The Wind Singer

A faraway look of contentment on her round face, Pinpin was emptying her bladder in a long and steady stream down the Examiner’s arms. The Examiner felt the spread of the gentle warmth without at first understanding what was happening. Then seeing the look of rapt attention on the faces of Mrs Hath and her children, he dropped his gaze downward. The stain was seeping into his scarlet cloak. In utter silence, he held Pinpin out for Mr Hath to take, and turned and walked gravely back up the aisle.

Mrs Hath took Pinpin from her husband, and smothered her with kisses. Bowman and Kestrel dropped to the floor and rolled about there, quaking with silent laughter. Hanno Hath watched the Examiner report the incident to Maslo Inch, and he gave a small private sigh. He knew what his wife and children did not, which was that they had needed a good rating this morning. Now, with no points at all, they would probably have to leave their house in Orange District and make do in humbler quarters. Two rooms if they were lucky; more likely one room, with the use of a kitchen and bathroom on a communal landing. Hanno Hath was not a vain man. He cared very little what others thought of him. But he loved his family dearly, and the thought of failing them hurt him deep inside.

Ira Hath cuddled Pinpin tight and refused to think about the future.

‘Wiss wiss wiss,’ murmured Pinpin happily.

2

Kestrel makes a horrible friend

On getting to school, Bowman and Kestrel found they had forgotten to bring their homework.

‘Forgot?’ roared Dr Batch. ‘You forgot?’

The twins stood side by side at the front of the long classroom, facing their teacher. Dr Batch smoothed his hands over his substantial stomach, and ran the tip of his tongue over his substantial lips, and proceeded to make an example of them. Dr Batch liked making an example of his pupils. He considered it part of his job as a teacher.

‘Let’s begin at the beginning. Why did you forget?’

‘Our little sister had her first test this morning,’ said Bowman. ‘We left the house early, and we just forgot.’

‘You just forgot? Well, well, well.’

Dr Batch liked lame excuses.

‘Hands up,’ he said to the class, ‘hands up who else attended an infant test this morning.’

A dozen hands went up among the serried ranks of desks, including the hand of Rufy Blesh.

‘And hands up who else forgot their homework.’

All the hands went down again. Dr Batch turned to Bowman, his eyes popping out with friendly attention.

‘It seems you are the only ones.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Throughout this proceeding, Kestrel remained silent. But Bowman could hear the seething of her angry thoughts, and knew she was in one of her wild moods. Dr Batch, unaware of this, began to waddle up and down in front of them, conducting a ritual exchange with the class.

‘Class! What happens if you don’t work?’

Back came the familiar response from fifty-one young mouths.

‘No work, no progress.’

‘And what happens if you make no progress?’

‘No progress, no points.’

‘And what happens if you get no points?’

‘No points ends up last.’

‘Last.’ Dr Batch relished the word. ‘Last! La-a-ast!’

The whole class shivered. Last! Like Mumpo, the stupidest boy in the school. Some eyes turned furtively to look at him, as he sat glowering and shivering right at the back, in the seat of shame. Mad Mumpo, whose upper lip was always shiny with nose-dribble, because he had no mother to tell him to wipe it. Smelly Mumpo, who stank so badly that no one would ever go near him, because he had no father to tell him to wash.

Dr Batch waddled over to the class ratings board, on which every pupil’s name was written in class order. Every day, at the end of the day, the new points were calculated, and the new class order written up.

‘I shall deduct five points each,’ said Dr Batch. And there and then, he recalculated the class order. Bowman and Kestrel dropped two places, to twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth respectively, while the class watched.

‘Slipping, slipping, slipping,’ said Dr Batch as he made the changes. ‘What do we do when we find ourselves slipping down?’

The class chanted the response.

‘We strive harder, and reach higher, to make tomorrow better than today.’

‘Harder. Higher. Better.’ He turned back to Bowman and Kestrel. ‘You will not, I trust, forget your homework again. Take up your places.’

As they walked back down the rows of desks, Bowman could feel Kestrel seething with hatred, for Dr Batch, and the big ratings board, and the school, and all Aramanth.

It doesn’t matter, he thought to her. We’ll catch up.

I don’t want to, she replied. I don’t care.

