Читать книгу AniMalcolm - David Baddiel - Страница 17

When Malcolm woke up, on the grass near the goat pen, he felt a little odd. For a start, he felt very tired. Or at least … he felt like all his limbs were much heavier than normal, and that moving his head – or his arms, or his legs – was a real effort. His body in particular felt weighed down, like there was something hefty on his back, pressing him into the grass.

But he had occasionally felt a bit like this waking up at home when he’d gone to bed late. Plus his dad had once described to him feeling exactly like this when he woke up.¹⁸

So maybe, Malcolm thought, I’ve just slept badly. Which would make sense, seeing as how I hadn’t been planning on going to sleep at all. Last thing I remember was that stupid old goat staring at me, and then – well – I must have passed out. No wonder I feel weird.

He tried to see where the goat had gone, but he couldn’t, for some reason, see much at all. Every time he lifted his head, all he could see were the tips of the grass and just the bottom edge of the goat pen. He strained his neck as high as it could go – it felt, strangely, like he could in fact stretch his neck further up from his shoulders than usual – but he still couldn’t see more than a foot or so above the ground.

Well, of course, Malcolm thought, it’s because I’m lying down. I can feel my tummy and hands and legs on the grass. On, it must be said, the wet and muddy grass. So let’s stand up.

This turned out to be much more difficult than usual. Try as he might, Malcolm couldn’t seem to get off all fours. He pushed and pushed with his arms, trying to get himself up, but nothing doing. It was exhausting.

One more push, he thought. One big heave.

He summoned up all his strength, and started, yes, genuinely started to get up – he even, for a second, saw a tiny bit of goat horn peeping over the pen fence – before tumbling over and ending up on his back.

And then it really seemed impossible to get up. Lying on his back, looking up at the sky, all he seemed to be able to do, however much he tried, was wobble from side to side. He felt like a Weeble. His arms and legs were gyrating, uselessly, in the air. He must look, he thought, like a beetle or a cockroach when they get stuck on their backs.

It was at this point Malcolm noticed something about his arms, which were the only limbs he could actually see. He noticed that they were … kind of green. And kind of … elephantine. Not in the sense of large. More in the sense of small, but really like an elephant’s. Which was odd, seeing as the main thing about elephants is that they are big.

So, he thought – mainly to think about something so as not to just start screaming in terror – what isn’t an elephant but has legs and arms a bit like an elephant’s, only much smaller … plus when they roll over they can’t turn back again … plus is: green?

He felt like the answer was right there, just beyond his reach.

“Hello …” said a deep, low voice next to his ear. “You in a bit of a pickle, mate?”

Malcolm looked round to see where the voice was coming from. Despite everything else he might have thought at that moment when he saw where it was indeed coming from, what he actually thought was: of course.

That’s what’s smaller than an elephant but with similar-shaped arms and legs and gets stuck on its back and is green.

A tortoise.

And then, finally, he screamed in terror.