David Yates’ serialisation of The Last Bullfighter continues. Ed
The following morning the swallows, seagulls, raven and blue macaw left Falaise and, taking directions from Meme, headed for Paris.
“You can’t miss it,” she called out as they flew away. “Look for the Eiffel Tower.”
Although they stopped in various towns along the way to search for potential additions to their gang, none were found. They arrived in Paris early in the evening, in time to find a place to roost for the night.
“Hey! Over there,” called Bluey, as he turned his head towards a tall metal-framed structure. “I guess that’s the place that Meme said to look out for, the Eiffel Tower.”
The birds landed on a platform just below the main observation box of the tower. They heard footsteps on the floor above their heads, but below the boards they appeared to be perfectly safe, judging by the number of other birds already settling into their own roosting positions.
“Room for a few more here fellas?” asked Yul, as he led the group into the centre of the platform.
“Yeah, sure raven. Take a perch over there and help yourself to water in that gutter,” replied one of the doves.
Crammed onto the flat, wooden platform were pigeons, sparrows, yet more seagulls, and even a large white owl who sat alone in a corner. The roost was largely protected from the wind and rain by two wooden walls, and a combination of large metal girders and other building material on the other more exposed sides. As light faded outside, all was quiet inside the roost until a handsome young starling suddenly flew into the entranceway and called out, “Tcheer-tcheer-tcheer – I’m looking for Yul the raven. Where is he?”
Yul flew down from his perch at the other side of the roost and replied, “I’m Yul. What do you want?”
“My name is Eric, and my flock of starlings would like to join your gang.”
“Oh, and why would they want to do that?” Yul enquired.
“We saw how you helped out that young wren at Falaise and heard that you are looking for some birds to help with a job down south, so we followed you to Paris. There are twenty-one of us and we would just like to help you in any way that we can.”
“That sounds a good enough reason to me,” replied Yul. “We’re leaving here at first light tomorrow morning. We’ll meet you then, on the top of the tower.”
The birds left the Eiffel Tower early the following morning. They fed on the banks of the River Seine, and preened their feathers on top of Notre Dame Cathedral, before circling Paris and heading east. They passed above Disneyland and carried on flying across miles of open landscape, over the Rhine valley and into Germany. The flight to Berlin took two days, with stops along the way. They arrived in the German capital just as the sun was setting. The other birds at the Eiffel Tower had said that they’d find plenty of tough birds in Berlin.
“Let’s take a look for a good roost from the top of that big gate over there,” called Yul. The enormous stone gate stood in the middle of a large square, and was topped by the statue of a woman in a chariot driving a team of four horses. Yul landed on the woman’s laurel-ringed head. The other birds landed on the backs of the four horses. They scanned the city of Berlin for less exposed places to roost, and were just about to take to the skies again, when an eagle landed on one of the horse’s heads.
“Quock-quock-quock – Was machts du auf meinem Tor? – What are you doing on my gate? Wie heissen sie – What’s your name? Woher kommen sie – Where are you from?”
“I’m sorry friend,” replied Yul. “We didn’t realise it was your gate. You’re German aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not German. I’m an American bald eagle – only don’t go makin’ no wise-cracks, because I ain’t bald.”
“So, what’s an American eagle doing in Berlin? Did you get lost or something?”
“No, I didn’t get lost. In fact I’ve never even been to America. My great grandfather was based here in the Cold War. He was a mascot at an American airbase a few miles away. Most of the planes have gone back to the states now, but I’m still here, guarding the winged goddess of victory on the Brandenburg Gate – just like my old grandaddy did.”
“Well, you sure look like you’re guarding this gate pretty well American eagle. There’s hardly any muck on these horses.”
“Quite right too,” replied the eagle. “My daddy taught me how to fight real good, and scare away all the other birds. I didn’t spot you though, because I was just fixin’ some supper down at my roost. Anyway, you guys don’t look like you’d cause any trouble, so I won’t bother you. My name is Shultz. Nice to meet you folks.”
Yul made the introductions, and Shultz invited them down to his roost to meet his partner, Klara. Dickie and Mucky declined the offer to join them for the night as they felt there might be other swallows in town who could tell them where the rest of their migrating flock had gone.
“We’ll meet you back on the gate at noon tomorrow,” said Yul.
Shultz’ roost was in the roof space above an old subterranean Bier Kellar on the Voss Strasse. Yul and Bluey followed Shultz through a broken ventilation panel, and joined him at his usual perch, high in the apex of the roof. The attic was warm and cosy, with the heat rising from the Bier Kellar. Sounds came to them from below, and booming Bavarian music continually shook fine dust to the floor. The birds talked for a while, and explained how Dickie and Mucky were trying to gather enough brave birds to take on a huge gang of men with guns.
“We could sure use a pair of tough birds like you and Klara,” Yul finally said to Shultz.
“Yeah. You know what, I think we might just tag along for the flight. We could do with a bit of action and some sun on our backs. Count us in guys.”
Tune back in later for Part Two and find out what happens next.
