Gerald Durrell: The Talking Parcel

“I don’t know,” said Peter. “Parrot keeps on about them as if they were the one thing we’d come here to find.”

“My dear Peter,” said Parrot severely, “if I tell you that the Mooncalves are among the most important of H.H.’s inventions, and that they are, without doubt, the most important animal, agriculturally and economically speaking, in Mythologia, then perhaps you’ll comprehend why it’s important for us to find some.”

“No,” said Peter.

“You are a singularly simple-minded boy,” said Parrot sternly. “I’m now going to leave you and go in search of a Mooncalf herd. Kindly wait here for my return.” So saying, Parrot stalked into his waterlogged cage and opened his Louis Quinze cupboard.

“If you’re going out like that, all wet, you’ll catch a chill,” said Dulcibelle, “and it doesn’t do you any good to be flying all over the countryside at your age.”

“Oh, be quiet,” said Parrot crossly. “You’re supposed to be my singing spider and housekeeper, not a jailer. Where did you put my telescope?”

“It’s where you left it—in the cupboard—and you shouldn’t speak to me like that. Here I slave away all day and what thanks do I get, eh? Tell me that. All you do is try to drown us all and create a lot of extra work. Look at the place— drenched, carpet ruined . . . I’ll have to air the bed. But do you care? Oh, no! All you think about is flying round the coun­tryside with your telescope. You should know better at your age. You carry on as if you were a fledgling.”

At last, from the strange collection of clothes and other things in his cupboard, Parrot managed to unearth a handsome brass-bound telescope, which he held carefully in his beak. “Reconnaissance,” he explained to the children, somewhat in­distinctly. “Back shortly. I should have some breakfast, if I were you.” So saying, he flew off, his wings flashing rainbow colors in the sunlight.

Penelope decided that Parrot’s suggestion of breakfast was a good one, for once they got on the move again there was no knowing when they would have a chance to eat. So she divided out a large bar of chocolate between herself and the boys and gave them a handful of raisins and almonds each. They found they were remarkably hungry when they started to eat.

Dulcibelle declined the offer of chocolate, raisins, or nuts.

“You haven’t, I suppose, got a grasshopper about you?” she asked wistfully. “Or a couple of houseflies?”

“No, I’m sorry,” said Penelope.

“Ah, well, I didn’t think you would,” said Dulcibelle. “Never mind.”

Their hunger satisfied, the children spread out their belong­ings on the sand to dry. They had just finished when they heard a voice crying, “Ahoy there, ahoy,” and Parrot flew into view and performed a very neat landing on the sandbank.

“Excellent news,” he panted, removing the telescope from his beak and putting it under his wing. “There’s a herd of Moon­calves about half a mile away. I missed them the first time—the silly things were all grazing under trees.”

“So,” said Peter, “what do we do now?”

“Go and get some jelly,” said Parrot.

“Jelly?” asked Simon. “Did you say ‘jelly’?”

“Yes,” said Parrot impatiently. “You and Peter come with me, and Penelope can stay here with Dulcibelle.”

“No,” said Penelope firmly. “If you’re going hunting for Mooncalves or jelly or whatever it is, I want to come too.” “Oh, all right,” said Parrot. “Dulcibelle can stay here.” “No,” said Dulcibelle. “What if a crocodile should come?” “There are no crocodiles here, you know that perfectly well,” said Parrot.

Dulcibelle thought about it for a moment. “All right,” she said at last, “I’ll stay, but you’re not to be more than three days, mind.”

“Come on, then,” said Parrot. “You’ll all have to wade over to the bank—there’s a shallow bit over there. Then I’ll show you where the herd is.”

So the children waded across from the sandbank, leaving Dulcibelle as guardian of their things, and set off over the purple grass field, dotted with flowers, toward the distant cork forest.

“What are Mooncalves?” asked Penelope of Parrot, who was perched on her shoulder.

“The most useful creatures,” said Parrot, “but I must confess they are the result of an accident rather than design. You see, in the early days of Mythologia, H.H. was trying to invent a cow which would give a never-ending yield of milk, but he had to use the mythological Mooncalf as a basis, so that it would fit in. It was just unfortunate that on that particular day he had lost his glasses, and in consequence he got three or four spells muddled up into one by mistake. It was all right, as it turned out. Poor H.H. was most distressed at the time. However, since then they’ve proved to be most successful.”

They made their way through the trees, toward where they could hear the clonking of a bell and a gentle mooing noise, like the sound of an ordinary herd of cattle in a meadow. Then they came out into a clearing, and there was the Mooncalf herd.

“A bit surprising at first glance, aren’t they?” said Parrot proudly.

“ Surprising? They’re the weirdest things I’ve ever seen” said Peter.

“They look like bits and pieces of all sorts of things,” said Penelope.

Basically, the Mooncalves were like giant dark green snails with extremely pretty golden and green shells perched on their backs. But, instead of having horns in front, like a snail, each had the fat head of a calf, with amber-colored horns and a great mop of curls lying between then. They had dark, liquid eyes, and they moved slowly over the purple grass, browsing just like cows, but sliding like snails. Occasionally, one of them would lift up its head and utter a long and soulful “Mooooo.”

“Are they dangerous?” asked Simon, watching them, fasci­nated.

“Lordy, no,” said Parrot. “The kindest, stupidest things in the whole country, but, unlike most kind and stupid people, exceedingly useful.”

“But what do they supply?” asked Penelope.

“Milk,” said Parrot, “and Mooncalf jelly, probably one of the most useful substances known.”

“Where do you milk them from?” asked Peter, puzzled.

“The shell,” said Parrot. “Each shell’s got three taps on it. Two are marked ‘hot’ and ‘cold’—just turn the tap and there you are: hot or cold milk, whichever you like.”

“And the third tap?” asked Simon.

“Cream,” said Parrot.

“Gosh!” said Peter, who was passionately devoted to cream. “They are useful creatures.”

“And the jelly?” asked Penelope.

“Ah,” said Parrot. “Well, you knowhow a snail leaves a slimy trail behind him? Well, Mooncalves do the same, except it’s Mooncalf jelly, and they only do it when asked.”

“Ugh,” said Penelope. “What’s the use of a lot of jelly?”

“It hardens into sheets,” said Parrot, “and then becomes a most useful product. For one thing, it’s cold when it’s hot, and it’s hot when it’s cold.”

“What?” said Peter.

“What I mean is, if you make it into a house or clothes, or something like that,” said Parrot, “it’s hot in cold weather and vice versa.”

“That’s useful,” said Simon thoughtfully.

“You store it in sheets,” Parrot went on, “and then just take out a sheet when you want it and think it into something.”

“Think it into something?” said Penelope. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I’ll have to show you,” said Parrot. “Here, let’s go closer.” They walked up to the Mooncalf herd. The strange animals lifted their heads and gazed at them in the friendliest fashion. The leader of the herd was larger than the others and wore a large gold bell around its neck, marked “Leader.”