Bowman came to a stop at the desk where they were now to sit, two places behind their old desks. But Kestrel went on, all the way to the back, where Mumpo sat. Beside Mumpo there was an empty place, because he was always bottom of the class. Here Kestrel sat down.

Dr Batch stared in astonishment. So did Mumpo.

‘Hallo-o,’ he said, breathing his stinky breath all over her.

Kestrel turned away, covering her face.

‘Do you like me?’ said Mumpo, leaning closer.

‘Get away from me,’ said Kestrel. ‘You stink.’

Dr Batch called sharply from the other end of the room.

‘Kestrel Hath! Go to your correct place at once!’

‘No,’ said Kestrel.

The whole class froze.

‘No?’ said Dr Batch. ‘Did you say no?’

‘Yes,’ said Kestrel.

‘Do you wish me to deduct five more points for disobedience?’

‘You can if you want,’ said Kestrel. ‘I don’t care.’

‘You don’t care?’ Dr Batch went a bright red. ‘Then I shall teach you to care. You’ll do as you’re told, or – ’

‘Or what?’ said Kestrel.

Dr Batch stared back, lost for words.

‘I’m already at the bottom of the class,’ said Kestrel. ‘What more can you do to me?’

For a moment longer, Dr Batch struggled with himself in silence, searching for the best way to respond. During this moment, in which the whole class held its breath, Mumpo shuffled closer still to Kestrel, and Kestrel twisted further away from him, screwing up her face in disgust. Dr Batch saw this, and the look of bewilderment on his face was replaced by a vindictive smile. He set off at a slow pace down the room.

‘Class,’ he said, his voice smoothly under control once more. ‘Class, turn and look at Kestrel Hath.’

All eyes turned.

‘Kestrel has found a new friend. As you see, Kestrel’s new friend is our very own Mumpo. Kestrel and Mumpo, side by side. What do you think of your new friend, Mumpo?’

Mumpo nodded and smiled. ‘I like Kess,’ he said.

‘He likes you, Kestrel,’ said Dr Batch. ‘Why don’t you sit closer? You could put your arm round him. You could hug him. He’s your new friend. Who knows, maybe in later years you’ll marry each other, and you can be Mrs Mumpo, and have lots of little Mumpo babies. Would you like that? Three or four little Mumpo babies to wash and wipe?’

The class tittered at that. Dr Batch was pleased. He felt he had regained the upper hand. Kestrel sat stiff as a rod and burned with shame and anger, and said nothing.

‘But perhaps I’m making a mistake. Perhaps Kestrel is making a mistake. Perhaps she simply sat down in the wrong seat, by mistake.’

He was close to Kestrel now, standing gazing at her in silence. Kestrel knew that he was offering her a deal: her obedience in exchange for her pride.

‘Perhaps Kestrel is going to get up, and go back to her correct place.’

Kestrel trembled, but she didn’t move. Dr Batch waited a moment longer, then hissed at her:

‘Well, well. Kestrel and Mumpo.What a sweet couple.’

All that morning, he kept up the attack. In the grammar lesson, he wrote up on the board:

NAME THE TENSES

Kestrel loves Mumpo

Kestrel is loved by Mumpo

Kestrel will love Mumpo

Kestrel has loved Mumpo

Kestrel shall have loved Mumpo

In the arithmetic lesson, he wrote on the board:

If Kestrel gives Mumpo 392 kisses and

98 hugs, and half the hugs are

accompanied by kisses, and one-eighth

of the kisses are slobbery, how many

slobbery kisses with hugs could

Kestrel give Mumpo?

And so it went on, and the class snickered away, as Dr Batch intended. Bowman looked back at Kestrel many times, but she just sat there, doing her work, not saying a word.

When time came for the lunch-break, he joined her as she walked quietly out of the room. To his annoyance, he found the dribbling Mumpo was coming with Kestrel, sticking close to her side.

‘Get lost, Mumpo,’ said Kestrel.

But Mumpo wouldn’t get lost. He simply trotted along beside Kestrel, his eyes never leaving her face. From time to time, unprompted, he would murmur, ‘I like Kess’, and then wipe his nose-dribble on to his shirt sleeve.

Kestrel was heading for the way out.

‘Where are you going, Kess?’

‘Out,’ said Kestrel. ‘I hate school.’

