all the force of which he was capable, threw him down on the sidewalk headfirst.
It had been enough so that the llama would not awaken again that night.
When his soft skull struck against the stone of the sidewalk hardly a sound was heard, but when the crow took hold of the llama’s legs and swung the animal right into the side of the Volga, the distinct but hardly dramatic sound of a seam bursting could clearly be heard.
The llama remained lying next to the car, and Tom-Tom positioned himself with one leg on either side of the unconscious body. Sam screamed.
“Crow! We have to leave!”
But Sam’s words only sounded like a weak sigh in the ears of the crow, like a breeze in a tree. With his foot Tom-Tom shoved the lifeless body so that the llama rolled around onto its back, exposing the tear under its right arm.
Tom-Tom fell down on his knees and pressed his wing feathers into the opening. He dug in as far as he was able and tore the stuffing out of the llama with a frenzy that caused Sam to turn his head and look in a different direction. This pulling and tearing of the llama’s insides went on until almost all the cotton was lying in piles alongside the animal on the sidewalk.
Then Tom-Tom’s strength ran out, and slowly he rose and got into the car. Sam hopped in on the passenger side, and they drove away in silence.
The sky was far from starry, but here and there they could still see the moonlight between breaks in the cloud cover.
They were in a hurry.
EMMA RABBIT
Magnus, I’m tired of waiting. I know this is a waiting room and I know that this is where you wait, but that doesn’t matter, I’m still tired of waiting. Besides, there’s a pitiful assortment of animals in here; it was like that the time before in Dr. Sharm’s waiting room and it’s like that here, too. On the couch by the aquarium, in the armchairs by the ugly coffee table, old hags all over the place who refuse to accept that time passes, that they’re no longer young, that their fur has seen better days. I’m not much better myself, I’m not saying that. But it’s still somewhat different, I haven’t even turned forty, and apart from my knees I don’t look so bad. You might take me for thirty. Perhaps even twenty-five, some evening when I’m made up. The old lady who’s staring at the guppy can’t possibly be under sixty-five, and what does she think? That she looks like she did in her fifties? It’s tragic. When I turn fifty I hope I’ve aged with dignity. I’ll keep my head high, dress like a lady, and try not to cling to my youth as though I wasn’t finished with it. As if youth wasn’t already lived and completely, thoroughly explored. I’m not a stuffed animal who looks back. What has been, has been, and will never come back. I can’t understand those who go over and over all their old injustices, bitter about things that have happened, things that you can’t do anything about anyway.
Waiting.
No, it wasn’t my turn. It was the stuck-up lion who was just inside the door. Wonder what she’s doing here? Perhaps she’s acquainted with the doctor? She could use a new tip for her tail, but I doubt if she’s noticed that. If you close your eyes to shit, you don’t see it. One of Papa’s words of wisdom. He throws thousands of such proverbs around, that he’s thought up himself and that sound like true wisdom but aren’t wise at all. I learned them all, and Mama went crazy every time I repeated them out loud. They were never a happy combination, Mama and Papa. She is too ordinary for him. Still, it’s easier for me to understand that he put up with her than that it was the other way around. Why has she let it go on, year after year? I would never have been able to stand it. I would have put my foot down. But it’s clear, deep down inside she must be afraid. Who isn’t? He isn’t much to look at, but appearances are deceptive. Perhaps he’s threatened her? Said that if she leaves him he’s going to…well, something unpleasant. Sometimes I’ve heard him when he doesn’t know it. When he’s at the office and I’m just on my way in but have stopped outside