Read Online The Elephant Keepers' Children by Peter Høeg - Free Book Online

ever since. Every fortnight or so he appears on the lawn of the rectory wearing a pink suit, perhaps, with white polka dots on it, and brandishing an archlute, which is a musical instrument that looks and sounds exactly like it came from outer space, and there he will sing for us for half an hour or more. The count is bisexual, so of course he’s in love with Tilte and Hans like a rat is in love with two pieces of cheese, and to begin with I had some explaining to do whenever I had friends around and they heard the count with his archlute and noticed how every now and then he would lift one hand from the instrument so as to conduct the tiny blue people he says populate the space beneath our veranda and who always provide his accompaniment. But now we’re used to him, and Tilte says, in the quiet, unassuming manner for which she is celebrated, that having your own kingdom involves having to be nice to subjects of many different kinds, and gradually the count has become almost like a member of the family.
    Tilte now tests how far he has come in that process.
    â€œRickardt,” she says, “isn’t this a wonderful view?”
    The count nods. He thinks the view from the patio of Big Hill is wonderful, too. Especially now that it’s been improved by Tilte’s presence.
    â€œI see there’s a guard on duty at the gate,” Tilte says. “That’s new since last time we were here. I’m sure it must give the residents and staff a sense of security.”
    The count nods.
    â€œAnd those white sensors,” says Tilte, “the ones on top of the garden wall. I suppose they register if anyone climbs over the wall, and that will give you a sense of security, too. Am I right?”
    The count nods.
    â€œThen there’s these blue wristbands we’ve been given,” says Tilte.
    The count rocks slightly on the balls of his feet.
    â€œWould you not say, Rickardt, that Petrus and I are locked up like a pair of pigs on a factory farm, even though we have yet to see a solicitor or a magistrate?”
    The count says nothing.
    â€œAnd there’s our room,” Tilte continues relentlessly. “Spacious and with such a view anyone would think we were at the finest of hotels. Not to mention being in the company of such good friends. On the one side we’ve got Lars, who was with us on the plane. And on the other we’ve got Katinka, who was also with us on the plane. Lars and Katinka. Wouldn’t you say, Rickardt, drawing on all your experience, that they look like police officers?”
    â€œThey’re only staying for a couple of days,” says the count.
    A lot of people have been wondering why a multimillionaire like the count would buy up Big Hill and condescend himself to work. But for me and Tilte it’s plain. It’s because most of the residents have depth.
    Among Danes at large, even on Finø, a great many people, adults and youngsters alike, though perhaps especially the former, hold the opinion that of all the humiliations and insults to which they have ever been subjected, life is by far the worst. This doesn’t apply to the residents of Big Hill. Not one of them has escaped losing everything in the world, and for that reason they seem to recognize that once a year, at least, one perhaps ought to be slightly glad to be alive.
    It is this spirit that so attracted the count, and it is why he leans toward being on the side of the residents, and right now, standing here in front of Tilte, the side of the residents is a decidedly dodgy side on which to be.
    â€œRickardt,” says Tilte, “we know that Basker is a lively dog. And Petrus is a troubled child. But would you say that two plainclothes police officers plus electronic tagging plus Big Hill, which is guarded like a prison camp, were necessary measures to provide for their care?”
    The count says he was thinking the same thing himself.
    Tilte pauses rhetorically, as they would