Part I Chapter 9 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
The Old Windmill
'I have told you that I made several rather odd friends while I was at Aunt Rosie's house,' Pippinella continued. 'Among them was a window–cleaner. The old lady was frightfully particular about having her windows cleaned—so, I supposed, would anybody be who spent so much time looking out of them. And, instead of having the maids of the house do it, she had a regular come, a man who made a business of cleaning windows.
'He was the funniest person to look at I have ever seen—one of those faces that makes you smile the moment you catch sight of it. He whistled cheerful tunes all the time while he was working. He had a very big mouth and when he breathed on the glass to put an extra shine on it I always had to laugh outright. I used to look forward to his coming no end. And he took a great liking to me. He always spent a specially long time over my window, getting it immaculately clean with his red and white polishing cloth. And he'd whistle and make faces at me through the glass, and I'd whistle back to him. I often thought it would be lots of fun to have him for an owner. I was sure he'd be much more interesting than Aunt Rosie.
'I always felt dreadfully sorry when he was gone. And I would spatter my bath water all over the window with my wings, so as to make it nice and dirty. I knew that Aunt Rosie had lots of money to pay for cleaning windows. And it seemed to me quite proper that I should help my friend's trade in his way. I could see from his clothes that he was very poor. And so I made it necessary for him to come once a week, instead of once a month.
'One day Aunt Rosie was speaking to him in my room while he was doing the inside of the window, and their conversation turned to the subject of canaries. He had made some very flattering remarks about me and, to my great joy, she asked him if he would like to have me. Now that she had another bird who sang all day, the novelty had worn off and she did not mind giving me away.
'Then my dirtying up of the windows every week may have had something to do with her willingness to part with me—she was one of those frightfully particular housekeepers. But so long as I was to go to the window–cleaner, I was just as well pleased.
'Well, my friend was quite overcome with joy when the old lady told him he could have me. And that night he wrapped me up and took me to his home.
'It was the strangest place. He lived in an old windmill. It had not worked for many years and was nearly a ruin. I imagine he got it very cheap—if, indeed, he paid any rent at all for it. But inside he had made it very comfortable. It was just a round tower, like most windmills, but of good, solid stonework. He lived in a little room at the bottom, which he had furnished with home–made chairs and tables and shelves. It had a little stove, whose pipe ran up the tower and out at the top. He had no family—lived all by himself and cooked his own meals. He had lots and lots of second–hand books, which he bought after the covers had fallen off them—very cheaply I suppose.
'He spent all his evenings reading and writing, I believe he was secretly writing a book himself, because he carefully kept all the sheets of paper he wrote on in a tin box in a hole in the floor. He was quite a character, but one of the nicest man I ever knew. He cleaned windows only because he needed money to live on. Of that I am sure. Because the windows of his own home were in a shocking state, so he evidently didn't polish glass for the love of it.
'And so I settled down to live with my funny new master. He was indeed an odd fellow. I believe if he had been able he would have spent all his time reading and writing. But he had to go to work in the morning and he was gone until tea–time. I used to look forward to Sunday, because then he was home all day. The rest of the week I felt rather lonely. When he left in the morning he locked up his old windmill with a home–made lock, and all day long I had nothing to do but watch the rats chase one another over his home–made furniture or look at the view through the window–cleaner's dirty window. And although the view was quite remarkable—the mill was on a hill on the outskirts of the town—you soon got used to it. And as for the rats, I always considered them vulgar creatures and their conversation and low games did not interest me.
'But the evenings were great fun. When he came home my friend would talk to me the whole time he was cooking his dinner. Of course, he had no idea I understood him. But I think he was glad of anyone to converse with. For he, too, led a very lonely life—and, what is more, he was not used to it, like me. Yes, he'd tell me the whole day's doings while he fried his eggs or stirred his soup—what houses he had been in, what sort of people he had seen, whether their windows were extra dirty, and if they had bird cages hanging in them or not. In this way he often brought me news of Aunt Rosie and my husband. Twink, and even of my children, who had gone to other houses whose windows he was accustomed to clean.
'I was puzzled about my strange friend a good deal—about what had been in his life before he took to this profession. If he had any relatives at all they did not live in these parts. He never got any letters, nor wrote any. He was a man cut off, as it were, from all his fellows. I often wondered whether he had brought this about himself, in order to keep his life undisturbed for studying and writing, or whether he had some secret which made it necessary for him to live thus—almost in hiding, as you might say.
'Well, the writer wore pleasantly on, and soon the spring was at hand once more. This was a time when my master was particularly busy, for everyone was doing spring–cleaning—which always means a lot of extra window washing. Some nights he did not get home till quite late. When the days got warmer he would put my cage outside on the wall. And one day he left me in the open air when he went to work in the morning.
'"It's a pleasant day, Pip," said he. "And I don't see why you should be shut up just because I'm not here. I'll be back early to lunch. It's Saturday and I mean to take a half holiday, no matter how many housekeepers want their windows cleaned."
'Then he took me up to the top of the mill tower, where there was an old, leaky, ramshackle room, which was never used. And he hung my cage outside the window on a nail. It was a difficult sort of place to get to because there wasn't any stair—just poles and ladders and things to scramble up by.
