Gerald Durrell - The Talking Parcel

So the next morning, having said good-bye to H.H., Tabitha, and a most tearful Dulcibelle, the children with Parrot and Ethelred went down one of the many corridors in the Crys­tal Caves which eventually led them out on the beach. The sand was like minute pearls, and the tiny champagne-colored waves broke on the shore with a musical noise like somebody running his fingers along the strings of the most melodious of harps. No wonder, Penelope thought, it was called the Singing Sea.

Into this gentle and melodious sea they launched the dinghy, and immediately, as H.H. had promised, a warm breeze sprang up. The sail furled out like a bay window, and the dinghy went bowling along at a good rate, carrying with it Penelope, the boys, Parrot and Ethelred, and a hamper full of food provided by H.H. They also had sickles for cutting the rue and the lav­ender, and large bags for putting the plants in.

“Tell me, Parrot,” said Penelope, feeling that she had been asking the same question ever since they’d arrived in Mythologia, “what are Werewolves exactly? I’m sure I’ve read about them, but I can’t quite remember.”

“I remember,” said Simon. “Aren’t they people who are sup­posed to turn into wolves at full moon?”

“That’s right,” said Parrot. “An ugly superstition, as well as a silly one. But, as I told you, in the days when H.H. created Mythologia a lot of people believed firmly in Werewolves, and so there were quite a number about. They begged to be al­lowed to come to Mythologia, as they began to die out, and

H.H. had to let them. They were a borderline case, of course, but he gave them the benefit of the doubt. He let them set up house on this island we are going to, on condition that they shared it with the two other troublemakers, the Mandrakes and the Will-o’-the-Wisps. Then the Firedrakes wanted a fairly gloomy sort of island, so he let them live there too.”

“I’ve heard of the Will-o’-the-Wisps and how they lead you into swamps and quicksands,” said Penelope, “but what are Firedrakes?”

“Very colorful,” said Parrot. “The most colorful thing in Mythologia. Related to the Will-o’-the-Wisps, but they can be hot and cold, whereas the Wisps are only cold, of course. Fire­drakes are nice little fellows, very timid, but with charming, straightforward characters. The Will-o’-the-Wisps, on the other hand, are an unruly lot, mischievous troublemakers.”

“And the Mandrakes?” asked Penelope. “Are they something like Firedrakes?”

“No, no,” said Parrot. “Firedrakes are composed mainly of fire, but the Mandrakes are plants—lazy, good-for-nothing plants at that. You see, at one time they were widely used in spells and medicine, and of course they didn’t like that, so they invented the scream.”

“The scream?” said Peter. “How do you invent a scream, for goodness’ sake?”

“It’s such a terrible scream,” said Parrot, holding up a claw to emphasize his words, “such a hideous, horrifying scream that when you hear it it drives you mad.”

“This was to prevent them from getting plucked?” asked Simon.

“Yes,” said Parrot, “so now they do nothing but sleep day and night, night and day, and should anyone be silly enough to wake them, then they all wake up at once and scream at once— and you can imagine what that’s like.”

“Gosh, and we’ve got to get through a wood of those?” asked Peter. “It is going to be dangerous.”

“I told you this mission would be dangerous,” said Parrot. “First we have the Mandrakes to worry about, then the Were­wolves, and the Will-o’-the-Wisps, though they won’t be about in the daytime and the Wolves will be asleep too. That’s why H.H. insisted that we land on the Island during the day. It’s the least dangerous time.”

“We’re making good progress, owing to H.H.’s wind,” said Simon.

Indeed, the dinghy was bowling over the musical waves at a good pace. What with the warm sun and warm wind it was a delightful journey. The water was so clear that twenty feet below them the children could see schools of multicolored fish swimming about, huge oysters with pearls gleaming in them, and giant lobsters and crabs in a variety of colors. Little flocks of scarlet and blue flying fish would suddenly appear in front of their bows and fly along the surface for a little way, chittering like birds, before plunging into the sea again.

“ ’Ere, miss,” said Ethelred in a low voice to Penelope, “you’re not afraid of them Werewolves, are you? There’s no need to be, with me along to look after you, ’onest.”

“I should have been scared,” Penelope said, “but with you as my personal protector I don’t feel the slightest cause for alarm.” Ethelred looked immensely pleased at this.

They had been traveling for several hours, and the soothing wind and sun had made them all tired. Parrot put his head under his wing for forty winks; Ethelred lay on his back with his mouth open, snoring, his top hat on his chest; and Penelope and the boys dozed in the balmy air.

After Penelope had slept for a while, she woke and lay there thinking that perhaps they all ought to have some lunch. Star­ing up at the clear, green sky with little battalions of colored clouds, she suddenly felt that there was something wrong. Then she realized what it was. They were not moving. She sat up and looked round. As far as she could see in every direction they were surrounded by great fronds of seaweed, like purple and green lace, that were actually moving and growing as she watched. The dinghy was firmly aground on the fronds. Then a frond of the beautiful seaweed made its way over the side of the dinghy, like the tentacle of an animal, but growing and ex­panding as it moved with a faint rustling sound. Penelope rea­lized that if only two or three bits behaved like this, the dinghy and they themselves would disappear under the pile of purple and green seaweed.

“Parrot,” she shouted, struggling to open the hamper in which she knew there was a knife to cut the seaweed. “Parrot . . . everyone . . . wake up, wake up.”

They all woke up and saw in an instant what the problem was.

“Oh cumbersome and cumulus cauliflowers,” exclaimed Par­rot in annoyance. “It’s that wretched weed. Here, just cut off the bits that come aboard. It will soon stop.”

Sure enough, after the children and Ethelred had cut off two or three fronds of the seaweed, it seemed to realize that it was not wanted and ceased trying to grow all over the dinghy. But they continued to remain stationary.

“A dreadful nuisance this,” said Parrot. “This will hold us up unless I can get some help. Here, give me my telescope, Penel­ope, will you? It’s just beside you.”

With his telescope, Parrot anxiously scanned the horizon until suddenly he gave a squawk of satisfaction.

“We’re in luck,” he said. “They’re working over there. The thing is to attract their attention.”

“Who are they?” asked Penelope.

“Mermaids,” said Parrot. “H.H. employs them to keep the weeds under control. You see, he made a mistake with the spell. Instead of ‘everlasting’—you know, like the flowers you saw—he said ‘ever-growing.’ And once you’ve gone and done a spell like that, it’s impossible to undo, so he had to get the Mermaids just to keep it down. It’s a full-time job, I can tell you. If they relaxed for a moment the Singing Sea would be full of it. I think what we’ll have to do is to pull ourselves a little nearer and shout.”

So they all leant over the side and grabbed armfuls of sea­weed and pulled. Slowly, inch by inch, they found they could slide the dinghy over the weeds. After pulling and panting for what seemed an age, the children could hear a faint singing drifting across the weeds and water.