by Mike Litwin
“I believe it will take a lot of practice, dear,” Mama Porter said. “But I’m sure you can do it, if that’s what you wish.”
“You wish! You wish!” Ditto cawed.
After dinner, Chuck and Dakota retreated to their room, where Dakota peeled out of his cowmouflage almost immediately.
Chuck reviewed his Collection of Weird Things displayed in a wooden tray on his clothes dresser. Above the dresser, a poster of Wahu Brahman hung on the wall. Posing heroically, the big blue bull held a surfboard with the word Brahman branded into it. Proudly blazoned across the bottom of the poster were the words, The Big Cowhuna.
The trinkets in Chuck’s collection were nowhere near as impressive as the ones in Cornelius’s book. Chuck was disappointed that the most interesting trinkets—the stuff he and Dakota had found on their adventures—were missing from the set. Monstrous costumes, magic hornpipes, coral crowns … those things always seemed to get lost, broken, or claimed by their rightful owners. This impossible purple shell would definitely be the “Big Cowhuna” of his collection.
Chuck put the shell up to his ear again. “Listen! I can still hear the ocean!”
Dakota folded his arms. “It’s not really the ocean, you know,” he said with his eyes closed. “It’s air echoing inside the empty shell. Everyone knows that. It just sounds like the ocean.”
“Oh yeah?” Chuck said. “Complete with seagulls and everything?”
Dakota’s eyes fluttered open. “What? Give me that,” he said, taking the shell from Chuck’s hooves. He held it up to his ear. Sure enough, he heard more than just the dull roar of air in an empty shell. He heard loud crashing waves, gusts of wind, and the familiar cawing of seagulls. He could even smell the salty spray of the sea.
Dakota pulled the shell away from his face. “That’s … that’s impossible,” he stammered.
“No, it’s incredible!” Chuck said firmly. “It’s kind of like the shell is alive.”
The hair on Dakota’s neck stood up. He too had felt like the shell was alive when Chuck first picked it up off the beach. But the very idea seemed so silly that he wasn’t about to admit it.
“Oh, sure. It’s alive,” Dakota joked, rolling his eyes. He knocked on the shell three times and shouted into the open end. “Helloooooo in theeeeerrre!”
They instantly felt a breeze flow through the room. Normally, this would not be surprising. Bermooda was often a breezy place. But this time, the grass curtains covering their windows blew out, not in. The breeze was coming from inside the shell.
The sounds of the ocean grew louder to the point that Dakota half-expected waves to come pouring in through the windows. Out of the shell hissed a purple cloud that twisted itself into a cyclone shape, much like the shape of the shell itself. It spun in the middle of their bedroom like a whirlwind in slow motion. Chuck and Dakota dove for cover, not sure what to expect. Suddenly waves and seagulls were not the only sounds they heard. From inside the cloud, a voice spoke: “I … am … ZEPHYR.”
“What is that thing?” Dakota screeched.
“I am Zephyr,” the whirlwind repeated. “I am your servant, sirs.” Its voice was calm and soothing, just like waves on the beach.
“The tornado can talk!” Chuck said.
“Zeff-er?” Dakota pronounced the name slowly. “What do you want?”
Some of the swirling clouds twisted into eyes and a mouth, giving the tornado a bit of a face. Each time it spoke, a bright warm light glowed inside as if this cyclone had swallowed the sun itself.
“As I said, I am your servant,” the talking tornado replied. “So I am here to serve you, sirs.”
Chuck’s eyes darted back and forth. “Serve us what?” he asked.
“Whatever you wish,” Zephyr said.
Whatever we wish? Dakota thought to himself.That’s impossible! Then his mind wandered back to the book they’d looked at in the Hortica Center—the book of impossible objects. The objects that ancient hu’mans claimed were magic.
“Wait. Are you … a genie?” Dakota asked.
“What’s a genie?” Chuck whispered, a little embarrassed by his ignorance.
“A genie is a thing that lives in a magic lamp or a bottle,” Dakota explained. “There was a picture of one in Cornelius’s book. When you call the genie out, it grants you three wishes!”
