Rosebush nodded.
“Your are crazy. This is dangerous. The paddock belongs to the nasty neighbour. If he sees you again he will-“
“Kill me,” Rosebush interrupted. „He will kill me. I know. He also killed my mother.” She looked down to ground, her eyes filling up with tears. “I was a Joey when it happened. My mother wasn’t even in the paddock; she only stood on the other side, close to the fence. My auntie found me lying next to my dead mother. I had fallen out of her pouch.” Rosebush went silent. She buried her face between her paws. Words were no help or comfort to her. Lancelot knew. He put his arm around Rosebush, like Meryl Sheep did with him, when he was sad. But now, he cursed the bucket around his neck. Without it he could have had a firmer grip of Rosebush, comforting her more efficiently, heartier. For a long, long while they sat together in this position. Around them was the silence of the night.
“My auntie is like a mother to me,” Rosebush said. She’s very nice. Is Emmy nice too?”
“Yes,” Lancelot said, hesitating.
“Do you like her as much as I like my auntie?”
“Yes.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Pretty much.”
The night had passed. The sky was fading into dawn. The first light of the new day flared up behind Mount Pear and a short while later the sun rose.
“I have to go back to my mob,” Rosebush said. “My uncle must not know that I sneaked off.”
“I’ll come with you,” Lancelot said.
“That’s impossible.”
“Then come with me. Home to Bill and Emmy.”
“I don’t trust humans,” Rosebush said. She kissed Lancelot on his forehead but her lips banged against the cold, hard plastic of the bucket. “Yuk,” she said, rubbing her lips.
Lancelot held her tight and looked her in the eye. He did not care about his look, the ridiculous image of him being stuck in this stupid and much hated bucket. He knew that Rosebush would still like him even if he did not have any coat left or if the bucket was as big as a bathtub, painted pink. “Will you come and see me again?” he asked, anxiously.
“I promise, I will,” Rosebush assured him.
“Don’t promise anything you can’t live up to,” a voice said, darker than the darkest cave. Lancelot and Rosebush both froze. They knew it was her uncle. He was hiding behind a tree for quite a while, watching Lancelot and Rosebush.
“You know it is against the law to leave the mob without my permission,” he said.
“I only want to help him,” Rosebush said, defending herself.
“Please, please,“ Lancelot said. „Don’t be cross with her. She brought me grass. Now I’m strong again.”
“Rosebush, my dearest,” the uncle said. “I know you have a big heart. I am impressed by your effort wanting to help this young man. But enough is enough. We can’t afford to do more for him than what we have done already.”
“Please,” Lancelot pleaded. “Don’t make me leave. I want to stay with you. I am a kangaroo and I need to live with other kangaroos. Please take me with you, please.”
The uncle bent down, his big face close to Lancelot’s, and grumbled with a voice so deep that Lancelot was covered in goose-bumps all over. “You do not belong to us. We don’t want you here. We are not in a situation where we can share the food with you.”
“I’ll eat as little as a baby sparrow,” Lancelot said.
Now, the uncle was really angry. “You’re not giving up, are you? Believe me, I would very much appreciate it too if I was being served by others. But it’s just not on. Bad times are upon us. In order to survive I have to search for food myself. And there is no guarantee that I will ever find any. Everybody else in the mob has to do the same. Considering the state you are in, you can’t even manage to pick a dried-up piece of straw. Now, listen carefully. This is my last warning. Go back to where you came from. There is no place for you in the mob. Do you understand?”
Lancelot held his breath and nodded. The uncle took Rosebush by her arm.
“We are going home,” he commanded.
On their way back to the mob, Rosebush again and again turned her head, looking for Lancelot. With tears in her eyes she waved at him, until the horizon swallowed her.
Chapter Thirteen
Victory
Lancelot stared at Mount Pear. Sorrow in his heart. The longer he stared the sadder he became. Will he ever see Rosebush again? he asked himself, over and over.
“Why are you so sad?” a voice behind his back asked.
Lancelot turned. The voice belonged to the fox. To the fox who tried to eat him the other day. But today he was much nicer. He had put on his friendliest smile.
