by Michael Bond
“On your way!”
Paddington didn’t wait to hear any more. Without even asking for his voucher back, he made for the door.
On his way out he bumped into a lady about to enter. Raising his hat politely, he held it open for her and as he did he saw she was carrying several cartons of milk.
“If I were you, Miss Pringle,” he said, “I wouldn’t go anywhere near the man in charge. I don’t think he’s in a very good mood this morning.”
Once he was outside, Paddington disappeared back down the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. He was vaguely aware of the sound of a car horn and someone shouting, but he didn’t slow down until the green front door of number thirty-two Windsor Gardens had slammed shut behind him. Even then he slid one of the bolts across, just in case.
“Where have you been?” said Judy, as she helped him off with his duffle coat. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
While he was getting his breath back Paddington did his best to explain.
“Oh, dear,” said Judy. “Poor you! But never mind. It was a lovely thought and that’s what counts the most. Besides, if we had gone away you’d have missed Mrs Bird’s turkey. Who knows what we might have ended up eating instead?”
“Anyway,” she handed Paddington a half opened package with a Peruvian stamp on it. “It’s your Christmas parcel from Aunt Lucy and I’m afraid it got stuck in the letter box.”
Paddington stared at a battered Advent calendar inside the paper. It was resting on top of some table mats.
Every Christmas without fail, a parcel arrived from the Home for Retired Bears in Lima containing presents for all the family. It was one of the many ways in which the residents whiled away their time. If it wasn’t jam making, it was knitting balaclava helmets, or weaving table mats.
Mrs Bird would never have said anything for fear of hurting Paddington’s feelings, but the mats were nothing if not long wearing, and over the years she had filled several kitchen drawers with them.
In any case, the most important item was always the calendar specially made by Aunt Lucy herself for Paddington.
“All my doors have come open!” he exclaimed hotly.
“It wasn’t the postman’s fault,” said Judy. “For some reason there were more mats than usual, and when he tried getting it through the letter box it stuck halfway.”
“Perhaps I could glue them shut,” said Paddington hopefully.
“You’ll never get them open again if you do,” said Mrs Bird, joining in the conversation. “Leave it with me. I’ll give it a good going-over while I’m doing the ironing.”
“In the meantime, said Jonathan. “No peeping.”
As Mrs Bird disappeared into the kitchen taking the Advent calendar with her, Paddington hurried to the front door and peered through the letter box to see if by any chance the postman was still doing his rounds, but all he saw instead was a long black car driving slowly past.
It was the longest one he had ever seen. In fact it was so long he didn’t think it was ever going to end, and he went back to the living room to tell Jonathan and Judy.
“It sounds like a stretch limo,” said Jonathan, knowedgeably.
“It was a very slow one,” said Paddington. “It tried to stop and then it went on again. I think the man driving it was looking for somewhere to park.”
“I bet you couldn’t see anyone in the back,” said Jonathan.
Paddington shook his head. “The windows were all dark.”
“That was a stretch limo all right,” said Jonathan.
“It must be someone very important,” said Judy.
A thought suddenly struck her. She turned to her brother. “You don’t think… it isn’t someone looking for ‘you know who’?”
“Who’s that?” asked Paddington.
Judy put a hand to her mouth, but before she had time to answer there was a ring at the front door bell.
“I was right!” she cried. “What are we going to do?”
Taking hold of one of the long curtains at the French windows, Jonathan signalled to Paddington. “Quick! Hide behind here.”
Paddington had no idea what the others were talking about, but he could tell by the tone of their voices that it was urgent, and by then his knees were shaking so much he didn’t wait to ask.
As soon as Paddington was safely hidden Jonathan turned back to his sister. “I told you we should have done something about making a trap door in the floorboards for him.”
Before Judy had time to answer there was a loud sneeze.
“Pardon me!” called Paddington.
“Ssh!” said Judy.
“The curtains are tickling my nose and I can’t find my handkerchief,” cried Paddington. “I think it must be in one of my duffle coat pockets.”
“Too late!” groaned Jonathan, as the sound of voices drew near and the door handle began to turn.
“Guess who’s here!” said Mrs Bird.
Scanning the room, her eagle eyes immediately spotted movement behind the curtain. “You’d better come out, Paddington. There’s someone to see you.”
Both Jonathan and Judy stared at their visitor in amazement. Much to their relief, anything less like a Government Inspector would have been hard to imagine. He was much too short for a start; not a great deal taller than Paddington.
His clothes also had to be seen to be believed. Topped by a wide brimmed straw hat worn squarely on his head, the bottom half, or the little of it that could be seen beneath a multi coloured cloak, was a mixture of styles. The top half appeared to be a black dinner jacket which looked as though it had seen better days, while the khaki trousers, full of bulging pockets, looked more suited to the jungle.
On the other hand, his boots were so highly polished you could have seen your face in them.
When the stranger spoke it was with a mixture of accents, none of which they could immediately place.
“Remember me, sobrino?” he called. “Caught up with you at long last.”
