Manxmouse (Essential Modern Classic) Page 3
Was there really something the matter with him? And was it true that he was blue? And if so, what was wrong with that?
He remembered the pond across the road and thought that the thing to do was to go there and have a look at his reflection in it. He had hardly left the door of the cottage and proceeded to the side of the road, when once more there was a rush of air and a pounce, and he was caught up in a pair of powerful jaws.
And this time it wasn’t a kitten but a ginger cat with but a single eye, the one Billibird had called Street Cat, or old One-Eye.
“Ha! Gotcha!” growled One-Eye. “Thought I’d be sleeping, didn’t you? They all fall for that one. Well, that’s your tough luck. Goodbye, mouse! Some cats start eating at the head of the mouse, but I don’t. I like to start with their tails as an appetizer and work on up, leaving the best part to the last.
And with this he put one great paw on Manxmouse’s head, when he suddenly leaped back with a cry of, “What’s this? Why, you haven’t got a tail!”
“Haven’t I?” said Manxmouse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Old One-Eye was upset. “You’re a Manx Mouse,” he said. “Why didn’t you say so? You should have told me immediately! Supposing I’d eaten you? You belong to Manx Cat, and Manx Cat would have been furious with me if I’d eaten his mouse.”
Manxmouse said, “But I don’t understand! It’s all so confusing! Who and what and where is Manx Cat? And where will I find him?”
Old One-Eye backed away still further, his fur standing up and his tail twitching. “Phew!” he said. “That was a narrow escape for me.” And then, “Never you mind. You’ll soon know the answer when you come across him. One thing I can tell you, you’ll never get away from him. Manx Mice are meant to be eaten by Manx Cats. Enjoy yourself while you can.” And with that old One-Eye slouched off into the gardens behind the houses.
The pond across the street beckoned Manxmouse and he went over to see what he was really like.
It all seemed to be true. The breeze had died away and the surface of the pond was like a mirror as Manxmouse crept down to the edge between two tall rushes and looked in. He was blue and, indeed, had no tail. He turned this way and that to make sure of the latter – there was no mistake about the blue part – and even got himself afloat on a lily pad to be able to see better behind himself. He had just caught a glimpse of the little button where his tail should have been, when a deep voice rumbled, “There’s no use in your looking further, youngster, there isn’t one,” and then it added, “Burrp!”
Manxmouse looked around and saw a huge grey-green frog with popping eyes squatting on the bank watching him.
“That,” said Manxmouse, now prepared to make the best of things, “is because I’m a Manx Mouse.” For it was clear to him at last that that was what and who he must be, since everyone had been calling him by this name. It had not come as too much of a shock to him. For he thought that the world must be full of Manx Mice like himself and had no idea that he was the only one in existence.
“Can you swim?” asked the frog and burped again.
“I’m not sure,” replied Manxmouse.
“Well then, you’d better get back off that lily pad. Manx Cat wouldn’t like it if you were to drown. Burrp! Burrp!”
Manxmouse did as he was told because he didn’t fancy drowning either, and then he said, “Just who is this Manx Cat everyone is talking about? And where would I meet him?”
“Ho, ho!” rumbled the frog. “That’s a good one! The Manx Cat is a cat without a tail, and the first time you see him you’d better start running. Plain cats eat plain mice; Manx Cats eat Manx Mice. There you are, that’s the rule.”
Manxmouse had now managed to creep back on to the shore and was sitting up wiping some droplets of water that had got on to his whiskers, and shaking his feet.
“You’re certainly the queerest-looking specimen I ever saw,” commented the frog and added three burps for good measure. “No tail, blue all over and as for those ears – oh, burrp!”
Good-natured as Manxmouse was, he was becoming just a little fed up with comments on his shape and colour and so he said, “I’m very sorry, but I can’t help how I look. And, for that matter, don’t you think you might appear a little odd yourself, with your eyes sticking out so that they’re practically on top of your head?”
