Sputnik's Guide to Life on Earth

  I decided to make a list.

  1. The Amazon.

  2. The Great Pyramid, Egypt.

  3. A different great pyramid, Mexico.

  4. The Taj Mahal, India.

  5. Murmansk, Russia.

  6. Shangri-La . . .

  I didn’t notice Ray looking over my shoulder until he said, ‘The Amazon? You’ve been up the Amazon?’

  According to the map I had.

  ‘And Shangri-La? Really?! I thought Shangri-La was a made-up place. I thought it was a mythical kingdom in the Himalayas.’

  – Well, that explained why Grandad didn’t want to end up there. Who would want to end up somewhere mythical?

  ‘The Taj Mahal?! You’ve seen the Taj Mahal?! Dairy farmers never go anywhere. If we went to the Taj Mahal, we’d have to take the cows with us. Every summer everyone else in my class goes off to Spain or Florida or Blackpool or whatever. And we’re stuck here at Stramoddie making hay. You know what our holiday is, Prez? When the Temporary Kid comes to stay with us. You are the holiday. Be a good holiday, eh? Bring me sunshine.’ He stepped into his boots and headed outside.

  I hadn’t thought about the fact that there had been other Temporary Kids before me. I wondered who they were. Did they all get the top bunk? Were some of them more fun than me?

  From the bedroom window I could see Ray starting to help his dad fix the fence where the tree had crashed into it. The dad was driving a thing like a miniature digger. Ray was piling the bits into the scoop. I was about to go down and make myself useful when Sputnik bounced in.

  ‘Ready to save your little world?!’

  – You’re not allowed indoors except the kitchen.

  ‘Then let’s go! Is this the Ten Things Worth Seeing? What’s that? Is it far?’

  ‘It’s the world’s most beautiful building.’

  ‘Stop right there. Buildings don’t count.’

  – What?!

  ‘Buildings are nothing but architecture. I’m not interested in architecture. Not human architecture anyway. Humans can’t build for toffee.’

  – Oh.

  Panic exploded in my brain like popcorn. What was I supposed to do now? Nearly all the Wonders of the World are human architecture.

  – What other kinds of architecture are there?

  ‘Bee architecture. Have you ever been inside a bee hive? Now that is architecture. Hexagonal combs running with honey. Light. And the sound! Hundreds of bees working away. Prawns and the like, they build too. Coral reefs. They built them out of their own bodies. So. The Taj Mahal . . . I don’t like the sound of it.’

  – What do you like the sound of? This is serious. I’m trying to save a planet here.

  He clutched his ears and yowled. ‘Well, I don’t like the sound of that for a start! Make it stop!’ as if he was in pain. For a second I thought the world was ending there and then.

  – What’s happening? Are you OK? What’s wrong?

  ‘Can’t you hear that? It’s like someone’s drilling in my eardrums.’

  – What is it?

  ‘A whistle. Can’t you hear? It must be around 53 kilohertz!’

  I looked out of the window. Jessie was in the yard, holding a dog leash and blowing into a little silver whistle.

  – It’s Jessie. I think she’s got a dog whistle.

  ‘I’ll soon put a stop to that.’ Sputnik opened his backpack. The room was suddenly filled with a hot, fireworky smell. He pulled out a pistol. A real pistol. It looked like something from Pirates of the Caribbean; heavy, with a big brass hammer at the back, a silver trigger and a wooden handle.

  – Whoa. Stop.

  ‘I’ll shoot over her head. Just to frighten her.’

  – Oh no no no. Oh. Wait. Oh no. Oh.

  – My.

  – Days.

  – That’s how you got the shopping this morning, isn’t it?! You pulled a gun in Dmitri’s shop!

  ‘Guns are so useful. When you want stuff without paying for it.’

  He was at the window. He was aiming at Jessie.

  – No. No. Stop. Definitely stop.

  ‘She’s the one who needs to stop.’

  – Then we’ll go down and stop her with good manners. NOT WITH GUNS.

  Even when we got right up to Jessie I still couldn’t hear the whistle, just a faint thumping sound. When she saw us coming she took it out of her mouth.

  Sputnik said, ‘Thank the stars for that.’ Then the thumping stopped and I realized it hadn’t been the whistle at all. It was my heart worrying about him pulling a gun.

