The Great Dodo Comeback

by Fiona Sandiford

  Giavanna wrapped a leopard-print robe around herself. “I’m off for a swim,” she rasped. “See you later.”

  Oh well, thought Benny, all the more for me. He went to reach for another bun and almost knocked one of his prized trophies off the mantelpiece with his elbow. “Oops,” he mumbled, just managing to stop it before it toppled over. He stood it back up and smirked. He was remembering the moment he went up to collect that trophy, the award for “Best Sugar Cubes” at the annual Sugar Makers Movers and Shakers Gala last year.

  Instead of another bun, Benny decided to take a cigar from a gold-plated case. It was even chunkier than his fingers. He lit it, a plume of smoke rose up and the ceiling fan swirled it around the room.

  He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He cleared his throat and flashed a smile, revealing his yellowing teeth.

  “With Shoober, life is sweet,” he said to his own reflection. “Life is Sweet” was the slogan for his sugar brand and it was on all of the sugar products which came out of his factory. Whenever an advert for Shoober Sugar was on the TV or radio, the slogan came with it.

  “Hi boss,” came a gruff voice behind him. Shoober jumped, coughed and spilled cigar ash on his shirt. “Oh it’s you,” he said, irritated at being interrupted. He brushed the ash away and stubbed out the cigar in an ashtray. “Don’t you know how to knock, Pawpaw?”

  “I did, but you didn’t hear, boss,” replied the man. “Sorry, but we need to talk to you urgently.”

  Pawpaw was tall and his high forehead was crowned with black slicked-back hair. His eyes were sunken-in and his squarish chin had a little dimple in the middle. His hands were like baseball mitts and on his knuckles were tattooed the words “love” and “hate”.

  “Yeah, something came up,” added a much shorter man standing next to him. This was his sidekick, Beanbag. He had shiny shoes, short hair, rosy cheeks and was keen to please.

  “We just saw something you might find interesting,” said Pawpaw.

  “Yeah, some new arrivals on the island,” added Beanbag.

  “A man and a woman,” went on Pawpaw.

  “So far, so what?” said Shoober. “Gimme the bullet points.” He sat down on the velvet couch.

  “They’re both scientists,” said Beanbag.

  “And they are on the island because they are trying to bring back the dodo,” declared Pawpaw.

  “Bring it back? From where?” asked their boss.

  Pawpaw cleared his throat. “From the dead.”

  Benny Shoober sat bolt upright on his velvet couch. Scientists bringing back the dodo? From the dead? This really was news.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Sure as eggs is eggs,” said Beanbag. “We got a tip-off and followed them to La Grotte de Vulcan today. They were in the cave, snooping around for dodo bones.”

  Shoober snorted. “But why? What good would old bones be?” he asked.

  “They said they can get some Ds and As out of them,” said Beanbag, catching sight of himself in the mirror and smoothing down his hair. “Whatever they are.”

  “DNA, dimwit!” corrected Pawpaw. “They reckon if they can get some old DNA out of the bones, they can make a new dodo out of it,” he explained to Shoober. “It’s called de-eggs-stink-shun,” he added.

  “They’re planning to put the DNA into a pigeon egg, and then they think the egg will hatch into a dodo chick.”

  “There’s a girl with them too. And a parrot,” said Beanbag.

  “Hmm…” Shoober got up and started pacing the room, rubbing his chin with his left hand. “This is not good news,” he said.

  He stopped to look at the map on his office wall behind his desk. It showed the mansion and the surrounding fields, and an area to the west marked out in red stripes. There was another area to the north that was marked out in the red stripes too. At least, it had been before someone put big black crosses over it.

  “Look what happened here,” he said to the two men, pointing to the area which now resembled a cemetery. “I wanted to expand my wonderful empire by turning this land into more sugar-cane fields.

  “But I was stopped at the last minute.”

  “By who?” asked Beanbag.

  “Eco-warriors,” said Shoober sourly. “You know, those silly do-gooders who think they’re saving the planet.”

  Pawpaw nodded.

