TEST DRAFT 3 With LLaregub footnotes The Boy Who Shot Flimzy Bubbletrumpett- macbook 2

ever since. But I will be leaving soon. I am almost finished here. Now where are you going?
You and your little leopard of the moon with its round eyes and wavering body. Like a
familiar, but unfamiliar. A creature of the imagination.
(Indigo hissed and climbed on to the cupboard and sat among the bottles of beans.)
But not entirely, more like that little feathered thing that perches in the soul, and sings the tune
without the words. Your Indigo has something of that. But I was asking where you are off to.
I told William much of what had happened to me, but said nothing of the gun and my mission.
Ah, he said, the winds awaken and the leaves whirl round.
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The dreamer is become the
dream.
But how can you understand that? I will not spread my dreams under your feet,
38You would
either have to go to sleep or wake up, and either way you would never be sure.
She has returned, you know, the glimmering girl with apple blossom in her hair. 39 I have heard
it on my little radio. I know what you must do.
You must go to The Palace of the Golden Moon.
We sat up late into the night and William told me story after story from the legends and fairy
tales of the country he grew up with. His eyes sparkled in the candle light as he leaned
forward across the table to emphasis some important detail in the story. Sometimes he could
not sit still and rose and paced about the tiny hut, gesturing, breaking into poetry and
becoming totally immersed in his storytelling.
Outside the lonely cries of water birds echoed across the lake, and the wind came and went
whispering around the hut.
You speak almost as if fairies are real, I said.
What! He stopped and looked at me. Of course they are real. At least as real as stocks, shares,
debentures, warranties, and the like. Did you ever walk through a green wood and come to a
tiny green clearing and swear to yourself you can hear the distant sound of music and think to
yourself, this is where the stockbrokers come and dance on a moonlit night. Or crossing a
lonely moor hear the distant sound of baying and see far off the shapes of a pack of share
certificates hunting for the souls of the wicked? Did you? Or perhaps walking in the shadows
of a dark valley you hurry past every rock lest a mortgage leap out and grab you by the
shoulder? Do mothers and fathers send their children to sleep with stories of Estate Agents
and Financial Managers? Do they? Aren’t fairies, ghosts and witches more real than these
things?
He leaned closer and looked straight into my eyes.
I have seen them! They are all around us here. They are the leaves that blow across the water.
They are the nine and fifty swans on clamorous wings. Mysterious and beautiful. 40 Oh, They
are the white swan’s feathers that fall from the sky. They are the sparkling water in the
mountain streams., how I love this place!
But the midges? I hardly liked to remind him of the midges.
His face fell and he sat down again.
Ah, the midges. In life it always comes back to the midges. Now you can go and sleep on that
bed through there. I have to stay up to write. No argument. I can stretch out on the floor if I
need to sleep, or if I stay up all night writing, as I frequently do, I can go to bed after I have
rowed you to the shore in the morning. Goodnight, and thank you for the cheese.
Just after dawn the next morning before the midges has risen and the lake was still blanketed
in mist William rowed us to the shore, splashing and weaving his way over the water.
Does your island have a name? I asked.
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