around its paw.

  The mother bear stood on the ice looking at Matthew. Then she dropped her head.

  ‘She is thanking you,’ whispered Lewis.

  ‘She is?’

  ‘Yes. As you deserve.’

  Matthew looked at the bear and dropped his head. It is me who should be thankful, he thought.

  After a long moment, bear and cub trotted briskly away.

  ‘And now, dear Matthew,’ said Lewis, ‘it’s time to return to camp.’

  Matthew picked up his walking stick. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Already?’

  ‘It’s too late to go any further. Your coat is torn, and night falls early here. We need to return.’

  ‘But Lewis, we’ve only just arrived,’ Matthew grumbled.

  ‘Matthew, I understood your need to help the cub. But I must insist that we leave this place. Now. This is the wilderness. We have been lucky so far, but luck runs out.’

  Matthew sighed.

  ‘Matthew?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Matthew took one last look at the endless expanse of ice that surrounded them – the North Pole, land of his dreams. He stuck his stick into the ice and turned reluctantly southwards. Perhaps they could come back tomorrow.

  They walked in silence against the icy, blasting wind. Matthew began to shake; for the first time since he had left his home, he was cold. Lewis had been right, he needed his coat – and now his coat was damaged.

  ‘You did a good job, Matthew,’ Lewis said eventually.

  ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, Lewis,’ said Matthew.

  Lewis clacked his beak, his body warm beside Matthew’s cheek. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You’re shivering.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Matthew, teeth chattering.

  Snow began to fall heavily as they passed the outcrop of rocks where they had seen the walruses. The animals were gone. Things can change so quickly here, thought Matthew. The snow and wind burned his fa
ce, his eyes. Lewis had retreated deep inside the hood – but Matthew could still hear him singing, even over the roaring wind.

  In all the world. So far away, so far away.

  This one boy, one boy, this world, I never did see, never did see.

  In all the world, one boy...

  By the time they reached the camp, Matthew was exhausted. He could see immediately how much the balloon had deflated. It was being buffeted violently by the winds, as wrinkled and loose as the skin of a walrus.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Lewis. ‘We have the second tank of gas. Tomorrow we will fill her up, and she will be just as she was when you first saw her – taut and ready for flight.’

  ‘Oh ...good, Lewis.’ But Matthew was confused. He wanted the balloon to look the way it had, but he wasn’t sure that he was ready to fly home.

  It wasn’t nearly as cosy under the balloon as it had been. Matthew did his best to hide how cold he was. But Lewis knew.

  ‘The blanket will keep you just as warm as the coat, Matthew,’ he said. ‘And tomorrow we return home.’

  Matthew wrapped himself in the blanket and finally stopped shivering as they shared the last packet of honey biscuits, the last of the chocolate. Only the seeds and the nuts were left.

  ‘I am sure it will be enough until we return,’ said Lewis. ‘Now we had better get some rest. We fly at dawn.’

  Matthew climbed into the chest and pulled the blanket over himself. He made sure Lewis was tucked into the hood of the coat, and closed the lid. For a while they were quiet; the only sound was Lewis clacking his beak, very gently, the way he did as he settled himself to sleep.

  ‘I’m not ready to go home,’ said Matthew. His voice was jarring in the quiet of the chest.

  ‘Matthew ...’

  ‘I’m not.’ Matthew had barely thought of home since he’d left. Barely thought about his parents, school. He had erased the thoughts and the worry the way the snow erased the land – turned them white. To nothing. Home didn’t matter. His life was only beginning now.

  ‘Since your coat can’t protect you, we have no choice,’ Lewis said. ‘We have to return.’ Matthew could hear the weariness in his friend’s voice.

  ‘I haven’t seen the Arctic wolf,’ said Matthew, turning away from the bird. He knew he sounded spoilt. That he was being unfair. But he was tired and grumpy. And the wolf was his favourite.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS THE crying that woke him, louder than before. Why couldn’t Lewis hear it? Matthew wished it would stop – it made him feel sad. He pushed open the lid of the chest, sat up and peered into the darkness. Only the faintest streaks of light showed over the horizon.

  Matthew saw a shadow moving through the trees. Golden eyes. He gasped.

  ‘What is it?’ Lewis asked.

  ‘Lewis, it’s a wolf ! An Arctic wolf !’

  ‘You saw it?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Quickly, put me on your shoulder.’

  Matthew placed the bird on his shoulder. ‘There!’ He pointed across the snow to where he had seen the shadow. Pulling on his coat and tucking Lewis inside the hood, he clambered out of the chest. Then he picked up his stick and ran. He would see the Arctic wolf !

  With every step Matthew took in pursuit of the animal, the crying grew louder. Sometimes he thought he saw the wolf’s glowing eyes, blinking at him in the half darkness.

  Lewis spoke to him as he ran. ‘Are you all right, Matthew? Watch your step. Careful there. Slow down, it’s still dark!’

  They had reached a cluster of snow-covered rocks. Matthew could see it was the entrance to a cave. The crying was louder here than it had ever been. The wolf stopped, turned to face Matthew, its eyes the colour of amber, lined in black. Matthew gripped his stick, stunned by the wildness and ferocity of the Arctic wolf. The wolf lifted its upper lip in a low growl.

  ‘I only want to see you,’ Matthew whispered.

  The wolf disappeared into the mouth of the cave.

  ‘Well ...there it was. You got what you wanted,’ said Lewis. ‘The Arctic wolf, here, in its natural habitat. Now let’s go back to camp.’

