Ширли Мерфи - The Flight Of The Fox

But the thought of that trip made Charlie feel lonely suddenly. And he felt even worse when he arrived at the dump to find Rory and Crispin busily stowing supplies in the Fox. "But you can't go yet! You—you haven't practiced enough. You can't just go . . ."

"How can I practice," growled the kangaroo rat, "with starlings cluttering up the sky! I'll practice out there, away from Skrimville, sonny. We're going to take a cross-country flight. Every pilot has to do a hundred mile cross-country before he gets his license. I'll practice out there where the sky is free of all these flappin' nuisances."

"A cross-country?" Charlie knew very well that every pilot took a cross-country flight, a short first trip, before he was eligible for his license. A short trip from which he would return in a few hours. He hadn't thought about Rory doing that. "A crosscountry?" he repeated stupidly.

"Well of course, sonny! Where've you been! I thought you knew all about flying!"

"Well I—well I—I think that's a great idea!"

"That's better, sonny. Now here's a grocery list, just a few things in case of emergency: raisins, some chocolate, a bit of jerky. I figured to start tomorrow, real early, before the starlings get out here. But now the flappin' radio says a rainstorm is headed this way, so we might have to wait. I found this map this morning," he said, indicating the map he had been standing on as he talked. "It looks to me like this little town here . . ." he pointed to Arden, which was just a hundred miles south, ". . . would be about right for our destination. Should take us about an hour to Jonesburg, another hour to Arden. Is this farm country in between, sonny?"

"That's all farm country."

"Good. We'll have to lay over a night for every gas stop. Can't very well siphon gas from a farmer's gas pump in the daytime. Should put us back in Skrimville four days after takeoff." The kangaroo rat turned to checking his tools, laying aside those he would take, a couple of wrenches, a screwdriver. He looked up once, spied a starling flying in their direction, and whispered hastily to Charlie, "Don't say any more."

Charlie stared out at the starling. "But they can't understand us."

"What makes you think they can't?"

"But they—well my gosh, they don't ever talk!"

"They'd rather listen and not talk. It makes you more uncomfortable, don't it?"

Charlie guessed it did.

"I don't want them nosing around. It would be just like them to stay here all night, just to stop us from taking off," Rory whispered. "Wish we could lock every one of the flappin' critters in this hangar before we go!"

Charlie grinned. With that flock of starlings, it would take a bigger hangar than this one. It would take the big hangar at the airfield to hold all those birds.

"Maybe they won't be here," Charlie whispered. "Maybe the town's new plan will work after all."

"What plan, sonny? What are you talking about?"

"The silhouettes. The town is painting eagle and vulture shadows on the roofs like mad. If it works, Rory, those starlings will be a thousand miles from Skrimville by the time you take off in the morning." And then he paused and stared at Rory. "But if it doesn't work, and you have to take off before the starlings get to the dump then—well, you'll have to take off when it's still practically dark! You won't be able to see, you could run into a power line or . . ." "It'll be all right, sonny. I'll go up real high and maybe circle a little until it gets light enough to see. It'll be all right, don't you worry about it."

CHAPTER 18

well before dusk, Skrimville's doorways and windows were lined with eager spectators, awaiting the arrival and then the frantic departure of the starlings as they swept over town, saw the threatening silhouettes, and rose in one last churning cloud. There was an air of suppressed eagerness among the crowd and whispers of a celebration.

Charlie and Mrs. Critch stood at the living room window, watching.

At dusk the birds came. They flew in from the dump in their usual manner, somewhat heavy and sluggish from stuffing themselves with garbage. They darkened the sky as if a giant hand had turned off the light. They hovered over the rooftops, ready to drop down and take over Skrimville.

And they rose at once, screaming hysterically at the sight of the painted shadows.

They hovered uncertainly in the sky, uttering questioning high whistles. They circled, looking down, heads cocked.

Then they looked up. They saw the empty sky above them. They could see no eagles or vultures or hawks, nothing but clear sky turning slowly dark. They circled again, checked the sky again. Then they whistled bronx cheers and dropped down onto signboards and telephone wires screaming their defiance at Skrimville.

"Well, so much for that," Charlie said. Mrs. Critch shook her head with disappointment and went back to the kitchen.

The next morning Charlie got up well before dawn and went right on out to the dump. If the Fox was going to take off, he was going to be there to watch her. And to tell Rory the starlings hadn't left, so he could take off in plenty of time. But he found Rory and Crispin grunging around in the hangar, scowling and not at all ready to depart.

"The starlings didn't leave," he said. "What's the matter? Did you decide not to go? That it was too dangerous in the dark? But—"

"No, that ain't it, sonny. I'd have taken off all right. It's the weather. There are heavy winds over Arden heading this way and, the news said, bringing rain. I'd go if it were just me, sonny. But I don't like to endanger the Fox —and the lemming here."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Well, a good pilot isn't a foolish pilot," Rory added, making Charlie feel better.

Crispin was stretched out on his cot half-awake. He smiled as if he'd been dreaming something nice. "I made him some mint tea," Rory said. "The little fellow still seems kinda peaked."

"I'd be peaked too," Charlie said, "if some band of gangsters had tossed me around in the sky. Wish we could lock them up like gangsters."

Crispin woke and looked up at Charlie. "Why don't you lock them up, Charlie? We can't ever fly the Fox if they . . . I'm afraid to go up there in the sky with them there. Why can't you lock them up?"

"Sure, we'll just put them in the Skrimville jail," Charlie said. But something began to nag at him. Something Rory had said. He scowled at Rory, trying to remember. They had been talking about Rory's trip. Rory had said it would be just like the starlings to stop them from taking off. He had said— that was it! "You said it, Rory! You said what to do with them!"

"What, sonny? What did I say?"

"You said"—Charlie gulped with excitement— "you said, 'Wish we could lock every one in the hangar . . .' "

"Well I guess I did, sonny. But I don't—" Rory broke off and stared at Charlie. "The big hangar! Is that what you mean, sonny? The big hangar at the airfield?" '

"That's exactly what I mean."

There was a long silence while everyone thought about that. At last Rory said, "It's crazy, sonny. It's too crazy to think about."

"Is it?" Charlie asked.

Rory began to pace, twirling the end of his tail. He began to get interested in the idea. He looked out into the dump and up onto the roof of the hangar. There were no starlings listening. Some minutes later they heard the flock flap noisily out from town. "If you could get those starlings to go into the big hangar, sonny," Rory said softly. "If you could get them to want to go in . . ."

"They came in here when it rained," Crispin said.

"The youngster's right," Rory said. "And a rainstorm's headed this way, a real doozy, the radio says. Would those birds go into the big hangar the same way they came in here? If they thought you didn't want them there ..."