“I hope you are not upset with me anymore because of our recent – how shall I put this? - unfortunate encounter.”
“No,” Lancelot said, listless and unable to sense the danger coming from the sneaky fox.
“That’s good”. The fox grinned. „I knew you were not of a resentful nature. You are forgiving. That’s good and very brave. It is not easy for me to admit, but yesterday I was a little bit scared of you. That hopefully explains my naughty behaviour. But you look so strong, and strong kangaroos are scary. I am sure, one day you will turn into a giant kangaroo. Are you scared of me?”
“Only a tiny little bit.”
“I knew it. You are a very brave man,” the fox said, sneaking around Lancelot. He stopped in between, sniffing Lancelot’s scar on his shoulder from the distance. “It is by no means my intention to scare my friends. I am a nice fox, you know. I love peace.” He offered Lancelot his paw. “What do you think?” Shall we become friends? Real friends? Let’s shake paws . . . err . . . the paw. To a glorious friendship.”
Lancelot hesitated.
“Oh, well. I see,” the fox said. “You don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. You are right. You must not trust a stranger. But isn’t it different between the two of us? We’ve known each other already for some days. We are not strangers anymore, are we? Besides, I honestly want to help you.”
Lancelot really needed a friend right now. He had no idea what else he could do to become a member of the mob. Maybe the fox had a solution? Yes, Lancelot said to himself, he might have a great idea, and offered him his paw.
“There we go!” The fox’s eyes were shining with joy. “How easy was that? But, let me guess, my dear friend, you are sad because the kangaroos don’t want you in their mob.”
“They don’t want me because I’m too sick to look after myself,” Lancelot said, firing his words at the fox.
“That’s bad . . . let me think . . . that’s bad . . . but wait . . .of course! . . . we can solve it.”
“How?”
“Have you ever considered taking off that funny thing around your neck?” the fox asked, gesturing to the bucket with one paw, hiding a sneaky smirk behind the other paw.
Lancelot shook his head, startled.
“There we go,” the fox said. He stood up on his hind legs and puffed up his chest in pride. “This is the reason why you have a good friend like me, who thinks about these matters. If you take that funny thing off your neck, you will be able to pick your own food again.”
“And because I can look after myself, the mob will accept me,” Lancelot said, shaking with excitement. “And once I am with the mob I will be able to see Rosebush again.”
Lancelot jumped up and down, happy to finally have found a solution that will put him out of his misery, but stopped short.
“How can I take off the bucket on my own? I only have one paw,” he said, disappointed.
“That’s why you have a good friend, my dear friend. A good friend like me. I will help you. But not out here. That’s too dangerous. We will be in deep trouble if the giant kangaroo finds us still hanging around. Let’s go to my house. It’s on the other side of the hill. There we will be undisturbed and I can bite off . . . err . . . take off the bucket from your neck.”
The path took Lancelot and the
fox along the hill’s bare flank. The fox ran ahead while Lancelot struggled to keep up with pace. It was midday. The sun was at its highest peak, barraging the world underneath with steamy heat. It was too hot for a kangaroo like Lancelot, because kangaroos do not sweat like human beings do. Instead they lick their forearms, wetting and soaking the exact spot with saliva where the veins are the thinnest, running just under the skin. The saliva cools the blood. The cool blood flows through the body, refreshing it.
“Are we there yet?” Lancelot asked, busily wetting his arm. Because he only had one arm he needed to lick twice as much and twice as fast. Otherwise the heat would have killed him.
“It’s not far anymore, dear friend, and hurry up,” the fox shouted back.
Not only was the heat torturing Lancelot, the bucket around his neck was just as unbearable. It hampered the licking and rubbed against Lancelot’s neck with every hop or jump. Lancelot, grumpy and impatient, pulled the leather belt, holding the bucket firmly around his neck.
“Stupid thing,” he cursed. “Bloody stupid thing.”
In between he licked his arm, pulled the belt again, licked his arm, pulled the belt and licked and pulled by turns. In the midst of it, something incredible took place. Through pulling and tearing the buckle flicked open. The bucket now dangled loosely around Lancelot’s neck. He grabbed it and pulled it over his head.
