Armadillo and Hare

by Jeremy Strong

  Hare went back to sit with Armadillo, who patted him on the back.

  ‘That was magical,’ Armadillo said somewhat sadly. ‘Listen, Hare. Do you think that if I had proper lessons I would end up being able to dance? I mean, if I really tried?’

  Hare counted his bruises. His elbows still hurt and his tail felt rather sensitive. ‘We can overcome so much by trying and trying again,’ he agreed.

  Armadillo leaned forward eagerly. ‘Exactly. That’s what I was thinking.’

  ‘But sometimes we just have to accept our limitations,’ Hare went on. ‘Sometimes there are things we shall never be able to do, and never should.’

  ‘I see,’ murmured Armadillo. He sank back into his chair. ‘So that’s a “no”, is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Hare. ‘It’s a “no”.’

  When Armadillo and Hare eventually headed home, Nobody’s birthday party was still going strong. They reached the meadow. The moon and stars were shining down on it so brightly they could even see all the flowers of the meadow laid out before them, like tiny stars that had fallen from the sky and landed at their feet. The two friends stopped in amazement.

  Hare sat on a tree stump and took up his tuba. ‘I have never seen such a beautiful dance floor. Armadillo, it’s all yours.’

  The most wonderful slow waltz drifted out of Hare’s tuba and weaved and wafted its melodious way across the meadow. Armadillo couldn’t help but follow it, dancing, whirling, twirling, falling over, laughing, and swirling some more.

  His only partners were the dozens of bats that flittered and jittered about his old head as he danced all the way to the cabin, and there the music stopped.

  Hare crossed the meadow and joined Armadillo on the front steps. Hare beamed at his friend. ‘Now that was magical,’ he said, and they went indoors.

  Giants

  One afternoon Hare and Armadillo decided to walk down to the sea’s edge. It was a fine day – the sort of day one wanted to be outside.

  ‘I might go paddling,’ said Armadillo bravely.

  ‘We can take a picnic,’ suggested Hare. ‘Some afternoon tea.’

  Armadillo nodded. ‘Good idea, Hare. I shall get it ready.’

  A little later they set off from their cabin. The path to the sea went round the edge of the forest. Sometimes Armadillo might say something. Sometimes Hare would say something. But mostly they walked in silence and listened to the wind and the birds.

  They took turns carrying the picnic. They had almost reached the little beach when someone called out to them.

  ‘Hello,’ said whoever-it-was-that-said-it.

  ‘Hello,’ Hare answered. They both looked around but could see nothing.

  ‘I’m over here,’ said the voice.

  Armadillo and Hare turned towards the sound. All they could see were bushes and a tree here and there.

  ‘Here,’ repeated the voice. ‘I’m waving at you.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hare. He glanced at Armadillo.

  Armadillo’s eyebrows went up. He shook his head.

  ‘Can you wave again?’ Armadillo called out. ‘We still can’t see you.’

  ‘I’m here, right in front of you,’ said the voice. ‘Look, I’m waving two legs now.’

  Armadillo and Hare hunted and hunted. They still saw nothing.

  ‘It’s me, Stick Insect,’ said the voice. ‘I’m on the bush right in front of you, near the top. You see the white flower? It’s on the end of the twig I’m standing on. I’m going to wave four legs now. Wait a moment. It’s a bit difficult. I’ve only got two legs left to hang on with. OK, here goes. There! Can you see me now?’

  Hare and Armadillo peered at the bush as close as they could. They didn’t want to get a poke in the eye from the bush’s branches. It didn’t matter though, because they still couldn’t see Stick Insect.

  Hare didn’t want to hurt Stick Insect’s feelings, so he pretended. ‘Oh, there you are!’ he said. He nudged Armadillo.

  Armadillo gave a grunt. ‘Oh! Oh, yes. There you are, Stick Insect. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. Isn’t it a lovely day?’

  ‘Yes it is. We’re going for a picnic on the beach,’ Hare explained. ‘Armadillo is going paddling. You can come too, if you like.’

  Armadillo grunted again. ‘Have we got enough food?’ he whispered to Hare.

