I’d always thought that when Dailan Kifki and the Fireman landed safe and sound we’d have a party and there would be great happiness, a national holiday, a cannon-volley salute, a musical band and fireworks.
There wasn’t.
There was just a lot of terrible weeping. Everyone cried so much that the paddock began to flood and my Auntie Clodomira ran this way and that with her open umbrella.
The Fireman was crying because there wasn’t even a drop of soup left for him.
Dailan Kifki was crying because I’d taken off his wings and he wouldn’t be doing any more flying.
The Captain of the Firemen was crying because the Fireman wouldn’t get down off the elephant.
Granddad was crying because nobody would let him make a speech.
My mum was crying because I didn’t want to marry the Fireman.
But there was one person who was crying harder than anyone else: the Ambassador whose top hat we’d stolen!
We had been intending to give it a good clean and return it once the soup was done.
We couldn’t.
Because as it turned out, Dailan Kifki had been so hungry that after drinking all the soup he’d eaten the top hat too, biting through it cranch crinch crunch as though it were a wafer or an ice cream cone.
By the time I noticed, all that was left of the top hat was the ribbon.
The Ambassador wasn’t satisfied with that, of course, and even threatened to declare war and everything.
I tried to keep perfectly calm, but I kept seeing so many other people crying that my own bottom lip was starting to quiver.
By now it was already late, we’d completed our rescue mission and it was time to think about heading home.
More and more busybodies kept arriving, and more photographers.
There wasn’t one person, even with so many authorities around, who could keep everyone in order.
Until my Auntie Clodomira gave the command to the Superintendent. And the Superintendent then straightened his cap, did his jacket up smartly, gave his buttons a good shine with his sleeve, put on his white gloves, which were pretty well black by this point, grabbed hold of his truncheon, blew on his whistle and with his arms spread wide ordered everybody to STOP CRYING.
At once a great silence reigned, such a great silence that the paddock felt like a church.
The altar boys brought their hands together and rolled their eyes heavenward.
And in the middle of this amazing silence, we could hear—from far, far away—a very tuneful little melody.
Everyone looked out towards the horizon.
We saw a huge cloud of dust and heard the galloping of many horses.
The music grew.
All of a sudden, our jaws dropped.