CHAPTER 17

SERENA

During the next ten weeks, Louis got rich. He went every evening except Sundays to the nightclub and played his trumpet for the customers. He did not like the job at all. The place was big and crowded and noisy. Everyone seemed to be talking too loudly, eating too much, and drinking too much. Most birds like to go to sleep at sundown. They do not want to stay up half the night entertaining people. But Louis was a musician, and musicians can’t choose their working hours—they must work when their employer wants them to.

Every Saturday night Louis collected his pay—five hundred dollars. Mr. Lucas was always on hand to receive his agent’s fee of ten percent from Louis. After Louis had paid Mr. Lucas, he still had four hundred and fifty dollars left, and he would put this in his moneybag, hop into the waiting taxicab, and return to Bird Lake, arriving at around 3 A.M. His moneybag grew so stuffed with money, Louis was beginning to worry.

On Sunday afternoons, if the weather was good, crowds of people would gather on the shores of Bird Lake, and Louis would stand on the island in the middle of the lake and give a concert. This became a popular event in Philadelphia, where there isn’t much going on on Sunday. Louis took the concert very seriously. By playing for the people, he was earning the right to remain free and not have a wing clipped.

He was always at his best on Sundays. Instead of playing jazz and rock and folk and country-and-western, he would play selections from the works of the great composers—Ludwig van Beethoven, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and Johann Sebastian Bach—music he had learned by listening to records at Camp Kookooskoos. Louis also liked the music of George Gershwin and Stephen Foster. When he played “Summertime” from Porgy and Bess, the people of Philadelphia felt that it was the most thrilling music they had ever heard. Louis was considered so good on the trumpet he was invited to make a guest appearance with the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra.

One day, about a week before Christmas, a great storm came up. The sky grew dark. The wind blew a howling gale. It made a whining noise. Windows rattled. Shutters came off their hinges. Old newspapers and candy wrappers were picked up by the wind and scattered like confetti. Many of the creatures in the Zoo became restless and uneasy. Over in the Elephant House, the elephants trumpeted in alarm. Lions roared and paced back and forth. The Great Black Cockatoo screamed. Keepers rushed here and there, shutting doors and windows and making everything secure against the awful force of the gale. The waters of Bird Lake were ruffled by the strong, mighty wind, and for a while the lake looked like a small ocean. Many of the water birds sought protection on the island.

Louis rode out the gale on the lake, in the lee of the island. He faced the wind and kept paddling with his feet, his eyes bright with wonder at the strength of the blast. Suddenly he saw an object in the sky. It was coming down out of the clouds. At first, he couldn’t make out what it was.

“Maybe it’s a flying saucer,” he thought.

Then he realized that it was a large white bird, struggling desperately to come in against the wind. Its wings were beating rapidly. In a moment it splashed down and flopped ashore, where it lay sprawled out, almost as if it were dead. Louis stared and stared and stared. Then he looked again.

“It looks like a swan,” he thought.

It was a swan.

“It looks like a Trumpeter Swan,” he thought.

It was a Trumpeter Swan.

“My goodness,” said Louis to himself, “it looks like Serena. It is Serena. She’s here at last. My prayers have been answered!”

Louis was right. Serena, the swan of his desiring, had been caught by the fierce storm and blown all the way across America. When she looked down and saw Bird Lake, she ended her flight, almost dead from exhaustion.

Louis was tempted to rush right over. But then he thought, “No, that would be a mistake. She is in no condition at the moment to perceive the depth of my affection and the extent of my love. She is too pooped. I will wait. I will bide my time. I will give her a chance to recover. Then I will renew our acquaintance and make myself known.”

Louis did not go to his job that night; the weather was too bad. All night, he stayed awake, keeping watch, at a slight distance from his beloved. When morning came, the wind subsided. The skies cleared. The lake grew calm. The storm was over. Serena stirred and woke. She was still exhausted, and very mussy. Louis stayed away from her.

“I’ll just wait,” he thought. “When in love, one must take risks. But I’m not going to risk everything with a bird who is too tired to see straight. I won’t hurry, and I won’t worry. Back home on Upper Red Rock Lake, I was without a voice; she ignored me because I could not tell her of my love. Now, thanks to my brave father, I have my trumpet. Through the power of music, I will impress her with the intensity of my desire and the strength of my devotion. She will hear me say ko-hoh. I’ll tell her I love her in a language anybody can understand, the language of music. She will hear the trumpet of the swan, and she will be mine. At least, I hope she will.”

Usually, if a strange bird appeared on Bird Lake, one of the keepers would report its arrival to the Head Man in Charge of Birds, whose office was in the Bird House. The Head Man would then give the order to have the new bird pinioned—have one of its wings clipped. But today, the keeper who usually tended the waterfowl was sick with the flu and had not come to work. Nobody noticed that a new Trumpeter Swan had arrived. Serena was being very quiet, anyway—she was not attracting any attention. There were now five Trumpeters on the lake. There were the original three captive swans, Curiosity, Felicity, and Apathy. There was, of course, Louis. And now there was the new arrival, Serena, still exhausted but beginning to revive.

