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

He’s more a person than a dog and won’t sit in the cage. They stop at a service station and buy us sandwiches and sweets, and the mood is bearable until we get there.
    And where we get is the landing strip at Tune, near Roskilde. They run flights here to Finø with several daily departures in the tourist season.
    Most people get to Finø by ferry from GrenÃ¥, which first puts into Anholt to send a handful of bewildered tourists ashore. They have no idea what could have been in store for them if only they had remained on board. After Anholt, the ferry sails on to Finø, and the final hour of the crossing affordsthe passenger the clear sense that he is now on his way out of the Kattegat and sailing toward the North Atlantic, so anyone prone to seasickness and whose finances so allow will tend to go by air.
    The landing strip at Tune is situated in a woodland clearing and comprises a shed with large panes of glass inserted into it, and a strip of tarmac extending seven hundred and fifty meters. On days without scheduled flights it’s lent out to the local youth club, whose custom-built skateboard ramps can be rolled away if air traffic should wish to land. For this reason, aircraft servicing Finø are small single-engined Cessnas requiring only short distances for takeoff and landing.
    But that’s not the kind of plane that’s waiting for us, because this is a military Gulfstream, camouflaged, with twin engines and two pilots, and the only occasion on which an aircraft like this ever comes to Finø is when a member of the royal family is on it and wants to visit.
    We climb out of the minibus and stand looking at the plane. Bodil seems to sense from our posture that we are politely curious.
    â€œGrenÃ¥ Kommune,” she says, “will do everything in its power to provide the best of care for children and young people in difficulty.”
    â€œI know,” I say. “But isn’t this a bit over the top?”
    A look of weariness spreads across Bodil’s face. That’s the moment Tilte chooses to borrow Bodil’s mobile.
    â€œI want to call my brother,” she explains. “Only there’s no battery left on mine.” Bodil hands her the phone and I’m theonly one to notice that Tilte accesses the list of recent calls and takes a long look at it, notes something down in her phenomenal memory, and then presses a number that predictably fails to answer, whereupon Bodil’s phone is returned to her and we all climb on board the plane.
    Access to the runway is through an empty waiting area, and on a large noticeboard some flyers have been put up, one of which makes me stop.
    It is a poster advertising a series of concerts to mark something that is surely of importance, but which I fail to notice because the picture accompanying the text reaches out and grabs me by the throat. It’s Conny’s face, and she’s smiling at me.
    Tilte touches my arm, and I return to the world.
    As we take off
, my dear sister leans toward me.
    â€œDo we know anyone called Winehappy?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œThat was who Bodil called,” she whispers. “I got the number from her phone.”
    Then she gives my arm a squeeze, and I feel I know you well enough now for me to be quite frank and tell you why. It’s because the person I love has left me.
    Now you might say so what, and perhaps add that a third of the world’s population is in the same boat. Indeed, the world’s population consists of one third yearning for the person wholeft them, one third yearning for the person they have yet to meet, and one third who are with someone they never fully appreciate until all at once that person leaves them and they find themselves consigned to group one.
    But that’s not exactly how it is with Conny and me. In a way, Conny hasn’t left me at all. She has been sucked away. By fame.
    Two years ago, a film was being shot on Finø. It was one of