  ‘But, Lewis, can’t you hear that?’

  The sound of the crying grew even stronger. What was wrong with the bird, that he could not hear such a cry? It made Matthew tremble. It was so unhappy. Where did he know it from?

  ‘How many times have I told you that I can’t hear anything?’ said Lewis.

  ‘It’s a baby, crying.’

  ‘So you’ve said.’

  Matthew listened. ‘It’s coming from the wolf’s den!’

  ‘A baby crying in the wolf’s den?’

  ‘I’m going to take you back to the camp, Lewis.’ Matthew started walking back through the snow to the camp.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Then I am coming back here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I won’t make you come with me. But I think there is something – someone – trapped inside the cave.’

  ‘Matthew! That is where the wolves live. It is their home. You can’t go in there!’

  ‘What if I hadn’t helped the cub? I am not asking you to stay with me ...’

  ‘Matthew, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re cold and you’re tired. We’ve barely eaten. You must not go in there. I can’t help you if you go in there.’

  ‘You don’t have to help me!’ Matthew was running now. He had to get Lewis back to their camp. He had to help the baby. It was more important than anything else. More important than his friend’s feelings, or his own safety. Why couldn’t Lewis understand?

  ‘Matthew, think! There can’t be a baby in there. There are wolves in the cave, and that is all. Wolves! It’s their home, and you have to respect that. You mustn’t interfere – it isn’t safe!’

  ‘I don’t care if it isn’t safe!’ Matthew shouted. He had always been safe, never taking a single risk. Never climbing too high, running too fast, falling too far. A baby was trapped in that cave. ‘If there’s a baby in there, I will rescue it.’

  ‘But there can’t—’

  ‘I will rescue it, bring it home and give it to my parents!’ Matthew hadn’t realised his intention until he spoke the words. Now it was the only thing that mattered. A baby would make everything better.

  Matthew kept running, as fast as he could, stumbling over branches, slipping in the snow.

  ‘Matthew, please.’

  ‘I have to!’

  At last, Matthew saw the balloon, barely visible in the grey pre-dawn, sinking further every second. He threw down his walking stick, rushed to the basket, and set Lewis down on its wooden floor.

  ‘No, Matthew!’ the bird cried out.

  ‘Wait for me here, Lewis.’

  ‘Matthew...’

  But Matthew was on his way. Not even bothering to bring his stick. Running as fast as he could. A baby was trapped inside that cave! He raced back through the snow, barely feeling the cold, his hunger, his weakness, following his own fresh tracks.

  A wolf stood at the entrance to the cave, prowling back and forth. Matthew stopped. There was the cry again, louder, more insistent. The wolf turned and disappeared into the cave. Matthew ran to the entrance, stood there, heart pounding, wishing suddenly that he had brought his stick with him. The cry grew louder still. Desperate. He knew that sound, didn’t he?

  Matthew stepped inside the wolves’ den. It was pitch black. ‘Hey,’ he called, ‘I’m coming!’ He walked forward, the musty smell of dogs filling his nostrils. ‘I’m coming!’ he called again.

  The wolves began to growl. There was more than just one. And it was so cold. Every part of Matthew was shaking. The golden eyes of wolves flickered in the darkness. How many were there? He kept walking forward, step after step, deeper and deeper into the cave, hearing, underneath the sound of the growling wolves, the cry, the lost human cry. The wolves could threaten him, but they would not stop Matthew from rescuing that baby.

  ‘I’m coming!’ he sh
outed again. He inched on through the darkness. The raw wild smell of the wolves was overpowering. They began to howl, but they would not scare him away. He could do this – bring his parents what they needed. He would make them happy. Nothing could stop him!

  At that moment, a shaft of light filtering through a gap in the roof lit the back of the cave. All Matthew saw were wolves. ‘Where are you?’ he shouted. Only wolves, everywhere wolves. Yet still he heard crying. Matthew looked wildly around the cave. Where was the baby? ‘I’m here to save you!’ he cried out.

  Wolves howled. Matthew put his hands to his ears, pressing against them. The cry grew ever louder. Yet he could see there was no baby. The cry was not coming from inside the cave. There was no baby here, Matthew knew. The cry came from inside him.

  Suddenly a wolf lunged for Matthew, pulling at his coat. Another leapt at him, knocking him to the ground.

  ‘Matthew!’

  Was that Lewis calling his name?

  ‘Matthew!’

  Yes, it was Lewis!

  Matthew was on the ground, golden eyes all about him, wolf on wolf on wolf. He shouted, ‘No! No!’ and tried to kick the wolves away. But they lunged again and again. He shouted. Kicked. Screamed. Then suddenly he saw a great white bear, glowing in the dim light. The bear roared – attacking, wolves scattering. Whining.

  The bird was beside him.

  ‘Lewis!’

  ‘Matthew!’

  Matthew picked Lewis up and half-ran, half-crawled towards the entrance of the cave. He made it outside, into the first light of dawn, and stopped, his chest heaving.

  The mother bear ran from the den too. She saw him there and lowered her head. Matthew recognised the cub waiting in the snow, the bandage bright-blue on its leg. The mother bear went towards the cub, and the two of them loped away into the snow.

  ‘Lewis, are you all right?’ Matthew asked his friend.

  Lewis did not answer.

  ‘Lewis?’ Matthew looked down and saw that Lewis was bleeding. ‘Lewis! Lewis!’ Lewis’s eyes were closed. Matthew held the bird inside his coat and ran.