Part II Chapter 2 Doctor Dolittle's Return by Hugh Lofting
THE NATURALISTS' PARADISE
"And so you see," the Doctor went on, "for quite a while after Stubbins left I was kept very busy learning more and more about this strange new state. It fascinated me. I had never seen anything like it before. I saw at once that while the Moon Man had done so much, there was a lot left for me to do too. I assure you I had no conceit about that. Beside this other human, as old and experienced as the moon herself, I felt like a very humble little creature. But I had something of science which he had not; my mind was trained to make deductions, to reason—from my own experiences and those of others—as well as from history, human history, geological history, natural history.
"And besides wishing to help Otho Bludge—which I think I did do with scientific and medical advice—I began to wonder more and more how much of this new way of living could be brought about in my own home world, the earth. I will speak of that again later. But the first thing I gave my attention to in this connection was the foods of the moon."
"Ah!" said Gub-Gub, sitting up.
"There were many members of the pumpkin family—melons, calabashes, squashes, luffas, marrows, cucumbers and what not. Most of them were good to eat. But any one who picked a ripe fruit had to keep one of its seeds after he had eaten it. That was a law made by the Council.
"Well, again by questioning Otho and, later, by talking with the moon creatures directly, I learned that certain members of the moon pumpkin family were terribly fattening. Not only just flesh-making, but they made your whole figure—bones and all—taller, wider and deeper. You became a giant if you didn't look out. It was quite clear that only a few living things on the moon had stayed the same size as they are on the earth. It was almost impossible to avoid growth to some extent up there. The poor Moon Man himself had become a giant, and he remained a giant. But he told me that at one time he was much bigger than he was when I met him. Some of the foods were much more fattening than others. Stubbins and I sprouted up like beanstalks the first few weeks we were there. Otho, however, was able to give me lists of certain foods which he had found the best for keeping your size down as much as possible.
"Next I turned my attention to the length of life on the moon. This was most interesting, but often I was very puzzled when it came to getting any definite information about ages. From weeks and weeks of study I came to the conclusion that nearly all kinds of life as I saw them up there had stayed the same for many thousands of years. Certain kinds, like the whispering vines and the singing trees, were much older than the rest.
"For quite a while after that I just had an awfully good time. I asked myself, 'Why bother about returning to the earth? This is a naturalists' paradise. Adding your scientific knowledge to what Otho Bludge has done here will keep you busy all your days. And what better work could you be employed in? Keep the Moon Man in good health; cure his rheumatism for him whenever he falls ill; and just go on this way. Why worry? Maybe you, John Dolittle, will yourself live for ever—or anyhow as long as the moon lives, which will probably be many thousands of years yet.' That's what I said to myself.
"But after a while I began to wonder—to wonder and wonder, about something. And about this something I started to take notes. By the way, Stubbins, on the note-taking I missed you badly. You had done it for me so long, you know. But Polynesia here was my salvation."
"But how? She can't keep notes," snorted Gub-Gub.
"No," laughed the Doctor, "but she has a memory that is often better than any note-book. It's almost like a letter-box you drop things into. You tell her to remember something when you're experimenting and she will always be able to fish it up out of her old head when you ask for it again later. I don't know what I would have done without her."
Polynesia cocked one eye at the ceiling, twisted her head a couple of times and tried hard not to look pleased by the Doctor's flattery. Then she said, sighing,
"Ah, well, that's the difference between people and parrots. Men when they get old say they can remember things in their childhood quite plainly—the things far off. But those that happened only yesterday, the things near to now, they can hardly remember at all. You talk about long life in the moon, Doctor: what about me? I'm a hundred and eighty years old—and how much more, I'm not telling. How much longer I'll live, I don't know. Maybe I'm only a child yet myself, and that's why I'm as good as a note-book for remembering. Anyway, when I met King Charles hiding in the oak-tree in England, he was trying to remember how many soldiers he had seen chasing him—awful scared he was, talking to himself, you know. And I—Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I mustn't interrupt you, Doctor. Go on with the story."
"The thing for which I now started to keep notes," said the Doctor, "was how much of this well-regulated, smoothly running world could be copied down here among us. The thought kept coming back to me, stronger and stronger each time. Always, even when I was an ordinary doctor and took care of people, natural history—animals, insects, plants, trees, fossils, rocks—had been my hobby. That hobby had become my life. And yet any one who studies natural history must come to fear sooner or later that all life faces a losing game down here with us."
"Excuse me, Doctor," said the white mouse, "but I don't quite understand what you mean."
"Life keeps on killing life," said the Doctor. "Don't you see? The fly is swallowed by the fish; the fish is eaten by the duck; the duck is devoured by the fox; the fox is slaughtered by the wolf; the wolf is shot by the man. And then men—the only ones on top in our world—turn round and kill one another in war."
There was a short silence. Dab-Dab had brought a pile of linen with her (the housekeeper always kept herself busy, even while listening to a story). She was turning over a stack of table napkins, looking for tears and holes.
"I told you that, Doctor," she said quietly-"long ago, when you wanted to start your Country House for House-Flies."
"Yes, yes," said the Doctor, frowning thoughtfully. "My idea with that was that if I gave the house-flies a house for themselves—full of sugar, you know, and all that—maybe they would leave people's houses alone. It didn't work. They ate up all the sugar and came back to my house. But there you are, Whitey: that's what I mean. It's a losing game. Any naturalist who tries to save one kind of creature in our world finds out sooner or later that he is taking away the food from some other blessed creature—or making life impossible for himself. I had never had anything against the house-flies, except that they would tickle the back of my neck when I was trying to write. And, as a medical man, I knew that they carry germs of disease. But they don't mean to. They're merely going about their own business like the rest of us."
"They're a pest," said Dab-Dab, laying aside a napkin that needed mending.
"Oh, quite, quite," said the Doctor. "But I'm sure they have some good in them somewhere—though I confess it's pretty hard to find. But you can all very well see, can't you? that when I found a world which was run along sensible lines, where no kind of life trod on the toes of any other kind of life, I began to wonder if something of those ideas could not be brought home and started here. That accounts for the note-taking, those bundles and bundles of palm-leaf paper which made up such a large part of my baggage, Stubbins. It is out of those notes that I will write my book."
"There's plenty of time for that, Doctor," sighed Dab-Dab. She spread out a wollen antimacassar eaten full of holes. "Moths!" she hissed in disgust, and threw it aside.