“Three wishes?” Zephyr echoed. “Why, I could never imagine myself being so selfish. There are no limitations on wishes, sir. As long as you hold my shell, I shall be happy to grant any wish you ask with no limits.”
Chuck and Dakota looked at each other with their jaws hanging wide open. “Unlimited wishes!” they both gasped.
“As many as you can think of, sirs.” Zephyr beamed. “I’ve been making dreams come true for thousands of years.”
“We could have whatever we want!” Chuck said. “What should we wish for?”
Dakota thought for a moment. What should his first wish be? “Okay, Zephyr,” he finally said, “I wish for … bananas!”
Chuck looked at Dakota in disbelief. “Bananas?” he asked. Was that all Dakota could think to wish for? Hu’mans certainly didn’t have much imagination.
“That’s right,” Dakota continued. “Enough bananas that I never have to climb a banana tree again!”
“Oh! Not just any bananas,” Chuck chimed in, putting his hooves on the shell. “We wish for chocolate-covered bananas! Tons of them!”
“As you wish,” Zephyr agreed. With that, he began to spin faster and faster.
The sound of the ocean rose once again as the breeze in the room began to whip and whirl. As their hair blew in the wind, Chuck and Dakota heard little popping noises all around them. When the wind died down, they found themselves surrounded by piles and piles of bananas all over the bedroom.
“Whoa!” Chuck said, his jaw hanging open once again. “Magic bananas!”
Dakota studied the massive piles. They looked like ordinary bananas to him—besides the fact that they had appeared out of thin air, of course. He picked up one of the bananas and peeled it. Underneath the peel, he found that the entire banana was coated in chocolate.
“Looks like chocolate to me,” Chuck said. He took a banana for himself and peeled it. The chocolate part was his idea after all, and he couldn’t wait to try one. “Tastes like chocolate too,” he said, taking a bite.
“If you’ll not be needing me for now, sirs, I shall return to my shell,” Zephyr said. “Please enjoy yourselves.”
Dakota peeked past Zephyr into the shell’s opening. “It sounded like there was a whole beach in your shell,” he said. “Doesn’t it get cramped in there?”
“Oh, no, sir,” the windy genie said. “It is quite comfortable. And peaceful too.” Zephyr sounded very polite, like a butler. He also didn’t seem surprised at all by the fact that Dakota was a hu’man. It was like he’d seen hu’mans plenty of times before. As the genie disappeared back into his shell, Dakota suspected Zephyr had seen so many things that nothing could surprise him.
Chuck and Dakota quickly finished their bananas then grabbed two more. It was the sweetest chocolate they could remember ever tasting. They wolfed the bananas down almost immediately, then grabbed even more.
It went that way for hours: peel a banana, gobble it down, then grab another … and another … and another. In fact, the more they ate, the more bananas there seemed to be. It was like they could never run out. They could eat chocolate-covered bananas all through the night until their sides split open, without ever having to climb a tree again.
They were magic bananas indeed.
Dakota woke up the next morning feeling like someone had driven a banana cart over his stomach. How many bananas did we eat last night? he wondered. He had lost count after two dozen or so. All he could remember was eating and eating and eating. The floor was littered with empty peels from their unlimited s
upply of treats.
“Uuuggghhhhhh …” he heard from the other side of the room. Chuck was waking up. Rubbing his eyes, he emerged from underneath a pile of banana peels.
“Does your stomach hurt as much as mine?” Dakota groaned.
“Yeah,” Chuck moaned back, “all four of my stomachs. Was it because of all the bananas?” Chuck’s ability to eat was almost as big as his appetite, so he was not used to feeling to sick after a huge meal.
“Maybe the chocolate idea was a bit much,” Dakota suggested, frowning at an empty banana peel.
Chuck rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. Even with the rumbly ache he felt inside, every one of their chocolate-covered goodies had been delicious. “It was worth it,” he sighed.
They had both slept so late that they’d missed breakfast. In fact, it was already nearing noon. The Cowabunga Classic would start in a few hours. Missing breakfast didn’t bother them though, since they were both feeling so bad in the belly.
“Now aren’t you glad I didn’t donate this shell to the museum?” Chuck bragged, picking up the shell from under a banana peel.
Dakota hated to admit it, but he was kind of glad, even with his stomach so sick.
