Gerald Durrell - THREE SINGLES TO ADVENTURE

They were exotic, fantastic-looking birds, and I was determined to try and add some of them to our collection. I pointed them out to Ivan.

"What do they call those, Ivan?"

"Carpenter birds, sir."

"We must try and get some."

"I will get you some," said Mr. Kahn. "Don't you worry, Chief, I will get you anything you want."

I watched the woodpeckers as they flew from tree to tree, but they were eventually lost to sight in the tangled forest. I hoped that Mr. Kahn was right, but I doubted it.

Towards evening we were nearing our destination, an Amerindian village with a tiny mission school, hidden away among the backwaters of the creek lands. We left the main creek and entered an even narrower tributary, and here the growth of aquatic plants was so thick that it covered the water from bank to bank. This green lawn was studded with hundreds of miniature flowers in mauve, yellow, and pink, each thimble-sized bloom growing on a stern half an inch high. It seemed when I sat in the bows that the boat was drifting smoothly up some weed-grown drive, for only the ripple of our wash undulating the plants as we passed gave indication of the water beneath. We followed this enchanting path for miles as it twisted through woodland and grass fields and eventually it led us to a small white beach fringed with palm trees. We could see a few shacks, half hidden among the trees, and a cluster of canoes lying on the clean sand. As we switched off the engine and drifted shore wards a host of chattering, laughing Amerindian children ran down to meet us, all stark naked, their bodies glistening in the sun. Following them came a tall African who, as soon as we landed, introduced him as the schoolmaster. He led us, surrounded by the noisy, laughing children, up the white beach to one of the huts, and then he left us, promising to return when we had unpacked and settled down. Our ears had got used to hearing the throb of the boat's engine all day, so the peace and quiet of that little hut among the palms was delightfully soothing. We unpacked and ate a meal in a contented silence; even Mr. Kahn seemed to be affected by the place, and remained unusually quiet.

Presently the schoolmaster returned, and with him was one of his small Amerindian pupils.

"This boy wants to know if you will buy this," said the schoolmaster.

"This" turned out to be a baby crab-eating raccoon, a tiny ball of fluff with sparkling eyes, that looked just like a chow puppy. There was no trace of the mournful expression that it was to wear in later life; instead it was full of good spirits, rolling and gambolling and pretending to bite with its tiny milk teeth, waving its bushy tail like a flag. Even if I had not wanted him I would have found it difficult to resist buying such a charming creature. I felt that he was too young to share a cage with the adult, so I set to work and built him a special one of his own; we installed him in this, his tummy bulging with the meal of milk and fish I had given him, and he curled up in a pile of dry grass, belched triumphantly and then went to sleep.

The schoolmaster suggested that we should attend his class the next morning and show the children pictures of the various animals we wanted. He said that he knew many of his pupils had pets that they would be willing to part with. He also promised to find us some good hunters who would take us out into the creeks in search of specimens.

So the next morning Bob and I attended the school and explained to forty young Amerindians why we had come there, what animals we wanted and the prices we were willing to pay. With great enthusiasm they all promised to bring their pets that afternoon, all, that is, except one small boy who looked very worried and conversed rapidly with the schoolmaster in a whisper.

"He says," explained the master, "he has a very fine animal, but it is too big for him to bring by canoe."

"What sort of animal is it?"

"He says it is a wild pig."

I turned to Bob.

"Could you go and fetch it in the boat this afternoon, d'you think?"

Bob sighed.

"I suppose so," he said, "as long as it's well tied up."

That afternoon Bob set off in the boat, accompanied by the little Amerindian boy, to bring back the peccary. I had impressed upon him to buy any other worthwhile specimens he might see in the Amerindian village, and so I awaited his return hopefully. Shortly after the boat had left, the first children arrived, carrying their pets, and soon I was deeply engrossed in the thrilling and exciting job of buying specimens, surrounded on all sides by grinning Amerindians and a weird assortment of animals.

Perhaps the commonest ones were agoutis, golden-brown creatures with long, slim legs and rabbit-like faces. They are really not very intelligent creatures, and are so nervous that they have hysterics if you so much as breathe in their direction. Then there were pacas, plump as young pigs, chocolate coloured beasts decorated with longitudinal lines of cream coloured blotches. Four or five squirrel and capuchin monkeys capered and chattered on the end of long strings, scrambling up and down the children's bodies as if they were so many bushes. Many of the children produced young boa-constrictors, beautifully coloured in pink and silver and fawn, coiled round their owners' waists or wrists. They may seem a rather unusual choice of pet for a child, but the Amerindians don't seem to suffer from the European's ridiculous fear of snakes. They keep the boas in their huts and allow the reptiles the run of the place; in return the snake discharges the function usually fulfilled by a cat in more civilized communities, that is to say it keeps the place free from rats, mice, and other edible vermin. I cannot think of a better arrangement, for not only is the boa a better ratter than a cat could ever be, but it is much more decorative and beautiful to look at; to have one draped over the beams of your house in the graceful manner that only snakes can achieve would be as good as having a rare and lovely tapestry for decoration, with the additional advantage that your decoration works for its living.

Just as I had finished with the last of the children there came a wild, ringing laugh and one of the red-headed woodpeckers swooped across the clearing and disappeared into the forest.

"Ah!" I yelped, pointing, "I want one of those."

The children could not understand my words, but my gesture combined with my pleading, imploring expression told them what they wanted to know. They all burst into roars of laughter, stamping and spluttering and nodding their heads, and I began to feel more hopeful of getting a specimen of the woodpecker. When the Amerindians had gone I set to work to build cages for the varied assortment of wild life I had bought. It was a long job, and by the time I had finished I could hear in the distance the faint chugging of the returning boat, so I walked down to the beach to meet Bob and the peccary.

As the boat came into view I could see Bob and Ivan on the flat roof, sitting back to back on a large box, with strained expressions on their faces. The boat nosed into the shallows, and Bob glared at me from his seat on the box.

"Did you get it?" I inquired hopefully.

"Yes, thank you," said Bob, "and we've been trying to keep it in this blasted box ever since we left the village. Apparently it doesn't like being shut up. I thought it was meant to be tame. In fact I remember you telling me it was a tame one. That was the only reason I agreed to go and fetch it."

"Well the boy said it was tame."

"The boy, bless him, was mistaken," said Bob coldly; "the brute appears to be suffering from claustrophobia."

Gingerly we carried the box from the boat to the beach.

"You'd better watch out," warned Bob, "it's already got some of the slats loose on top."

As he spoke the peccary leapt inside the box and hit the top like a sledgehammer; the slats flew off like rockets, and the next minute a bristling and enraged pig had hauled himself out and was galloping up the beach, snorting savagely.