‘Yes, but Kess – ’ Bowman didn’t know what to say. Of course she hated school. Everyone hated school. But you had to go.

‘What about the family rating?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kestrel. And walking faster now, she began to cry. Mumpo saw this, and was devastated. He skipped around her, reaching out his grubby hands to paw her, and uttered small cries designed to give her comfort.

‘Don’t cry, Kess. I’ll be your friend, Kess. Don’t cry.’

Kestrel brushed him away angrily.

‘Get lost, Mumpo. You stink.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Mumpo humbly.

‘Kess,’ said Bowman, ‘come back to school, sit in your proper place, and Batch will leave you alone.’

‘I’m never going back,’ said Kestrel.

‘But you must.’

‘I’m going to tell pa. He’ll understand.’

‘And I will,’ said Mumpo.

‘Go away, Mumpo!’ shouted Kestrel, right in his face. ‘Go away or I’ll bash you!’

She raised a threatening fist. Mumpo dropped whimpering to his knees.

‘Hurt me if you want. I don’t mind.’

Kestrel’s fist remained suspended in mid-air. She stared at Mumpo. Bowman too was watching Mumpo. Suddenly he was caught unawares by the feeling of what it was like to be Mumpo. A dull cold terror rolled over him, and a penetrating loneliness. He almost cried out loud, so intense was the hunger for kindness.

‘She doesn’t mean it,’ he said. ‘She won’t hit you.’

‘She can if she wants.’

His face gazed adoringly up at her, his eyes now as shiny as his upper lip.

‘Tell him you won’t hit him, Kess.’

‘I won’t hit you,’ said Kestrel, dropping her fist. ‘You’re too stinky to touch.’

She turned and walked fast down the street, Bowman at her side. Mumpo followed a few paces behind. So that he wouldn’t hear, Kestrel talked to Bowman in her head.

I can’t go on like this, I can’t.

What else can we do?

I don’t know, she said. Something. Something soon, or I’ll explode.

3

Bad words said loud

As she left Orange District with Bowman and Mumpo following her, Kestrel had no plan in her head, other than to get away from the hated school: but in fact she was making her way down one of the city’s four main streets to the central arena, where the wind singer stood.

The city of Aramanth was built in the shape of a circle, a drum even, since it was enclosed by high walls, raised long ago to protect the people from the warrior tribes of the plains. No one had dared attack mighty Aramanth for many generations now, but the great walls remained, and few people ventured out of the city. What was there in the world beyond that anybody could possibly want? Only the rock-strewn seashore to the south, where the great grey ocean thundered and rolled; and the barren desert wastes to the north, stretching all the way to the distant mountains. No food out there; no comfort, no safety. Whereas within the walls there was all that was necessary for life, more, for a good life. Every citizen of Aramanth knew how fortunate they were, to live in this rare haven of peace, plenty, and equal opportunity for all.

The city was arranged in its districts in concentric rings. The outermost ring, in the shadow of the walls, was formed by the great cube-shaped apartment blocks of Grey District. Next came the low-rise apartments that made up Maroon District, and the crescents of small terraced houses of Orange District, where the Hath family lived. Nearest the central sector of the city lay the broad ring of Scarlet District, a region of roomy detached houses, each with its own garden, laid out in a pleasing maze of twisting lanes, so that each house felt special and different, though of course all were painted red. And finally and most gloriously, at the heart of the city, there was White District. Here was the Imperial Palace, where the Emperor, Creoth the Sixth, the father of Aramanth, looked out over his citizen-children. Here were the great houses of the city leaders, built in marble or polished limestone, beautiful and austere. Here was the huge pillared Hall of Achievement, where the family ratings were displayed; and facing it, across the plaza where the statue of Emperor Creoth the First stood, the many-windowed College of Examiners, home of the Board of Examiners, the supreme governing body of Aramanth.

Next to the plaza, beneath the towering walls of the Imperial Palace, at the meeting point of the four main streets, lay the city arena. This great circular amphitheatre had originally been designed to bring together the entire population of Aramanth, for the debates and elections that had been necessary before the introduction of the ratings system. Today there were far too many citizens to cram into the arena’s nine descending marble tiers, but it had its uses, for concerts and recitals. And of course this was the venue for the annual High Examination, when the heads of all the households were tested, and their family ratings adjusted for the following year.