  Ray came over to look at the whistle. ‘We got that in the feed store, remember? We used to use it in that game . . .’

  ‘Dogs of the Future. I loved that game.’

  ‘Don’t talk about it in front of the Temporary Kid. It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘And don’t talk about the Temporary Kid in front of the Temporary Kid. Maybe he doesn’t talk, but he does have ears. Hi, Prez!’

  ‘Hi, Prez,’ Jessie smiled. Then she dived on Sputnik and fixed an old-looking collar round his neck. The leather was all cracked and it had a little brass medal attached that had been worn smooth. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Love it,’ said Sputnik. ‘Is it a local custom? I love local customs.’

  – It’s a local custom if you’re a dog. You’re not a dog.

  ‘Who cares about the species? It’s the thought that counts.’

  But while he was talking Jessie had clipped a leash to the collar and now she started dragging him down the lane towards the cow pasture. Sputnik was disgusted.

  ‘What’s she doing?! Ow! She’s dragging me. Does she think I’m her luggage?’

  ‘Come on, Sputnik,’ trilled Jessie. ‘Walkies.’

  ‘Walkies? Are you nuts? We’ve got a planet to save! Tell her.’

  – How can I tell her? What would I say? ‘Your dog is not a dog, and by the way an extra-terrestrial demolition gang is going to come and knock your planet down very soon so could you unclip the leash, please?’

  ‘That about sums it up. OW! She keeps pulling.’

  – If I said that, they’d have me back to the Temporary. Only it wouldn’t be temporary any more.

  ‘Sit, Sputnik! Sit!’ said Jessie, pointing at the ground.

  ‘I’ll sit when you bring me a chair,’ said Sputnik. ‘I’m not sitting here. It’s covered in mud.’

  ‘Sit!’

  – Yes, I’ll sit. When we find something hygienic to sit on.

  They call the long lane running down to the farm ‘the loaning’. Sputnik trotted off down it. Some of the cows looked up as he passed. Sputnik stopped. He stared.

  ‘What are they?’

  – Cows.

  ‘Cows,’ said Sputnik, rolling the word around his mouth like a new flavour.

  ‘Stay,’ said Jessie, crouching down in front of him. ‘Sputnik, stay.’ She held a finger up in his face. ‘Stay, stay, stay . . .’

  ‘I think you’ve made yourself fairly clear,’ said Sputnik. ‘You want me to stay here, is that right?’

  ‘Good boy.’ Very slowly she undid the leash and walked away from him backwards. ‘Good boy. Good Sputnik.’

  ‘So. Cows,’ Sputnik hissed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Are they . . . edible?’

  – No.

  ‘They smell edible.’

  – Well, you can eat them, but first you have to . . .

  ‘Great! I’m STAAARRVING!’ He didn’t wait for me to finish. He was just gone.

  ‘SPUTNIK!’ yelled Jessie. ‘Come here, boy! Come here, Sputnik.’

  But Sputnik wasn’t coming here. Sputnik hurled himself over the fence, straight into the middle of the herd of cows. What was he going to do? Bite a cow?!

  The cows didn’t wait to find out.

  They mooed.

  They rolled their eyes.

  They fled in one big bumping mud-flinging ground-banging cow-riot.

  ‘Sputnik! NOOO!!!’ howled Jessie.

  I went after
him. Cows thundered over the pasture in the direction of the hill behind the house. I ran after them. What was I planning to do? Grab them by their tails or something?

  The dad came striding over the hill towards us in his wellies. ‘Whoa there! Whoa! What’s going on?!’ He waved a big stick. ‘What’s Sputnik doing in the field?’ The cows were going round in circles now. ‘Look at the cows! This is a stampede! They’re bouncing around so much their milk will be yogurt by the time we get it in the can. You have to control him, Prez. You have to be responsible.’

  ‘No one,’ snarled Sputnik, pushing his mud-spattered goggles up on to the top of his head and looking the dad in the eye, ‘controls Sputnik.’

  ‘It’s my fault!’ called Jessie, running up the field. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I was bringing them in for milking. It’s going to take ages to settle them now.’

  ‘It was my fault,’ said Jessie again. ‘I won’t do it again. Don’t send him away.’

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking about Sputnik or me.

