The Complete Polly and the Wolf

by Catherine Storr

  The next day, Polly, coming home from school, saw the wolf standing outside a shop and staring fixedly in at the window. She had hoped that he wouldn’t notice her, but just as she was behind him, he turned round. She was preparing to run, when he spoke.

  “Little girl!”

  Polly looked around. There were plenty of people walking up and down near by, but there was no other little girl in sight.

  “Little girl! Little girl!” the wolf said again.

  “Are you talking to me?” Polly asked.

  “Of course I am talking to you. You don’t think that when I talk to myself I call myself ‘little girl’, do you? I’m not little, for one thing, and I’m not a girl, for another. I don’t make stupid mistakes like that,” the wolf said irritably.

  “If you mean me, why don’t you say my name?” Polly asked.

  “Because I don’t know it, of course. You look remarkably like a girl called Polly, but I know you aren’t her because she is somewhere else, in disguise. That’s why I have to call you ‘little girl’. Now stop asking silly questions and give me a sensible answer for a change,” the wolf said.

  “A sensible answer to what?”

  The wolf pointed to the window he had been gazing at.

  “Do you see those two flies inside the window?”

  Polly looked. Sure enough, two flies were climbing up on the other side of the glass. As soon as one reached nearly to the top, it buzzed angrily down to the bottom again. The wolf was following their movements with great interest, his long tongue lolling out and sometimes twitching slightly.

  “Those flies. I daresay they look just the same to you, little girl? You can’t tell which is which? Can you?”

  Polly looked carefully and then said, “No, I can’t.”

  “You see no difference between them?”

  “Perhaps that one that’s crawling up now is a little bigger,” Polly said, pointing.

  “Nonsense. They are exactly the same. But I’ll tell you something that will surprise you. Although they look alike to you, I know which is which,” the wolf said.

  “Which is which, then? I mean, if they look exactly the same, what’s the difference between them?”

  “You’re trying to muddle me. What I mean is, I know which of them really is a proper fly and which isn’t.”

  “Which is the proper fly?” Polly asked.

  The wolf looked closely at both flies. Then he pointed. “That one.”

  “If that’s the real fly, what is the other one?” Polly asked.

  “Aha! Now, little girl, you are going to be surprised. That other fly— is a girl.”

  “A girl fly?”

  “Don’t be so stupid. Not a girl fly, a girl. A real girl, like you. A human girl. Young, plump. Well, plumpish. Delicious.”

  Polly looked at the two flies again. The real fly was doing the angry buzzing act down from the top of the window to the bottom. The fly who was really a girl was skipping up the glass. At this moment she stopped and began twiddling her front pair of legs.

  “You see? She knows that I know who she is. She is wringing her hands because she sees that I have penetrated her disguise and that in a moment I shall claim her as my own,” the wolf said, triumphant.

  “Flies often do that with their front legs. My mother says it looks like knitting,” Polly said.

  “Nonsense. Only flies that are really girls would do it. Look at the other fly. The real one.”

  As the wolf said this, the other fly also stopped on its path up the window and also knitted with its front legs.

  “You see?” Polly said.

  “He’s copying the Polly fly,” the wolf said quickly.

  “Polly?” said Polly.

  “That . . . Fly . . . Is . . . Only . . . Pretending to be a fly. She . . . Is . . . Really . . . A . . . Girl,” the wolf said in the loud slow tones used for speaking to fools or foreigners.

  “Why?” Polly asked.

  “I can’t go back to the beginning. All I can tell you is that there is a maddening child who lives round here, the one who looks rather like you, called Polly. She thinks she is clever. She believes that if she disguises herself as a fly, I shan’t know who she is, so she will escape from my clutches. But she’s not all that clever. I don’t suppose she’s any cleverer than you are. And I am much too clever for her. It didn’t take me any time to see that that was no ordinary fly.”

  “What happens next?” Polly asked, interested.

  “I catch her and eat her all up,” the wolf replied.