In the centre of the arena, in the circle paved with white marble that formed the stage, there stood the curious wooden tower known as the wind singer. Everything about the wind singer was wrong. It was not white. It was not symmetrical. It lacked the simplicity and calm that characterised the whole of White District. It creaked this way and that with every passing breeze, and when the wind blew stronger, it let out a dismal moaning sound. Every year a proposal would come up at the meeting of the Board of Examiners to dismantle it, and replace it with a more dignified emblem of the city, but every year the proposal was vetoed; by the Emperor himself, it was whispered. And it was true to say that the people regarded the wind singer with affection, because it was so very old, and had always been there, and because there was a legend that one day it would sing again.

Kestrel Hath had loved the wind singer all her life. She loved it because it was unpredictable, and served no purpose, and seemed, by its sad cry, not to like the orderly world of Aramanth. Sometimes, when the frustrations of her existence grew too hard to bear, she would run down the nine tiers of the arena and sit on the white flagstones at the bottom and talk to the wind singer, for an hour or more. Of course, it didn’t understand her, and the creaky groany noises it made back weren’t words, but she found that rather restful. She didn’t particularly want to be understood. She just wanted to vent her feelings of fury and powerlessness, and not feel entirely alone.

On this day, the worst so far, Kestrel headed instinctively for the arena. Her father would not be home from the library yet, and her mother would be at the clinic, where Pinpin had to have her two-year-old physical assessment. Where else was there to go? Later she was accused of plotting her disgraceful actions in advance, but Kestrel was not a schemer. She acted on impulse, rarely knowing herself what she would do next. It would be more true to say that Bowman, following her, sensed that she would get herself into trouble. As for Mumpo, he just followed her because he loved her.

The main street to the centre led past the courtyard of the Weavers’ Company, where, because it was lunchtime, all the weavers were out in the yard doing their exercises.

‘Touch the ground! Touch the sky!’ called out their trainer. ‘You can do it! If you try!’

The weavers bent and stretched, bent and stretched, in time with each other.

A little further on they came upon a street-cleaner sitting by his barrow eating his midday meal.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any litter you’d care to drop?’ he asked them.

The children searched their pockets. Bowman found a piece of charred toast that he’d put there so as not to hurt his mother’s feelings.

‘Just drop it in the street,’ said the street-cleaner, his eyes brightening.

‘I’ll put it in your barrow,’ said Bowman.

‘That’s right, do my job for me,’ said the street-cleaner bitterly. ‘Don’t you worry about how I’m to meet my target, let alone exceed it, if nobody ever drops any litter in the street. Don’t ask yourself how I’m supposed to get along, you’re from Orange, you’re all right. It doesn’t occur to you that I want to better myself, same as everyone else. You try living in Grey District. My wife has set her heart on one of those apartments in Maroon, with the little balconies.’

Bowman dropped his piece of toast on to the street.

‘Well, there you are,’ said the street-cleaner. ‘I may just look at it for a while, before I sweep it up.’

Kestrel was already far ahead, with Mumpo trailing after her. Bowman ran to catch them up.

‘When are we going to have lunch?’ said Mumpo.

‘Shut up,’ said Kestrel.

As they crossed the plaza the bell in the high palace tower struck two. Mnang!Mnang! Now their classmates would all be trooping back to their desks, and Dr Batch would be marking the three truants down as absent without leave. That meant more lost points.

They passed through the double row of marble columns that ringed the highest tier of the arena, and made their way down the steps to the bottom.

Mumpo came to a sudden stop on the fifth tier, and sat down on the white marble step.

‘I’m hungry,’ he announced.

Kestrel paid no attention. She went on down to the bottom, and Bowman followed her. Mumpo wanted to follow her, but now that he had become aware of his hunger he could think of nothing else. He sat on the step and hugged his knees and yearned for food with all his heart.

Kestrel came to a stop at last, at the foot of the wind singer. Her rage at Pinpin’s test, and Dr Batch’s taunts, and the whole suffocating order of Aramanth, had formed within her into a wild desire to upset, to confuse, to shock – she hardly knew who or what or how – just to fracture the smooth and seamless running of the world, if only for a moment. She had come to the wind singer because it was her friend and ally, but it was only when she stood at its foot that she knew what she was going to do.

She started to climb.

