Читать книгу In the Mouth of the Wolf - Michael Morpurgo - Страница 17

The scops owl is still hooting to the world, to me, wishing me a happy birthday. But the church bell has chimed one o’clock. So my birthday is well and truly over. A cloud is passing over the moon, darkening my room. I don’t like the dark, never have. Nor did Pieter. He hated to be alone at night. When he was little he often used to come into my room and crawl into my bed. I never told Pieter I was frightened of the dark too. We used to count the stars we could see to take our minds off the dark, and I would teach him the names of all the stars I knew. He told me once how much he longed to go there, to the stars.

You there, Pieter? You up there in the stars? Missed you at the party. Or were you there maybe? Been a long time, little brother. What is it, nearly seventy years since I watched you get on that chuffa-chuffa train, as you used to call them, at Radlett Station? I knew then, as the train pulled out and you were waving at me out of the window, that I wouldn’t see you again. As you disappeared into the smoke, I wanted to shout after you to come back. I glimpsed it in your face, that you knew what I feared, that you didn’t need me to warn you. You were doing what you believed was right. You didn’t need me at all, not any more. What you didn’t know, because I never told you, was how much I needed you then and have needed you since, every day, all my life.