Hugh Lofting: Doctor Dolittle's Return

"What will 'e do, then?"

"I've no idea, Matthew," I said. "Perhaps he'll come on some other insect—which may take a longer or may take a shorter time."

At that moment there was a scratching on the door.

"Tommy, Tommy!" called Jip through the door. "Too–Too says he hears something—in the sky, a long way off. Listen and see if you can catch it!"

Both Matthew and I put our heads out of the window.

"Do you hear anything?" I asked.

"Not a thing, Tommy," said the Cats'–meat–Man.

"Humph!" I said. "Neither do I. But that's not surprising. That owl Too–Too can hear things that no human ear can ever catch. Why, once when we were—"

"Sh!—Listen!" whispered Matthew. "Do you get that? A low humming noise."

Then came another knocking on the door. This time it was Dab–Dab.

"Tommy," she called. "Come out into the garden—the back garden—quick!"

Matthew and I dashed for the door and down the stairs.

Behind the house, on the big lawn, we found all the animals with Theodosia, gazing skywards. And now I heard it: a deep, soft, purring kind of noise, still a long, long way off.

"Well, if that's a moth," said Matthew, "it's as big as a young town."

"It isn't the moth," I said. "Jamara Bumblelily made an entirely different sound. The Doctor's coming down on something else. We must get the lawn clear. Let's run that wheelbarrow into the shed, Matthew."

"All right. I'll do it," said the Cats'–meat–Man.

This fine sweep of turf had always been known as the Long Lawn. It was one part of that grand old garden of which the Doctor was very proud. Bordered by great elm–trees on one side and by a long tall yew–hedge on the other, it ran in one unbroken sweep of a hundred and fifty yards, from the house at one end toward the fish–pond and the Zoo at the other. At the bottom there was an old card house, a pavilion made like a small Greek temple out of gleaming white stone. On this lawn, the history of the place told us, a duel had been fought by gay gentlemen in brocade and lace ruffles, after they had quarrelled over their card game in the pavilion.

It was a romantic spot. And just to look at it by moonlight carried you back hundreds of years. I could not help wondering as I gazed upon it now whether, with all its memories of the past, it had ever seen anything as strange as it would see tonight.

It is curious that from the time when the hum in the sky could be first plainly heard, none of us spoke. We had all drawn away, close to the house, so as to leave the Long Lawn clear for the Doctor's landing. Silent, Matthew presently joined us. And there we all stood, faces upturned toward the moon, too breathless with excitement to speak, while the booming drone of great wings grew louder and louder.

How long we waited I cannot tell. It may have been a minute; it may have been an hour. I know I had intended to note down the exact time the Doctor landed. He had so often reminded me of the importance, in keeping scientific or natural–history notes, of putting down the date and the time of day. For this reason I had brought out with me one of his old watches which I had carefully set by the grandfather's clock in the hall. But I forgot to look at it. I forgot everything. All I thought of was that he was there—somewhere in the sky, with that tremendous growing sound—coming, coming back to us at last!

But though I lost all count of time that night, everything that actually happened I remember as sharply now as though it were drawn in pictures before my eyes at this moment. Somewhere in that space of time while we stood gazing, a great shadow swept suddenly between us and the moon. For a little while it stood, hovering and humming, high up above the lawn. I could not yet make out much as to its shape. Then, like some roaring machine turned off sharply, the noise ceased. The air rested in a big dead silence.

I guessed that whatever creature it might be, it was probably now sailing with outspread wings, looking for a place to land. Next the shadow passed from off the smooth grass. Was it circling—circling downwards? Yes, because once more its great body shut off the light like a cloud.

And at last— whish! —it came skimming over the tree–tops in plain view. The air whistled like a fierce gust of wind as it banked around in a graceful curve and dropped on the turf before us.

It filled the whole of the Long Lawn !

It was clear to me now that it was some member of the grasshopper family. (Later I learned that it was a locust.) But for the present I was not so concerned with the nature of the insect as I was with what it carried.

Alone, I moved out into the moonlight towards it. On tiptoe, trying to see the top of its back, I peered upward. But the highest part of it was hidden by the curve of the body. The great locust, apparently exhausted by the long journey, lay absolutely, still. Nothing moved anywhere.

A terrible fear came over me. Where was the Doctor? Had the hard journey proved too much for him?—Or could it be that he had not come at all? Perhaps this great thing from the moon's animal kingdom had only brought a message to us—maybe a message to say that John Dolittle had decided to stay on that other world after all.

Frantic at the thought, I started to scramble up the locust's wings, which were now folded at his sides. Beautiful, transparent wings they were, smooth and opal–coloured—with great hard veins running through them, standing out from the glassy surface like gnarled roots.

But suddenly I heard a voice, a harsh, grating, but well–remembered, well–loved voice. A parrot's!—"Chee–Chee, Chee–Chee! Wake up! We're here—in Puddleby. Shiver my timbers! You're not as sick as you think you are. Wake up!"

And then for the first time the Earth spoke back to the people from the moon.

"Polynesia!" I shouted. "Is that you? Where is the Doctor? Is he with you?"

"Yes, he's here all right," called the parrot. "But he's unconscious still. We've got to go easy with him. Had an awful time getting through the dead belt. Gosh, what a journey! I wonder if I can fly straight any more in this gravity? Look out! I'm coming down."

I saw something shoot out off the top of the locust's back. It looked like a bundle of rags, turning over and over in the air. Then it landed on the grass at my feet with a distinct thud. Polynesia, ruffled and disgruntled, broke out into a long string of Swedish swear–words.

"Like a bundle of rags, turning over and over"

"Ouch!" she ended. "Did you see that?—Landed right on my nose, like a pudding! I've got to learn to fly all over again—at my time of life! All unbalanced and fluffed up! Just because that stupid old moon doesn't keep the right kind of air. You haven't got a biscuit in your pocket, I suppose? I'm as hungry as a bear."

I called to Dab–Dab to go and fetch me some from the pantry.

"But, Polynesia," I said, "what about the Doctor? You say he's unconscious?"

"Yes," she said, "but he's all right. Difficulty with his breathing, you know. Leave him to rest a little while. We'll get him down presently. Poor old Chee–Chee's seasick, or airsick, or whatever it is. The last few hours of the trip I was the only one on deck, the only one left to guide that blessed grasshopper to the garden here. That comes of my years of seafaring, Tommy. Hard as nails, hard as nails—So would you be if you had lived a hundred and eighty years on sunflower seeds and biscuit crumbs! Trouble with humans is they eat too many different kinds of foods. Parrots have more sense!"

She strutted a few paces with her funny, straddling, sailor–like gait. Then she fell down on her side.

"Drat it!" she muttered. "This air is heavy! Can't even walk straight."