Sputnik's Guide to Life on Earth, Page 2

  ‘Whoa – look at these! Do you know the people in these pictures?’

  – They’re my Star Wars Top Trumps cards.

  ‘I’d love to meet this guy. He looks so nice – all smooth and shiny.’

  – That’s Darth Vader. He’s the incarnation of evil. You’re a rotten judge of character.

  ‘I bet if I met him I could find his good side.’

  – He’s not real.

  ‘How can you have a photo of someone who’s not real?’ He was jangling my set of keys with the Leaning Tower of Pisa key ring.

  – They’re the keys to the flat in Traquair. We’ll be going back there as soon as Grandad gets sorted.

  ‘This?’

  – A used train ticket from the time we went to Glasgow and got lost.

  ‘This?’

  – That’s Grandad’s harmonica. He used to play it when he was all alone on the night watch up on deck. He was playing that when he spotted the iceberg.

  Mellows blew into it randomly. It wheezed and squeaked. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is what I call music. Can I have it?’

  – No. It’s Grandad’s.

  ‘OK. What’s that?’

  – That’s my map. It’s important. Put it down.

  ‘What’s it a map of?’

  – Places we went together when I was a wean. He drew it for me. Put it back.

  Then I had a thought . . .

  – Hey. You rang on the doorbell yesterday.

  ‘Yeah.’

  – But there is no doorbell.

  ‘That’s right.’

  – . . .

  ‘I always carry a doorbell with me. Just in case.’ He rooted around in his yellow backpack and pulled out an electric doorbell with great lengths of wire hanging out of it.

  – Right. So, what else have you got in your backpack?

  ‘My backpack? No, no. You won’t find a present in here. Everything in here is crucial to my survival. Or my research.’

  He rooted through my stuff and pulled out something else.

  – Oh, that was a present. Ages ago.

  ‘A present. Exactly what you’re looking for!’

  It was an old plastic lightsaber that Grandad got me the time we went to Glasgow, the kind with a plastic blade that telescopes out when you flick it.

  ‘She’ll love it. Let’s wrap it up.’

  It was a red one, like for a Sith or Darth Maul. A green one – like for Yoda – would have been better for a five-year-old, but that was all I had.

  By the time we went to bed that night I wished I’d been more careful in my choice of lightsaber.

  Friends Arrive

  I’d never seen a children’s birthday party up close before. On my birthdays it was always just me and Grandad. He’d make me a cake. Usually one shaped like a pirate ship. ‘I’ve baked cakes for kings and criminals in all the Seven Seas. Make a wish and blow the candles out.’ He used to say that every birthday. Annabel’s cake was on a table in the corner. It was shaped like Angelina Ballerina. There was too much pink icing and it all wobbled worryingly once Annabel’s little mates started tumbling into the room.

  ‘Everyone,’ said the mum, when Annabel’s friends arrived, ‘this is Prez Mellows and this is . . . Mr Mellows.’

  ‘Where did this lot all come from? Have they had more children in the night?’ said Mellows.

  – They’re Annabel’s friends. Be nice to them.

  So Mellows shook hands with the nearest little girl. She shrieked with happiness. Then the next one wanted to shake his hand too and hordes of little Disney princesses were more or less wrestling with each other for the chance to shake hands with Mellows.

  None of them was even a tiny bit interested in shaking hands with me.

  Musical Bumps, Statues, Chairs, etc.

  Then the music started and the little Disney princesses started jumping up and down in time to ‘Let It Go’. The music stopped. They all stood dead still.

  ‘We’re playing musical statues,’ said Jessie. ‘Want a shot in charge of the music, Prez? You just press pause or play whenever you feel like it.’

  It was a chance to make myself useful.

  Mellows came and stood next to me. ‘This is just incredible,’ he said. ‘What we have here is push-button children. How does it work? Are they robots? Droids? Hypnotized?’

  – No, it’s just a game. See? I press stop and they stop.

  I pressed stop and they stopped.

  – I press play and they start.

  I pressed play and they started.

  ‘Can you make them go faster?’

  – I suppose.

  I switched from ‘Let It Go’ to ‘Hakuna Matata’, and the princesses all started jumping up and down like wallabies waiting for the toilet.

