Читать книгу Dogtective William and the Poachers - Elizabeth Wasserman - Страница 6

I only visited my Aunt Ada’s farm once, when I was little. I didn’t remember much of it. I recalled a lot of wild animals: bush pigs and giraffes and rhinos, and the constant screech of the cicadas. I also remembered that my Aunt Ada was a lousy cook. Her koeksisters, for example, were a tough and sticky business, as palatable as pieces of cardboard soaked in syrup. Last time I tried them, some of it got in my hair and it has never been the same since.

I made a note to myself to avoid those koeksisters. “Tell me more about this aunt of yours,” William said. We were back in my room. I pulled off my socks and threw them in a corner.

“She is Mom’s eldest sister, but I don’t think they like each other very much.” My school shirt joined the socks. I wondered how long Mom’s good temper would last.

“She’s a farmer, and she manages an enormous game farm on the banks of the Limpopo River, right in the middle of nowhere. And she does this all on her own. I remember her once calling Mom a pampered city mouse, and she said Dad was a wilted stick of office furniture that would not last a day in the bush.”

“I understand why you don’t visit often,” William said.

I remembered our previous trip: how my mother tottered on her high heels over the rocky pathway leading to the front door of Aunt Ada’s house, my dad sweating and panting in the heat, regarding the overgrown garden with suspicion. We never did see a snake on that visit, but I was sure there were plenty about.

My parents were clearly not suited for the African bush, but William and I were a different matter. Stanley and Livingstone: I could just picture us!

That evening we both were so excited that we couldn’t sleep. The summer holiday was only starting in two weeks, but my parents had to leave the next Friday and they would ask Mr Paterson for permission for me to skip the last week of term.

Since William had come to live with us there had been previous surprising events and unexpected travels, and I should have recognised the signs that trouble was afoot. But all I could think of was how much fun it would be on that farm. Lions, leopards and open space all around! Perhaps Aunt Ada would teach me to shoot with one of her hunting rifles. I definitely did not want to shoot at any animal, but a row of tin cans or even a pumpkin would do very well.

And William was going too! For once, my mother did not object to my request to take him along. She agreed with a sly smile, perhaps enjoying the thought of her stalwart sister dealing with a spoiled city mutt like our William.

Mom reckoned that William was much too fond of his comforts. He always picked the best spots for his regular naps (like my dad’s chair or the very expensive rug in the living room), and he was fussy with food. No pellets, please!

Of course she knew nothing about his international fame as a dogtective.

I gave my dog a hug. I was very proud of him, even if no one around here knew exactly who and what he was. The International Detective Agency – IDA for short – counted on him. He gave my hand a lick. It still smelt of hamburger. He was curled up next to me in bed, even though he had a comfy basket in the corner of the room.

“Are there other dogs on the farm?” he asked sleepily.

Even though I hadn’t been on the farm for some time, Aunt Ada always phoned me on my birthdays and at Christmas. “She mentioned one called Baxter. But I am not sure what kind of a dog he is. According to her, he is the best tracker south of the Sahara.”

William snorted. “We shall have to see about that! And are there other animals?”

“Are you kidding? It is a real game farm! Last time we were there, a leopard caught something right next to the fence of the vegetable garden. There are even elephants and rhinos …”

I was beginning to feel sleepy, and my eyelids drooped.

That night I dreamt that a lion caught my dog by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away. I grabbed Aunt Ada’s biggest shotgun and blasted his tail full of pellets. William was saved and he licked my face gratefully. Usually he was the hero, but this was different. In the bush, I was the clever one that had to protect him for a change.

He kept on licking my face. “Get up, lazy bones! Your alarm went off ages ago and you are writing a geography test today!”

I couldn’t wait to be off to the farm.