“Yes!” Lancelot was triumphant. “Finally I got rid of you.” He rocked and swung it around, jumping into the air with joy.
The fox came running back, breathless and in disbelief. “How on earth could this happen?”
“I pulled it off. I, myself pulled it off, with only one arm,” Lancelot cheered.
“Wonderful,” the fox said, but his face turned grim. “We should keep walking. The heat is too much for you. You desperately need a rest in my house. Come on, let’s go.”
“I am not tired. I don’t need a rest. Without the bucket I am finally free. Now I can go and see the mob.”
“You are not going anywhere,” the fox growled. “Don’t be mistaken. The mob doesn’t want you. They hate kangaroos like you. You only have one arm. That makes you incomplete. You are not a proper kangaroo, but still good enough to be my breakfast. March on! To my house. Hurry up!” He bared his fangs, slowly moving closer, threatening. Lancelot was not impressed. Rather he was surprised by his own reaction. He felt absolutely no fear. The fox now was very angry, but Lancelot said:
“I will not follow you to your house.”
“Don’t be naughty. Do what you’re told. This time I make sure you can’t escape from me. Hurry up! Move!”
“No!” Lancelot was determined.
The fox was fuming, hissing. His mouth wide open he leapt at Lancelot. Lancelot froze but managed to raise his arm, protecting his throat. The bucket still in his paw. To the fox’s surprise he bit into the bucket instead of Lancelot’s throat. His teeth dug deep into the plastic. The bucket was stuck in his mouth, like a shoe in the mud. The fox was disgusted. His whole body shuddered, trying to shake off the bucket. But instead it flipped over his head, blindfolding him. The fox jumped backwards, forwards and rolled over the forest floor. But with every move the bucket became more and more entangled between his teeth.
“Yak!” the fox yelped. “It’ph diphguphting. Abpholutly diphguphting.” He staggered towards Lancelot, blind. “Do phomephing! Pull phat philly phing out of my mouph.”
“You’re not my friend,” Lancelot said. “You tried to eat me.”
He leaned back, supporting his body with his tail. With all his force he leapt forward and hurled his legs into the fox’s belly. The fox tumbled onto the forest floor, yelping. “Wait. There is more,” Lancelot laughed. “A real kangaroo like me can do much more.” Having seen how Rosebush’s uncle wrestled with his opponent, Lancelot jumped on top of the fox, weighing him down with his body, shoving his snout into the dirt.
“Ouchph!” the fox moaned. His limbs stretched out on the forest floor like stiff bean poles.
After the fox had to swear by his fluffy tail never to attack Lancelot again or any other kangaroo, Lancelot let him go. The fox ran away, as fast as he could, as if being chased by starving lions.
Lancelot laughed, proud of having conquered the fox. He felt free. Without the bucket he was able to see everything around him. He watched the eagles, circling in their pursuit high up in the sky. He admired the trees, swaying quietly in the wind. In the distance, down in the valley he saw the farmhouse where Bill and Emmy lived, and himself. He saw Meryl Sheep, trotting out of her shed and pushing her head through the mesh of the fence, trying to pick some grass from the horse paddock. And then he saw Emmy stepping outside. He could swear there was a bowl of fresh fruit sitting in her arm. Apples, pears, apricots, maybe melon, were whetting his appetite. Lancelot thought about the fox’s words, still printed in his mind. Kangaroos did not want a one-armed kangaroo in their mob, he had said. It did not matter if he was able to look after himself or not. In the mob’s eye he was incomplete, not a proper kangaroo, having only one arm. It was a fact, and there was nothing Lancelot could do about it. So, he decided, he would not try to change it. Rather accept it. Live with it. But –and this was by far his biggest problem- would he ever have the chance to see Rosebush again, behind her uncle’s back, in secret? There must be a way, Lancelot convinced himself. But what way? He needed to think about it, very hard. He needed a plan. But there was no way to come up with any on an empty stomach. Lancelot had no choice. He had to go home. To the farmhouse where a bowl full of fresh fruit was waiting for him.