  ‘Fuss about nothing,’ said Sputnik. ‘You just have to be assertive. He probably heard something like Arrff Arrff Woof.’

  Obviously the dad didn’t hear that. He said, ‘Take Sputnik back into the house before he does any more damage.’

  But Sputnik stood with his hands on his hips on the top of the rise and shouted, ‘Lady mammals! Look at me. Come on, look at me.’ The cows turned their big wet eyes towards him. ‘Am I going to eat you? YES, I AM!’ The cows made a cow-fuss. ‘UNLESS – are you listening? – UNLESS you do as you’re told. If you do as you’re told I won’t eat you. Even though you smell tasty.’

  ‘At least keep him quiet,’ said the dad.

  ‘Lady mammals!’ bawled Sputnik. ‘Form an orderly queue. Go and get yourselves milked. You know you want to really.’

  The cows stopped mooing.

  They also stopped panicking, running, barging and pooing.

  They formed an orderly queue.

  ‘Oh,’ said the dad. The cows walked, one behind the other, up the hill, as though they were queuing for their pensions in the post office.

  ‘Right,’ shrugged the dad, scratching his head as the cows filed by. ‘Well. Things seem to have settled down a bit. So. Keep Sputnik under control and you can come and help with the milking.’

  I followed the dad and Jessie and the cows over the hill. At the top, I stopped and stared.

  ‘Good, eh?’ said the dad.

  In the dip at the bottom of the hill was a castle. It was very small for a castle. But it was definitely a castle. It had a tower and tall windows and a moat and a drawbridge even.

  ‘Some people have a milking parlour,’ said the dad. ‘We have a milking castle. It’s famous.’

  ‘Everyone calls it the Coo Palace,’ said Jessie, ‘My great-grandad built it. The roof leaks and the tower’s a wee bit wonky . . .’

  ‘That’s just the underpinning,’ said Sputnik. ‘I could easily fix that.’

  – Like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. That’s been wonky for hundreds of years and it still hasn’t fallen down.

  ‘You’ve seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa?’ said Sputnik.

  – Course. One of the things I saw when I was travelling.

  ‘What’s it like?’

  – Well it was quite . . . leany.

  ‘Leany?’

  – I don’t remember that much. I was really young. Leaning. It was leaning.

  Jessie didn’t hear that obviously; she just kept talking. She really loved that Coo Palace. ‘I love it. I bet the cows love it too. It’s like Cow Hogwarts! I bet our cows boast about it to other cows. It’s got a real drawbridge. Come and see.’

  We ran ahead and she showed me how to work the handle so that the drawbridge came down. The cows strolled over it and into a kind of courtyard. ‘Once they’re all in, we have to pull the drawbridge up again. Then they’re in this holding area, see? Now we slide back these big doors. Not too fast. And we count the first fifteen cows into the milking parlour. Then close it again quick. You have to shoo any cow that’s trying to follow the others. Now we go in the wee door. We’ll have to leave Sputnik out here. Inside it’s a clean area. Come on. I’ll show you how to wash the udders. You can make yourself useful.’

  I really did want to make myself useful. I just never thought that would mean wiping cows’ underneath bits with a cloth dipped in iodine.

  ‘Cleans the udder,’ said the dad. ‘Also tells the cow to get ready for milking.’

  After that we went round attaching the pumps to the udders. Jessie showed me how. It felt a bit weird but the cows didn’t seem to mind, and it was easy once you got the hang of it. Then the dad threw a switch and a deep sloshing sound ran all around us through the pipes. The dad put his hand on my shoulder and Jessie said, ‘Hear that? That’s the milk that we milked.’

  I could hear that. I could hear a different sound too. A strange, windy moaning.

  ‘We really should sort that roof out,’ said the dad. ‘Listen to the wind wailing up there. Horrible sound.’

  But I knew it wasn’t the wind. I’d heard that sound before. It was Sputnik blowing into Grandad’s harmonica. I wondered how he’d got hold of it.

  Even though he was making such a stramash and was standing miles away from me, he still heard my wondering.

  ‘I stole it!’ he yelled. ‘Your grandad won’t mind. This is a musical instrument. It wants to be played, not hidden away in a backpack.’

  – You’re not playing it. You’re just blowing into it.

  ‘Sounds beautiful to me.’