At the sound of the voice, Paddington emerged from behind the curtain and hurried across the room, paws outstretched.
“Uncle Pastuzo!” he exclaimed.
“Thank goodness for that!” whispered Judy, taking her brother’s hand.
“Who would have thought it?” said Jonathan. “Wonders will never cease.”
All of a sudden it felt as though the cloud which had been hanging over their heads had disappeared of its own accord.
ENVELOPING PADDINGTON IN his poncho, Uncle Pastuzo gave him a huge hug. “Thought I would never find you, sobrino. You ask me how? Is another story. I tell you sometime.
“Been twice round the world since last July.”
“You must be dying for a cup of tea,” said Mrs Brown.
Along with Mr Brown, she had arrived on the scene rather later than the others, and they were both trying to catch up on events.
Letting go of Paddington, their visitor produced a large watch on the end of a chain. “Gone ten of the clock and I no have breakfast yet!”
“Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs Bird. “I’ll get you something straight away.”
Uncle Pastuzo kissed her hand. “Gracias, beautiful señorita,” he said. “That is music to my ears.”
“We have several kinds of cereal…” Mrs Bird went quite pink as she began ticking off various alternatives on her fingers. “There’s porridge… kippers… bacon and eggs… sausages… black pudding… kedgeree… fried potato… toast and marmalade…”
“Sounds great to me, señorita!” said Uncle Pastuzo, smacking his lips.
The Browns exchanged glances. From the back view of Mrs Bird as she bustled off towards the kitchen it was hard to tell what she was thinking and they feared the worst, but a moment or so later they relaxed when they heard the sound of pots and pans being put to work.
“You know something about travel?” said Uncle Pastuzo. “It makes you hungry.”
“However did you find us?” asked Mrs Brown.
“It was written i
n the stars. Heard tell on the grapevine there was a bear living in London. Had a railroad station named after him.”
“I think,” said Mrs Brown gently. “You will find it was the other way round.”
“That is not how it was told to me, señora,” said Uncle Pastuzo, “so when I reach London I head for the station, and there I see a newspaper headline. Knew at once who they were talking about.”
He turned to Paddington. “Began cruising the area. Next thing I know, you are coming out of a shop that has big globe in the window…”
“Oyster Travels,” said Paddington.
“Right in one. So what happens? I get out of my limo and shout your name, but by then you had vanished into the crowd.”
“I was hoping to take everyone round the world too,” said Paddington sadly, “but I only had one Air Mile.”
“Sobrino, when I get back home you can have all mine,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “By now there should be enough to take you anywhere you wish.”
“I don’t know anyone who’s been round the world once,” said Jonathan, “let alone twice.”
“Took wrong path in Africa,” said Uncle Pastuzo simply. “Turned right instead of left. Went back on myself. Thought everything was beginning to look the same.”
“How about your car?” asked Mr Brown. “I wouldn’t want it to get towed away. They’re rather hot on that kind of thing round here.”
“No problem,” said Uncle Pastuzo cheerfully. “Fits your front drive like a dream; all ten metres of it! Could have been made to measure.”
“I’m sure Paddington’s uncle will have it moved when you want to get yours out, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, catching the look on her husband’s face. “Better that than have it towed away.”
“Too true it is!” agreed Uncle Pastuzo. “Rules and regulations! People invent the motor car and make things so you can’t live without one. Then others come along and make it impossible to live with it! Poppycock!”
“Yes, well…” began Mr Brown. “You try saying that to a traffic warden.”
“I did,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “One of them tried to give me a ticket when I came out of that oyster place. Only been in there two minutes.”
Producing a giant dagger from under his poncho, he ran his free paw along the length of the blade. “I tell him, you want to watch it, gringo!”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs Brown. “I hope you didn’t give him our address.”
Uncle Pastuzo chuckled. “Me? I was not born yesterday. Gave him your neighbour’s number. Hombre name of Curry. Heard all about him from Lucy. Seems you two don’t get on too well.”
“You are in touch with Paddington’s Aunt Lucy?” said Mrs Brown, anxious to change the subject.
“First stop when I set out,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “There she was, large as life, and twice as happy in the Home for Retired Bears. Knitting away in her rocking chair like there was no tomorrow. Could hardly hear myself think for all the needles clicking: tea cosies, bed socks, scarves… you call that retirement?
“She tell me your address. Only thing is, I remember the number of your house, but forget the name of the road. Not like Darkest Peru. Where I live we only got one. Straight up to the top of the mountain and straight back down again. Got the rest of the address from that Oyster place. That was when I know it was meant.”
He turned to Paddington. “Spoke to man in there with bad twitch. Said he knew you well, sobrino. Seems like you are not the apple of his eye.”
“You will be staying, of course,” broke in Mrs Brown. “We can make a room ready while you are having your breakfast.”
Uncle Pastuzo glanced out at the garden. “No need,” he said, pointing to the summerhouse. “Give me hammer and nail and that will suit me just fine. Like a palace.”
“Are you sure?” asked Mrs Brown. “Won’t you be cold?”
