Читать книгу Paddington Takes the Test - Michael Bond - Страница 8

Chapter Two IN AND OUT OF TROUBLE

One morning, soon after the visit from the driving examiner, Paddington was pottering about in the garden doing some testing of his own in order to make sure Mr Brown’s fruit was properly ripe, when he happened to glance through a knothole in the nearby fence. As he did so he nearly fell over backwards into the raspberry canes with astonishment at the sight which met his eyes.

The fence belonged to the Browns’ neighbour, Mr Curry, and in the normal course of events there was seldom anything of any great interest to see. Gardening wasn’t one of Mr Curry’s strong points. Apart from one or two shrubs and a couple of old trees, most of the ground was given over to what he called ‘the lawn’, but which in reality was nothing more than a patch of rough grass.

For once, however, it was looking unusually neat and tidy. In fact, overnight it had undergone nothing less than a transformation. The grass had been newly mown, the bushes pruned, and the trees had been lopped of their lower branches. There was even a small table in the centre of the lawn on which had been placed a tray with a glass and a jug of what looked like orangeade.

Paddington rubbed his eyes and then took a closer look through the hole. Now that he thought about it, he remembered hearing the sound of sawing the day before. At the time he hadn’t taken much notice of it, and never in his wildest dreams had he pictured it coming from Mr Curry’s garden.

The Browns’ neighbour had obviously been busy, but it wasn’t the view of his actual garden, nor the orangeade that caused Paddington’s astonishment; it was the sight of something very odd suspended between the two trees. At first glance it seemed to be a cross between a very large hairnet that had been hung out to dry, and some overgrown knitting that had gone sadly wrong; in fact he couldn’t remember having seen anything quite like it before in the whole of his life.

It was all very strange and Paddington was about to go indoors in order to tell Mrs Bird about it when he had his second shock of the morning.

Having rubbed his eyes once more so as to make doubly sure he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing, he opened them again in order to take one last look, only to find to his surprise that the scene had disappeared. Something or other was now covering up the knothole.

Paddington was not the sort of bear to be beaten by such trifles. After finding a suitable cane from among the pile in the raspberry patch, he bent down again and poked it through the hole as hard as he could in order to remove the offending object. A second later the cane fell from his paw like a red-hot poker as a yell of pain rang round the garden.

“Bear!” roared a familiar voice. “Is that you, bear? How dare you!”

Paddington scrambled to his feet and gazed mournfully at the sight of the Browns’ neighbour as he bobbed up and down on one leg on the other side of the fence.

“That was my shin you poked, bear!” howled Mr Curry. “What were you doing? Spying on me? Mark my words … I shall report you for this!”

“Oh no, Mr Curry,” gasped Paddington. “I wasn’t spying. I wouldn’t do that. I was only trying to see what was going on. There’s something hanging from your trees and I wondered if you knew about it.”

“What’s that, bear?” Mr Curry hopped closer to the fence and gave a snort as he peered over the top. “Of course I know about it. I put it there. There’s no need to go around telling everyone.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to tell everyone, Mr Curry,” said Paddington earnestly. “Only Mrs Bird.”

“Mrs Bird!” For some reason best known to himself, Paddington’s words had a strange effect on Mr Curry. He stopped rubbing his leg and drew nearer the fence. “Come now, bear,” he said. “There’s no need to do that. It’s only a hammock. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”

“A hammock, Mr Curry?” repeated Paddington. “No, I don’t think I have.”

“Hmm.” Mr Curry looked somewhat relieved by Paddington’s reply. “Well, bear,” he said, in a slightly better humour, “a hammock is what sailors used to sleep in on board ship. Nowadays they have bunks, but people still use hammocks in their gardens. They’re ideal for relaxing in. There’s nothing nicer on a warm summer afternoon than a quiet doze in a hammock. Provided,” he added meaningly, “there are no unseemly interruptions from the neighbours!”

Paddington looked most surprised as he listened to all Mr Curry had to say on the subject of hammocks. “I’ve never heard of a bed with holes in it before,” he exclaimed. “Is it safe?”

“Safe?” Mr Curry gave another snort. “Safe? Of course it’s safe! Why shouldn’t it be? What’s wrong with it?” he demanded.

“Oh, I didn’t mean yours wasn’t a good one, Mr Curry,” said Paddington hastily, anxious to make amends. “It’s just that it looks rather old. I … mean … have you had it very long?” he added lamely.

“Er … well, I …” Mr Curry broke into a loud cough. Once again he seemed anxious to change the subject. He glanced around to make sure no one else was about and then stared thoughtfully at Paddington.

