CHAPTER 18

FREEDOM

The news of Serena’s arrival on Bird Lake had finally reached the Head Man in Charge of Birds. He went out to look at her and was delighted. Then he gave an order to one of his keepers.

“See to it that she is pinioned this morning—right away, before she flies off and leaves us. That swan is a valuable bird. Make sure she doesn’t get away!”

Louis was just waking from his nap when he saw two keepers approaching Serena, who was standing on the shore near the ornamental fence. One keeper carried a large net with a long handle. The other carried surgical instruments. They were sneaking up on Serena from behind, very slowly and quietly.

Louis knew right away what they were up to. He grew hot with rage. If those men succeeded in catching Serena and cutting a wing tip, all his plans would go wrong—she could never fly away to a lonely lake with him; she would have to remain in Philadelphia the rest of her life, a horrible fate.

“This is my moment,” thought Louis. “Nobody is going to clip my Love’s wing while I’m around.”

He hustled over to the island and stripped for action. He chucked his trumpet and all his other stuff under a willow tree. Then he returned to the water and waited for the right time to attack.

The keeper holding the net was crawling quietly up on Serena from the rear. She did not notice him—she was just standing there, dreaming of Louis. Slowly, slowly the keeper raised his net. As he did so, Louis went into action. Lowering his long, powerful neck until it pointed straight out in front of him like a lance, he streaked across the water, straight at the keeper, his wings beating the air, his feet beating the water. In a flash, he reached the scene and drove his strong bill straight into the seat of the man’s pants. It was a well-aimed jab. The keeper doubled up in pain and dropped the net. The other keeper tried to grab Serena by her throat. Louis beat him over the head with his wings, striking terrific blows and knocking the poor fellow off his feet. Surgical instruments bounced into the air. The net fell into the water. One keeper groaned and held his hand on his behind, where he had been stabbed. The other keeper lay on the ground, almost knocked out.

Serena slipped quickly into the water and glided gracefully away. Louis followed. He motioned for her to stay on the lake. Then he raced back to the island, grabbed his trumpet, his slate, his chalk pencil, his medal, and his moneybag, flew over the balustrade, and walked boldly into the Bird House. He was still mad. He went straight to the office of the Head Man in Charge of Birds. He rapped on the door.

“Come in!” said a voice.

Louis entered. The Head Man was seated at his desk.

“Hello, Louis!” he said.

“Ko-hoh!” replied Louis through his trumpet.

“What’s on your mind?” asked the man.

Louis placed his trumpet on the floor and took his slate and chalk pencil from his neck. “I’m in love,” he wrote.

The Head Man leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. His face had a faraway look. He gazed out of the window for a moment in silence.

“Well,” he said, “it’s natural that you’re in love. You’re young. You’re talented. In a couple of months, spring will be here. All birds fall in love in springtime. I suppose you’re in love with one of my young swans.”

“Serena,” wrote Louis. “She arrived the day before yesterday. I used to know her slightly, back in Montana. She loves me, too.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” said the Head Man. “You’re a very unusual young cob. Any young female swan would fall for you. You’re a great trumpeter—one of the best. I’m delighted to hear about this love affair, Louis. You and your bride can stay right here on Bird Lake and raise your family in comfort and safety, in the oldest zoo in the United States.”

Louis shook his head.

“I have other plans,” he wrote. Then he set his slate down and raised his trumpet. “They say that falling in love is wonderful . . .” It was an old song by Irving Berlin. The room was filled with the sound of love. The Head Man had a dreamy look in his eyes.

Louis set his horn down and took up his slate again. “I am taking Serena away with me in a day or two,” he wrote.

“Oh, no you’re not!” said the Head Man firmly. “Serena now belongs to the Zoo. She is the property of the people of Philadelphia. She came here because of an act of God.”

“It wasn’t an act of God,” wrote Louis. “It was a high wind.”

“Well, anyway,” said the Head Man, “she’s my swan.”

“No, she’s mine,” wrote Louis. “She’s mine by reason of the power of love—the greatest force on earth.”

The Head Man became thoughtful. “You can’t take Serena from the Zoo. She will never fly again. My keepers clipped one of her wings a few minutes ago.”

“They tried to,” wrote Louis, “but I beat them up.”

The Head Man looked surprised. “Was it a good fight?”

“It was a fair fight,” replied Louis. “They were sneaking up on her from behind, so I sneaked up on them from behind. They hardly knew what hit them.”

