NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE • The extraordinary and inspiring true story about the surprising bond between a young teacher and the small penguin he rescued “ The Penguin Lessons teaches an important truth: that a single act of compassion can be repaid a thousand-fold.”—Sy Montgomery, author of the National Book Award finalist The Soul of an Octopus In 1975, twenty-three-year-old Englishman Tom Michell follows his wanderlust to Argentina, where he becomes assistant master at a prestigious boarding school. But Michell’s adventures really begin when, on a weekend in Uruguay, he rescues a penguin covered in oil from an ocean spill, cleans the bird up, and attempts to return him to the sea. The penguin refuses to leave his rescuer’s side. “That was the moment at which he became my penguin, and whatever the future held, we’d face it together,” says Michell in this charming memoir. Michell names the penguin Juan Salvador (“John Saved”), but Juan Salvador, as it turns out, is the one who saves Michell. After Michell smuggles the bird back to Argentina and into his campus apartment, word spreads about the young Englishman’s unusual roommate. Juan Salvador is suddenly the center of attention—as mascot of the rugby team, confidant to the dorm housekeeper, co-host of Michell’s parties, and an unprecedented swimming coach to a shy boy. Even through the collapse of the Perónist government and amid the country’s economic and political strife, Juan Salvador brings joy to everyone around him—especially Michell, who considers the affectionate animal a compadre and kindred spirit. Witty and heartwarming, The Penguin Lessons is a classic in the making, a story that is both absurd and wonderful, exactly like Juan Salvador. “I loved this book, and you will, too! It’s as charming, heartwarming, and surprising as a penguin on a roof terrace. What’s more, The Penguin Lessons teaches an important truth: that a single act of compassion can be repaid a thousand-fold.” —Sy Montgomery, author of The Good Good Pig and the National Book Award finalist The Soul of an Octopus   “[Tom Michell’s] tone suits the material perfectly. . . . You believe every word. . . . No fool, this penguin. No fools, these publishers, who have unleashed such a delightful and charming book just in time for Christmas.” — Daily Mail (U.K.)   “Heart-warming is a wholly inadequate phrase to describe this captivating story that is pure delight from beginning to end.” — The Bookseller (U.K.) Tom Michell lives in Cornwall, England. At the tender age of sixty-four, he wrote The Penguin Lessons . This is his first book. I Pick Up a Penguin The seaside resort of Punta del Este can be found at that point on the coast of Uruguay where the great southerly sweep of South America’s Atlantic seaboard meets the northern bank of the vast delta of the river Plate, or Río de la Plata. It lies some sixty miles to the east of the capital, Montevideo, and across the mighty river from Buenos Aires, the capital of the Republic of Argentina. In the 1960s and 1970s Punta del Este was, for the denizens of those two great metropolises, their Nice, Cannes, or St. Tropez. It was the place where the smart set went for summer holidays to escape the city heat, to stay and be seen in luxurious penthouses and apartment blocks facing the sea, and for all I know, they do so still. The key to one of those apartments had kindly been lent to me by the Bellamys, friends of mine who, because it was midwinter, were not using it themselves. I was in Uruguay following an extraordinary stay in Paraguay and was making my way back to the Argentine via the gargantuan waterfalls at Iguazú and then along the coast. After several weeks of exertions and excitements I was content to spend a few days relaxing in quiet out-of-season Punta del Este. I had returned to the apartment late in the afternoon on my last day in order to organize my belongings for a very early departure the following morning. My booking for the hydrofoil across the river Plate was for noon, which required that I catch the colectivo, the local bus, from Punta del Este to Montevideo at a quarter to six in the morning. Colectivos were enthusiastically decorated by their drivers with innumerable diverse adornments and good-luck charms, which were supposed to make up for the bald tires, I think. Having finished the packing, I cleaned and checked the apartment, then decided to take a final walk by the sea before going out for what would be my last supper at the resort. The harbor at Punta del Este, on the western side of the point, was small, sufficient only for a few score fishing boats and pleasure craft, which on that day were rocking gently on their moorings, in harmony with the floating pontoons along which owners could walk to reach their dinghies. Although the harbor is well defended against the Atlantic Ocean to the east, there was little protection from the westerly breeze that was blowing that day. The ai