“How much do you weigh, bear?” he barked.

Paddington was taken by surprise at the question. The Browns’ neighbour had a habit of turning matters to his own ends and it was sometimes difficult to follow what he had in mind. “I don’t know, Mr Curry,” he said, cautiously playing for time. “Sometimes I weigh a lot — sometimes I don’t. It depends on how many marmalade sandwiches I’ve eaten. Mrs Bird says it must be over a tonne sometimes after Sunday lunch.”

“Hmm.” Mr Curry considered Paddington’s answer for a moment and then came to a decision. “Look, bear,” he said, as he removed a piece of the fence in order to make room for Paddington to climb through, “you can do me a little favour if you like. I’m just going upstairs to change. I shall only be five minutes, but while I’m gone you can test my hammock for me as a treat … just to make sure it’s sa … er … comfortable.

“But make sure you do it properly,” he continued, as he helped Paddington through the gap in the fence. “And no helping yourself to my orangeade while I’m not looking. I’ve marked the jug, so I shall know at once.”

Mr Curry broke off and took a closer look at Paddington’s whiskers, several of which had some suspiciously red stains on them. “While you’re at it,” he said, “you might like to gather a few raspberries for me. If you do I may let you have a proper go with the hammock later on … after I’ve finished with it for the day.”

“Thank you very much, Mr Curry,” said Paddington doubtfully. “I shall look forward to that.”

He gazed unhappily after the retreating figure of the Browns’ neighbour. Doing favours for Mr Curry was something which had long ago lost its appeal; more often than not things went wrong. For a moment or two he toyed with the idea of climbing back through the fence and going to see Mrs Bird first, but he hastily changed his mind as Mr Curry turned and gave him a final glare before disappearing down the side of his house.

Pushing his doubts to one side, Paddington turned his attention to the hammock. He was the sort of bear who liked anything new, or, at least, anything which was new to him; for seen at close quarters, the hammock looked, if possible, even older than it had from a distance.

Although, as Mr Curry had explained to him, the hammock was meant to have holes, some of them looked far larger than they had started off as originally, and all in all Paddington decided he didn’t much like the look of it.

But it was when he actually tried to climb into it that his troubles really began, for he soon discovered that looking at a hammock is one thing; getting into one is quite another matter.

To start with it was rather higher off the ground than he would have liked, and not for the first time Paddington found himself wishing bears were born with longer legs, for when he tried to lift one of his up in order to climb in, it didn’t come anywhere near the edge.

Trying a different approach, Paddington grasped the hammock from underneath with both paws, then taking a deep breath he heaved both legs off the ground in the hope of getting them round the middle and gripping it from either side like a pair of pincers.

The first part of his manoeuvre went very well indeed, and for several moments he hung suspended beneath the hammock while he took stock of the situation. It was when he tried to carry out his next move that things started to go wrong, for without Wellington boots his claws got stuck in the rope mesh and try as he might he couldn’t free them. In the end he had to let go with his paws and hope for the best. For a moment or two he hung upside down with his head a few inches from the ground until there was a sudden ‘ping’ and the string broke.

Paddington was very glad he’d been wearing his hat, for Mr Curry’s lawn felt decidedly hard. As it was, the marmalade sandwich he usually kept there in case of an emergency went some way towards breaking his fall, and for a moment or two he lay where he was gasping for breath while he tried hard to think of some other way of tackling the problem.

Without a book of instructions it was very hard, and in the end he decided the only answer was to take the bull by the horns and make a run at it. Crossing to the far side of the lawn he took another deep breath, pulled his hat down over his ears, and then hurried towards the hammock as fast as his legs would carry him. As it loomed up in front of him he took a tremendous leap in the air, and clutched blindly at the first thing which met his grasp.

Paddington wasn’t quite sure what happened next. He was vaguely aware of a feeling of relief as his paws met with rope, which he clung to as hard as he could, then to his relief he felt the rest of him land in something soft. After that everything became a blur. Almost at once he started spinning round and round like a top. Gradually, however, the spinning slowed down until at last he came to a stop with only his head poking out. The rest of him had the appearance of a tightly-trussed chicken; one moreover which was not only oven-ready but practically ready to serve up for Sunday lunch. Far from being relaxed in the way Mr Curry had described, Paddington felt more like a sailor who had just rounded Cape Horn during a particularly bad storm.

But the worst was yet to come. He hardly had time to free one of his paws in order to make sure his hat was still on when he felt himself start to spin in the opposite direction, slowly at first, then with ever-increasing speed, until he was suddenly ejected from the hammock like a stone from a catapult, only to land on the ground a moment later in almost the very same spot as before.