William Nicholson - The Wind Singer

‘She said pongo to me?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Bowman. ‘She might have been saying it to me.’

‘But it was I who spoke to her. I ordered her to come down, and she replied, pongo.’

‘Perhaps she thinks it’s your name.’

‘It’s not my name. No one is called Pongo.’

‘I didn’t know that. I expect she doesn’t know that.’

The official, confused by Bowman’s tremulous but reasonable manner, turned his face back up to Kestrel, who was now almost at the very top, and called out:

‘Did you say pongo to me?’

‘Pongo pooa-pooa pompaprune!’ Kestrel called back.

The official turned to Bowman, his face rigid with righteousness.

‘There! You heard her! It’s a disgrace!’ He called back up to Kestrel, ‘If you don’t come down, I’ll report you!’

‘You’ll report her even if she does come down,’ said Bowman.

‘I certainly shall,’ said the official, ‘but I shall report her more if she doesn’t.’ He shouted up at Kestrel, ‘I shall recommend that points be deducted from your family rating!’

‘Bangaplop!’ called Kestrel. She was on a level with one of the wide leather scoops as she called out this rude word, and the sound travelled down the pipes of the wind singer and emerged from the horns, a second or so later, in a fuzzy distorted form.

‘Bang-ang-anga-plop-op-p!’

Kestrel then put her head right into the leather scoop, and shouted:

‘Sagahog!’

Her voice came booming out of the horns:

‘SAG-AG-AG-A-HOG-G-G!’

The official heard this aghast.

‘She’s disturbing the afternoon work session,’ he said. ‘They’ll hear her in the College.’

‘Pompa-pompa-pompaprune!’ called Kestrel.

‘POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA-PRU-U-UNE!’ boomed the wind singer across the arena.

Out of the College of Examiners, in a flurry of white robes, poured the high officials of the city to see what was intruding on their afternoon.

‘I HA-A-ATE SCHOO-OO-OOL!’ cried Kestrel’s amplified voice. ‘I HA-A-ATE RA-A-ATINGS!’

The examiners heard this in shock.

‘She’s having a fit,’ they said. ‘She’s lost her wits.’

‘Get her down! Send for the marshals!’

‘I won’t strive ha-a-arder!’ cried Kestrel. ‘I won’t rea-ea-each hi-i-igher! I won’t make tomorr-orr-ow better than today-ay-ay!’

More and more people were gathering now, drawn by the noise. A long crocodile of children from Maroon District, who had been on a visit to the Hall of Achievement, appeared between the double row of columns to listen to Kestrel’s voice.

‘I don’t love my Emperor-or-or!’ Kestrel was now crying. ‘There’s no glor-or-ory in Aramanth-anth-anth!’

The children gasped. Their teacher was too shocked to speak. A band of grey-coated marshals came running down the steps, their batons in their hands.

‘Get her down!’ cried the scarlet-robed official.

The marshals formed a ring round the wind singer, and their captain called up to Kestrel:

‘You’re surrounded! You can’t get away!’

‘I don’t want to get away,’ Kestrel replied; and putting her head back into the leather scoop, she called out,

‘PONGO-O-O TO EXAM-AM-AMS!’

The Maroon children started to titter.

‘Oh, the evil child!’ exclaimed their teacher, and herded her class back to the Hall of Achievement. ‘Come along, children. Don’t listen to her. She’s a wild thing.’

‘Come down!’ roared the captain of the marshals. ‘Come down or you’ll be sorry!’

‘I’m sorry now,’ Kestrel called back. ‘I’m sorry for me, and I’m sorry for you, and I’m sorry for this whole sorry city!’

She put her head into the scoop and called out over the wide arena:

‘WON’T STRIVE HAR-AR-ARDER! WON’T REACH HI-I-IGHER! WON’T MAKE TOMORROW-OW-OW BETTER THAN TODAY-AY-AY!’

Bowman made no more attempts to control his sister. He knew her too well. When she got into one of her rages, there was no reasoning with her until her passions were exhausted. The schoolteacher was right: Kestrel had become a wild thing. The wildness coursed through her, glorious and liberating, as she swung from side to side on the top of the wind singer, and shouted all the terrible unthinkable thoughts that had been buried within her for so long. She had gone so far now, she had broken so many rules and said such wicked things, that she knew she would suffer the most severe punishment; and since what was done could not be undone, she was free to be as bad as she wanted to be.

‘Pongo to the Emperor!’ she cried. ‘Where is he anyway? I’ve never seen him! There isn’t any Emperor!’

The marshals started to climb the wind singer to bring her down by force. Bowman, afraid they would hurt her, slipped away to fetch their father from the sub-library in Orange District where he worked. As he left the arena on one side, the Chief Examiner himself entered from the other, and stood gazing down on the chaotic scene in grim silence.

‘POMP-PA POMP-PA-PRU-U-UNE TO THE EMPEROR-OR-OR!’ rang out Kestrel’s amplified voice.

Maslo Inch drew a long breath and strode steadily down the steps. By the fifth tier he felt a small hand clutch at the hem of his clean white robe.

‘Please, sir,’ said a small voice. ‘Do you have any food?’

The Chief Examiner looked down and saw Mumpo, his nose dribbling, his face grimy, his moist stupid eyes gazing up at him, and he snatched his robe away in sudden fury.

‘Don’t you touch me, you poxy little brat!’ he hissed.

Mumpo was used to being brushed off, or laughed at, but the pure hatred he heard in the Chief Examiner’s voice astounded him.

‘I only wanted – ’

Maslo Inch did not wait to hear. He strode on down to the stage of the arena.

His arrival caused panic among the officials and marshals.

‘We’ve ordered her down – we’re doing all we can – she must be drunk – have you heard her? – she won’t listen to us – ’

‘Be quiet,’ said the Chief Examiner. ‘Someone remove the filthy child back there, and wash him.’ He made a gesture over his shoulder towards Mumpo.

One of the marshals hurried up the steps and took Mumpo by the wrist. Mumpo went slowly, looking back many times at Kestrel high in the wind singer. He didn’t complain, because he was used to being dragged here and there by people in authority. The marshal took him to the fountain by the statue of Creoth the First, and held his head under the stream of cold water. Mumpo screamed, and struggled violently.

‘You better watch out,’ the marshal said, cross at being splashed. ‘We don’t want your sort in Aramanth.’

He released his hold, and washed his hands in the fountain bowl.

‘I don’t want to be in Aramanth,’ said Mumpo, shivering. ‘But I don’t know where else to go.’

In the arena, Maslo Inch watched the efforts of the marshals clambering over the wind singer, trying to catch hold of the lighter and more agile child.

‘Come down,’ he ordered the marshals.

‘They’ll get her in the end, sir,’ said the captain of the marshals.

‘I said, come down.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The marshals descended, panting and red in the face. Maslo Inch looked with his steady and contemptuous gaze at the assembled crowd.

‘Has nobody here got any work to do this afternoon?’

‘We couldn’t let her say those wicked things – ’

‘You are her audience. Go away, and she will become silent. Captain, clear the arena.’

So the officials and the marshals trickled away, looking back over their shoulders as they went to see what the Chief Examiner would do next.

Kestrel did not become silent. She made a kind of song out of all the bad words she knew, and sang it through the wind singer.