The Dancing Bear. Michael Morpurgo

in the school – came upon Bruno outside the village shop, his head in the dustbin. Tiny called, and Roxanne and the others came running. By the time they arrived, Bruno was up on his back legs and Tiny was tickling his tummy. Bruno swiped playfully at Tiny but it was enough to send him reeling backwards, hitting his head on a wall as he fell. The cut needed eight stitches. Roxanne swore it wasn’t Bruno’s fault, that it was just an accident. So did Tiny, so did they all.

      That evening there was a village meeting in the café. Everyone who spoke up was adamant. Tiny’s mother was furious: Bruno would have to go to a zoo. It was just too risky to keep him. Even Roxanne’s grandfather agreed, and no one had expected that. We all knew how well he was doing out of his “Bruno’s Honey.”

      “Honey’s one thing,” he said, “but a bear like that is worth a lot of money to a zoo. And he’s my bear, remember?”

      Suddenly Roxanne was on her feet.

      “NO!” she cried. “You can’t!” And she looked at me again, just as she had done all those years before.

      This time there was no help I could offer her. I turned away.

      “I’ll look after him,” she pleaded. “Honest I will. We could build a proper cage somewhere. And I won’t let him out unless I’m with him. He won’t hurt anyone ever again, I promise.”

      She spoke as if her life depended on it, and we listened. To this day, I don’t know how she did it, but within minutes we were all discussing how the cage was to be paid for. Perhaps it was because everyone trusted Roxanne and liked her. She was in some way a child of the village, everyone’s child; we had all seen how well she handled Bruno, how she’d sing to him to calm him and how he’d listen mesmerised, how he’d follow her everywhere adoringly. Or perhaps it was because no one liked the idea of the old man selling Bruno and pocketing the cash. Anyhow, Bruno stayed.