The Elephant Keepers' Children Read Online Free Page B

my brother can retain an eye for the ball even off the pitch, because now he careers off to the left down a side street.
    It’s a one-way street and we’re going the wrong way, there are cars everywhere, and for a moment we appear to be heading for a catastrophe. But when people see us in our horse-drawn carriage, it’s as if all road traffic legislation is suddenly suspended. Perhaps it’s because horse-drawn carriages are so diverting, maybe people think we’re parading new high school graduates around as is the custom, even though it’s only April, but the school year does seem to be getting shorter all the time. Whatever the reason, cars and bicycles pull into the side, some pull up onto the pavement, not one of them blows its horn, and then the street is emptied and we have a clear passage.
    The BMW sweeps around the corner. The two men inside have escaped the adversity of BlÃ¥gÃ¥rdsgade, and now they smell blood.
    But it doesn’t last long. A carriage of new high school graduates moving against the traffic is one romantic exception, but a BMW is in obvious contravention of the law. So now it is swallowed up by other vehicles and bicycles and pedestrians, all of them cursing and blowing their horns with all their might.
    At that point, the only thing we know about the two men is that neither of them is likely to be our sprinting songbird’s father or uncle, for they are both as white in complexion as Finø asparagus. And we know that their two hundred-meter dash is deserving of respect.
    That respect is now enhanced, because they have abandoned their vehicle in the middle of the street, have battled their way free of the massive unpopularity that enveloped them before, and are once more in pursuit.
    If, like me, you have ever allowed yourself to be enticed into stealing pears or dried flounder in the gardens of Finø by friends of dubious character, then you will know that when people become old enough to buy a house and grow pears and dry fish in the garden, they have usually lost the ability to propel themselves faster than what at best might be called an energetic shuffle, and besides losing the ability, they have also lost interest. Especially when they happen to be wearing a suit, because personally I have never seen anything in a suit move faster than a brisk trot.
    But that doesn’t apply to the two men who are after us. They are what I would call older people, perhaps even forty, but their sprint is awesome. So all in all a rather gloomy picture begins to emerge of a future in which we are about to arrive at a major thoroughfare with a lot of traffic, which means we shall have to come to a halt, thereby giving the two men a chance to catch up with us, and I really don’t want to think any further than that.
    Tilte and I have drawn up a theory that your first impression of a person is crucial, before you find out how much he or she earns and whether they have children and a clean record with the police, before that there’s a first impression that’s kind of naked.
    If I’m to follow that instinct, then I’m glad that as far as I can see neither of the two men who are now approaching is Conny’s father, because they’re not at all what a prospective son-in-law such as myself would be aiming for. Though their hair is short and they’re both clean shaven and drive a BMW with diplomatic plates and are awesome over the short distance, they don’t resemble people who are out looking for reasonable conversation or a game of ludo. What they look like are people who want things their own way and who couldn’t care less if they left a couple of dead children and the corpse of a dog in their wake.
    In this rather bleak state of affairs, Tilte suddenly barks, “Stop here!”
    Hans makes a sound and the horses draw to a halt as if they just walked into a brick wall.
    We have stopped next to a small park with tables and benches in the