“What should we wish for next?” Chuck asked as Dakota put on his hot, uncomfortable cowmouflage.
“I don’t know,” Dakota said. He slipped the coconut-shell hooves over his hands like an awkward pair of gloves. “Maybe we should wish for someone to clean up all these banana peels.”
“No, no. Think bigger than that,” Chuck said. “We have an awesome power here in our hooves!”
Dakota snorted out a laugh. In our hooves? He didn’t have hooves. All he had was a pair of clunky, clumsy coconut gloves that covered his real hands.
“Okay … we should wish for someone to clean up all of our messes,” Dakota suggested, putting on his fake cow nose. “From now until the day we die.” He could feel his warm breath against the spongy mask as he slid it over his face.
“That would be a lot of messes,” Chuck admitted. “But no. No, no, no. A lot bigger. We could have anything we want! Think of something that could make a real change.”
Dakota pulled against the itchy collar rubbing against his neck. One of the stitches popped open on his coconut-clad hand, stinging his shoulder. His face flushed hot with anger. He’d had enough of this cowmouflage.
“Anything I want? Fine!” he shouted, taking the shell from Chuck. “I’ll show you a real change.” He rapped three times on the shell. Clang! Clang! Clang! “Helloooooo in there!”
Once again, a refreshing breeze circled them as a familiar purple cloud twisted out of the shell. Waves rumbled. Curtains blew. Banana peels skittered to the edges of the room.
“Good morning, sir,” Zephyr said, polite as always. “Ah, I see you’ve made a charming cow costume since I’ve been away. That’s very ‘a-moo-sing,’ sir.”
“It’s not amusing,” Dakota said. “It’s annoying. But you’re going to change that right now, Swirly.”
“Do you wish me to give you a different costume, sir?” Zephyr asked calmly.
“A bigger change than that,” Dakota said. “Zephyr … I wish to be … a real cow.”
Zephyr didn’t respond right away. For a moment, Dakota thought maybe he had wished too big. But after a short pause came Zephyr’s line: “As you wish.”
The wind swirled around the room in gusts as Zephyr spun faster and faster, just like the night before. Banana peels flew everywhere.
I sure hope this works, Dakota thought. He closed his eyes to avoid getting a flying banana peel stuck to them.
Once the wind calmed down and banana peels were no longer flinging about, Dakota cracked open his eyelids. At first, he didn’t feel any different. Then he noticed that he was terribly hot—even hotter than usual in his cowmouflage. He soon realized that his mask was pushed so far away that he could see the back of it without having to cross his eyes. It was no longer sitting on his face. It was resting on the edge of a long cow nose!
He reached up to pull off the mask and found that the coconut shells he wore over his hands had broken off and fallen to the floor. He now had a pair of real hooves. Forgetting all about his stomachache, Dakota shook with excitement as he ripped off his cowmouflage. Underneath, he found that he was covered with thick brown hair from horns to hoof.
“No wonder I was so much hotter in that costume!” he squealed happily. He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked almost exactly like Chuck, except that he was brown like the blanket from his cowmouflage.
Dakota reached up to the top of his shaggy head. Two tiny little horns now stuck up from the moppy hair that still covered his noggin. They didn’t wiggle like the ones on his costume. When he pulled on these horns, he was pulling his head too.
“This is incredible!” he cried. “Look! Real horns! And real hair! See?”
Chuck could hardly believe his eyes. Without thinking much about it, he reached behind Dakota and tugged his tail.
“Ow!” Dakota said.
“Sorry,” Chuck said. “Just checking.”
“Don’t be sorry! I have a tail!” Dakota cheered. “I have a tail!”
“I hope you’re pleased, sir,” Zephyr said. But Dakota didn’t even hear the genie. He was too excited. He’d finally be able to hug Mama Porter without worrying about his mask coming off. Or give Papa a high-hoof without worrying about cracking a coconut shell. Without so much as a “Moohalo,” he and Chuck scampered off downstairs, leaving Zephyr among the banana peels.
“I hope it’s everything you wished for, sir,” Zephyr called from the bedroom as the door slammed shut. “Everything … and more.”