  “I wouldn’t think she’ll taste very good. Not if she’s still a fly.”

  “She won’t remain a fly. Directly I lay my paw on her and say her real name, she will be compelled to resume her ordinary shape. She’ll be a girl again, like you. And then . . . Yum!” the wolf said with gusto.

  “How are you going to lay your paw on her? Both those flies are inside the window and we’re outside,” Polly said.

  “I am now going into the shop to claim my prize,” the wolf said. He disappeared. Polly took the opportunity to get herself safely home to tea.

  •

  A day or two later, Polly, walking down the High Street, caught sight of the wolf standing very close to a group of three stout, elderly ladies, who were talking to each other as they waited for the bus. They were so busy gossiping that they didn’t notice the wolf edging nearer and nearer, until he was within touching distance of the stoutest of the ladies. His paw was raised to touch the stoutest lady on the shoulder, when she turned her head and saw a very large, dark person standing uncomfortably close.

  “Here! Move off, can’t you? No one asked you to join the party,” she said, taking a surprised step backwards.

  “Aha!” the wolf said.

  “Pardon? What’s that supposed to mean?” the stoutest lady asked.

  “I said, Aha. You can’t deceive me . . .”

  “Here! Who do you think you’re talking to? You be careful, me lad, or I’ll get the police on to you.”

  “It’s no good. I know you,” the wolf said.

  “I don’t know you. And I don’t want to, so take yourself off,” the stoutest lady said, raising her umbrella threateningly. The two women behind her pressed closer and one of them seized a handful of the wolf’s fur.

  “You are Polly, and I claim you as my own,” the wolf said, trying to lay a paw on the stoutest lady’s shoulder.

  There was a scuffle. There were cries of “Keep your dirty paws off me!” and “Who do you think you are?” and “Never been so insulted in my life.” Someone was calling for the police. Others were trying to beat the wolf with sticks or umbrellas. One of the stout ladies was having hysterics. The wolf was howling with rage and pain. It was lucky for him that just then the huge red bus lumbered up, and since it was already late and the next one probably wouldn’t be there for nearly an hour, the stout ladies had to leave him on the pavement, and climb into the bus, murmuring angrily as they went.

  Polly felt almost sorry for the wolf. This did not prevent her from keeping a safe distance the next day, when she saw him standing disconsolately on a bridge that ran over a motorway not far from her home. He looked bedraggled. One ear had been torn, and there were small bare patches on his neck as if handfuls of fur had been pulled out. He was peering down at the motorway beneath the bridge, and Polly was wondering whether to go home and hope that he hadn’t seen her, when he called out to her.

  “Little girl! Little girl!”

  “If he doesn’t recognize me, perhaps it’s safe to stay,” Polly thought, and she moved a little nearer.

  “Little girl! Come and look at this bridge,” the wolf said.

  “I’m looking,” Polly said.

  “Have you noticed anything funny about it?” the wolf asked.

  “No, I haven’t. What’s funny about it?” Polly called back.

  “Ssssh. Don’t shout like that. She might hear.”

  “Who might hear?”

  “Polly.”


  “Where is Polly?” Polly asked. She wanted to see just how stupid the wolf could be.

  “She has turned herself into a bridge this time,” the wolf said.

  “A bridge? Why?”

  “You must be the same little girl who was so stupid last time I tried to explain about Polly. She turns herself into different shapes so that I shan’t recognize her. Don’t you remember? Last time she was disguised as an old lady. The time before that she was a fly. This time it’s a bridge. In the stories it’s a bridge over a river, but there doesn’t seem to be a river round here, so I suppose she thought a motorway would do instead. She’s made one mistake, though.”

  “What’s that?” Polly asked.

  “This bridge hasn’t got a road going over it. And it’s got steps each end. That’s stupid. How can cars climb up steps?”

  “This bridge isn’t meant for cars. It’s meant for people,” Polly said.

