Paul Gallico - Manxmouse

‘Of course. I told you that’s my speciality,’ replied Hawk. ‘There’s a mother rabbit in that field below with six little ones, and a green grass snake just disappearing into some thorn. I see a mouse, but just an ordinary one, not an extraordinary chap like you. And there are three fat trout lazing in that brook we’re just overflying.’

Manxmouse could not even make out the brook, much less any fish in it, and marvelled, ‘I can hardly see anything at all.’

‘Oh, but I’ll wager you’ve got good ears instead,’ Hawk said, and then added, ‘Especially those long, rabbity ones. That’s what you need to hear things coming – particularly things like Manx Cat.’

For the first time Manxmouse felt something like a cold shiver. He had been born without fear and so the Clutterbumph had had no power over him. But the constant repetition of the threat to his life by Manx Cat was beginning to have an effect. He had felt so happy, free, safe and secure up in the blue, but now he was reminded that somewhere below was Manx Cat.

‘We’re approaching central London,’ Hawk said. ‘That river you see winding in and out is the Thames, of course. We are now directly over Buckingham Palace, the Mall and Admiralty Arch. Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament are on your right and that long thing sticking up is Nelson’s column. We’ll turn west now.’

Manxmouse forgot about Manx Cat once more in the fascination of the great grey city beneath, as Hawk banked steeply. He had started his engines again, or rather his wings, and they passed over roof tops, domes, spires and streets down which thousands of cars were crawling.

‘People down there,’ commented Captain Hawk, ‘millions of them – some good, some bad. I avoid them all.’

‘When you’re always on the ground, as I am, I suppose you can’t,’ said Manxmouse.

The ceramist, of course, had known a great deal about people and so Manxmouse too knew what they were.

‘Oh, they won’t bother you if you keep out of their way,’ said the Captain. ‘But every so often if I come down too low, I encounter anti-aircraft fire. Hunters with shotguns.’

At last the grey houses began to thin out and suddenly they came upon a most curious place that seemed to be an enormous field of stone on which sat hundreds of silver birds, but not like Captain Hawk or Billibird, or any others he had seen.

‘London Airport,’ his pilot commented.

‘But what are all those birds down there?’

‘Birds! Ha, ha, ha!’ laughed the Captain. ‘Those are aeroplanes, the things that people fly in. Here comes one now. We’ll have a look at it.’

With a whoosh, a roar and a whine, an enormous four-engined jet passed by overhead to begin its descent, its vast expanse of wings blotting out the sun momentarily, and Manxmouse saw that its tail, instead of being flat like Hawk’s, was as high as two houses, one on top of another.

‘Did you ever see anything so silly?’ Captain Hawk said. ‘They can’t flap their wings; they can’t soar or glide; they make a noise and they smell. And they call that flying!’

At that moment there was another strange noise: ‘Rackety-rackety! Clattery-clattery!’ Something that was a cross between a beetle, a dragonfly and a windmill whirled past them. Hawk had to veer off so sharply that Manxmouse was compelled to cling on for dear life.

‘What is it?’ Manxmouse cried in alarm.

‘Helicopter. Real crazy! I can’t understand what holds it up. The other thing at least has wings, even though they’re not my idea of wings. But that’s only an egg-beater. I don’t often come this way because it’s too dangerous for a bird. I had a friend once who was sucked into one of those jet engines and that was the end of him. But I wanted you to have a look-see.’

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