  ‘I don’t think Stick Insect eats that much,’ Hare whispered back.

  ‘I’d like to come,’ said Stick Insect, ‘but I’m having my hair done this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hare, somewhat surprised. ‘Maybe we shall see you later then.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ said Stick Insect. ‘Bye bye.’

  Armadillo and Hare carried on down to the beach. They spread a little rug on the sand. They put out their picnic and sat down. Armadillo was laughing to himself.

  ‘I was just thinking, Hare. I hope we do see Stick Insect later because we never saw her the first time. She’s invisible!’

  ‘Do you think she really is invisible?’ asked Hare.

  ‘It could be that we simply couldn’t see her,’ Armadillo replied.

  ‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

  ‘No, not necessarily.’ Armadillo studied Hare. ‘Sometimes I can’t see your whiskers, but I know they are there.’

  ‘Of course my whiskers are there,’ said Hare. He gave them a quick tweak. ‘Oh look, Lobster is coming to see us.’

  ‘Don’t ask her if she’d like to join us,’ Armadillo said quickly in a low voice. ‘I only made a picnic for two, and you’ve already tried to give half of it to Stick Insect.’

  But Lobster didn’t want anything to eat. She was far too excited.

  ‘I had such an amazing dream last night,’ she told Armadillo and Hare. ‘Actually, it was more of a vision than a dream.’

  ‘Really?’ muttered Armadillo. ‘A vision?’

  ‘Yes, yes! It was as if I was flying in the sky. I went up so high, far above the clouds. You will never guess what I saw. Do you know what is beyond the clouds?’

  Hare and Armadillo shook their heads. Lobster leaned forward, her eyes shining bright.

  ‘The Giant Lobster in the Sky!’ she announced.

  ‘A giant lobster?’ repeated Armadillo.

  ‘No no, not a giant lobster,’ cried Lobster. ‘The Giant Lobster in the Sky. And she spoke to me. She told me that I would always be safe and she would always look after me.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Hare. ‘What else happened in your dream?’

  ‘I thanked The Giant Lobster in the Sky and I flew home. Then I woke up. I’m so excited. It was a vision! There is a Giant Lobster in the Sky!’ Lobster clacked her claws like castanets. ‘I must go and tell everyone. Isn’t it amazing!’ She hurried up the beach.

  Armadillo picked up a cheese sandwich. He munched on it for a bit. Hare chewed on a lettuce and carrot quiche.

  ‘I had a dream like Lobster’s,’ said Armadillo after a while. ‘It was a long time ago, but I remember it well. The thing is, I was flying too, but I didn’t see a Giant Lobster. I saw a Giant Armadillo.’

  ‘Really?’ said Hare. ‘Did the Giant Armadillo speak to you?’

  Armadillo slowly shook his head. ‘No. He was too busy brushing his teeth.’

  Hare’s ears gave a surprised twitch, but he didn’t say anything. They watched the little waves break almost at their feet, over and over again.

  ‘The thing is,’ Armadillo said, poking the sand thoughtfully with a stick, ‘I saw a Giant Armadillo and Lobster saw a Giant Lobster, so maybe there might be a Giant Hare up there too.’ Armadillo nodded at Hare. ‘Or a Giant Wombat,’ he added. His face suddenly brightened. ‘Or what about a Giant Invisible Stick Insect?’

  ‘Now you’re just being silly,’ said Hare.

  They fell silent. They gazed out across the sea and watched the sun set. It flooded the sky with red and gold. The waves became red and gold too, shimmering as they danced across the sand.

  ‘Beau
tiful,’ sighed Hare.

  ‘Yes.’ Armadillo nodded.

  ‘Heavenly,’ murmured something invisible.

  A Flood and an Interesting Cardigan

  The rain had been falling from a flat grey sky for days. Everyone had been stuck indoors. Boredom was their only visitor. Armadillo had painted eight pictures of cheese sandwiches. Hare had read fifteen books. He wasn’t supposed to play his tuba indoors, but he did. What else could he do? He played it quietly. It was a rainy-day tune. Frogs gently plopped out of the instrument. They hopped about for a bit until they became fainter and fainter and finally vanished.

