CHAPTER 20

BILLINGS

On a bright clear day in January, Louis and Serena came home to the Red Rock Lakes. From among the thousands of waterfowl, they quickly found the members of their own families—their fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers. It was a noisy homecoming. Everybody wanted to say hello at once. Ko-hoh, ko-hoh, ko-hoh! The wanderers were home at last.

Louis’s father, the old cob, made a graceful speech—rather long, but sincere.

Louis raised his trumpet and played “There’s no place like home. Home, home sweet home!” There was a great deal of gossip among the waterfowl about Louis’s having persuaded Serena to be his wife. Everybody congratulated the happy couple. And all the brothers and sisters of Louis and Serena gathered around and looked at Louis’s possessions. They were much impressed by his worldly goods. They liked the lifesaving medal, they loved the sound of the trumpet, and they were eager to see the money in the moneybag. But Louis did not open the bag. Instead, he took his father and mother to one side. They all three stepped out on shore, where Louis slipped the moneybag off his neck and, with a bow, handed it to the old cob. Four thousand four hundred and twenty dollars and seventy-eight cents.

Then Louis took his slate and wrote a note to the owner of the music store in Billings so his father would have something to show him when he got there. The note said:

TO THE STOREKEEPER OF BILLINGS: ENCLOSED PLEASE FIND $4,420.78. IT WILL PAY YOU FOR THE TRUMPET AND THE DAMAGE TO THE STORE. SORRY ABOUT THE INCONVENIENCE THIS HAS CAUSED YOU.

The old cob was not able to count money, and he was not able to read, but he took the moneybag and the slate and hung them around his neck. He felt sure he could now pay his debt for the stolen trumpet.

“I shall go,” he said to his wife. “I shall redeem my honor. I shall return to Billings, the scene of my crime—a great city, teeming with life—”

“We’ve heard that before,” remarked his wife. “Just take the money and the note and beat it for Billings as fast as you can go. And when you get there, for heavens’ sakes be careful! The owner of that music store has a gun. He will remember that the last time he saw a swan coming at him he got robbed. So watch yourself! You’re on a dangerous mission.”

“Danger!” said the old cob. “Danger! I welcome danger and adventure. Danger is my middle name. I would risk my life to redeem my honor and recapture my sense of decency. I shall pay my debt and blot out the foul mark that sullies my good name. I shall rid myself forever of the shame that comes from thievery and wrongdoing. I shall—”

“If you don’t stop talking,” said his wife, “you won’t get to Billings before the stores close.”

“You are right, as usual,” replied the cob. He adjusted the moneybag and the slate for flight. Then he took off into the air and headed toward the northeast, flying fast and high. His wife and son watched him until he faded from view.

“What a swan!” said his wife. “You have a good father, Louis. I hope nothing happens to him. To tell you the truth, I’m worried.”

The old cob flew fast and far. When he spied the churches and factories and shops and homes of Billings, he circled once, then began his downward glide—straight for the music store.

“My hour has come,” he said to himself. “My moment of truth is at hand. I shall soon be out of debt, out from under the cloud of shame and dishonor that has cast a shadow over my life for lo these many months.”

The cob had been seen already by people down below. One of the salesmen in the music store was standing by the front window, looking out. When he saw the big white bird approaching, he yelled to the storekeeper: “Large bird approaching. Get your gun!”

The storekeeper grabbed his shotgun and raced to the sidewalk. The cob was low in the sky, gliding straight for the store.

The storekeeper raised his gun. He fired both barrels in quick succession. The old cob felt a twinge of pain in his left shoulder. Thoughts of death filled his mind. Looking back, he saw a bright red drop of blood staining his breast. But he kept going, straight for the storekeeper.

“The end is near,” he said to himself. “I shall die in the performance of duty. I have only a few moments remaining to live. Man, in his folly, has given me a mortal wound. The red blood flows in a steady trickle from my veins. My strength fails. But even in death’s final hour, I shall deliver the money for the trumpet. Good-bye, life! Good-bye, beautiful world! Good-bye, little lakes in the north! Farewell, springtimes I have known, with their passion and ardor! Farewell, loyal wife and loving sons and daughters! I, who am about to die, salute you. I must die gracefully, as only a swan can.”

With that, he sank to the sidewalk, held out the moneybag and the slate to the astonished storekeeper, and fainted away at the sight of his own blood. He lay limp on the sidewalk, to all appearances a dying swan.

A crowd quickly gathered.

“What’s this?” exclaimed the storekeeper, bending over the bird. “What’s going on here?”

He quickly read the note on the slate. Then he tore open the moneybag and began pulling out hundred-dollar bills and fifty-dollar bills.

A policeman hurried to the scene and started to hold the crowd back.

“Stand back!” he shouted. “The swan is wounded. Give him air!”

“He’s dead,” said a little boy. “The bird is dead.”

“He is not dead,” said the salesman. “He’s scared.”

“Call an ambulance!” screamed a lady in the crowd.

