Gerald Durrell: The Talking Parcel

“Battery farm,” suggested Simon.

“Exactly,” said Parrot. “Twenty-five eggs at the last count. One a day they’re producing. The whole of Mythologia will be overrun with Cockatrices, unless we do something, or rather unless I do something. You see, over the last two hundred years or so, H.H. has become very frail and forgetful, and he’s left more and more of the running of the thing to me. But I can’t do anything without the Great Books. Dulcibelle and I were planning to go and try to talk some sense into the silly Cockatrices, but we were set upon in the middle of the night by those illiterate, ill-favored, and insolent Toads, bundled up into a vulgar brown paper parcel, and thrown into the river. Me, Parrot! My blood boils at the thought. Wait until I get my wings on those Toads.”

“But what about Mr. Junketberry?” asked Penelope. “Poor man, what’s happened to him?”

“He’s in despair, poor fellow,” said Parrot. “He was in his magician’s cave with a hysterical Dragon on his hands, the last time I saw him.”

“Dragon?” asked Peter, who was feeling a bit dazed.

“Tabitha, the last of the Dragons,” explained Parrot. “Nice enough creature in her way, but so useless. She let the Cocka­trices have the Dragon eggs as well. When she realized what she’d done, of course, she had hysterics. No stamina, these Dragons.”

“Don’t you think you ought to get back as soon as possible?” asked Penelope anxiously. “I mean, before all the Cockatrices hatch?”

“Exactly,” said Parrot. “But I can’t do it without help.”

“We’ll help,” said Penelope eagerly. “We’ll do anything, won’t we, Peter . . . Simon?”

“Yes,” chorused the boys. “Anything, just tell us.”

“You’re too kind,” said Parrot, wiping away a tear. “Too kind.”

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind coming with you,” said Peter pugnaciously, “and helping you give those Cockatrices a good hiding.”

“Yes,” said Simon, “and those odious Toads.”

“Couldn’t we come back with you?” asked Penelope. “I mean, we might be of some help.”

“My dear young people,” said Parrot, quite overcome with emotion. “You’re too kind, too generous. Of course you may come. I’d be most grateful for your help.”

“Good,” said Peter, jumping to his feet. “That’s settled then. How do we get there?”

“By train,” said Parrot.

“By train?" echoed the astonished children.

“Yes,” said Parrot. “Originally, there was only a track up to our entrance. Then they put a train in—a narrow gauge, of course—round about 1800. Well, the track passed right by our entrance, so we had to let the train in on our secret, you see. She’s French, but a very good sort. In fact, I’ve forgotten how to find this entrance myself. I generally use one of the others, but the train knows. She’s retired now, of course, and lives at the village of Diakofta.”

“But I’ve seen her, she’s in our village. I mean the village nearest our villa,” squeaked Penelope excitedly. “You mean that dear little steam engine that stands on a sort of stage near the station?”

“That’s right,” said Parrot. “Hows she looking?”

“Fine,” said Penelope. “She’s sweet."

“We never showed the diesel the entrance,” said Parrot. “Un­trustworthy things, diesels, but old Madame Hortense is all right. They don’t build them like that these days. If we go up there tonight, she’ll take us to the entrance of Mythologia. From there we’ll have to go on foot, following the river.”

“If there’s a river, why can’t we go by boat?” asked Simon.

“Ah, we could, if only we had one,” said Parrot.

“But we have,” shouted Peter triumphantly. “It’s behind this sand dune.”

“You’re joking,” said Parrot faintly.

“No,” said Penelope. “Go and look.”

Parrot took off from the top of his golden cage and soared over the sand dune, glittering in the sun like a rainbow. He reappeared presently and landed again on top of his cage.

“You shouldn’t be flying about like that at your age,” shouted Dulcibelle. “I’ve told you before.”

“Magnificent,” said Parrot breathlessly. “Magnificent, just what we needed: collapsible and such a beautiful color, too. Children, I’m so glad we met.”

“So are we,” said Penelope.

“Now, let’s make plans,” said Parrot. “What I suggest is this: if you’ll be kind enough to conceal me and Dulcibelle in our cage up near the road somewhere, then you can come back at midnight and we’ll make our way to the village of Diakofta and persuade Madame Hortense to take us to the borders of Mythologia. From then on we can travel by boat. How does that strike you as a scrumptious plan?”

“Super,” said Simon, grinning.

“Simon and I will be in charge of weapons and things,” said Peter. “And Penelope can be in charge of food and first aid.”

“Gosh,” said Simon, struck by a thought. “How long is this going to take?”

“Several days, I would say,” said Parrot. “Why?”

“What about your father, Penny?” asked Simon. “How are we going to explain to him?”

“That’s easy,” said Penelope. “He told me I could go and camp on the beach when you two arrived. We’ll just tell him we’re camping. Leave that to me. ”

“Well, that’s settled. So let’s get cracking,” said Peter eagerly.

Carefully they carried Parrot’s cage up the hill and concealed it not far from the road in a great cluster of myrtle bushes. Then they rowed back home, deflated the dinghy, and carried it up to the villa.

As Penelope had promised, Uncle Henry made no fuss about their going to camp on the beach.

“It’s full moon,” explained Penelope, “and we might spend several nights down there, so you’re not to get worried.”

“No, I shan’t,” said Uncle Henry. “I loved camping out at full moon when I was your age. Well, have a good time.”

The three children went off to pack up their supplies. Simon made three spears by tying sharp kitchen knives to bamboo poles, and Peter made slingshots out of forked olive wood sticks and strong elastic that Penelope found. In addition, they packed three flashlights, a compass, a first aid box containing such things as gauze, bandages, and cotton wool, and three large boxes of matches. Parrot had assured them that there would be plenty of food when they reached the Crystal Caves where H.H. lived, so they took only enough for twenty-four hours. They chose things that didn’t have to be cooked, like raisins and nuts and chocolate. Then they sat on the bed and waited for midnight.

As twelve o’clock struck, they crept out of the house and made their way down the moonlit road, carrying their weapons and supplies and the all-important dinghy. When they reached the myrtle bushes where they had left Parrot, they saw a strange glow, as of a camp fire. As they crept closer they saw that Parrot had lit two candles in the candelabra on his harp­sichord and was playing a quiet, tinkly sort of tune, while Dulcibelle hummed to herself. It was such a pretty scene, with the candlelight winking on the gold bars of the cage and the pol­ished wood of the harpsichord and other furniture, the soft music and Dulcibelle’s sweet little voice, that the children were loath to disturb Parrot, but they felt they must.

“Ha, there you are,” said Parrot when he saw them, ending the tune by running one wingtip along the keyboard and clos­ing the lid of the harpsichord. “Good, then we’ll be off.”

So, carrying Parrot’s cage with Parrot sitting on top, the children set off for the village of Diakofta, which lay about a mile away.