  ‘I know you’re bored,’ sighed Armadillo. ‘But I think we have enough wet-weather problems without you filling the house with frogs.’

  ‘They’ve gone now,’ Hare pointed out. ‘Anyhow, you’ve been filling the house with cheese sandwiches. Eight of them. Eight!’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with cheese sandwiches,’ Armadillo grumbled.

  ‘That is a matter of opinion,’ snapped Hare. He suddenly felt so cross he blew hard and noisily into his tuba. There was an explosive note and out flew an old boot. Armadillo had to duck as it cartwheeled past his ear. It hit the eighth painting. Both boot and picture fell to the floor. The boot slowly disappeared, like the frogs. But it left behind a large, muddy footprint right across the sandwich in the painting.

  Hare and Armadillo looked at the ruined painting. Armadillo was silent. Hare shifted uneasily in his chair.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘It’s the rain,’ Armadillo grunted. ‘It’s getting on our nerves. Anyhow, you’re right. Eight cheese sandwiches is far too many. I should have stopped at seven.’

  Hare looked out of the window. He could see nothing but water. ‘I think we’re marooned,’ he told Armadillo. ‘The lake has overflowed. We’re surrounded by water.’

  Armadillo wrinkled his long nose. He was thinking. ‘If the rain doesn’t stop soon the water will rise even higher. Some of the forest animals will have problems. Wombat, for example, and Tortoise.’

  ‘What about us?’ asked Hare. ‘Suppose the water floods the house?’

  ‘That could happen,’ agreed Armadillo. ‘I don’t suppose you can play a tune on your tuba that makes large sponges fly out of it? Sponges might be useful for mopping things up.’

  Hare shook his head. They both looked again at the painting with the footprint. ‘I never know what will come out of my tuba.’

  ‘Evidently,’ muttered Armadillo.

  The log cabin began to creak and groan. It shook. It shifted about as if a small earthquake had grabbed hold of it. It wasn’t an earthquake. It was the flood. The water rose up around and under the log cabin. Their little home was now floating on the surface.

  The two friends stared out at nothing but water. They stumbled slightly as little waves caught the house and turned it slowly, round and round.

  ‘What shall we do?’ asked Hare.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Armadillo answered.

  Hare’s ears collapsed. ‘That’s not much use.’

  ‘I know it isn’t,’ mumbled Armadillo. ‘It’s a funny thing, but in times of danger I can only think of cheese sandwiches. I find them comforting.’ Armadillo watched a large log float by. Tortoise was on board. He waved and gave them a weak smile. Armadillo waved back. He turned to Hare. ‘Can’t you think of anything?’

  Hare’s ears suddenly sprang upright. ‘As a matter of fact, I can. Seeing Tortoise has given me an idea.’

  Hare went to the back of the house. At the rear there was a big porch. Armadillo and Hare kept all kinds of things there. To tell the truth it was more of a dumping place than a porch. There were logs for the fire in winter. There were folded sun loungers for the summer. There were gardening tools for the spring. And there was a canoe with two paddles. That was for any time of year.

  Hare grabbed the paddles and hurried back to Armadillo. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘You paddle on this side of the house. I shall go and paddle on the other. We can row our cabin wherever we want to go.’

  So they did. They opened a window on each side of the house. Armadillo leaned out of one and Hare leaned out of the other. They began paddling.

  They hadn’t floated very far when Elephant came swimming up to them. He was still wearing his window-necklace.

  ‘Oh my!’ cried Elephant. ‘So much rain! Phoowee! I’m having to swim everywhere. You two seem to be all right. Wombat is up a tree, but she keeps falling off. I don’t think she’s very good at climbing. I can swim underwater, look!’ Elephant disappeared beneath the surface. Only the tip of his trunk could be seen as he went on his way.

  Hare and Armadillo paddled across to the trees. Wombat was indeed in danger. She was hanging upside down from a branch and about to fall in. Hare and Armadillo steered the cabin until they were close by. Wombat dropped straight down the chimney and landed in the front room along with a cloud of soot.