'"There you are, Pip," said he. "You'll be quite safe here. It's a sort of breaknecky place, but no worse than some of the window ledges I have to stand on at my job. I've put you here so you'll be safe from the cats, while I'm away. So long."
'Then he made his way down the tower again and I watched him come out of the door below and walk briskly away towards the town.
'It was very nice to be in the open. It was the first time my cage had been set out this year. The mild spring sunshine was invigorating and refreshing. From my lofty lookout I watched wild birds of various kinds flying here and there and everywhere.
'Lunch–time came, but my friend did not return.
'"Oh, well," I thought, "he has been delayed. He can't afford to disappoint his customers. Some old lady has asked him to stay on and do a few extra windows. He'll turn up soon."
'And even when tea–time came, and still he hadn't appeared. I continued to make excuses for him. But when the sun had set and the evening star was twinkling in the dusky sky and my cage had not yet been taken in I began to get really anxious.
'As the darkness settled down about my cage I began to shiver with the cold. It was still, you see, quite early in the year, and even indoors I was accustomed to have a cover over me.
'I got no sleep at all. All night I kept wondering what could have become of my friend. Had he fallen from some high place while cleaning windows? Had he been run over? Something must have happened to him, that was certain. Because he was always very thoughtful of me and he couldn't have forgotten that he had left me out in the open. And, even supposing that that had slipped his memory, he could never have forgotten that I would need food and fresh water by the end of the day.
'Well, the dawn came at last—after a night that seemed a whole eternity in length. As the sun gradually rose in the heavens and the warmth of it glowed upon my shivering wings my spirits revived somewhat. There was still a little seed left in my trough and some water in the pot. I was about to take breakfast—which I always did at sunrise—when it suddenly occurred to me that I had better economize and make my supply last as long as possible. Because the more I thought of it the more certain I became that I had seen the last of my good friend the window cleaner.
'You see, with an ordinary person who had a family living with him or friends calling at his house or tradesmen delivering daily goods, I would sooner or later have received assistance. But this man never had a soul come near him from one end of the year to the other. So I made up my mind to two things: first, something serious had happened to my owner; the second, that I need expect no help or food except by some chance accident. It was a bad outlook all around.
'Still, where there's life there's hope. I ate a very tiny breakfast—just enough to keep me going. Lunch–time came and I did the same—and the same again at dusk. Another cold, miserable night. Another shivering dawn. By now I had only a few grains of food left. My spirits were dreadfully low. I ate the last of my supply and, utterly worn out, fell asleep as the sun began to rise.
'Just how long I slept I don't know—till an hour or so beyond noon, I imagine. I was awakened by a great racket, and, opening my eyes, found the sky dark with rain clouds. A storm was brewing. Every few seconds great tongues of lightning flashed across the face of the gloomy heavens, followed by deafening crashes of thunder.
'As the first big drops of rain came plopping into the floor of my cage I saw I was in for a good soaking, in addition to my other troubles. But that storm was a blessing in disguise. Such a storm! I have never seen anything like it. My mill tower, placed where all the winds of heaven could reach it, got the full benefit of its fury. Five minutes after I woke up I was drenched and chilled to the marrow of my bones. I tried to crouch down under my water–pot and get some shelter that way. But it was no use. The gale blew the rain in every direction and there was no escaping it. The floor of my cage was just swimming in water.
'Suddenly I heard a rending crackling sound and saw a piece of mill roof hurtle earthward, through the air, just wrenched off the tower by the strength of the wind. In between the claps of thunder I heard other crashes below me. All sorts of things were being blown down or smashed by the tempest.
'And then, Zip! I felt my cage struck upwards, as though someone had hit the bottom with the palm of his hand. And the next minute I, too, was sailing earthwards. My cage had been blown off its nail.
'After my cage jumped off its nail and started smiling through the air, I haven't a very clear recollection of things. I remember feeling it turn over and over till I was giddy, and on its way down I think it struck a roof or something and bounced off. I clung to the perch with my claws—more out of fright than anything else—and just turned over with it as it spun.
'Then there was a crash. Suddenly I found myself sitting in a puddle on the ground, quite unharmed but very wet. The two halves of my cage, neatly broken in the centre, lay on either side of me. The rain was still beating down in torrents. I had landed on a cobble pavement, right in front of the mill. Under the steps there was a hole between the stones. I crept into the shelter of it and tried to collect my scattered wits while I waited for the rain to stop.
'"So," I thought to myself, "I am a free bird at last! If this storm hadn't come along and blown my cage down I would have starved to death up there in two or three more days, at most. Well, well! And now, after wondering so often what it would feel like to be uncaged, here I am—free! But oh, so hungry, so cold and so wet!"
'And thus—'
'But what happened to the window–cleaner?' Gub–Gub interrupted. 'Why hadn't he come back?'
'Wait and you will see,' said Pippinella severely.
'And thus began still another chapter of my story—when, after being born and brought up a cage bird I was suddenly made by Fate into a wild one. For the present, sad and unhappy though I was about my good friend the window cleaner, I only had two ideas in my mind—to get dry and to find food. I was literally starving.'