  Mellows grinned. ‘Perfect.’

  Then I slowed it right down to ‘Do You Want to Build a Snowman?’.

  Jessie declared me the best musical-statues DJ ever. I stayed in charge of the music for musical chairs and pass the parcel.

  Presents

  Annabel loved the lightsaber! She threw her arms around my middle and shouted, ‘Mum! I got a magic wand!’

  ‘That’s actually a lightsaber,’ said Jessie.

  ‘It does magic,’ insisted Annabel. She kept shaking the blade out and tipping it back in again, even when they were eating their pizzas.

  ‘Great present, Prez,’ said Ray.

  One of Annabel’s friends – the one with the blonde ponytail who doesn’t come any more because of what happened next – pointed out that the lightsaber didn’t work.

  ‘Given that it’s a deadly weapon, that’s probably a good thing,’ said the dad.

  Food, Cake etc.

  Even though they’d given Mellows plenty to eat, he still seemed to mainly be interested in food. He watched over the big bowl of Hula Hoops like it was a sleeping baby. When the mum brought in the Angelina Ballerina birthday cake, you would have thought the cake was a massive magnet and his eyes were little iron marbles. I really thought they would pop right out of his head. He was hypnotized by that cake.

  The mum spotted him licking his lips and said, ‘Prez. Wee job for you. Would you take Mellows for a walk?’

  – Take him for a walk? Why would I take him for a walk? Why wouldn’t he just go for a walk?

  ‘I think he’s probably hungry, but I don’t want him near the food until the children have eaten. Just in case. If you know what I mean?’

  I had no idea what she meant.

  Jessie came running up. ‘I’ll take him out,’ she said. ‘I want to take him out.’

  But Mellows wouldn’t budge. ‘I can’t believe you’re trying to throw me out when there’s food. You know I love food.’

  ‘Come on, Mellows,’ said Jessie. Then: ‘He won’t move.’ She tried pushing him. I mean, pushing someone out the door – how is that manners? I didn’t know what else to do so I walked out into the farmyard.

  Mellows followed me.

  ‘Prez has got the knack,’ said the mum.

  ‘Thanks for that, Mum,’ said Jessie.

  One side of the farmyard is a big whitewashed barn with no windows, where they keep the tractors and the calves. There’s a little grassy bit with a fence around it, full of chickens. Then there’s a row of stables with those doors that only go halfway up. Two of them have got ponies in but they belong to the neighbours so you can’t ride them. You can give them carrots though. And Jessie gets to take them out into the paddock in the mornings. Just now the ponies were standing with their heads poking over the stable doors, as if they were hanging them out to dry. Jessie ran past us saying, ‘Mellows, come here! Come here. Come here and see.’

  She went to the empty stable at the end and opened the door. Someone had cleaned the stall out. There was a massive tartan cushion in the corner, some kind of washing basket with a blanket in it, a ball and a bowl of water. The dad was inside, fixing a sign to the door with a drill and some screws.

  ‘What do you think
?’ he asked when Mellows looked in.

  – I think it’s a stall with a cushion, a ball and a bowl of water in.

  That was what I thought.

  Mellows took a deep breath. ‘Creosote,’ he said, ‘a little tang of hedgehog wee, chicken droppings and WD-40. It’s got good smells. It’s earthy. It’s masculine. It’s very me. I love it.’

  ‘It’s all yours.’ The dad smiled. ‘You’ll be much happier here than in the house. You don’t have to wait for someone to let you out if you want to run around a bit. Out here, you’ve got your freedom.’

  – Wait. Are they saying they want you to sleep out here? In a stable?!

  ‘Of course,’ said the dad. ‘It’s only temporary. Until we find your real home.’

  ‘Temporary,’ whooped Annabel, who had followed Mellows out and was now hugging my leg. ‘Like Prez!’ she squealed, running back inside.

  ‘What does he mean, real home?’ asked Mellows.

  – You know. Somewhere you came from. Somewhere you live.

  ‘I live wherever I am. I live all over the place. Always moving. Like your grandad.’

  – How do you know about my grandad?

  ‘I know he was a sailor.’

  – But he came from somewhere. He belonged somewhere.