  – It sounds like something dying inside a washing machine to me.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Hmmm,’ he said, ‘Cow dung, cow wee, cow’s breath, cow’s milk and just a hint of salt and seaweed. I must admit I’m surprised to discover that cows are electric. What are you doing? Recharging them?’

  – They’re not electric. The pumps are. The pumps are for getting the milk out.

  ‘Cows have milk in?! Cows are meat with milk in the middle? No wonder they live in a palace. They’re amazing! Are you sure I couldn’t eat just one?’

  – Where are you? I can hear you but I can’t see you.

  ‘Can you hear Sputnik?’ said Jessie.

  ‘Is he in here somewhere?’ asked the dad.

  ‘Up here!’ yelled Sputnik.

  I looked up. The others followed my gaze. We were standing right under the tower. You could see a square of sky where it was open at the top. You could also see Sputnik looking down at us, goggles flashing.

  ‘How did he get up there?’ said Jessie. ‘The stairs are in here.’

  He probably rode an anti-gravity cow up to the top.

  ‘If I fiddled with the temperature of these pipes,’ said Sputnik, ‘I could make ice cream come out of the cows instead of milk.’

  – Don’t.

  ‘But imagine – a big cow filled with ice cream. Come on. Who wouldn’t want a bite of that?’

  ‘Hold on, Sputnik!’ called the dad, who seemed to think Sputnik didn’t want to be at the top of the tower. ‘We’re coming to get you.’

  Climbing the stairs to the top of the tower was like climbing up a corkscrew of cobwebs. I scraped my arm twice. I felt a bit dizzy by the time I got to the top, but then the fresh air hit me, and so did the view. Fields dipped and rolled all the way up and down the valley. You couldn’t see the farmhouse because it was snuggled in a fold of the hill, but you could see the smoke from its chimney wandering off into the sky. There was a line of trees cresting the hill like a fancy haircut. There was something that looked like a lot of Lego, which turned out to be the caravan site. In the opposite direction, the ground seemed to be shining.

  ‘Is that the sea?’ asked Sputnik. ‘Haven’t seen a sea in thousands of light years. Last sea I saw was the Sea of Peril.’

  – Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it.

  ‘The far end of the Pup solar system. As seas go, it’s disa
ppointing. No gravity. No tide. Also no water.’

  – How can you have a sea without water?

  ‘By having a sea of poisonous gas.’

  – Ah.

  ‘According to the stories, there are seas all over this planet. Seven of them in fact. What’s this one called?’

  ‘This is Rumblecairn Bay and that’s the Merse,’ said the dad, as though he had understood what Sputnik was saying. ‘It’s the bit where the sea goes when the tide comes in. Some people like a nice sandy beach, but we prefer the Merse, don’t we, Jess?’

  ‘The what?’ said Sputnik.

  The dad stared at him. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘sometimes I could swear he understands everything I’m saying.’

  The Merse is basically a lot of mud, but Jessie seemed happy to talk about it until the tide came in:

  ‘I love the way it shines when the sun comes up. Sand doesn’t do that. And if you know where to look there’s all kinds of things. Crabs and mussels and natterjacks. There’s a creek. And there’s a stretch where if you don’t look where you’re stepping, you can wind up in mud up to your middle; that happened to me once. That line of big wooden poles – that’s for the salmon nets. See? I always thought if I ever got caught with the tide coming in, I could hold on to one of them and pretend I was a salmon that’s been caught. They’re covered in mussels and wee limpets so sharp you could cut rope on them. There’s a little stone jetty down that way because this used to be a port – for moving cows and for stone from the quarry. Then there are the wader birds – the redshanks and the curlews – they walk like they’re on stilts. “Merse” is a Viking word, you know. Everyone thinks the Vikings were mad boys, but they weren’t really, were they, Dad? They just didn’t have enough land. When a bairn grew to be a man, his dad would send him out to find a wee bit of land for himself. Then when he had bairns, he’d do the same. That’s why they spread out all over the world. They were just looking for a home, you know? They brought these cows with them. Not these exact cows. But their ancestors. They’re called Belties. See the way the white band goes right round the middle. Belty, see?

  ‘And that hill there with the trees on top. That’s a Roman fort. From the days of Hadrian’s Wall.’