The frog now produced the largest of all his burps and said, “Eyes on top of my head, eh? Well, I’ll tell you something, youngster. It might be better for you if yours were, too, because you never know where trouble is coming from next.” And with that he dived plop into the pond and disappeared. It broke up the surface and sent ripples out in every direction. When they washed up on to the shore where Manxmouse was sitting, his image looked very funny and wavy indeed, like standing before one of those crazy mirrors at a fun fair. One moment he was fat and the next lean; his ears long and then short.
Then suddenly the reflection was darkened by a shadow, a great beating of wings, and a splash as something plummeted out of the sky and seized Manxmouse in talons of iron. The next moment he was flying dizzily through the air, with the earth spinning and tumbling about him. Feeling giddy he closed his eyes and did not open them again until there was a bump and he felt himself once more on ground.
He heard a voice say, “Now then, we’ll just have a look at what we’ve got here.”
Gazing up, Manxmouse saw the head of an enormous bird with bright yellow eyes and a cruel, curved beak.
Chapter Four
THE STORY OF MANXMOUSE AND PILOT CAPTAIN HAWK
PEERING DOWN, THE bird of prey inspected a creature such as he had never seen before in all his days of hunting from the sky. “Hello,” he said, “what on earth are you? No tail, funny feet, ears like a rabbit and blue all over. Are you mole, vole, mouse or shrew?”
Manxmouse, who was being terribly squashed, gasped, “If you could just let me go a little, sir, I’d…”
“Oh, sorry!” said the hawk, for such it was. “Of course! I’d forgotten about my undercarriage. It’s a bit powerful,” and he relinquished his grip.
Manxmouse sighed with relief and said, “I’m a Manx Mouse and everyone says I’m going to be eaten by a Manx Cat. But for a moment I thought I was going to be eaten by you.”
“Well, I never! Why, it would be a shame to eat you. I’m probably the only hawk who’s ever caught something like you. Nobody would ever believe me. There I was at three thousand feet, on a nice thermal – you know what a thermal is, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” Manxmouse admitted. For this was something his creator, the ceramist, would not have known either.
“Well, it’s an up-current of air caused by heat rising. Catch a good one and you can float on it for hours. I was looking for a meal when I saw that frog. Clever fellow, he was too quick for me. I’d already started my dive – it’s automatic, you know – and then I saw you.”
“You mean to say,” Manxmouse queried, amazed, “that you can see a tiny thing like me from that high up?”
“Oh, my goodness, yes,” exaggerated the bird, who, like most flyers was something of a show-off. “Even higher: five thousand feet – ten thousand. We’ve got telescopic eyes. Well, on the way down I thought there was something odd about your colour, you know. It just sort of flashed through my mind. But I was doing about 500 mph – that’s miles per hour – by that time and didn’t bother to use my air brakes. It was as nice a strike as I’ve ever made, even though I did get my tail feathers wet on the pull out. So then when we were climbing again and I saw that you actually were blue, I thought to myself that we’d better have another little look-see. And so here we are, the two of us. Captain Hawk’s the name, Senior Pilot.”
Manxmouse said politely, “And I’m very pleased to meet you, Captain.”
“For that matter,” Captain Hawk replied, “I’m very pleased to meet you as well, I shall be dining out on this for a long time – I don’t mean dining out on YOU,” Hawk hastened to add, “it�
��s just a phrase and means having something to talk about when you’re invited out to dinner. I shall certainly tell about having caught a Manx Mouse. By the way, young fellow, have you ever flown before?”
“No, never – except for… just now…”
Captain Hawk laughed, “Oh, that! I wouldn’t call that flying. How would you like a little flip? It’s the least I can offer to make amends for having been just a trifle rough with you.”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” said Manxmouse.