  “They went on about the so-called Mauritius kestrel losing its habitat if I turned that forest into cane fields,” Shoober scoffed. “They protested. They organized demonstrations. They waved banners around. And they blocked me from getting that land.”

  “Party poopers,” muttered Pawpaw.

  “This area,” said Shoober, walking back to the map, “I wanted to buy up too. But those crazy tree-huggers interfered and claimed it was the echo parakeet’s territory. And again, they got their way. Somehow.” He picked up a black marker pen and began scoring big black crosses through that area as well.

  The Sugar King snapped the lid back on his pen and pointed it at the men. “But this time,” he vowed, “they are not going to get away with it!”

  He swapped the black pen for a red one and started marking out a new area in the west with scarlet stripes. “This is the area I’ve set my sights on,” he said. “It’s jungle at the moment, but if I buy it, I’ll chop down those annoying trees and turn it into fields of sugar cane.” He treated them to another view of his unlovely gnashers.

  His mood then darkened once again. “But if dodos come back, they’ll ruin everything!” he blasted. He banged his big chunky-ringed fist on the oak desk so hard it shook.

  “Yes, boss,” said Beanbag nervously.

  “With dodos back on the scene, those eco-warriors will stop me once again!” ranted Shoober. “They’ll claim this land is ‘dodo heartland’ or some other nonsense. But that territory should be mine! For sugar! More sweet, sugary, Shoober Sugar!”

  “We hear you, boss,” Beanbag gulped.

  “They think they can just come here and make dodos and then set them free to run riot, do they? Well, I’ve got news for them: dodos are extinct, and extinct they need to stay!”

  “Pesky dodos!” growled Pawpaw.

  “Exactly!” agreed Shoober. “They’re nothing but clumsy, overgrown pigeons! Giant rats with wings! I cannot let them invade the island and hijack my precious land.”

  All of a sudden, Shoober stopped in his tracks. An egg-shaped idea was starting to form in his egg-shaped head.

  He turned back to the two henchmen. “I want you to watch these professors like hawks,” he told them slowly. “And if they make a dodo egg, I want you to steal it and bring it to me. Understand?”

  Then he dropped his voice to a hush, walked over to the coffee table and took another bun in his hand – a cream bun this time. “I want to make sure that any dodo is re-extincted before it is even de-extincted.” He squeezed the bun so hard the cream burst out onto the floor.

  “Okay, boss,” Beanbag said.

  “Those bird-loving loons will not stop me this time! Because there will be no dodo. No dodo at all!” he thundered.

  The men stood in silence before him.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Get to it!” he barked.

  The pair beat a hasty retreat and Shoober licked the cream off his hand. He turned back to the mirror. “With Shoober, life is sweet,” he cooed to himself.

  “Life is sweet! Life is sweet!” Sitting on the window ledge was Popcorn, and he was enjoying mimicking the tycoon.

  But Shoober was in no mood for this. He darted over to the window. “Dratted bird!” he shouted. “Get out of here!”

  “Life is sweet! Life is sweet!” repeated Popcorn in an identical South African accent. He hopped merrily from foot to foot.

  “Off you go!” snapped Shoober. “Echo parakeets, you’re nothing but a menace! Go away! Get lost!”

  He shooed Popcorn away from the window and scanned the rows of sugar cane stretching out in th
e fields below.

  “One day there will be sugar-cane fields as far as the eye can see!” he vowed. “Nobody is going to stop me expanding my empire! Not kestrels, not parakeets and certainly not dastardly DODOS!”

  The next morning, the sun slowly appeared on the eastern horizon like a basketball being pumped up, and by 7 a.m. Leni was over at the huts to see if anyone was about yet.

  Professor Scissorson’s shutters were still closed but she found Professor Flowers already dressed and about to head off into the nearest town on a bike he’d hired. “Would you like to accompany me, young Leni?” he asked her. “I brought over some equipment from England in my trunk, but there are a few more bits and bobs I need before I begin work. I want to get a head start and all that –” he nodded towards Professor Scissorson’s hut and whispered – “before she gets up.”

  Popcorn perched on the handlebars of Leni’s bike and came along for the ride as the two of them cycled into town. Arriving at the local bazaar, Leni wondered what the old man would make of all the noise and bustle.

