Gerald Durrell - THREE SINGLES TO ADVENTURE

"Oh, they haven't been fighting," I said gaily, "they've been as quiet as anything."

But Ivan still looked sceptical, so I made haste to open the sack. Now I don't know the exact length of time those animals had been in that sack, but it had been quite long enough. I found that the two large ones had whiled away their captivity by decapitating the smallest, and they were busy having a gory cannibalistic orgy. It took us a long time to get the two survivors into the cage, for they seemed to resent being interrupted in the middle of such a fine meal. They attacked us viciously, screaming and hissing with open mouths and making things more difficult by winding their prehensile tails round everything they could with a grip like ivy. At last we got these bloodstained horrors into the cage, and I gave them the corpse of their companion to finish off, which they did during the night to the accompaniment of much hissing and snarling. The next morning I found them sparring round each other with murderous expressions on their faces, so, to prevent my opossum collection from being reduced to one, I had to divide the cage with a stout plank of wood. Having heard so many stories in Guiana of the way in which opossums will eat anything and everything, I decided to experiment and see how true this was, for, according to massive natural history tomes I had consulted, they lived on a delicate fairy-like diet of fruit and insects, with an occasional egg or baby bird thrown in. For three days, therefore, I filled the opossum's cages with a revolting assortment of food ranging from cold curry to decomposed corpses, and they ate every bit. Apparently the more disgusting the substance the better they liked it. After three days' intimate association with these creatures I began to think that probably all the stories I had heard were true. I had to discontinue my feeding experiments as both the uwaries were developing a strong and pungent smell, and Bob complained that he did not see why he should get diphtheria in the cause of zoological research.

Quite apart from its disgusting habits the Didelphys opossum is not, I admit, a very attractive creature to look at. The animal is about the size of a small cat, clad in a thick, untidy pelt in fawn, cream, and chocolate brown. It has short feet, pink and naked and capable of a strong grip, and a long scaly tail, grey at the base and decorated at the tapering end with pink blotches like birthmarks. Its face, I am afraid, tells even the most casual observer all he wants to know about its character: a long and naked pink nose and a weak drooping under jaw conceal a mouth full of large, sharp teeth. The eyes are brown, with a rather evil expression. From the shaggy fur on its head stick a pair of naked and almost transparent, donkey-like ears that quiver and twitch with every movement. When disturbed they would open their mouths wide and hiss at you; as the top and bottom jaws were long and narrow and full of large teeth this action made them look rather like furry crocodiles. If you took no notice of their warning hiss, they would give a deep moaning wail, reminiscent of a tomcat's serenade, and then rush forward and chop with their jaws.

I confess that I was very disappointed with the uwaries; I found nothing in their character, habits, or appearance that I could wholeheartedly praise. I had expected this Public Enemy Number One to be a more swaggering, flamboyant character, and instead I found that it was an evil-looking, moaning creature with depraved tastes and not even the compensation of an attractive personal appearance. I was complaining about this one evening when Ivan said something that set me on the trail of one of the Didelphys's relatives.

"I think, sir," said Ivan, with the traditional air of Jeeves choosing a suit, "I think you would prefer the moonshine uwarie."

"What on earth's a moonshine uwarie?" I asked.

"It's another kind of uwarie," said Ivan lucidly. "It's smaller than those you've got, sir, and it hasn't got such bad habits."

"Moonshine uwarie is a delightful name," said Bob.

"Why do they call them that, Ivan?"

"They say that they only come out when the moon is shining, sir."

"I must get some," I said firmly.

"They sound charming."

"They certainly couldn't be worse than those dreadful ghouls you've got in there," said Bob, indicating the stinking Didelphys opossums' cage, "but if you do get some I implore you not to try any feeding experiments on them, or I shall have to sleep outside."

That night, when the usual crowd of hunters turned up with the day's spoils, I questioned them closely about the moonshine uwarie. Yes, they all knew it well. Yes, there were plenty about. Yes, they could easily get me some. So I sat back and waited patiently for a sackful of moonshine uwaries to make their appearance, but nothing happened. A week passed, and still no result. I questioned all the hunters again. Yes, they had all been trying for moon shines but for some obscure reason there did not seem to be any about. I raised the price and implored them to try harder.

The longer I waited the more desirable these elusive opossums seemed.

One evening, however, we had an arrival that temporarily drove all thoughts of moonshine uwaries out of my head. We were in the middle of a cup of tea when a man appeared carrying the inevitable sack over one shoulder. He undid the neck of it and calmly proceeded to tip the contents out at our feet, an action that caused Bob, who was nearest, to shy like a horse and spill tea all down his shirt. There was some reason for his alarm, for the occupant of the sack turned out to be a large and extremely angry two-toed sloth.

He lay on the floor looking like a small bear, hissing with open mouth and lashing round with his arms. He was about the size of a large terrier, and was clad in coarse, brown fur, very shaggy and unkempt looking. His arms and legs, in proportion to his body, looked very long and slender, and each ended in a bunch of long, sharp claws. His head was very bear-like, with two small, circular, reddish eyes that stared out of his face with an angry expression. But what amazed me was that his mouth was full of large, sharp-looking teeth, of the most unpleasant yellowish colour. I would not have associated these massive fangs with anything so ardently vegetarian as a sloth.

When I had paid for him we pushed him back into the sack, and I set about making a cage. Half-way through this operation I discovered, to my wrath, that I had run out of wire netting, and so I had to go through the laborious business of cutting wooden strips and nailing them across the front of the cage to act as bars. Then, when I had furnished it with a suitable branch, we tumbled the sloth inside and watched him hoist himself up until he hung from the branch by his grappling-iron claws. I supplied him with a large bunch of bananas and an armful of leaves to browse on and left him for the night.

I awoke at two o'clock in the morning and heard weird noises coming from the animal room: scrunching sounds, interspersed with hissings and indignant peetings from Cuthbert. My first thought was that one of the larger anacondas had escaped and was making a meal off some of the other specimens. I shot out of my hammock and hastily lighted the tiny hurricane-lamp which I always kept by me at night for just such emergencies. It gave little more light than an anaemic glow-worm, but it was better than nothing. Arming myself with a stick I went into the animal room. I glanced around in the dim light and saw Cuthbert sitting on a tier of cages, managing to look mentally defective and indignant at the same time. As I stepped further into the room something long and thin whipped out from behind the door and ripped my pyjama trousers from knee to ankle with one effortless slash. The attack came from behind, and I was precipitated into the room with some alacrity. Recovering my balance I moved cautiously round until I could see behind the door by the light of my hurricane lamp. I was convinced that the creature, whatever it was, was not one of my specimens. None of them, so far as I knew, had the strength or speed to perform such a startling attack. Very carefully I poked the door closed with my stick, and there behind it, spreadeagled on the boards like a great hairy starfish, was the sloth.