AniMalcolm

by David Baddiel

  “Magic stuff?”

  “Yes. Because, sometimes, right …” said Benny, leaning forward, and speaking even more quietly, and looking round, as if they were being watched, “… he baas. Like a sheep!”

  “And …” said Bjornita, leaning in to what was now a very close triangle of tortoise heads, “I’ve heard that some of the lady goats in there – because of him – can make milk! Like a cow!”

  Malcolm nodded. He took a deep breath.

  “Yes. Sorry. None of that is magic.”

  “It isn’t?” said Benny.

  “No, it’s just what goats do.”

  “How do you know?” said Bjornita. “We’re just going by what we’ve heard. Because we can’t see over the fence.”

  “No. But I can. I was looking over the fence earlier today. WHEN I WAS A BOY!!”

  Benny and Bjornita looked to each other.

  “Maybe … maybe he’s telling the truth, Benny.”

  “Yes. Maybe he is, Bjorn.”

  “… ita.”

  “Oh. Yes. Sorry, sometimes even I forget.”

  “Well, as I said,” said Bjornita, “being a tortoise is not such a terrible thing to be. But … if it’s true that you are a boy, I can see how it might seem …”

  “Terrible,” said Benny. “Absolutely awful.”

  “Shut up,” she said. Then she looked at Malcolm, who was hanging his little tortoise head. Bjornita, though quite high and mighty, was not without compassion.

  “Listen, Malcolm,” she said, “I’m sure we can find a way out of this. The first question to ask is: why have you been changed into a tortoise? What were you saying to K-Pax?”

  Malcolm cast his mind back. Again, it took a bit more of an effort to remember than he’d thought it would, given it wasn’t that long ago. But then the words reappeared in his mind.

  “I was saying to him that I didn’t really like – that I didn’t know why I didn’t like – and if there was any way of getting to like …”

  Malcolm trailed off. Benny and Bjornita looked at him, quizzically.21

  “Look,” Malcolm said, “never mind exactly what I said to K-Pax. I just need to know if there’s anything I can do – anything I need to do – to break the spell.”

  “What happened next? After you spoke to him?” said Benny.

  “I don’t know. I fell asleep.”

  “Well, maybe that’s it!”

  “What is?”

  “You changed into a tortoise when you fell asleep. So maybe you’ll change back into a human if you fall asleep again …?”

  Malcolm thought about this. He had no clue if it was right. Apart from anything, it was, after all, an idea being suggested to him by a tortoise. And y’know: even someone who really liked animals to begin with – even his mum, or dad, or sister – might not necessarily think that the answer to really difficult and mysterious questions lay with Benny the tortoise.

  But he didn’t have any other ideas. So, he shrugged his shoulders22 and closed his eyes.

  Then he heard a loud slam. And the ground began to shake.

  Immediately, Benny and Bjornita’s heads went inside their shells.

  “What’s happening?!” said Malcolm, opening his eyes wide.

  Nothing. No response. It was like talking to two khaki domes. Or two rather mossy rocks. The ground shook more and more loudly.

  “Benny! Bjornita!!” said Malcolm, panicked. “What should I do?!”

  Still nothing. The ground was now shaking a lot, and Malcolm could hear a noise.

  TRAMP. TRAMP. TRAMP.

  Oh my God! he thought. And then suddenly, he knew what to do.

  He darted his head inside his shell.

  Inside, it was dark and quiet. He could still hear the TRAMP TRAMP TRAMP from outside, but it was much more like TRAMP TRAMP TRAMP. It was a bit like being inside a tent: kind of cosy, but rather cramped. And obviously stiffer than a tent:23 his shell did not flap in the wind. It was echoey as well – he could hear his breath sounding loud in his ears.

  What was strange – well, it was all strange, but this was particularly strange – was that although he knew his head was inside the shell, the hole to the outside looked like it was where his head should be. Like his head had been cut off, even though he knew it couldn’t have been, as he was looking at the hole with his eyes, which were in his head.

  Luckily, he wasn’t able to carry on thinking about this, because then, somewhat muffled, he heard a voice say:

  “Come here, Benny! Come here, Bjorn!”

