Gerald Durrell - THREE SINGLES TO ADVENTURE

That night, as we sat on our front steps smoking and talking, we allowed Cuthbert to come and sit with us. Ivan had news for us; he had been to see the elusive Cordai and discovered that this gentleman had been on a trip to Georgetown . He had now finished his business, however, and was willing to guide us to the lake. He would be calling for us at a very early hour the next morning. Ivan seemed to think that he really would turn up this time, but I was inclined to be sceptical.

The night was warm, and the air resounded with the crinkling noise of the crickets. Presently this noise was increased by a tree-frog in a neighbouring bush, that let forth a series of small, polite belches and then fell silent, as though embarrassed at its own bad taste. But soon it was answered by another of its kind, and it replied shyly. We were just discussing whether we ought to go and catch one of these manner less amphibians, when we saw a group of small lanterns bobbing down the road towards us. When they came opposite to us the crowd turned off the road and crossed our little bridge, their bare feet scuffing on the boards. As they came to a halt at the bottom of the steps I recognized some of the East Indian hunters I had interviewed the night before.

"Good nigh,. Chief," they said in chorus."We have brought animals."

We went into our tiny living-room, and the hunters crowded after us, filling the small space and blocking every door and window. Their faces, bronze in the lamplight, were alight with eagerness to show us their spoils. The first man pushed forward and laid his offering on the table in front of us: an old flour-bag full of creatures that slithered and wiggled.

"Lizards, Chief," he grinned.

I undid the neck of the bag, and immediately an ameva poked its head out and fastened its jaws on my thumb. The house rocked with the hunters' laughter. As I pushed the lovely reptile back into the bag I saw that he was confined with a number of his brethren.

"Here," I said, passing the bag to Bob, "you're the one that likes these things; you count them."

Ivan and I bargained with the man, while Bob, assisted by one of the hunters, carefully counted the lizards. Two got loose and shot off through the forest of brown legs around the table, but they were quickly recaptured.

The next offering was a rather insecure-looking basket containing two jet-black snakes about four feet long. The last six inches of their tails was bright yellow. Bob, obviously with memories of the anaconda, eyed them with considerable distaste. Ivan assured us they were a harmless species, known locally as yellow tails. Carefully we persuaded the reptiles to vacate the basket for a more secure sack, and did so without getting bitten. This was quite a feat, as the snakes were striking wildly at everything they could see. After we had dealt with the yellow tails four huge iguanas were placed on the table.

Their legs had been twisted up over their backs and tied together with string in a most painful and dangerous manner.

I had to explain to the hunters that although this might be the best way to take iguanas to market it was not the way I wanted them brought to me. But the great Lizards did not seem any the worse, probably because they had only been tied up a short time.

Then came the crowning point of the evening. A large wooden box was put before me; I looked through the wooden slats nailed across the top and found it was full of the most delightful little monkeys. They were slim, delicate little creatures clothed in greenish fur, except for the fringe round their faces, which was yellow, and the hair on their big ears, which was white. Their faces were black, and they had light amber eyes. Their little faces peering up at me reminded me irresistibly of a bed of pansies. They had the most extraordinary heads, bulbous and egg-shaped, that seemed almost too big for their slight bodies. They clung together nervously, giving shrill, twittering cries.

"What are they?" asked Bob, who was delighted with them.

"Squirrel monkeys, but I don't know what they call them here."

"Sakiwinkis, Chief," came a chorus from the hunters.

Certainly the name suited them perfectly, and sounded not unlike their twittering cries. There were five of these timid creatures huddled in the box, and it was obviously much too small for them. So, after paying off the hunters, I set to work and built them a larger cage; then I transferred them to their new quarters and put them in the animal room.

Cuthbert meanwhile had been having a wonderful time. With so many feet of different colours in the room, he had found plenty of scope for displaying his affection for the human race, and had prostrated himself in front of nearly every hunter. Now I felt it was long past his natural bedtime, so I put him in the animal room and shut the door. Just as we had turned out the light and crawled gingerly into our hammocks we were startled by the most frightful noise: loud, protesting squawks from Cuthbert, combined with shrill squeaking from the sakiwinkis. I lit the lamp and hurried in to see what had happened I found Cuthbert sitting on the floor looking very disgruntled and pee ting angrily to himself. Apparently he had decided to roost on the top of the sakiwinkis' cage and had flown up there to do so. Unfortunately he had not noticed that his tail dangled down in front of the bars. The monkeys had obviously been intrigued by his tail, which they could see quite clearly in the moonlight, and so they had pushed their small hands out through the bars to find out what it was. In spite of their delicate appearance, sakiwinkis have a grip like a vice, and when Cuthbert had felt them seize his tail he had shot up towards the ceiling like a rocket and left two of his large tail feathers in their hands. I soothed his ruffled feelings, fixed him up a new place to roost on and took the precaution of tying him up so that he could not get near the monkeys again. It was a long time before they stopped discussing the affair in their twittery voices and Cuthbert stopped pee ting and went to sleep. But it was the last time that Cuthbert ever went near the sakiwinkis.

We set off for the lake in the first pale light of dawn. The birds in the trees around our little hut were just awakening and starting to chirrup doubtfully at the new day. By the time the sun came up we were several miles on our way, following a narrow, twisting path that led through the green rice fields and the placid canals. In this golden morning light we could see that we were surrounded by birds, a twinkling, moving patchwork of bright colours in the trees and bushes around us. In the small, stunted trees along the edge of the fields were dozens of blue tanagers giving their thin, reedy call-note as they hopped through the branches hunting for insects. The size of a sparrow, they had dark blue wings, while the rest of their bodies were clad in feathers of the most delicate and celestial blue imaginable. In one tree I saw three of these tanagers in company with five marsh birds, jet-black little birds with dandelion-yellow heads. The colour combination of these two species feeding together was startling. In among the frail green rice shoots there were great numbers of military starlings, a thrush-like bird with an extraordinarily vivid pink breast. They looked like exotic fireworks as they burst out of the undergrowth when we passed.

It struck me as very curious that so many birds in Guiana had such conspicuous coloration. In England if you see a green woodpecker on a suburban lawn it looks bright and tropical, but see the same bird in an oak-wood in spring and you will be astonished that those bright colours should merge so beautifully with the leaves. A multi-coloured parrot in a zoo cage looks vivid, yet in its home forest it would be most difficult to see. The same rule applies to birds almost the world over, but in Guiana a great many species seemed never to have heard of the art of protective coloration. The blue tanagers against the leafy background were about as well concealed as a Union Jack on a snowfield; the military starlings flashed their red breasts at you like miniature traffic-lights, demanding to be noticed; the marsh birds were bright silhouettes of yellow and black against the green. The sight of all these birds busily feeding against a good showy background of green herbage ought to have been enough to bring every hawk for miles to the spot.