  Luckily, he loved it. There seemed to be dodos everywhere – weaved into basketwork bags, popping up on pairs of slippers, appearing on baseball caps, mugs and key rings.

  “For an extinct animal, it strikes me that here at least, the dodo is very much alive,” remarked the professor. “Look, dodo snow globes, dodo bathrobes, dodo yo-yos...”

  They passed a clothing stall. “Do you want to get some shorts?” asked Leni, pointing at his rolled-up trouser legs.

  “Good idea,” replied the professor.

  “Good idea!” repeated Popcorn.

  With the help of the salesman, the old man picked out a pair and went to try them on.

  “What do you think?” he said, stepping out from behind the changing room curtain and doing a twirl.

  “They suit you…” said Leni.

  “Down to the ground?” asked Professor Flowers.

  “Well, down to the knees at least,” said Leni.

  “Good,” said the professor. “I’ll just keep them on, then,” he told the salesman.

  Next, he purchased a bottle of sunscreen, and from there they went on looking for the “bits and bobs” the professor was after.

  They came to a stand full of kitchenware, and Leni showed him a Mauritian pestle and mortar – a “roche cari” and “baba”. The “roche cari”, or “curry rock”, was a grey, grooved slab made of volcanic rock, with a matching, heavy-duty pin (the “baba”).

  “How much?” Professor Flowers asked the salesman.

  “One thousand five hundred rupees,” replied the man. The professor got out his wallet to pay. But Popcorn, who was perched on an upturned cooking pot, chimed in.

  “One thousand five hundred rupees?” he squawked, sounding as if he couldn’t believe it.

  “Okay, okay. One thousand three hundred,” said the seller.

  “One thousand three hundred?” screeched Popcorn. Leni wondered if he was going to add, “You’ve got to be joking!” and stifled a laugh.

  But the seller seemed to enjoy the game. He went down to one thousand two hundred.

  “One thousand two hundred?” shrieked Popcorn as if he had never been so insulted. By now, the haggling pair had collected a small crowd of onlookers.

  “One thousand rupees,” declared the salesman. “My final price.”

  “Final price!” squawked Popcorn, and that settled it. Professor Flowers paid the salesman, who then began to wrap up the roche cari and baba with some old pages of the newspaper, the Mauritian Pigeon Post.

  “He drives a hard bargain,” said Leni, smiling at the professor and stroking Popcorn’s feathers.

  The professor rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait to set it all up and get to work,” he said.

  All of a sudden, the sound of Benny Shoober’s voice came over a nearby radio. “Life is sweet,” rang out the jingle.

  “Life is sweet! Life is sweet!” squawked Popcorn.

  “What’s he saying?” said Professor Flowers.

  “Oh, it’s just an advert on the radio. For sugar,” explained Leni. “Popcorn’s copying the catchphrase.”

  Professor Flowers listened. “With Shoober Sugar, life is sweet,” came Shoober’s gravelly voice over the airwaves. Leni shuddered.

  “Urgh, I don’t like that man,” she said.

  “Who?” asked Professor Flowers.

  “It’s Benny Shoober. He’s the Sugar King of Mauritius. He is always trying to buy up land so he can chop down trees and grow more sugar. He wants to take away the habitat of some of the rarest birds in Mauritius. He’s the richest – and greediest – man on the island. Even his voice gives me the creeps.”

  Professor Flowers frowned. “He doesn’t sound like my sort of person,” he remarked. “Anyhow, I am rather hungry. Do you know somewhere we could have a bite to eat?”

  “Yes,” replied Leni. “Do you like split peas?”

  “I certainly do.” Professor Flowers patted his tummy.

  “Follow me, then,” said Leni.

  The professor stuffed his purchase into his bag and they walked out onto the street. The smell coming from a nearby food cart was too good to resist.

  Leni ordered two portions of something wrapped in greaseproof paper, and passed one to Professor Flowers.

  “What is this – a pancake?” he asked, peering inside the paper.

  “It’s d’holl puri,” said Leni. “It’s a type of Mauritian bread, made with split peas. And there’s butter-bean curry inside it.”