Toward the end of the afternoon, Serena roused herself, looked at her surroundings, had a bite to eat, took a bath, then walked out of the water and stood for a long while preening her feathers. She felt distinctly better. And when her feathers were all smoothed out, she looked extremely beautiful—stately, serene, graceful, and very feminine.

Louis trembled when he saw how truly lovely she was. He was again tempted to swim over and say ko-hoh and see if she remembered him. But he had a better idea.

“There is no hurry,” he thought. “She’s not going to leave Philadelphia tonight. I will go to my job, and when I get back from work, I shall abide near her all through the night. Just at daylight, I’ll awaken her with a song of love and desire. She will be drowsy; the sound of my trumpet will enter her sleepy brain and overcome her with emotion. My trumpet will be the first sound she hears. I will be irresistible. I will be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes, and she will love me from that moment on.”

Louis was well satisfied with his plan and began to make preparations. He swam ashore, removed his things, hid them under a bush, then returned to the water, where he fed and bathed. Then he fixed his feathers carefully. He wanted to look his best next morning, when the meeting was to take place. He drifted around for a while, thinking of all the songs he liked and trying to decide which one to play to wake Serena in the morning. He finally decided to play “Beautiful Dreamer, Wake Unto Me.” He had always loved that song. It was sad and sweet.

“She will be a beautiful dreamer,” thought Louis, “and she will wake unto me. The song fits the situation perfectly.”

He was determined to play the song better than he had ever played it before. It was one of his best numbers. He really knew how to play it awfully well. Once, when he played it at one of his Sunday concerts, a music critic from a Philadelphia newspaper heard him, and next morning the paper said: “Some of his notes are like jewels held up to the light. The emotion he transmits is clean and pure and sustained.” Louis had memorized that statement. He was proud of it.

Now he was anxious for morning to come, but he still had his job at the nightclub to go to. He knew the night would be long and that he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Louis swam ashore to pick up his things. When he looked under the bush, he received a terrible jolt: his medal was there, his slate and chalk pencil were there, his moneybag was there, but where was the trumpet? His trumpet was gone. Poor Louis! His heart almost stopped. “Oh, no!” he said to himself. “Oh, no!” Without his trumpet, his whole life would be ruined, all his plans for the future would collapse.

He was frantic with anger and fear and dismay. He dashed back into the water and looked up and down the lake. Far off, he saw a small Wood Duck that seemed to have something shiny in its mouth. It was the trumpet, all right! The duck was trying to play it. Louis was furious. He skimmed down the lake, going even faster than he had on the day he had saved Applegate from drowning. He swam straight for the duck, knocked him on the head with a swift blow from his wing, and grabbed the precious trumpet. The duck fainted. Louis wiped the horn, blew the spit out of it, and hung it around his neck, where it belonged.

Now he was ready. “Let the night come! Let the hours pass! Let morning come, when my beautiful dreamer wakes unto me!”

Night came at last. Nine o’clock came. Louis went off to work, riding in the cab. The Zoo quieted down. The visitors had all gone home. Many of the animals slept or snoozed. A few of them—the great cats, the raccoon, the armadillo, the ones that enjoy the night-time—prowled and became restless. Bird Lake was clothed in darkness. Most of the waterfowl tucked their heads under their wings and slept. At one end of the lake, the three captive swans—Curiosity, Felicity, and Apathy—were already asleep. Near the island, Serena, the beautiful Serena, was fast asleep and dreaming. Her long white neck was folded neatly back; her head rested on soft feathers.

Louis got home from work at two in the morning. He flew in over the low fence and splashed down near Serena, making as little noise as possible. He did not try to sleep. The night was fair and crisp, as nights often are just before Christmas. Clouds drifted across the sky in endless procession, partially hiding the stars. Louis watched the clouds, watched Serena as she slept, and waited for day to come—hour after hour after hour.

At last, a faint light showed in the east. Soon, creatures would be stirring, morning would be here.

“This is my moment,” thought Louis. “The time has come for me to waken my true love.”

He placed himself directly in front of Serena. Then he raised the trumpet to his mouth. He tilted his head: the horn pointed slightly upward toward the sky, where the first light was showing.

He began his song.

“Beautiful dreamer,” he played, “wake unto me . . .”

The first three or four notes were played softly. Then as the song progressed, the sound increased; the light in the sky grew brighter.

Each note was like a jewel held to the light. The sound of Louis’s trumpet had never before been heard at this early dawn-hour in the Zoo, and the sound seemed to fill the whole world of buildings and animals and trees and shrubs and paths and dens and cages. Sleepy bears, dozing in their grotto, pricked up their ears. Foxes, hiding in their dens, listened to the sweet and dreamy sound of the horn blown at the coming of light. In the Lion House, the great cats heard. In the Monkey House, the old baboon listened in wonder to the song.

Beau—ti—ful dream—er, wake un—to me . . .