  ‘I belong,’ said Mellows, ‘to the universe. All of it. This stable or the back of Betelgeuse, it’s all the same to me.’

  ‘Look!’ Jessie smiled. ‘I made this.’

  She pointed to the sign that the dad had now finished screwing to the doorpost. It said ‘Mr Mellows’ in neat red letters on a piece of wood.

  ‘Oh, please,’ said Mellows, ‘we’re friends now. Call me Sputnik. Sputnik is my first name.’

  ‘Sputnik?!’ I was so surprised I said this out loud, like, ‘SPUTNIK?!’

  Jessie stared at me.

  The dad stared at me.

  Then they stared at each other.

  Then they stared at me again.

  Finally they said, ‘Sput-nik?’ both together.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Sputnik. ‘It’s Russian. It means “companion” in English.’

  ‘Are you saying his name is Sputnik?’ said the dad. ‘Only you did tell us it was Mellows.’

  I said ‘Sputnik’ again.

  ‘You’ve only said two words since you arrived,’ said Jessie. ‘Two words, and you’ve still managed to contradict yourself.’

  ‘If you say Sputnik, Prez,’ said the dad, ‘then Sputnik it is. Maybe Jess could make a new sign after the party.’

  ‘Sputnik Mellows,’ I said.

  ‘Oh!’ said the dad. ‘Sputnik Mellows! I see. Sputnik Mellows.’ He said it a few times, like he was trying to taste it. ‘So he’s got a first name and a second name?’

  – Of course he’s got a first name and a second name. Everyone has.

  ‘Sputnik Mellows. I like it. So you don’t have to make a new sign after all, Jess. Just have to put an S in between the Mr and the Mellows. Mr S. Mellows. See?’

  ‘First time I’ve heard of a dog with a surname,’ said Jessie.

  DOG?! What was she talking about? Dog?! Who was she calling a dog?

  That’s when it clicked.

  People pat Sputnik on the head.

  People drop food in his mouth.

  People tell him he’s a good boy.

  They’re amazed when he shakes hands.

  And now Jessie was on tiptoe holding a chunk of chocolate high above Sputnik’s head, saying, ‘Come on, boy, beg, beg.’

  Sputnik raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would I beg for chocolate? If I wanted chocolate, I’d go and buy some.’

  – Sputnik, this is really strange and probably sounds really rude, but I think the whole family has mistaken you for a dog.

  ‘Ah.’ Sputnik smiled. ‘That explains everything.’

  – No, no. It doesn’t explain anything. Why would they think you were a dog?

  ‘Think about it. Humans and dogs share ninety per cent of their DNA. Biologically they’re practically the same thing. Obviously people are going to make mistakes from time to time.’

  – Is that true?! Ninety per cent the same DNA? That’s bananas!

  ‘Humans also share fifty per cent of their DNA,’ he said, ‘with bananas.’

  – No!

  ‘Besides –’ he shrugged – ‘I’m Sputnik Mellows. Sputnik Mellows does not care what people think.’

  – But if you look like a dog to everyone else, how come you look like a human being to me?

  ‘Because you . . .’ said Sputnik, ‘you are the whole point of my mission.’

  – Your mission?

  ‘Everyone in the universe has a mission. You’re mine.’

  3.

  Lightsabers

  Before Sputnik could tell me any more, the dad took me and Jessie out into the yard ‘for a quiet word’. I had to go, because if you’re a visitor you have to do as you’re told.

  ‘A few rules,’ he said, ‘about Sputnik. Are you listening?’

  Jessie said yes. I nodded.

  ‘First of all – not in the house. This is a farm. If he stays . . .’

  ‘He is staying, isn’t he?’

  ‘. . . as long as no one claims him. I’m going to make enquiries on the caravan site just in case he’s someone’s pet.’

  ‘He hasn’t got a collar on.’

  ‘I know. So. If he does stay, then he’s a farm dog, not a pet. So he belongs out here in his kennel, not in the house.’

  ‘What if it’s cold?’

  ‘He can come into the kitchen, that’s all. Second, and much, much more important, this is a dairy farm. I can’t have him frightening the beasts. If you two want him to stay, then you two have to teach him how to behave around cattle. OK? You have to train him. You have to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ said Jessie. I nodded again.

