Читать книгу Dogtective William travels the world - Elizabeth Wasserman - Страница 7

“You can’t be serious, William!” I cried out. “Do you honestly believe you and I can shut ourselves in that crate and get posted off all the way to Turkey?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. He looked so confident that I was almost convinced that the plan would work. Maybe he was right after all … except:

“Uh, how long will the journey take? I mean, what do we do when we need the toilet?”

William looked unconcerned. “About a day. I have a very strong bladder. I’ll be fine. And I’m sure you can come up with a plan – just spare me the details!”

I could see it wasn’t going to help to argue. William always had an answer for everything. All I could do was go along with his plan and do as he said.

* * *

That Thursday morning I said goodbye to my parents, who were thrilled that I had turned into such a star soccer player – if only they knew the truth. “Son, I am so proud of you. Try and score some goals, okay?” my father said, beaming.

“And don’t forget to write!” my mom said, wagging a finger, her eyes glistening with tears.

As soon as they had left, William and I scurried around the house getting a few last-minute things together. I made our sandwiches, grabbed some extra underwear, a warm hat and a jacket. My mom had put my wallet with some overseas money and my passport into a side pocket of my backpack. At the last minute, I also stuffed my harmonica into my jeans pocket. I couldn’t really kick a ball to save my life, but I was rather good at playing some lively tunes on the little instrument.

William had also packed a small, dog-sized backpack. I didn’t have time to ask what he’d stuffed into it, but I saw an ear of his beloved teddy bear peeping out.

What a softy!

At five to eight I dragged our wooden crate onto the front porch. We quickly hopped inside and closed the lid.

Barely a minute later we heard a van pull up, and I heard a man’s voice reading out the delivery address which I had neatly written in black marker on the lid of our crate.

“Mr Achmat Marhammat, Shop 62, Grand Bazaar, Istanbul, Turkey.

Okay, John. Let’s load it up and get going. We have to be at the airport in forty minutes.” I heard the men grunt as they lifted the heavy crate and placed us into their van.

We were on our way.

* * *

I was pleased that William had convinced me to line the inside of the crate with blankets and to pack my warmest winter jacket, since the hold of the aeroplane was absolutely freezing. It’s not a travel experience I would recommend. For the whole journey I sat shivering under some extra blankets, woolly hat pulled tightly over my head and ears. To cheer us up, I tried to play a few tunes on my harmonica, but my lips were stiff with cold.

It was also very noisy inside the crate with the loud droning noise made by the plane’s engines. “There’s a small hip flask in my backpack with something to help against the cold,” William shouted over the noise. I struggled to pull open the zipper with my cold, stiff fingers. I took the flask out, unscrewed the lid and took a sniff. Brandy!

“William, we can’t drink this!” I objected.

“Speak for yourself. You may be too young, but I’m forty-two, remember? Now pour some of the good stuff into that tin mug we packed.”

I did as he asked. He finished it all and licked his lips.

“Too bad I can’t share with you. This will help me to sleep, and brandy keeps your insides warm.”

He curled himself into a ball, resting his head on his teddy bear’s tummy.

“Good night! See you in Turkey,” he called. I soon heard his snores, audible even above the noise of the engines.

Since there was nothing else to do, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what Turkey would be like. Would it be warm over there? What food would there be to eat?

I drifted off to sleep.