A small pool of blood formed under the neck of the old cob. He seemed lifeless. Just then a game warden appeared.

“Who shot this bird?” he demanded.

“I did,” said the storekeeper.

“Then you’re under arrest,” said the warden.

“What for?” asked the storekeeper.

“For shooting a Trumpeter Swan. These birds are protected by law. You can’t pull a gun on a wild swan.”

“Well,” replied the storekeeper, “you can’t arrest me, either. I happen to know this bird. He’s a thief. He’s the one you should arrest. He’s been here before, and he stole a trumpet from my store.”

“Call an ambulance!” cried the lady.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” asked the policeman. The storekeeper quickly stuffed the money back into the moneybag and held the bag and the slate behind his back.

“Come on, show it to me!” said the cop.

“I want to see it, too,” said the warden.

“We all want to see it!” cried a fellow in the crowd. “What’s in that bag?”

The storekeeper sheepishly handed the moneybag and the slate to the game warden. The warden stood straight, put on his glasses, and read the note in a loud voice: “To the Storekeeper of Billings: Enclosed please find four thousand four hundred and twenty dollars and seventy-eight cents. It will pay you for the trumpet and the damage to the store. Sorry about the inconvenience this has caused you.”

At the mention of the sum of money, the crowd gasped. Everyone started talking at once.

“Call an ambulance!” screamed the lady.

“I’ll have to take that money to the station house,” said the policeman. “This is a complicated case. Anything that involves money is complex. I’ll take the money and keep it safe until the matter is decided.”

“No, you won’t!” said the game warden. “The money is mine.”

“Why?” asked the policeman.

“Because,” replied the warden.

“Because what?” asked the policeman.

“Because the law says the bird is in my custody. The money was on the bird. Therefore, the money goes to me until this is settled.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” said the storekeeper, angrily. “The money is mine. It says so right here on this slate. The four thousand four hundred and twenty dollars and seventy-eight cents is mine. Nobody’s going to take it away from me.”

“Yes, they are!” said the policeman. “I am.”

“No, I am,” said the game warden.

“Is there a lawyer in the crowd?” asked the storekeeper. “We’ll settle this matter right here and now.”

A tall man stepped forward.

“I’m Judge Ricketts,” he said. “I’ll decide this case. Now then, who saw the bird arrive?”

“I did,” said the salesman.

“Call an ambulance!” screamed the lady.

“I saw the bird, too,” said a small boy named Alfred Gore.

“O.K.,” said the judge. “Describe what happened, exactly as you saw it.”

The salesman spoke first. “Well,” he said, “I was looking out the window and saw a swan approaching. So I hollered. The boss got his gun and fired, and the bird fell to the sidewalk. There was a drop or two of blood.”

“Did you notice anything special about the bird?” asked Judge Ricketts.

“He carried money,” replied the salesman. “You don’t often see any money on a bird, so I noticed it.”

“All right,” said the judge. “Now we’ll let Alfred Gore tell it as he saw it. Describe what you saw, Alfred!”

“Well,” said the little boy, “I was very thirsty, and so I wanted to go to a candy store and get something to drink.”

“Just tell what you saw, please, Alfred,” said the judge. “Never mind how thirsty you were.”

“I was coming along the street,” continued Alfred, “because I was very thirsty. So I was coming along the street on my way to the candy store to get something to drink, and there, up in the sky, all of a sudden there was a big white bird right over me in the sky and he was sliding down out of the sky like this.” Alfred held out his arms and imitated a bird. “And so when I saw the big bird I stopped thinking about how thirsty I was and pretty soon this enormous bird, he was enormous, was on the sidewalk and he was dead and there was blood all over everything and that’s what I saw.”

“Did you notice anything special about the bird?” asked Judge Ricketts.

“Blood,” said Alfred.

“Anything else?”

“No, just blood.”

“Did you hear a gun?”

“No, just blood,” said Alfred.

“Thank you!” said the judge. “That will be all.”

Just then a siren started wailing—woooaw, woooaw, woooaw. An ambulance came screaming down the street. It stopped in front of the crowd. Two men jumped out. They carried a stretcher and set it down next to where the swan lay. The old cob lifted his head and looked around. “I have been at death’s door,” he thought, “and now I think I am returning to life. I am reviving. I shall live! I shall return on strong wings to the great sky. I shall glide gracefully again on the ponds of the world and hear the frogs and take pleasure in the sounds of night and the coming of day.”

As he was thinking these pleasant thoughts, he felt himself being lifted. The ambulance attendants put his slate around his neck, picked him up, laid him gently on the stretcher, and carried him into the ambulance, which had a red light whirling round and around on top of it. One of the men placed an oxygen mask over the old cob’s head and gave him some oxygen. And away they drove, making a great deal of noise, to the hospital. There, he was put to bed and given a shot of penicillin. A young doctor came in and examined the wound where the shotgun pellet had hit him. The doctor said the wound was superficial. The old cob didn’t know what “superficial” meant, but it sounded serious.

