We knocked on the door of the Union and a boy appeared. He was freckled and idle, and had clearly never washed his face in his life. And as for his knees—well, the less said, the better.
Granddad looked him up and down, and right then and there gave him a fierce telling-off. Then he grabbed him by the ear and made him stand facing the wall as punishment.
“But Granddad,” I said, “you shouldn’t be fighting with people from the Union because then they won’t want to help us fish for Dailan Kifki and the Fireman.”
It was no use.
Granddad just went right on scolding and threatening the poor boy, who was looking at all of us in complete amazement, as if we were wild beasts from a circus or a collection of museum animals.
Then I gently pulled Granddad aside and with a big smile said to the Union kid:
“Good morning, little boy!”
“What’s with the ‘little boy’!” he replied. “Have a bit more respect! I’m the Secretary of the Union of Kite-Flyers, don’t you know?”
“Well then,” I replied, alarmed at his cheek and lack of manners, “well then, Mister Secretary, we’ve come to ask you a big favour.”
“We want you to wash your face and learn to spell!” roared Granddad.
And the Superintendent had to shut him up by waving his truncheon and giving a long blow on his whistle.
“What the devil do you want from us at this time of day?” asked the Secretary of the Union, most rudely. (I hope he’s not a friend of yours.)
Then I told him the whole story: that my elephant Dailan Kifki had flown off with a fireman riding on his back, and that we wanted to find out whether he had become tangled in the tail of some kite.
“Whoah…” was all the boy said, his mouth open and a finger to his temple as though I were barmy.
“But it’s true!” I protested. “Why else do you think so many important people have come here, all of them exhausted and bitten by mosquitoes, if we aren’t dealing with a truly catastrophic and abominable calamity?”
But the rude child, who was ready to close the door in our faces, just replied:
“All this trouble for one good-for-nothing elephant!”
“Actually this is a very serious matter…” I said, my bottom lip about to quiver again.
“What do I care?” he answered, which made my brother Roberto want to give him a good whack, and he didn’t do it only because he was holding a croissant in each hand.
Then the Captain of the Firemen, furious at such insolence, summoned up all his authority and said:
“You either help, you naughty pup, or mark my words, we’ll lock you up.”
“That’s right, that’s right,” said the Ambassadors in unison.
The boy was alarmed and replied:
“Fine, what do you want me to do?”
“First,” said the Superintendent, “tell us whether any of the last few kites flown have got tangled up with any elephants or Firemen.”
“But are you all totally barking mad?” asked the boy. “When have you ever seen a flying elephant?”
“Never,” I replied, “but it turns out Dailan Kifki isn’t like other elephants. And we can’t just allow him to remain lost in the sky without anyone to make him his lovely oats soup.”
Right there, I started to cry on the shoulder of my Auntie Clodomira, who had to open her umbrella.
The Captain went back to being all authoritative again and said:
“We need to fly kites urgently until we have rescued our astronauts from the skies of the Fatherland!”
“Fine, very well,” said the Secretary, resigned. And he ran off, whistling through his fingers to gather his fellows from the Union.
We sat down on the grass and waited patiently for him to return.