  This was followed by the sound of something being scattered on the ground. Through the hole in his shell, Malcolm saw three bits of manky lettuce and an ancient cucumber lying there. From his point of view, these vegetables looked very large; the manky lettuce leaves looked like bushes. Also they smelt, these vegetables, strong – much stronger than he would’ve expected. And he found himself drawn, via this smell – this strong smell of old vegetables, which was not something, to be honest, that Malcolm was normally attracted by – towards the rotting leaves.

  Then, slowly – very slowly, like it was in super slo-mo – he saw Benny’s head appear and start munching in that carefully-considering-every-morsel-of-manky-lettuce way tortoises eat; then Bjornita’s head doing the same thing; and then he heard another voice say:

  “Hey, Gav?”

  “Yes, Mav?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Who’s that who?”

  “That tortoise?”

  “It’s Benny, isn’t it?”

  “No, Benny’s here.”

  “Well, then it’s Bjorn …”

  “No, Bjorn’s here too.”

  There was a long silence. Eventually, Malcolm heard Gavin say:

  “So … there’s a third tortoise?”

  “Like … yuh! And yuh again!”

  Another silence. Then:

  “So … that means … that …”

  “Yuh …?”

  “Benny and Bjorn have had a baby! Hey! Great news!!”

  At this point, Malcolm stuck his head out of the shell.

  “No … look …” he said. “Gavin. Maven. I’m not a baby tortoise. I mean, I’m obviously not a baby tortoise. I’m too big for a start. Tortoises don’t come out of the egg full-sized!”

  Gavin and Maven looked at him. Gavin frowned. Maven frowned.24

  “Anyway, never mind that,” Malcolm continued. “Listen, I know this is hard to believe, but … I’m Malcolm Bailey! From the Bracket Wood Primary School trip! The boy who was standing at the back when you were telling us about the goat! And I’ve been transformed … into a tortoise!!”

  Gavin and Maven crouched down and stared at Malcolm closely. He looked up at them. Thank God, he thought, they believe me; they understand.

  Then Gavin said:

  “Wow. This one makes a lot of squeaky noises!”

  “Yuh!” said Maven. “Like babies do, I guess … And hey! He’s got blue eyes! Cute!”

  “Yeah. Kind of unusual – for a tortoise. Anyway,” said Gavin, getting up, “let’s go and tell the kids from Bracket Wood! And bring them out to see our new baby tortoise! We can call it Benjorn!”

  “Or Bjornny?”

  “Or even Agnetha …”

  “Fabulous idea! By the way, Gav, it’s quite big for a baby, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, they probably come out of the egg full-sized. Don’t they?”

  “Like, yuh!”

  Malcolm heard their voices diminish. Through the hole in his shell, he could see their feet rushing away, tramping down the grass as they went.

  “We can understand them,” came a quieter voice from behind him. “But they can’t understand us. Manky lettuce?”

  Malcolm turned round. Benny was looking at him, his food laid out on the ground.

  “No thanks,” he said.

  “Please yourself,” said Benny, and tucked in. Bjornita was so busy eating she didn’t even look up. Then Malcolm heard a host of excited children’s voice
s.

  “Where is it?”

  “Where’s the new baby tortoise?”

  “Is he over here?”

  Malcolm looked up. Rushing out of the farmhouse were all the Bracket Wood children and Mr Barrington.

  Oh dear, thought Malcolm. I really don’t want to be surrounded by my year, all going on about what a lovely full-sized baby tortoise I am. I don’t want to be picked up and stared at by Morris Fawcett. Or Fred and Ellie. Or Barry Bennett and his friends Jake, Lukas and Taj. Or Mr Barrington.25

  Malcolm shut his eyes. Sleep, he thought. It might work. Benny might be right. In fact, he probably is – that is when I changed, when I fell asleep … OK, yes: that’s definitely what’s going to change me back to being a human. So come on: sleep.

  Of course, falling asleep isn’t easy when you’re trying to do it. It’s fine when it’s just something that happens. It’s like falling off a log.26 But when you’re thinking about it – when you’re lying there, with your mind going “Come on, got to go to sleep, I’m going to be really tired tomorrow otherwise” – it feels almost impossible.

  So even though Malcolm, as we know, was really good at falling asleep, doing so at this particular moment – with thirty children, one teacher and two hipsters heading quickly towards him – felt very difficult. He heard them coming closer and closer.