  “Nonsense. Bridges are meant for cars. And horses and carts. Why should there be a bridge just for people? They can walk across a bridge for cars, but cars can’t climb stairs and get across a silly bridge like this. That’s how I know it isn’t a real bridge. It’s that stupid little Polly,” the wolf said.

  “So what are you going to do?” Polly asked.

  “I shall seize her and tell her that I know that it’s her. Then she has to go back to her real shape. Then I shall eat her,” the wolf said.

  “That’s what you said before,” Polly said.

  “When? What did I say before? Something very intelligent, I’m sure.”

  “When you were watching those flies. What happened to them?”

  “The flies. Oh, that,” the wolf said.

  “Yes, that. Wasn’t one of the flies Polly after all?”

  “Of course it was. I told you so at the time,” the wolf said.

  “Then why didn’t you catch her and eat her up?” Polly asked.

  “It was very confusing. They buzzed so. And rushed up and down the window. You saw for yourself. They were very much alike, you must agree.”

  “I couldn’t tell which was which,” Polly said.

  “Exactly. That was the difficulty,” the wolf said.

  “So you got the wrong one?”

  “I laid my paw on the Polly fly and said her name. Nothing happened. I had got the real fly by mistake. Meanwhile the other fly, the Polly fly, had gone. Flown. It was most disappointing.”

  “What went wrong with the old ladies?” Polly asked.

  The wolf looked surprised and pained.

  “It was a disgraceful affair. I should prefer not to talk about it. I was treated abominably.”

  “And now you’ve discovered that Polly is disguised as this bridge?” Polly asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “What are you waiting for? When are you going to lay your hand on this bridge and say that you know who it really is?” Polly asked. She was ready to run if she thought the wolf might come to his senses and make a grab for the real Polly.

  “I’m just making sure in my mind that I remember how to swim,” the wolf said.

  “What has swimming got to do with it?” Polly asked, surprised.

  The wolf groaned loudly.

  “I must say that for sheer stupidity you beat even that stupid little Polly I was telling you about. Don’t you ever read a good book? Don’t you know that the princess turns herself into a bridge, and the dragon or the giant or the wolf who is after her stands on the bridge and says her real name and then she turns back into a princess again? And then the dragon, or whoever it is, falls into the river below and is drowned. That’s because dragons are stupid. But I am not stupid. I have very cleverly had swimming lessons in the public baths. I just have to remember how to work my front and back legs, and I shan’t drown. Instead I shall quickly swim to the river bank, climb out and eat up the princess. I mean, I shall eat up the Polly.”

  “But there isn’t a river under this bridge,” Polly pointed out.

  The wolf looked down at the endless procession of lorries, cars and coaches passing beneath the bridge.

  “No. I had forgotten. In that case there’s no need to wait. I don’t have to remember how to swim and I needn’t get my fur wet. So much the better.” He turned towards the middle of the bridge.

  “Wolf!” Polly called after him.

  “What is it now?”

  “When you say Polly’s name and the bridge disappears, you won’t be in a river, but you will be down there,” Polly said, pointing down to the motorway.

  “What about it?” the wolf said.

  “The traffic won’t stop for you. All the cars and coaches and things are going much too fast. Their brakes couldn’t work quickly enough. You’ll get run over. Squashed. Flat as a pancake,” Polly said.

  The wolf stopped. He looked over the railing to the stream of traffic below.

  “Are you quite sure they won’t stop?” he asked.

  “Quite sure.”

  “You wouldn’t like to do a small scientific experiment? You jump down there and we shall see how many cars stop and what happens to you?”

  “No, thank you, Wolf. I wouldn’t like to do that at all,” said clever Polly.

  The wolf returned from the middle of the bridge and stood carefully to one side.

  “Do you think I should be safe if I fell from here?” he asked.

  “It’s still quite a long way to fall on to the ground,” Polly said.

  “What would you suggest then?”

  “I think you should go over to the other side. Then you should go down the steps to the bottom, so that you don’t fall anywhere. Then you can lay your paw on that end of the bridge and tell it that you know it’s Polly,” Polly said.

