He lifted his eyebrows.
‘How is it you’ve never mentioned it before?’ he asked me.
I shrugged my shoulders, sending a fresh spasm of pain through the wound in my neck.
‘I suppose when it had just happened, my human tongue wasn’t up to telling you the story. And then later, when I had learned how to speak to you, I didn’t much feel like talking about it.’
He stroked my head fondly.
‘You must have had every reason to turn around and run,’ he said. ‘But you didn’t. You truly are a remarkable creature, Max.’
‘I have my moments,’ I admitted.
I kept thinking we might be interrupted by a call from the house, but my master soon had the wound cleaned and dressed and still there was nothing.
The light gradually went out of the day and the night descended. The storm that had been threatening since morning finally found its voice and great rolls of thunder crashed over the distant hills. Forked lightning came stabbing down at the cringing earth, momentarily lighting up the plains all around us and still we waited, until it seemed that nothing was ever going to happen, and then, quite unexpectedly, between the rolls of thunder, we heard a different sound: a tiny, puling cry, coming from somewhere in the house.
We looked at each other and I saw that my master ’s face held an expression of absolute joy. I don’t think I had ever seen him so happy and, I’m sorry to say, I never saw him that happy ever again. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can picture his face, still frozen in that expression of perfect happiness.
He stood like that for just a moment and then he turned and ran into the house.
I waited, pacing anxiously up and down by the open doorway, and it seemed that another age passed before I saw or heard anything.
And then finally . . . finally, Alexander came out of the house and he was holding a little wrapped bundle in his arms and I saw that there were tears in his eyes. For an instant, I felt a stab of anxiety, because I thought that something terrible had happened, that there was something wrong with the baby. But then I saw that he was smiling and I realised that what I could see in his eyes were tears of joy. He came up to me and held the bundle out so I could see it.
‘I can only show you for a moment,’ he said. ‘And then he must go back to his Mother.’
‘He?’ I whispered.
‘Yes. A boy. A good, strong boy.’
I looked into the blanket and I saw a tiny face looking out at me, a pale face with two dark eyes and a tangle of jet black hair. I could see that the baby’s ears were pointed. As I looked, his little pink mouth curved into a smile and I knew at that moment, that the two of us were going to be the best of friends, the closest of allies. In that very instant, we bonded and I knew that I would happily lay down my own life to protect this new child; that I would pay the ultimate price to keep him from harm.
‘Oh, Master,’ I said. ‘He’s beautiful.’
‘Isn’t he, though?’ Alexander was beaming, full of pride. ‘He looks like me, don’t you think?’
‘Well . . .’
I didn’t want to tell him that the child looked exactly like his mother, but the truth was, at that moment, he did. If she had spat him out of her mouth, he couldn’t have looked more like her. But I tried to break the news gently.
‘He has his Mother ’s eyes and ears,’ I said. ‘But I think the nose is definitely yours, Master. And the . . . the . . . ’
A tiny hand came into view, gesticulating at me, as though giving me a hint.
‘The fingers,’ I said. ‘You can see that they’re exactly like yours.’
‘The fingers. Yes.’
Luckily, Alexander was so delighted, it seemed he could be fobbed off with just about anything.
‘A boy,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll be able to teach him the sword. And my jester ’s routine, of course. I can see him now, standing on a stage, telling his jokes and riddles. He’ll be able to carry on the Darke tradition when I’m gone.’
He glanced at me.
‘By the way, we’ve decided to call him . . .’ ‘Yes, Master?’ I said delightedly.
‘Sebastian,’ he said. ‘After his late grandfather,’
And he turned away and strolled back into the house.
‘What . . . not Max?’ I whispered.
But there was nobody to hear me say it and, upon reflection, I told myself that I couldn’t expect anything else. After all, who would name a child after a silly old buffalope? A ridiculous notion. But, just for a moment there, I had thought . . .
Ah well, it doesn’t pay to dwell on regrets. That gets you nowhere. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of experience, it’s that.
The thing is that I now had a new ally and, in years to come, the two of us would go on to have many great adventures together, adventures that will be recounted elsewhere by better storytellers than I.
So . . . it would seem that my tale is told. I am an old buffalope now. My strength is gone, my eyesight is failing and it won’t be so long before I go to the great wallow in the sky to be with those who have gone before me. I will see my parents again. I will see Betty and Luthor and maybe old Brutus.
I will not be sad to part. I have led a long and full life and I have known high adventure and the friendship of those who love me.
And in the end, what more can any buffalope ask? Except perhaps, for the occasional barrel of fresh, ripe pommers.
Well, you’ve got to have a few perks in life, haven’t you?
A Buffalope's Tale Page 16
