David Blaize and the Blue Door. Эдвард Бенсон
it was tightly closed and latched, and confused noises of lions roaring and elephants trumpeting and cows mooing, dogs barking, and birds singing came from inside. Sometimes there was ordinary talk too, for the animals had all learned English from David as well as knowing their own animal tongue, and the Indian elephant spoke Hindustanee in addition. He was slim and light blue, and was known as the ‘Elegant Elephant,’ in contrast to a stout black one who never spoke at all. All this David thought that he and Nannie had made up, but now he knew that it was perfectly true. And he stood waiting to see what would happen next.
The hubbub increased.
‘If that great lamb would get off my chest,’ said the elegant elephant, ‘I should be able to get up. Why don’t they come and open the roof?’
‘Not time yet,’ said the cow. ‘The family are still dressing. But it’s a tight fit to-night. I’m glad the pin-partridge isn’t here scratching us all.’
‘Where’s it gone?’ said the elephant.
‘David took it to bed; more fool he,’ said the cow.
‘He couldn’t be much more of a fool than he is,’ grunted the pig. ‘He knows nothing about us really.’
At this moment David heard an irregular kind of hopping noise coming down the passage, and, just as he turned to look, the pin-partridge ran between his legs. It flew on to the roof of the ark, and began pecking at it.
‘Let me in,’ it shouted. ‘I believe it’s the first of September. What cads you fellows are not to let me in!’
‘You always think it’s the first of September,’ said the cow. ‘Now look at me; I’m milked every day, which must hurt me much more than being shot once.’
‘Not if it’s properly done,’ said the partridge. ‘I know lots of cows who like it.’
‘But it’s improperly done,’ said the cow. ‘David knows less about milking than anybody since the flood. You wait till I catch him alone, and see if I can’t teach him something about tossing.’
This sounded a very awful threat, and David, who knew that it was best to take cows as well as bulls by the horns, determined on a bold policy.
‘If I hear one word more about tossing, I shan’t let any of you out,’ he said.
There was dead silence.
‘Who’s that?’ said the cow in a trembling voice, for she was a coward as well as a cow.
‘It’s me!’ said David.
There was a confused whispering within.
‘We can’t stop here all night.’
‘Say you won’t toss him.’
‘You can’t anyhow, because your horns are both broken.’
‘Less noise in there,’ said Noah suddenly, from the next compartment.
The cow began whimpering.
‘I’m a poor old woman,’ she said, ‘and everybody’s very hard on me, considering the milk and butter I’ve given you.’
‘Chalk and water and margarine,’ said the pin-partridge, who had been listening with his ear to the roof. ‘Do say you won’t toss him. I can’t see him, but he’s somewhere close to me.’
‘Very well. I won’t toss him. Open the roof, boy.’
David was not sure that Noah would like this, as he was the ark-master, but he felt that his having said that he would keep the roof shut unless the cow promised, meant that he would open it if she did, and so he lifted the roof about an inch.
At that moment Noah’s head appeared. He was standing on Shem’s head, who was standing on Ham’s head, who was standing on Japheth’s head, who was standing on his mother’s head. They always came out of their room in this way, partly in order to get plenty of practice in case of fire, and partly because they couldn’t be certain that the flood had gone down, and were afraid that if they opened the door, which is the usual way of leaving a room, the water might come in. When Noah had climbed on to the top of the wall, he pulled Shem after him, who pulled Ham, who pulled Japheth, who pulled Mrs. Noah, and there they all stood like a row of sparrows on a telegraph wire, balancing themselves with great, difficulty.
‘Who’s been meddling with my roof?’ asked Noah, in an angry voice. ‘I believe it’s that pin-partridge.’
The pin-partridge trembled so violently at this that he fell off the roof altogether, quite forgetting that he could fly. But the moment he touched the ground, he became a full-sized partridge.
‘No, I didn’t,’ he said. ‘There’s that boy somewhere about, but I can’t see him. He got through the blue door to-night.’
David now knew that he was invisible, but though it had always seemed to him that it must be the most delicious thing in the world to be able to be visible or invisible whenever you chose, he found that it was not quite so jolly to have become invisible without choosing, and not to have the slightest idea how to become visible again. It gave him an empty kind of feeling like when he was hungry long before the proper time.
‘The cats saw me,’ he said, joining in, for he knew if he couldn’t be seen, he could be heard.
‘Of course they did,’ said Noah, ‘because they can see in the dark when everything is invisible. That’s why they saw you. You needn’t think that you’re the only thing that is invisible. I suppose you think it’s grand to be invisible.’
‘When I was a little boy,’ said Ham, ‘I was told that little boys should be seen and not heard. This one is heard and not seen. I call that a very poor imitation of a boy. I dare say he isn’t a real one.’
‘I’ve been quite ordinary up to now,’ said David. ‘It seems to have come on all of a sudden. And I don’t think it’s at all grand to be invisible. I would be visible this minute if I knew how.’
‘I want to get down,’ said Mrs. Noah, swaying backwards and forwards because her stand was broken.
‘You’ll get down whether you want to or not, ma,’ said Shem irritably, ‘if you go swaying about like that. Don’t catch hold of me now. I’ve got quite enough to do with keeping my balance myself.’
‘Why don’t you get down?’ asked David, who wanted to see what would happen next.
‘I haven’t seen the crow fly yet,’ said Noah. ‘We can’t get down till the crow has flown.’
‘What did the crow do?’ asked David.
‘It didn’t. That’s why we’re still here,’ said Japheth.
‘Some people,’ said Noah, ‘want everything explained to them. When the cock crows it shows it’s morning, and when the crow flies it shows it’s night. We can’t get down until.’
‘But what would happen if you did get down?’ said David.
‘Nobody knows,’ said Noah. ‘I knew once, and tied a knot in my handkerchief about it, so that I could remember, but the handkerchief went to the wash, and they took out the knot. So I forgot.’
‘If you tied another knot in another handkerchief, wouldn’t you remember again?’ asked David.
‘No. That would not be the same knot. I should remember something quite different, which I might not like at all. That would never do.’
‘One, two, three,’ said Mrs. Noah, beating time, and they all began to sing:
‘Never do, never do,
Never, never, never do.’
Most of the animals in the ark joined in, and they sang it to a quantity of different tunes. David found himself singing too, but the only tune he could remember was ‘Rule Britannia,’ which didn’t fit the words very well. By degrees the others stopped singing, and David was left quite alone to finish his verse feeling rather shy, but knowing that he had to finish it whatever happened.