  “I love tortoises! They’re like dolphins!”

  “That’s porpoises, Morris, you idiot!”

  “Baby tortoise! Baby tortoise!”

  “Benjorn!”

  “Bjornny!”

  Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and then darted back into his shell.

  Straight away it felt warm and safe again. And even though he could hear the voices of the children and Mr Barrington and Gavin and Maven coming closer and closer, the safety of the shell had a massively calming effect on him, and he remembered just how good he was at falling asleep: and did.

  Mr Barrington was finding it very hard to see this so-called baby tortoise. Tortoises, he knew, had greeny-brown shells, and so would be difficult to pick out against this grass anyway, especially in the fading light. He was concerned that one of the children, all of whom had got overexcited and were running about madly, might step on it. He couldn’t see very well, but he kept his ears cocked for a sickening crunch.

  He didn’t hear that noise, thankfully. What he did hear was the sound of his phone ringing. Lalalala, lalalala, lalalala, laaa.27

  He reached inside his tweed jacket and took it out.

  “Hello? Mr Barrington speaking?”

  “Hello there, Mr Barrington. It’s Malcolm Bailey’s mum, here – Jackie.”

  “Malcolm. Yes. Hello.”

  “I was just wondering if I could speak to him. See how he’s getting on.”

  Mr Barrington looked around. All of Year Six appeared to be whirling round him. There were many children, in a big, loud blur. Oh heavens, he thought, not for the first time, being a primary school teacher is not an easy job for a man of my age.

  “Right. Yes. Of course. Er …” He reached out and grabbed one of the boys. The boy looked up. Yes, this one was Malcolm. Wasn’t it?

  “It’s your mother on the line,” said Mr Barrington.

  In the Baileys’ living room, Jackie said:

  “Hello, M!”

  “Oh. Hello, Mum,” came the reply.

  “How’s it all going?” she said.

  “Yeah, it’s all right.”

  “Do you … like seeing the animals?”

  “Yeah.”

  Although that didn’t sound very convincing, Jackie’s heart lifted. Maybe the school trip was having the desired effect?

  “Oh, good! Have you learned anything?”

  There was quite a long pause. So long, in fact, that Jackie thought the connection may have dropped out, and started looking at her phone. But then the voice came, saying the sentence quite slowly.

  “Cows … don’t … produce … burgers.”

  Jackie took this in. “Right,” she said. “Well. That’s good, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was another pause. “Sorry, M, I can’t hear you very well. Your voice sounds a bit strange, and there’s a lot of shouting in the background.”

  “That’s cos everyone’s looking for a porpoise. No, wait a minute. Tortoise. Innit.”

  “Oh well,” said Jackie, “it sounds fun. Although you sound a little … like you’ve got a cold or something. Are you keeping warm?”

  “Don’t fuss, Mum. Gotta go. See you soon!”

  She heard a click, and the line went dead.

  “How was that?” said Stewart, who was reading the newspaper on the other side of the room.

  Jackie thought for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Better than I expected!”

  When Malcolm woke up, a little while later, he was sure he’d gone back to being a human. Because his vision was no longer full of grass and feet. His eyes were, clearly, operating at the right level. He had a great view, in fact, of his year group coming back towards the farmhouse, looking a bit disappointed.

  “I don’t know where it disappeared to,” Gavin was saying. “When we went out to feed Benny and Bjorn, there was definitely another tortoise there!”

  “Oh, there it is!” said Mr Barrington.

  “No, Mr Barrington, that’s just a big mound of manky lettuce,” said Barry Bennett.

  “Oh.”

  Very relieved, Malcolm assumed they’d spot him in a minute, and ask him where he’d been. Wait till I tell them, he thought. Although they probably won’t believe me!

  But strangely, all the children from his year – and Gavin and Maven, and Mr Barrington – just ignored him. They got closer and closer, without seeming to notice him at all. Then, weirdly, they seemed to pass underneath him.

  At which point Malcolm realised his eyes weren’t actually operating at the right level. He was higher up than everybody else.

  He was, in fact, on the farmhouse roof.