  “You are really quite a kind little girl. And not as much stupider than Polly as I thought,” the wolf said, preparing to do as Polly had advised. Halfway across the bridge he turned and looked back.

  “Wait there and see the great transformation! See a bridge turn into a Polly and get snapped up by the clever wolf,” he shouted.

  But Polly knew better than that. Before the wolf had got down the steps on the further side of the motorway, Polly had run home. She didn’t want to risk being chased and caught, when the wolf discovered that the bridge was only a bridge after all.

  2. The Great Eating Competition

  “I DARE you!” the wolf said loudly. He had to speak loudly, because he and Polly had met in the High Street on a Saturday morning, and there were plenty of other noises, over which he wanted to make himself heard. Cars were grinding up the hill, horns were blowing, motorbikes were revving, children were calling, babies were yelling and people were shouting so that their friends could hear what they were saying.

  “What do you dare me to do?” Polly shouted back.

  “A trial of strength. A trial of something or other. You know the sort of thing. We could try which of us could lift the heaviest stone.”

  “There aren’t any heavy stones around here,” Polly said, looking up and down the High Street.

  “We could try that lady. I’m sure she weighs as much as a really large stone.” The wolf pointed a paw towards a very large lady, just about to go over a zebra crossing.

  “I wouldn’t try to lift her, if I were you. If you did, she’d probably call the police and have you put in prison.” Polly wasn’t sure whether or not the wolf might have been able to lift the lady, but she was quite sure that she herself would not be able to.

  “Oh, all right. You suggest something, then,” the wolf said, sulkily.

  “Shall we see who can talk the fastest?” Polly asked.

  “That’s mean! You know you’d win that. Not because I haven’t got plenty to say, and very well worth saying too. But because I like to think before I speak.”

  “I’ve read a story where the people tried to see who could tell the biggest lie,” Polly said.

  “I am shocked. I am horrified. I thought you were a good, truth-telling girl,” the w
olf said primly. He spoiled the effect by asking quickly, “What did they say? What was the biggest lie?”

  “I meant a made-up story. Like someone saying he’d taken a bite out of the moon,” Polly said.

  “Really? That would explain a lot. I have often wondered why the moon so often seems to have suffered from some sort of attack. Sometimes from one side, sometimes from the other. Often you can see just where someone has taken a bite out of her. I never knew that before,” the wolf said, considering the matter.

  “But I didn’t mean that that was true. I meant, that was the sort of story someone might make up.”

  “But why should he say so if it isn’t true?”

  “To see if anyone else could think of a bigger lie,” Polly said.

  “Easy! Anything would be a bigger lie than saying that there is someone taking bites out of the moon. You can see that it’s true every now and then, by just looking at her.”

  Polly felt unable to go on with the subject. It was obviously not going to be possible to convince the wolf that someone was not regularly taking mouthfuls of moon. She waited for his next remark.

  “I’ll tell you what. Suppose we have a competition to see which of us could eat up the other one fastest,” the wolf said.

  Polly thought about this. She was puzzled. “How would that work?” she asked.

  “Simple. Simple to anyone with any brains, that is. Suppose I start eating you at, say, ten o’clock this morning . . .”

  Polly looked at the clock tower. The clock showed that it was now a quarter to ten.

  “We have an umpire, with a watch. I eat as fast as I can, and when I have finished, snap, gobble-you-up, crackle, crunch, I tell him so. He looks around to make sure that there’s nothing left that could reasonably be considered eatable. I shouldn’t be eating your clothes, you know, Polly. I should kindly leave them for you or another little girl to use again.”

  “But they wouldn’t be much use to me if you’d eaten me all up,” Polly pointed out.

  The wolf took no notice of this and hurried on. “So, I tell the umpire. He looks at his watch and he sees that I have taken exactly forty minutes. Fifty perhaps. It would depend on how tough you had turned out to be, and on other details which I won’t mention just now. Then the umpire announces that I have won. Easy!” The wolf sounded very much pleased with himself.