Читать книгу Thomas and Rose - John Aitkenhead - Страница 11

Chapter Six

It was a hot summer with some days reaching over 85°F. On January fifteenth, I turned thirteen. Following the loss of Skipper in the previous September, I had come to terms with the fact I would never see him again. During the school holidays, I helped my father and our farmhand around the farm, went riding with Rachel and some Sundays after church went fishing down at the river, occasionally with David Gordon or Jimmy Peters. Or sometimes I would go alone down to the little beach where Skipper and I came ashore on the fateful day in April almost three years ago.

I had begun reading the book Mrs Baxter had given me, The Voyage of the Beagle, and found a certain fascination with the life of Charles Darwin and his love of nature, which I shared, even though he was born in 1809. But the real story began in December 1831 when the Beagle sailed from Devonport, England, under the command of Captain FitzRoy, to survey the shores of Chile, Peru, and some islands in the Pacific. It was written: ‘The next morning we saw the sun rise behind the rugged outline of the Grand Canary Island, and suddenly illuminate the Peak of Teneriffe, while the lower parts were veiled in fleecy clouds. This was the first of many delightful days never to be forgotten.’ This began to stir my imagination, and I thought I was going to enjoy this book.

Charles Darwin wrote about places I had never heard of and had to look up on the atlas in our classroom, places like San Salvador and Brazil. He expressed the feelings of entering a Brazilian forest for the first time, with wonderful glossy green foliage and the incredible sounds of insects. He spoke about tropical storms and penetrating rainfall. A lot was written about geology and sea life. In Rio de Janeiro, he spoke about brilliant butterflies in the woods and witnessing many beautiful fishing birds such as Egrets and Cranes. I was surprised to hear about Vampire Bats which inflicted nasty bites on the horses as they rode through the forests of Brazil. There was always a lot of writing about local peoples and customs, which I did my best to remember in case I was asked by Mrs Baxter, who – although not my teacher anymore – seemed to take an interest in my fascination with animals and nature. After all, she had given me the book. I had some difficulty absorbing much of the writings of plant life, insects, spiders and geology, but I loved the language of the book and the effects of climate observations and nature.

I was lying on my back by the river reading, with my canvas fishing bag under my head, and eventually I dozed off. I had a really nice dream about Skipper settling into life in the mountains and sharing my love of all things natural, except rabbits, which he caught and ate. I saw beautiful valleys and tumbling streams like the place we were at on our last day together. Then a mist came down and shrouded the valley. Skipper was standing beside the pond, and suddenly I was standing beside him. I lay down and he lay beside me and began licking my face; it seemed so real.

I awoke looking into two big brown eyes. Had the dream ended? I leapt up. Skipper! Skipper! The most joyous occasion of my life was occurring: Skipper was back. I hugged and hugged him, and he whimpered softly, then let out a long howl. He looked awful, so skinny and limping. His feet were raw, and he had sores on two of his legs, but he could not stop licking me.

We went straight home. I wheeled my bike, and he struggled along beside me. When we both walked into the house, my mother simply put her hand over her mouth. Rachel came running from her room squealing, dived onto the floor hugging Skipper, who winced in pain as his backbone protruded, but he kept licking anyway.

My mum bathed his sores with warm water and Dettol and then applied Raleigh’s salve. We gave Skipper some dinner, but he just wanted to eat and eat, which we didn’t allow as we felt his stomach had probably shrunk. I went and got his old basket from under the back steps, and he got in. Skipper slept for two whole days, waking occasionally for some more food, which we fed to him cautiously; and he drank a lot of water, going outside to have a pee from time to time. Every time any one of us went near, he just wanted to lick us although he smelt terrible; to us, it didn’t matter. Even my dad sat with him for several hours that first night. He was back!