“No, no, not at all! Delighted, old sport! Always pleased to be able to take someone up on his first hop and get him air-minded. Now, climb up and pass along to the front of the aircraft – I mean, get up on to my head, where you’ll find you’ll be able to hang on and it’s quite comfortable. Don’t worry if you feel a trifle dizzy at first, you’ll soon get used to it. And even if you were to fall off – not to worry. I’d catch you before you dropped very far.”
“Oh, I’m glad of that,” said Manxmouse.
And with this he boarded the bird at his tail and went along his back to a place just behind his head, where the feathers were rather thinner and he could get a firm grip with his fore paws.
Captain Hawk murmured, “Fasten your seat belts, please and no smoking during take-off.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Manxmouse, “what was that you said?”
Captain Hawk replied, “Regulations. Hang on, now, we’re off!” With that he gave a great leap upward with his strong legs and with a whoosh and a rush, his two powerful wings began to beat the air. As Manxmouse clung on tightly, the earth began to fall away beneath them, and he had to hold firmly because the ascent was so swift and slightly bumpy.
Hawk’s head seemed to be on a swivel, for he turned it around to Manxmouse, looking over his shoulder and remarked, “Take-off on full power. Twin engines, you know. It will be a lot steadier when I throttle back. If you get a funny feeling in your ears, swallow hard. I’m afraid we’re out of sweets on this trip.”
It was all very confusing to Manxmouse, although anybody who has ever been on an airliner knows that the hostesses pass out boiled sweets to enable the passengers to swallow which takes the pressure of the sudden climb from their eardrums. Peering from either side of Hawk’s neck he could secure the most wonderful view.
Not only was the earth continuing to crop away as though it were falling instead of them rising, but everything began to shrink. The buildings which had looked so enormous to Manxmouse were now like dolls’ houses and dwindled until they were even smaller than Manxmouse himself. The roads were but thin lines and cars driving along them looked no bigger than beetles. The pond had diminished to the size of a single drop of water. But at the same time the boundaries of the earth had become enlarged and spread out like a coloured map, with the fields cut into checker-board squares by stone walls and hedges.
Beneath them was the village of Buntingdowndale from where he had come. There was the tiny emerald patch of the village green, the church tower with its flag flying and the criss-cross of streets.
At the same time he could see the road junction like a ‘V’, where he had met the Billibird, though it was no longer possible to make out the signpost. There were four little dots which were now all that was left of the houses of Nasty.
Captain Hawk’s wings were beating with less violence and the passage had become smoother. Whatever dizziness Manxmouse might have experienced at the beginning had passed. He had swallowed dutifully and his ears were no trouble, and he could now give himself up to the enjoyment of what was going on. What fun flying was!
“We’ve throttled back,” the Captain remarked. “There are some cumulus clouds yonder. We’ll go over and I’ll show you a nice little trick.”
“What are cumulus clouds?” Manxmouse asked. Everything was so new and different. He had had some rather shattering experiences while on earth and up here in the sky it was wonderfully quiet and exciting, peaceful and thrilling all at the same time.
“Those big, white, thundery-looking ones,” Captain Hawk explained, and indicated a huge mountain of billowy white clouds rising straight up into the air, like packages of cotton wool piled one atop the other. “There will be some nice up-draughts. The clouds cool at the top, you see, and the hot air rises from below. They’re what we call ‘thermals’. You watch – we’ll cut our engines and…”
To Manxmouse’s alarm the great wings on either side of him had stopped and he wondered whether something had gone wrong, or whether the Captain was ill. The stillness was frightening after the whir of their beating. But now, close to the edge of the towering, white clouds, they suddenly shot up into the sky like an express lift in an office building.
“There,” Hawk said, “isn’t it fun? We can go as high as we like on one of these currents and then glide across to that cloud beyond, miles away, and pick up another. Tremendous saving on fuel, and a nice, smooth ride.”
They rose on the column of warm air. Manxmouse thought what a wonderful thing it must be to be a hawk and be able to live up here in the quiet of the sky.