The hippo heard, and the seal in his tank. The gray wolf heard, and the yak in his cage. The badger, the coon, the Ring-tailed Coati, the skunk, the weasel, the otter, the llama, the dromedary, the White-tailed Deer—all heard, listened, pricked up their ears at the song. The kudu heard, and the rabbit. The beaver heard, and the snake, who has no ears. The wallaby, the possum, the anteater, the armadillo, the peafowl, the pigeon, the bowerbird, the cockatoo, the flamingo—all heard, all were aware that something out of the ordinary was happening.

Philadelphians, waking from sleep in bedrooms where the windows were open, heard the trumpet. Not one person who heard the song realized that this was the moment of triumph for a young swan who had a speech defect and had conquered it.

Louis was not thinking about his large, unseen audience of animals and people. His mind was not on bears and buffaloes and cassowaries and lizards and hawks and owls and people in bedrooms. His mind was on Serena, the swan of his choice, the beautiful dreamer. He played for her and for her alone.

At the first note from his trumpet, she woke. She raised her head and her neck straightened until her head was held high. What she saw filled her with astonishment. She gazed straight at Louis. At first, she could hardly remember where she was. Directly in front of her, she saw a handsome young male swan, a cob of noble proportions. Held against his mouth was a strange instrument—something she had never seen before. And from this strange instrument came sounds that made her tremble with joy and with love. As the song went on, as the light grew stronger, she fell hopelessly in love with this bold trumpeter who had awakened her from her dreams. The dreams of night were gone. New dreams of day were upon her. She knew that she was full of sensations she had never had before—feelings of delight and ecstasy and wonder.

She had never seen a finer-looking young cob. She had certainly never seen any swan with so many personal possessions around his neck. And she had never been so thrilled by a sound before in her whole life.

“Oh!” she thought. “Oh, oh, oh, oh!”

The song ended. Louis lowered his trumpet and bowed solemnly to Serena. Then he raised his horn again.

“Ko-hoh!” he said.

“Ko-hoh!” replied Serena.

“Ko-hoh, ko-hoh!” said Louis through his trumpet.

“Ko-hoh, ko-hoh!” replied Serena.

Each felt drawn to the other by a mysterious bond of affection.

Louis swam once rapidly around Serena.

Then Serena swam once rapidly around Louis. This seemed to amuse them.

Louis dipped his neck and pumped it back and forth.

Serena dipped her neck and pumped it back and forth.

Louis splashed a little water into the air. Serena splashed a little water into the air. It was like a game. It was love at long last for Louis; it was love at first sight for Serena.

Then Louis decided to show off. “I’ll play her my own composition,” he thought. “The one I made up for her last summer at camp.” Again he raised his trumpet.

       Oh, ever in the greening spring

       By bank and bough retiring,

       For love shall I be sorrowing

       And swans of my desiring.

The notes were clear and pure. They filled the Zoo with beauty. If Serena had been in any doubt before, she no longer was. She succumbed completely to this charmer, this handsome musician, this rich and talented cob.

Louis knew that his plan had succeeded. His beautiful dreamer had waked, and she had waked unto him. Never again would they be parted. All the rest of their lives they would be together. Thoughts of small quiet lakes in the woods, where canebrakes grew and blackbirds sang, filled Louis’s mind. Thoughts of springtime and nesting and little cygnets. Oh, ever in the greening spring!

Louis had been told once by his father what happened to deep-sea divers when they go far, far down into the ocean. At great depths, where the pressure is great and the watery world is strange and mysterious, divers sometimes experience what they call the “rapture of the deep.” They feel so completely peaceful and enchanted, they never want to return to the surface. Louis’s father had warned him about this. “Always remember, when you dive deep,” he had said, “that this feeling of rapture can lead you to your death. No matter how wonderful you feel down there, don’t ever forget to return to the surface, where you can breathe again!”

Looking at Serena, Louis thought to himself, “I think love is like the rapture of the deep. I feel so good I just want to stay right where I am. I’m experiencing rapture of the deep even though I’m right on top of the water. I have never felt so good, so peaceful, so excited, so happy, so ambitious, so desirous. If love is like this on a cold day in December in the Philadelphia Zoo, imagine what it’s going to be like in spring on a remote lake in Canada!”

These were Louis’s secret thoughts. He was the happiest bird alive. He was a real Trumpeter Swan at last. His defect of being without a voice had at last been overcome. He felt very grateful to his father.

Cautiously, he placed his head across Serena’s long beautiful white neck. It seemed a very daring thing to do, but she seemed to like it. Then he backed away. Serena swam toward him. Cautiously, she placed her head across his neck. It rested there for a moment; then she swam away.

“What a daring thing!” she thought. “But he seems to like it. How pleasing to know that I have found an acceptable mate—a cob I can love and respect, a cob that appears to be not only musical but also quite wealthy. Look at all those things!” said Serena to herself. Her eyes feasted on the trumpet, the slate, the chalk pencil, the moneybag, the lifesaving medal.

“What a gay cob!” she thought. “What a dressy fellow!”

They swam off together toward the other end of the lake, where they could be alone. Then Louis, who was short on sleep, dozed off, while Serena ate her breakfast and fixed herself up.