Chuck and Dakota bounded into the Porters’ big sitting room. They stood next to each other, looking almost like twins. Papa was reading the moospaper while chewing on a long stalk of beach grass. Uncle Bo was eating, as usual—gobbling down cornbread and dropping crumbs all over himself.
Mama looked up from her chair, where she was stitching up a seam in Patty’s dress as Patty did her best to stand still. “Good afternoon, Chuck,” she greeted him. “Who’s your new friend?”
Chuck and Dakota wrinkled their matching noses in confusion. Was that a joke? Mama certainly didn’t appear to be joking. She looked as if she didn’t recognize Dakota at all.
“Where’s Dakota?” Papa Porter asked. “You both missed breakfast this morning. We assumed you headed out to the beach early.”
Everyone in the room looked blankly at them, waiting for an answer. A few silent moments went by before Chuck and Dakota finally realized: No one had any idea that the cow in front of them was Dakota.
Everyone stared as Chuck and Dakota stood in shock, searching for an answer. Neither of them knew what to say. Normally, Dakota would start to sweat nervously at a time like this. But he was a real cow now, and cows didn’t sweat. Chuck thought only of their magic shell. What had they done?
“This is … um … shell … done. Yeah—Sheldon,” Chuck stuttered. “He lives … ummm … on the southern part of the island. Near the Boneyard.”
“The Boneyard?” Uncle Bo repeated with a sloppy burp. “Well, tan my hide! I didn’t think anyone lived near the Boneyard.”
The Boneyard was the shipwrecked remains of the H.M.S. Hortica. It was nothing but a bunch of old timbers sticking out of the ground, but island legend said that it was haunted, and few cows dared to go there.
“I’ve never seen you before,” Patty said, cocking her head and squinting. She was only six, but she was quite sharp. “Why haven’t I seen you at school?”
Dakota had heard this question before. Patty had asked the very same thing the day Chuck brought Dakota home in cowmouflage.
“Be polite, Patty,” Mama gently scolded, continuing to stitch her dress. “And stop fidgeting.”
“It’s because he sits in
the back of the room with me, squirt,” Chuck said. “Little calves sit up front. Besides, you don’t know every cow on the island, smarty.”
Everyone but Patty seemed to accept Chuck’s story. Uncle Bo went back to rooting in his cornbread. Papa nodded politely before returning to his moospaper. Patty kept eyeing Dakota suspiciously, except when she would jump after getting poked by Mama’s sewing needle.
“Sheldon, are you joining Chuck and Dakota for the contest today?” Mama asked. Poke went the needle. Jump went Patty.
“Um, yeah,” Dakota answered shakily. “Yes, ma’am. Dakota’s already at the beach. We’re meeting him there.” Hot tears welled up in his eyes. This was not what he had expected. Even he didn’t recognize his own voice. There was no chance anyone would believe that he was actually Dakota. Not without having to hear an impossible story about magic shells and swirly genies. It was enough to break his heart.
“Haw! That’s pretty spooky,” Uncle Bo snorted, pointing a hoof at Chuck and “Sheldon.” “You two look so much alike, maybe you ought to be brothers!”
“Humph,” an unimpressed Patty huffed between pokes. “He’s not even wearing a shirt.”
After “borrowing” a flowered red shirt from his own drawer, Dakota headed out with Chuck to Cape Cattle. The hot sun beat down on them as they hoofed across the island. As miserable as Dakota was about not being recognized, he was awfully glad to not be wearing his cowmouflage on such a blazing day.
Making their way across Bermooda Village, they saw Bullhorn Bay scattered with cows spending the hot Sunday enjoying the cool, calm water. Dakota wished he could feel as carefree as they looked. There were cows swimming, cows sailing, and cows standing on floating boards, paddling around with bamboo poles. The Porter calves trotted toward the cape, where they at last saw what they were looking for: cows surfing. They had finally reached the Cowabunga Classic.
Cape Cattle was a long spit of beach that stretched out into the Western Sea. On one side of the cape, big waves rolled offshore. On the other side, Cowabunga Falls rushed from the side of Mount Maverick in the distance. It was definitely the best spot on the island for a surf competition, especially one as big as the Cowabunga Classic.