Gerald Durrell - The Donkey Rustlers

“By the way,” said the General, leaning forward and adding a touch of colour to his picture, “I trust you are giving those donkeys enough to eat.”

Amanda and David, who had just spread-eagled themselves on the warm flagstones, sat up as though they had been shot.

“What donkeys!” asked Amanda cautiously.

The General added another touch of colour to his picture.

“Donkeys,” he said. “You know, quadrupeds, beasts of burden; those things with long ears that bray.”

David and Amanda glanced at each other.

“I . . . I don’t know what you mean,” said Amanda.

“I mean,” said the General patiently, “all the donkeys of Kalanero which you have got carefully hidden on Hesperides.”

The children looked at each other in horror.

“How on earth did you know about that?” asked Amanda.

The General put down his palette and brush, took out his pipe and lit it.

“I told you the other day.” he said, “that I don’t disclose my sources of information as a rule. However, on this particular occasion I will tell you. Coocos was my informant.”

“Coocos?” chorused the children incredulously. “Coocos told you?”

“Yes,” said the General. “He has kept me informed of the matter from the very start.”

“But, he couldn’t have,” said Amanda, “Not Coocos! Why, he can’t even talk.”

“On the contrary,” said the General, “Coocos can talk very well, It is an impediment of speech, not of mind, that he suffers from. It’s just that everybody is so impatient they won’t stop to let him talk. Coocos loves talking, but nobody ever lets him.”

“Poor Coocos,” said Amanda slowly, “I’d never thought of that.”

“I, however,” continued the General, “have the patience to listen to him and so, whenever he can, he comes up here and I paint and he talks. You needn’t think, however, that he let you down by telling me. He was under the impression that I was master-minding the whole plot, as a matter of fact, since you had said something about asking my advice.”

“Oh, yes.” said Amanda, “that was about the kidnapping.”

“Yes, I thought it was that,” said the General. “However, I didn’t disillusion him, but I received, with interest, a constant stream of reports from him as to how the plot was going.”

“But why didn’t you stop us?” asked David.

“My dear David,” said the General, “you are quite old enough and have a sufficient quantity of brain to be able to organise your own lives. If you wanted to get yourselves into trouble it was your affair, not mine. In any case, as you were doing it for the best possible motives, I saw absolutely no reason to interfere.”

“But then, what did you tell the Inspector?” asked Amanda.

“Ah,” said the General, puffing at his pipe. “there I must say I did interfere slightly. It struck me that you had committed no grave criminal offence by stealing the donkeys, since you intended to return them. However, if you had sent a ransom note (which I presumed was going to be your next step) then I am afraid I would not have been able to save you from the wrath of the law. So I suggested to the Inspector that his best method was to offer a reward.”

“Father, you are clever!” said Amanda admiringly.

“I am frequently dazzled by my own brilliance,” said the General modestly.

“Well, what do you think we ought to do now?” asked Amanda.

“I would suggest that you wait until to-morrow,” said the General, “discover the whereabouts of the donkeys and then claim the reward.”

He tapped out his pipe on the edge of the terrace and hummed a few bars of “The Road to Mandalay” to himself.

“I might even,” he remarked, “walk as far as the village square for the sake of seeing Oizus pay up. You see, I don’t like him any more than you do and I happen to like Yani very much.”

After lunch the children went down to have their last council of war with Yani.

“I really think,” said David as they made their way through the olive groves, “that we should tick Coocos off.”

“You will do no such thing,” said Amanda indignantly. “After all, he was only trying to help.”

“Yes, but he could have ruined everything if Father had put his foot down,” David pointed out.

“You are not to say anything to him,” said Amanda firmly. “How would you like to go through life wanting to talk and nobody letting you?”

“All right,” said David resignedly, “but that is just the sort of thing that makes first-class plans come unstuck.”

When they told Yani, he was as horrified as they had been, but he, too, sided with Amanda and agreed that they should say nothing to Coocos about the matter.

“Now,” said Amanda briskly, “it’s merely a question of claiming the reward. I suggest this evening would be a suitable time to discover the donkeys.”

“Now, let’s get this quite clear,” said David. “Yani must not be implicated in discovering the donkeys. If he is, the Mayor will know that he took part in pinching them. It’s got to be done by us.”

“All right,” said Amanda. “We’ll swim across to Hesperides about four o’clock and discover them on the island. Surprise! Surprise!”

“Yes,” said David, “because by the time we get back to the village with the news everyone will have had their siestas.”

“I wonder what their reactions are going to be?” mused Amanda.

“They’ll be grateful beyond belief,” said Yani, chuckling. “I don’t think they ever realised before how much they needed their donkeys.”

“It’s very unlikely that the Mayor is going to have twenty thousand drachma in his house,” observed David shrewdly, “which means that be will have to go into Melissa for it, which means that we really can’t get the reward until tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s all right,” said Amanda. “It doesn’t matter whether we get it to-day or to-morrow.”

“No. But if he sleeps on it,” David pointed out, “he might change his mind.”

“Well, he can’t go into Melissa this evening,” said Yani, “because the bank will be closed.”

David frowned and sighed.

“Yes. I can’t see any other way of doing it,” he said. “We’ll just have to risk it.”

So that afternoon Yani and Coocos made it patently obvious to those villagers they met that they were going to have a siesta and, as it grew towards four o’clock, Amanda and David swam out through the warm blue water to Hesperides.

“You must admit,” said Amanda, shaking her wet hair and surveying the donkeys and the Mayor’s little horse, “that they look worlds better for their rest.”

“Yes, they do,” agreed David. “In fact, I think it would be a good idea if this happened to them once a year.”

“What, you mean that they were brought out to Hesperides?” asked Amanda.

“Yes,” said David, “a sort of holiday camp for donkeys.”

“It would be a good idea,” said Amanda, musingly, “but I doubt whether we could get the villagers to adopt it.”

“Well,” said David, “the thing for you to do is to swim back and rush up to the village. Round about now the Mayor will be awake and having his first cup of coffee and everyone else will be around too. Remember to make it as dramatic as you can, and don’t for heaven’s sake giggle.”

“I never giggle,” said Amanda austerely.

“You do, you giggle incessantly.”

“I don’t giggle,” said Amanda. “I laugh.”

“Well, whatever it is you do, don’t do it,” said David.

So, after patting the furry rumps of the donkeys, Amanda ran down the stone steps from the church and plunged once more into the water. In order to give an air of authenticity to her part, she ran up the hill so that by the time she arrived in the village square, she was panting and exhausted.