  Professor Flowers tucked in. “Mmm, it’s delicious,” he said between mouthfuls.

  They ate while enjoying the bustle of street life, until at last the professor wiped remnants of curry from his moustache with his hanky. “Now how about seconds?”

  After their trip to the market, Leni and Professor Flowers cycled back to the huts while Popcorn flew back to the bay by himself. By the time the cyclists arrived they were both sweating and caked in a thin layer of dust.

  Leni noticed a big van pulling up outside hut 603. Professor Scissorson popped her head out of her front door. “My lab equipment!” she said happily. The delivery men unloaded box after box of hefty-looking kit with “Fragile” and “This Way Up” stickers all over it.

  “Over here, guys,” she called out to the two baseball-capped men. “That’s a big one. Thanks, mate.” Then, from under the brim of her hat, she caught sight of Leni and Professor Flowers.

  “Oh, g’day,” she said curtly, as if her day had just become a little less good.

  “G’day!” squawked Popcorn, who’d just landed on Leni’s bike handlebars again.

  “What’s happening?” asked Leni. “You look as though you’re moving in for good.”

  “No, no, it’s just some of my equipment from home,” said Professor Scissorson. “I had it shipped over.”

  She signed for her deliveries and then turned to the dusty duo.

  “So where have you two been this morning?” she asked them.

  “Into town,” replied Leni. She looked at Professor Flowers, holding his bag containing the roche cari, sunscreen, and a few dodo snow globes he’d bought at the last minute. He didn’t have nearly as much equipment as Professor Scissorson by the looks of it.

  “My gene machine should be arriving any time now,” said Professor Flowers casually.

  Leni wondered what he was talking about. A gene machine? What was that? The air felt warm and Leni sensed an awkwardness hanging in it. Popcorn scratched the back of his head with his left claw. Before long, a very strong smell cut through the awkwardness. Professor Scissorson wrinkled up her nose in disgust.

  “Who did that?” she complained.

  Leni turned to the likely culprit, but he was already heading towards hut 187. “All the gear but no idea,” she heard him mutter under his breath as he disappeared inside.

  “That’s revolting,” said Professor Scissorson, wafting the air with her hand.

  “That’s revolting!�
� repeated Popcorn.

  Just then, a motorcycle driver pulled up with a big box strapped to the back. “Delivery for Professor Showers!” he announced.

  The box was plastered with stamps. It must be his gene machine, thought Leni, whatever that is. She took it from the driver.

  “Professor Flowers!” she called. “A delivery for you!”

  “Just leave it on the deck, thanks,” called a muffled voice from inside. “I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  Leni put down the box and then Professor Scissorson called out to her. “Would you mind giving me a hand?” she asked. “I could do with some help unpacking.”

  Why not? thought Leni. She’d already helped Professor Flowers plenty that day and there was a lot of stuff for Professor Scissorson to unload. And she was curious. What could be inside all the boxes?

  She was about to go next door when she thought she saw something moving in the bushes. She looked over. Was it Popcorn? No, he was on the beach outside Professor Scissorson’s hut, tucking into half a banana which one of the delivery men had given to him. She looked over at the bushes again. Nothing. Oh well, she decided, it must’ve been her imagination.

  Inside hut 603, Professor Scissorson was busy unwrapping her items. There were bottles and dishes, flasks and masks, all encased in bubble wrap. “Maybe I’m fussy, but I like to have my favourite apparatus, even when I’m working out in the field,” she said.

  Leni began to unwrap a cube-shaped machine with a pop-up lid. She pressed the button, and the lid opened to reveal twelve little holes in a circle.

  “What’s this?” asked Leni.

  “A centrifuge,” replied Professor Scissorson. “It’s a critical piece of kit. It spins round at a very high speed, so fast that it can separate different substances from each other. After I take out the DNA from the dodo bone, I plan to spin it in this little beauty.”

  “Oh,” said Leni, pressing the lid back down.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never heard of a gene machine before,” said the professor. “I use one of these – a DNA reader.” She produced a slim black object the size of a mobile phone and plugged it into her laptop.