They went up higher and higher, until at last Captain Hawk wheeled in a wide circle. He said, “I mustn’t overdo it. I’m actually not licensed for passengers and so I don’t carry oxygen equipment.”
“What’s that?” Manxmouse queried.
“Oh, of course,” Captain Hawk explained, “since you’ve never flown before you wouldn’t know about that. The further up you go, the thinner the air. People who live on earth begin to feel very funny, and have to have special tanks of oxygen and masks to breathe properly. I don’t, of course, because I’m used to it. My own ceiling is a good deal above this, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Enjoying yourself?”
“Marvellously!” said Manxmouse. Beneath him the landscape of fields and woodlands with silver threads of streams and rivers, small towns and villages was unreeling at dizzying speed as they flew down wind now.
Captain Hawk must have done a great deal of flying close to the big airliners criss-crossing the country, listening to what was being broadcast inside them, for he suddenly said, “This is your Captain speaking. We are now cruising at an altitude of 7,000 feet; our air speed is 250 mph and we are overflying St Albans. Hello, there’s a nice looking vole by that hedge. Pity I’m busy.”
“Can you really see tiny things down there on the ground?” Manxmouse asked again.
“Of course. I told you that’s my speciality,” replied Hawk. “There’s a mother rabbit in that field below with six little ones, and a green grass snake just disappearing into some thorn. I see a mouse, but just an ordinary one, not an extraordinary chap like you. And there are three fat trout lazing in that brook we’re just overflying.”
Manxmouse could not even make out the brook, much less any fish in it, and marvelled, “I can hardly see anything at all.”
“Oh, but I’ll wager you’ve got good ears instead,” Hawk said, and then added, “Especially those long, rabbity ones. That’s what you need to hear things coming – particularly things like Manx Cat.”
For the first time Manxmouse felt something like a cold shiver. He had been born without fear and so the Clutterbumph had had no power over him. But the constant repetition of the threat to his life by Manx Cat was beginning to have an effect. He had felt so happy, free, safe and secure up in the blue, but now he was reminded that somewhere below was Manx Cat.
“We’re approaching central London,” Hawk said. “That river you see winding in and out is the Thames, of course. We are now directly over Buckingham Palace, the Mall and Admiralty Arch. Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament are on your right and that long thing sticking up is Nelson’s column. We’ll turn west now.”
Manxmouse forgot about Manx Cat once more in the fascination of the great grey city beneath, as Hawk banked steeply. He had started his engines again, or rather his wings, and they passed over roof tops, domes, spires and streets down which thousands of cars were crawling.
“When you’re always on the ground, as I am, I suppose you can’t,” said Manxmouse.
The ceramist, of course, had known a great deal about people and so Manxmouse too knew what they were.
“Oh, they won’t bother you if you keep out of their way,” said the Captain. “But every so often if I come down too low, I encounter anti-aircraft fire. Hunters with shotguns.”
At last the grey houses began to thin out and suddenly they came upon a most curious place that seemed to be an enormous field of stone on which sat hundreds of silver birds, but not like Captain Hawk or Billibird, or any others he had seen.
“London Airport,” his pilot commented.
“But what are all those birds down there?”
“Birds! Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Captain. “Those are aeroplanes, the things that people fly in. Here comes one now. We’ll have a look at it.”
With a whoosh, a roar and a whine, an enormous four-engined jet passed by overhead to begin its descent, its vast expanse of wings blotting out the sun momentarily, and Manxmouse saw that its tail, instead of being flat like Hawk’s, was as high as two houses one on top of another.
“Did you ever see anything so silly?” Captain Hawk said. “They can’t flap their wings; they can’t soar or glide; they make a noise and they smell. And they call that flying!”
At that moment there was another strange noise: “Rackety-rackety! Clattery-clattery!” Something that was a cross between a beetle, a dragonfly and a windmill whirled past them. Hawk had to veer off so sharply that Manxmouse was compelled to cling on for dear life.
“What is it?” Manxmouse cried in alarm.