Chapter Fourteen
A brilliant Idea
It was summer. Lancelot was healthy again. He looked marvelous. His coat had grown back, covering the spot where there was a scar. A small, pink-colored line with fleshy edges, only apparent if one looked very closely. With every day Lancelot had learned to use his body in a more efficient and clever way. Rosebush was right. He was able to do everything with only one arm. Everything a kangaroo needed or wished to do. He managed to hop, to lie down, to pick grass, to clean himself up and to scratch every spot on his body. But the best proof that he was able to look after himself was his dangerous and life-threatening encounter with the fox.
“I am very impressed,” Meryl Sheep said, chewing some grass. “You might have lost an arm but you have gained more strength and courage.”
Still, Lancelot wasn’t completely and utterly happy. Often he sat for hours beside Meryl Sheep, watching her eat, a little bit sad and lost in his thoughts. “I miss her,” he sighed.
Meryl Sheep swallowed the grass she had chewed up into a mash before. Eventually she asked: “Young man, would you possibly tell me who you are missing?”
“You know who I’m talking about. Rosebush!”
“Why aren’t you going to see her?”
“Are you kidding me? Didn’t I tell you that her uncle will turn me into a bale of straw if he sees me near her?”
Meryl Sheep looked at him, stunned, and repeated: “A bale of straw? Dry grass? How disgusting. Yak.”
“There must be a way how I can see Rosebush,” Lancelot said. “What shall I do, Meryl Sheep? Tell me. You know everything. You must have an idea.”
Lancelot could see in her face that Meryl Sheep was not wasting any thoughts on his problem. Her attention was on the pile of grass lying in front of her shed.
“What are you eating?” Lancelot asked.
“The best, most delicious, absolutely most heavenly grass from the horse paddock.”
“From the horse paddock? How come?”
“Look around you. You obviously haven’t noticed the lack of rain in the last few months. My paddock is dryer than a toasted slice of bread. In order for me not to starve to death, Bill serves me every day a pile of fresh grass.”
The kangaroos on Mount Pear crossed Lancelot’s mind. He remembered Rosebush lamenting. There was not enough grass in their feeding grounds. If a miracle did not happen very soon they all would die
of hunger. Lancelot looked again at Meryl Sheep’s dried-up paddock. How bad must it be on Mount Pear? he asked himself. Every inch of the soil would be dry and hard like concrete by now, for sure. Not a single stem of grass, as far as you could poke your nose. Lancelot shivered as he imagined Rosebush sneaking into the nasty neighbour’s paddock, pinching a bit of grass. And how horrible and devastating it would be if the neighbour caught her. Pointing his shotgun at her! Suddenly he had an idea. He should do the same that Bill did for Meryl Sheep. Pick grass from the horse paddock and take it to the kangaroos on Mount Pear. What a great idea that was! That way they would not have to starve anymore. They would survive. But his enthusiasm diminished as quickly as it had exploded. How on earth could he manage to drag heaps and heaps of grass up the mountain, all by himself?
“I wished I had a pouch,” he sighed.
“A pouch?” Meryl Sheep repeated. “Isn’t it remarkable how unthankful we creatures are? We are never content with what we call our own. Never happy with our possessions. We always long for more. But at the same time I do admit, I am the same. Bill gives me grass every day. I appreciate it. But appreciated it even more if he left me roaming free in the horse paddock. I would start eating in the furthest corner and slowly make my way up, step by step, through the juicy grass. I wouldn’t miss a single stem. Since there is an abundance of grass in the paddock, I would—“
“That’s it,” Lancelot interrupted her, beside himself. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? You are simply the best. I knew it. You always have the best ideas.” He gave her a big kiss on the nose and hopped away, as fast as a whirlwind.
“Ideas?” Meryl Sheep asked, bewildered. “What ideas?”
Chapter Fifteen
White Lie
Endless days of heat had transformed Mount Pear into something similar to a piece of dried fruit. A dried pear. The drought had left cavernous troughs in the soil. They looked like wrinkles on the shriveled up skin of an old man. No water, no moisture was left in the soil. Most of it had oozed away, trickling down to the bottom of the valley. The rest had been sucked up by the sun. The land needed rain, urgently. But the blue sky diminished any hope of water drops ever falling down. It seemed as if rain clouds had forgotten this corner of the world for ever.