  Before he had a chance to consider how he might’ve got there, he heard someone scream:

  “GETTTTTTOOFFFFFFFFFFMYYYYYYYROOOOOOOFFFF!!”

  This was followed by a searing pain across his back. Malcolm jumped. Really jumped: much higher than he was expecting. As he reached the top of his jump, he looked down. Looking up at him, teeth bared, fur standing up, was the farm cat, Zsa-Zsa.

  This was all very confusing. Why was he on the roof? How had he jumped so high? Why was the farm cat so angry with him?

  Well, there was one obvious answer, which did occur to Malcolm, although he preferred not to think about it. But that was quite difficult, seeing as the other thing that was clueing him in as to what had happened was that his hands and feet, which he could see whirling around beneath him, were black, furry and clawed.

  At least it meant that he landed gracefully.

  “I SAID: GET OFF MY ROOF! THIS IS MY ROOF! MY FARM! NO OTHER CATS ALLOWED!!”

  “CALM DOWN!” said Malcolm. “I’M NOT A CAT!!”

  “WHAT?”

  “I’M NOT A CAT!!”

  Zsa-Zsa looked at him. She looked and looked. Her eyes seemed to bore into him.

  Then, very suddenly, she looked away and started washing herself.

  Malcolm watched her, confused.

  “So … you believe me?” said Malcolm. “We’re good?”

  “Of course I … slurp slurp … don’t … slurp … believe you. I just noticed a speck of … slurp … dirt … on my shoulder.”

  “Right. So even though you’re really angry, you thought you’d just stop the fight for a second to have a wash?”

  Zsa-Zsa stopped licking herself and looked at him. “Yes. That’s what we cats do. Don’t pretend you don’t!”

  “I don’t! Because I’m not a …” Unfortunately, just at that point, Malcolm spotted a tiny bit of matted fur on the side of his left front paw: and found himself unable, physically unable, not to bring his mouth towards it. It was like his tongu
e and teeth were made of iron and the bit of matted fur was a magnet. “… slurp slurp … cat.”

  “Oh, right …” said Zsa-Zsa. “I see. I see perfectly.”

  “I’m … slurp slurp …” Malcolm drew back his now slightly moist paw, and wiped it two or three times down the side of his face, “… not!”

  Zsa-Zsa clearly didn’t believe Malcolm. I say clearly, because she jumped on him, biting and scratching.

  “DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID? DO YOU?!” she screamed at him. She was dragging his body round as she said this, in order to batter her back legs in his face.

  “NO. OW! ALTHOUGH YOU ARE PURRING WHILE YOU’RE FIGHTING!! WHICH SEEMS A BIT STUPID!”

  “CATS DO THAT TOO SOMETIMES!!”

  “OH! RIGHT! OW!”

  “DON’T PRETEND YOU DIDN’T KNOW!”

  “OK, I DID KNOW—”

  “AHA!” Batter! Batter batter batter batter batter! went her back legs. On his face.

  “OWOWOWOWOW! BUT I ONLY KNOW BECAUSE I’VE HEARD OUR CATS DO IT! AT HOME! WHEN I WAS A HUMAN!!”

  “THIS IS THE WORST LYING EXCUSE FOR ENCROACHING INTO ANOTHER CAT’S TERRITORY I’VE EVER HEARD!!”

  “YOU CAN ASK THE TORTOISES!! BENNY AND BJORNITA!!”

  This did actually make Zsa-Zsa stop battering him for a second. She rolled away, disdainfully.28

  She stared at him, slightly more quizzically than before. Although still like she might jump on him at any moment. Or start washing. Which in fact she did. Slurp. Slurp slurp.

  “So yes,” said Malcolm, “you can ask the tor—”

  “Shhh …” she said, her voice muffled by fur. “I’m thinking.”

  Slurp slurp slurp. Malcolm breathed heavily. He looked down at his feet. Which were not feet, really; they were paws. He noticed his claws were sharp. It occurred to him that he might, in fact, have been able to fight Zsa-Zsa off.

  “OK,” said Zsa-Zsa, stopping washing as suddenly as she started. “Something weird is going on here. Because only animals from this farm know about the transgender tortoise.”

  “She’s not transgender. She’s just a she. Who Gavin called Bjorn. She prefers Bjornita.”

  “Whatever. How do you know that?”