The Head Man chuckled. “I wish I’d seen it,” he said. “But look here, Louis, you’ve got to realize the position I’m in. I have a duty to the people of Philadelphia. Within the last couple of months, I’ve acquired two rare birds by accident—you and Serena. Two Trumpeter Swans! One arrived here blown by a gale, the other to keep a nightclub engagement. The whole business is most unusual for a zoo. I have my responsibility to the public. It is my duty as Head Man in Charge of Birds to see that Serena stays. You yourself, of course, are free to leave when you want to, because Mr. Lucas insisted that you remain free when we arranged for your Sunday concerts. But in Serena’s case . . . well, Louis, she’s got to have her left wing tip amputated. The Zoo can’t afford to lose a young, beautiful, valuable Trumpeter Swan just because you happen to be in love. Besides, I think you’re making a great mistake. If you and Serena stay here, you’ll be safe. You’ll have no enemies. You’ll have no worries about your children. No fox, no otter, no coyote will ever attack you with intent to kill. You’ll never go hungry. You’ll never get shot. You’ll never die of lead poisoning from eating the shotgun pellets that are on the bottom of all natural lakes and ponds. Your cygnets will be hatched each spring and will live a long life in perfect ease and comfort. What more can a young cob ask?”

“Freedom,” replied Louis on his slate. “Safety is all well and good: I prefer freedom.” With that, he picked up his trumpet and played “Button up your overcoat, when the wind blows free . . .”

The Head Man smiled. He knew just what Louis meant. For a while the two remained silent. Louis put his trumpet aside. Then he wrote: “I ask two favors. First, put off the operation on Serena until after Christmas—I’ll guarantee she won’t try to escape. Second, let me send a telegram.”

“O.K., Louis,” replied the Head Man. And he handed Louis a sheet of paper and a pencil. Louis wrote out a telegram to Sam Beaver. It said:

AM IN THE PHILADELPHIA ZOO. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. COME AT ONCE. I WILL PAY YOUR PLANE FARE. AM NOW WEALTHY.

(Signed) LOUIS

He handed the telegram to the Head Man along with four dollars from his money bag. The Head Man was astounded. In all his days at the Zoo, this was the first time one of his birds had asked him to send a telegram. And of course he didn’t know who Sam Beaver was. But he sent the wire and ordered his keepers to let Serena alone for a few days—which they were glad to do.

Louis thanked him and left. He returned to Serena, and they spent the day happily together, bathing, swimming, eating, drinking, and showing each other in a thousand small ways how much they loved each other.

Sam arrived at the Zoo on the day after Christmas. He was equipped as though he were going into the woods. Under one arm was a sleeping bag, neatly rolled. On his back was a rucksack containing his toothbrush, his comb, a clean shirt, a hand ax, a pocket compass, his notebook, a pencil, and some food. In his belt was a hunting knife. Sam was fourteen now and big for his age. He had never seen a large zoo. He and Louis were overjoyed to see each other again.

Louis introduced Sam to Serena. Then he opened his moneybag and showed Sam his earnings: hundred-dollar bills, fifty-dollar bills, twenty-dollar bills, tens, fives, ones, and some silver coins—a great pile.

“Goodness!” thought Sam. “I hope she’s not marrying him for his money.”

Louis took his slate and told Sam about the fight with the keepers and about how the Head Man wanted to keep Serena captive by clipping the tip of one wing. He told Sam it would ruin his life if Serena were to lose the power to fly. He explained that as soon as his father’s debts were paid and the trumpet honestly belonged to him, he and Serena intended to leave civilization and return to a wild life. “The sky,” he wrote on his slate, “is my living room. The woods are my parlor. The lonely lake is my bath. I can’t remain behind a fence all my life. Neither can Serena—she’s not built that way. Somehow or other we must persuade the Head Man to let Serena go.”

Sam stretched out on the shore of Bird Lake and clasped his hands behind his head. He looked up at the great wide sky. It was a clear blue, with small white clouds floating slowly across. Sam knew how Louis felt about freedom. For a long time he lay there, thinking. Ducks and geese swam slowly by, back and forth, an endless procession of captive birds. They seemed happy and well. Curiosity, Felicity, and Apathy—the three Trumpeters—swam by and peered at the strange boy lying on the ground. Finally Sam sat up.

“Listen, Louis,” he said. “How’s this for an idea? You and Serena intend to raise a family every year, don’t you?”

“Certainly,” replied Louis on his slate.

“O.K.,” said Sam. “In every family of cygnets, there is always one that needs special care and protection. Bird Lake would be a perfect place for this one little swan that needs extra security. This is a beautiful lake, Louis. This is a great zoo. If I can persuade the Head Man to let Serena remain free, would you be willing to donate one of your cygnets, now and then, if the Zoo needs another swan for the lake? If you agree, I’ll go right in and see the Head Man about the matter.”

It was now Louis’s turn to think and think. After five minutes, he picked up his slate.

“Very well,” he wrote. “It’s a deal.”

Then he picked up his trumpet. “Oh, ever in the greening spring,” he played. “By bank and bough retiring . . .”

The waterfowl stopped swimming and listened. The keepers stopped what they were doing and listened. Sam listened. The Head Man in his office in the Bird House laid down his pencil, leaned back in his chair, and listened. The sound of Louis’s horn was in the air, and the whole world seemed better and brighter and wilder and freer and happier and dreamier.

“That’s a good tune,” said Sam. “What is it?”

“Oh, just something I made up myself,” wrote Louis on his slate.