Come down, Bowman called in alarm. They’ll punish you. You’ll fall. You’ll hurt yourself.

I don’t care.

She hauled herself up on to the platform, and then she started climbing the tower. This wasn’t easy, because it swung in the wind, and the footholds were slippery among the pipes. But she was wiry and agile, and held on tight as she ascended.

A sharp cry sounded from the top tier of the arena.

‘Hey! You! Get down at once!’

A scarlet-robed official had seen her, and came hurrying down the steps. Finding Mumpo sitting hunched on the fifth tier, he stopped to question him.

‘What do you think you’re doing? Why aren’t you in school?’

‘I’m hungry,’ said Mumpo.

‘Hungry? You’ve just had lunch.’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘All children eat school lunch at one o’clock. If you didn’t eat your lunch, then you have only yourself to blame.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said the unhappy Mumpo. ‘But I’m still hungry.’

By now Kestrel had reached the wind singer’s neck, and was making an interesting discovery. There was a slot cut into the broad metal pipe, and an arrow etched above it, pointing to the slot, and a design above the arrow. It looked like the letter S, with the tail of the S curling round and right over its top.

The scarlet-robed official arrived at the base of the wind singer.

‘You, boy,’ he said sharply to Bowman. ‘What’s she doing? Who is she?’

‘She’s my sister,’ said Bowman.

‘And who are you?’

‘I’m her brother.’

The fierce official made him nervous, and when nervous, Bowman became very logical. Momentarily baffled, the official looked up and called to Kestrel:

‘Get down, girl! Get down at once! What do you think you’re doing up there?’

‘Pongo!’ Kestrel called back, climbing ever higher up the structure.

‘What?’ said the official. ‘What did she say?’

‘Pongo,’ said Bowman.

‘She said pongo to me?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Bowman. ‘She might have been saying it to me.’

‘But it was I who spoke to her. I ordered her to come down, and she replied, pongo.’

‘Perhaps she thinks it’s your name.’

‘It’s not my name. No one is called Pongo.’

‘I didn’t know that. I expect she doesn’t know that.’

The official, confused by Bowman’s tremulous but reasonable manner, turned his face back up to Kestrel, who was now almost at the very top, and called out:

‘Did you say pongo to me?’

‘Pongo pooa-pooa pompaprune!’ Kestrel called back.

The official turned to Bowman, his face rigid with righteousness.

‘There! You heard her! It’s a disgrace!’ He called back up to Kestrel, ‘If you don’t come down, I’ll report you!’

‘You’ll report her even if she does come down,’ said Bowman.

‘I certainly shall,’ said the official, ‘but I shall report her more if she doesn’t.’ He shouted up at Kestrel, ‘I shall recommend that points be deducted from your family rating!’

‘Bangaplop!’ called Kestrel. She was on a level with one of the wide leather scoops as she called out this rude word, and the sound travelled down the pipes of the wind singer and emerged from the horns, a second or so later, in a fuzzy distorted form.

‘Bang-ang-anga-plop-op-p!’

Kestrel then put her head right into the leather scoop, and shouted:

‘Sagahog!’

Her voice came booming out of the horns:

‘SAG-AG-AG-A-HOG-G-G!’

The official heard this aghast.

‘She’s disturbing the afternoon work session,’ he said. ‘They’ll hear her in the College.’

‘Pompa-pompa-pompaprune!’ called Kestrel.

‘POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA POMP-P-PA-PRU-U-UNE!’ boomed the wind singer across the arena.

Out of the College of Examiners, in a flurry of white robes, poured the high officials of the city to see what was intruding on their afternoon.

‘I HA-A-ATE SCHOO-OO-OOL!’ cried Kestrel’s amplified voice. ‘I HA-A-ATE RA-A-ATINGS!’

The examiners heard this in shock.

‘She’s having a fit,’ they said. ‘She’s lost her wits.’

‘Get her down! Send for the marshals!’

‘I won’t strive ha-a-arder!’ cried Kestrel. ‘I won’t rea-ea-each hi-i-igher! I won’t make tomorr-orr-ow better than today-ay-ay!’

More and more people were gathering now, drawn by the noise. A long crocodile of children from Maroon District, who had been on a visit to the Hall of Achievement, appeared between the double row of columns to listen to Kestrel’s voice.