  ‘It’s a big responsibility, but it’s your responsibility.’

  Playing Out

  Because she was the birthday girl, Annabel was the first one outside. She went tumbling across the yard with her lightsaber in her chubby little hand. Her friends all came behind her, skipping and screaming, the plastic diamonds on their big floaty dresses twinkling in the sun.

  ‘These children,’ said Sputnik, ‘they’re very . . . pink and shiny. Like icing.’

  – That’s just their party clothes.

  ‘Are they edible?’

  – No! They’re not edible. They’re really not edible.

  ‘Are you sure? They look edible.’

  – They are not edible. Do not bite them.

  Ray brought the last children outside, shouting, ‘Annabel! Look what I found under my bed!’ He waved a green plastic lightsaber over his head. ‘Who wants a lightsaber duel?’

  ‘Me!’ whooped Annabel. She came straight for Ray and clobbered his virtuous lightsaber with her evil one.

  ‘Ow!’ Ray dropped his lightsaber.

  The little girl with the blonde ponytail grabbed it. The two little girls had a Yoda versus Darth Maul duel up and down the yard. They had to be moved because they were worrying the ponies. All the kids were chivvied into the garden. Annabel managed to get up on top of a wheelbarrow and disarm her friend just by the shed.

  Then she waggled her own lightsaber in Sputnik’s face and threw it – not very far because she was only little – shouting, ‘Go on, Sputnik! Fetch!’

  Sputnik looked at me. ‘Fetch? Is she serious? Fetch? Really?!’

  – She thinks you’re a dog, remember. Go on. She’s only wee.

  ‘Sputnik Mellows does not fetch.’

  – It’s her birthday.

  ‘Just. This. Once.’ He trotted over to the lightsaber and examined it. ‘You said this was a lightsaber. It doesn’t do anything. It’s broken.’

  – I think it needs batteries. She doesn’t mind. She likes it.

  ‘Have you got the manual?’

  – It’s just a toy. Go on. Fetch it for her.

  ‘I won’t f
etch,’ said Sputnik. ‘Fetching is beneath me. What I will do is fix it.’ He fiddled around with it for a while, then handed it to Annabel.

  Annabel’s-Friend-Who-We-Don’t-See-Any-More came at her with the green lightsaber. Annabel whooped and shook her lightsaber. A telescopic plastic blade should have popped out, but it didn’t. Instead, a column of blinding, buzzing, red light sliced the air.

  Everyone stared.

  – Wow, you really did make it work!

  ‘I am the Sputnik.’

  Annabel’s friend swiped at her with her plastic lightsaber. Annabel parried. The friend’s lightsaber exploded in a thick black cloud of stinking smoke. Melted plastic dripped down the handle. The friend squealed with delight. Annabel squealed with even more delight.

  – Oh! Hang on, this could be really dangerous.

  ‘Yes. It could!’ Sputnik said with a smile, as though really dangerous was the best thing a birthday party could ever be. ‘They’ll remember this for a long time.’

  Annabel tore around the garden with the Darth Maul lightsaber, looking for stuff to destroy. She started with the wheelbarrow. Hot yellow sparks fireworked from the metal as she swung the blade. The handle fell smoking on to the grass. Her friends screamed and begged for more. They didn’t seem to be worried that they might be next after the wheelbarrow. They chased after her when she ran at the sheet of corrugated metal that was holding up the compost heap. It is not wise to run under a climbing frame while waving a fully functioning lightsaber over your head. It will definitely cut the monkey bars in half and slam the jagged ends into the grass. The kids jumped back. They howled with laughter. They seemed to think being nearly impaled by a smouldering monkey bar was the most fun you could ever have.

  Destruction! They loved it!

  They clapped while Annabel melted the corrugated metal. They cheered as the drips rolled down its ripples like ice cream. ‘More! More!’

  Annabel swung around to take a bow. Her best friend, a little girl in a Frozen costume, saw the blade of light coming towards her and ducked just in time to stop it decapitating her. But not in time to save her thick blonde ponytail, which fell at her feet like a dead gerbil that was slightly on fire. Everyone stared at it in horrible silence.

  It could have cut her head off.