Nurses gathered around. One of them took the swan’s blood pressure and wrote something on a chart. The old cob was beginning to feel very well again. It felt good to be in bed, being cared for by nurses—one of whom was quite pretty. The doctor washed the wound and put a Band-Aid on it.

Meantime, back on the sidewalk in front of the music store, the judge was announcing his decision.

“On the basis of the testimony,” he said solemnly, “I award the money to the storekeeper, to make up for the loss of the trumpet and damage to the store. I am placing the swan in the custody of the game warden.”

“Your Honor,” said the warden, “don’t forget that the storekeeper is under arrest for shooting a wild swan.”

“It was a case of false arrest,” said the judge wisely. “The storekeeper fired his gun at the bird because he was afraid his store would be robbed again. He did not know that the swan was bringing money to pay for the trumpet. The gun was fired in self-defense. Everyone is innocent, the swan is honest, the debt is paid, the storekeeper is rich, and the case is dismissed.”

A cheer went up from the crowd. The warden looked sulky. The policeman looked glum. But the storekeeper was beaming. He was a happy man. He felt that justice had been done.

“I have an announcement,” he said. “I am only going to keep just enough of this money to pay for the stolen trumpet and the repair bills for my store. All the rest of the money will be given to a good cause if I can think of just the right one. Can anyone think of a worthy cause that needs money?”

“The Salvation Army,” suggested a woman.

“No,” said the storekeeper.

“The Boy Scouts?” suggested a boy.

“No,” said the storekeeper.

“The American Civil Liberties Union?” suggested a man.

“Nope,” said the storekeeper. “Nobody has thought of just the right place for me to send this money.”

“How about the Audubon Society?” asked a little fellow whose nose looked like the beak of a bird.

“Great! You’ve got it!” cried the storekeeper. “A bird has been very good to me, and now I want to do something for birds. The Audubon Society is kind to birds. I want this money to be used to help birds. Some birds are in real trouble. They face extinction.”

“What’s extinction?” asked Alfred Gore. “Does it mean they stink?”

“Certainly not,” said the storekeeper. “Extinction is what happens when you’re extinct—when you don’t exist anymore because there are no others like you. Like the passenger pigeon and the eastern Heath Hen and the Dodo and the Dinosaur.”

“The Trumpeter Swan was almost extinct,” said the game warden. “People kept shooting them, like this crazy storekeeper. But now they are making a comeback.”

The storekeeper glared at the warden.

“I’ll say they’re making a comeback,” he said. “The swan that was just here came back to Billings with four thousand four hundred and twenty dollars and seventy-eight cents and gave it all to me. I call that making a very good comeback. I can’t imagine where he got all that money. It’s a mighty funny thing.”

The storekeeper went back into his music store, the policeman went back to the station house, the judge went back to the courthouse, the game warden walked off down the street toward the hospital, and Alfred Gore, who was still thirsty, continued his journey to the candy store. All the rest of the people wandered away.

At the hospital, the old cob lay peacefully in bed thinking beautiful thoughts. He felt thankful to be alive and relieved to be out of debt.

It was getting dark. Many of the patients in the hospital were asleep already. A nurse came into the cob’s room to open his window.

When she came back a few minutes later to take the cob’s temperature and give him a back rub, the bed was empty—the room was deserted. The cob had jumped out of the window, spread his broad wings, and headed for home through the cold night sky. He flew all night, crossed the mountains, and arrived home soon after daylight, where his wife was waiting for him.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Very well,” he said. “An extraordinary adventure. I was shot at, just as you predicted. The storekeeper pointed a gun at me and fired. I felt an agonizing pain in my left shoulder—which I’ve always considered the more beautiful of my two shoulders. Blood gushed from my wound in torrents, and I sank gracefully to the sidewalk, where I handed over the money and thus regained my honor and my decency. I was at death’s door. A great multitude of people gathered. Blood was everywhere. I became faint and passed out with dignity in front of all. The police arrived—dozens of them. Game wardens flocked to the scene in great numbers, and there was a tremendous argument about the money.”

“How did you know all this if you were unconscious?” asked his wife.

“My dear,” said the cob, “I wish you wouldn’t interrupt me when I am telling the story of my trip. Seeing my grave condition, someone in the crowd summoned an ambulance, and I was taken to the hospital, where I was put to bed. I looked very beautiful lying there, my black bill contrasting with the snowy white sheets. Doctors and nurses attended me and comforted me in my hour of suffering and pain. You can judge how serious my wound was when I tell you that one of the doctors examined it and said it was superficial.”

“It doesn’t look bad to me,” said his wife. “I think you just got nicked. If it had been bad, you couldn’t have flown back so soon. Anyway, superficial or not, I’m glad to see you home safe. I always miss you when you’re gone. I don’t know why, but I do.”

And with that, she placed her head across his neck and gave him a slight nudge. Then they had breakfast and went for a swim in an open place in the frozen lake. The cob pulled his Band-Aid off and threw it away.