  ‘That was fun! You saved me. I had to leave my bicycle up a tree. I saw Jaguar earlier, just over there. She could do with some help too.’

  Armadillo and Hare looked at each other. They didn’t want Jaguar in the house. Not with those sharp teeth of hers.

  ‘I’ve had another idea,’ said Hare.

  ‘Oh, you’re full of ideas today, aren’t you?’ grunted Armadillo.

  ‘It’s more useful than being full of cheese sandwiches,’ Hare shot back. He returned to the porch. This time he was dragging the canoe. They paddled the cabin across to Jaguar and pushed the canoe beneath her tree.

  Jaguar was very happy to climb into it. ‘But I don’t have anything to paddle with,’ she drawled. ‘You two have paddles.’

  ‘Use your paws,’ Armadillo said rather sharply.

  And that is how things stayed for the next few days. It carried on raining. The waters rose higher. The cabin floated about taking on more animals. Invisible Stick Insect and Wombat were there, and Tortoise. Giraffe stood inside with his neck going up the stairs and his head sticking out of Hare’s bedroom window. Soon there was no room and all the food had gone. Every now and then Jaguar would drift past in her canoe.

  ‘Anything to eat?’ she would ask, eyeing Armadillo and Hare’s motley crew.

  The whole log cabin would shout back, ‘NO!’

  But in truth, everyone was hungry.

  ‘I don’t suppose you could play your tuba and rustle up some cheese sandwiches?’ asked Armadillo. Hare did try, but all that came out were a couple of empty saucepans and a lady’s swimming costume.

  At last the rain stopped. The sun came out. The water went down. There was a bump and the log cabin settled back almost exactly where it had been before the flood.

  Armadillo opened the door and one by one the other animals left.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Wombat.

  ‘Thank you,’ said an invisible voice.

  ‘That’s all right, Stick Insect. Glad you could join us.’

  ‘Mind out,’ warned Armadillo, as a large brown-and-yellow backside shuffled awkwardly towards them. ‘I think Giraffe can only come out backwards.’

  With a lot of effort and only one broken stair rod, Giraffe eased himself out of the house. He dipped his head towards Armadillo and Hare. ‘You saved us all,’ he said gratefully.

  ‘It was nothing,’ Hare answered.

  ‘Actually, it was quite a lot,’ muttered Armadillo. ‘Especially food-wise. I haven’t seen any cheese for two days.’

  But Giraffe and all the others had departed for their own homes.

  Later that evening Hare was brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. Armadillo came up and stood by the bathroom door.

  ‘You know you couldn’t make cheese sandwiches come out of your tuba?’ Armadillo reminded Hare.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking. If you did make cheese sandwiches in your tuba, would we be able to eat them? I mean, things that come out of your tuba vanish quite quickly, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes?’ repeat
ed Hare. He wondered where this questioning was going.

  ‘So if we ate them, would they actually be there?’

  ‘No,’ said Hare. ‘They’d be in your stomach.’

  ‘You’re not understanding me,’ said Armadillo crossly. ‘If you eat something that can vanish, have you actually eaten it, or has it vanished? Is it real? It looks real when it comes out, but then it vanishes. So can you eat it?’

  Hare thought about this. He remembered the ruined painting. The boot had disappeared. But the footprint it left behind hadn’t. What did that mean?

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ Hare told Armadillo at last.

  Armadillo sighed deeply. ‘You don’t know the answer, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Hare. ‘I don’t. Neither do you. Maybe some things don’t have answers. You may as well ask yourself why you can never put the buttons on your cardigan in the right buttonholes. That’s another mystery.’ Hare smiled. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’

  Armadillo heaved his shoulders and went to his room. Hare was right. He looked down at his lopsided cardigan. There wasn’t an answer to everything.

  ‘And that’s what makes it all so interesting,’ Armadillo told himself.

  The Importance of Conversation

  Armadillo and Hare were having breakfast. Armadillo had opened a new jar of chutney and was chewing thoughtfully on some cheese.

  Hare watched his friend. ‘Well?’

  ‘Can’t talk with my mouth full,’ Armadillo mumbled.