“You haven’t slept outside in the Andes in the middle of winter,” said Uncle Pastuzo.
“That’s true,” admitted Mrs Brown.
“Wake up most mornings with icicles on your whiskers. Those that have them,” he added hastily, not wishing to offend.
“I’d better move the lawn mower,” said Mr Brown.
He paused. “Er… forgive my asking, but why do you need a hammer and a nail?”
“Need somewhere to hang this.” Uncle Pastuzo reached for his hat. “Home is where you hang it.”
With a quick flick he sent his own hat flying across the room. It hovered for a brief moment near the ceiling before landing gently on top of a standard lamp.
“Gosh!” said Jonathan admiringly. “I wish I could do that.”
“I teach you,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “Is what they call a knack.”
“It may be a knack,” said Mrs Brown, fearing for her china, “but it might not be so easy with a school cap.”
“Meantime,” said Uncle Pastuzo, ignoring the interruption, “I give Señorita Bird a hand. Make sure she does eggs the way I like. Over easy, sunny side up.”
“May I come too?” asked Paddington eagerly.
The Browns looked at each other when they were on their own
“What do you think he meant when he said ‘Home is where you hang your hat’?” asked Mrs Brown. “It sounded a bit permanent to me.”
“How long is a piece of string?” said Mr Brown. “I know one thing; if breakfast is anything to go by we’d better get some more supplies in before the shops close for Christmas.”
In the end it was Mrs Bird who answered most of their questions. Clearly she couldn’t wait to unburden herself when she returned at long last.
“That should keep them quiet for a while,” she said, undoing her apron. “Besides, there is a lot of catching up to do. I’ve left Paddington in charge of the toast and marmalade.”
“Tell us the worst,” said Mr Brown.
“Well…” Mrs Bird took a deep breath. “Paddington’s uncle lives high up in the Andes mountains in an area which is rich in all kinds of precious metals; copper, gold, silver… platinum. Now, who do you think benefits the most?”
“The people who dig for it?” suggested Jonathan.
“Wrong,” said Mrs Bird.
“Their employers?” hazarded Judy.
“Wrong again,” said Mrs Bird.
“If the car parked in our front drive is anything to go by,” said Mr Brown, “Uncle Pastuzo.”
“Right,” said Mrs Bird. “He has a little store at the top of one of the biggest mines, and when the workers come up at the end of their shift, hot, tired and above all thirsty, he’s there ready and waiting with hot dogs and ice-cold drinks.
“They may have spent their time underground looking for precious metals, but Uncle Pastuzo has his own gold mine at the top. In any case, there is nowhere else to spend their earnings.
“Having grown wealthy over the years, he now wants to see a bit of the world while he can. As he says, you can’t take it with you.”
“He told you all that while you were cooking his breakfast?” said Mrs Brown.
“And a lot more besides,” said Mrs Bird. “There’s nothing like getting together over a kitchen stove to make people open up.”
“Er… while you were chatting, did you get any idea of how long he plans to stay?” asked Mr Brown.
“As far as I’m concerned,” said Mrs Bird, “he can make it as long as he likes.
“He has the same big brown eyes as certain others I could name,” she added dreamily, “and he’s very polite. You can see where Paddington gets it from – along with his Aunt Lucy, of course.”
“So what more can you tell us?” asked Mrs Brown.
“Just you wait and see,” said Mrs Bird mysteriously. “It’s his idea and I wouldn’t want to spoil it; especially as it’s meant to be a surprise for Paddington.”
And there, for the time being, matters rested.
After his mammoth breakfast, Paddington’s uncle went outside to his car and returned carrying a suitcase. Laying it down in the middle of the floo
r, he opened the lid, pressed a button, and a small folding bed began to erect itself. It was followed by a whirr and a hiss of air as a mattress took shape.
“Bought it in Hong Kong,” he said, briefly.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something bigger?” asked Mrs Brown.
Uncle Pastuzo shook his head. “They say that to me when I stay at the Ritz Hotel, in Paris, France. They no like it when I say I prefer my bed to theirs. I tell them – if they no let me use my bed, then I camp out in front of their hotel and hang my washing out to dry. They like that even less.”
“It’s a wonder they didn’t have you arrested.” said Mr Brown.
Uncle Pastuzo jingled some coins in a trouser pocket. “Not so as you would notice… buenas noches.”
Having said good night, Paddington’s uncle opened the French windows, gathered his belongings together and headed towards the summerhouse.
“I’d better move the lawn mower,” said Mr Brown.
“Don’t forget the hammer and nails,” called Mrs Brown.
“It must be nice to be so independent,” she continued, closing the door after them. “But it is rather unsettling for the rest of us. I wonder when he wants to be woken?”
“I should leave him be for the time being,” said Mrs Bird. “It’s best to let sleeping bears lie.”
“Perhaps he’s hibernating,” suggested Jonathan.
“Our geography mistress says bears don’t hibernate in the true sense of the word,” said Judy. “On the other hand, some of them do go to sleep for months at a time. Perhaps we should ask Paddington?”
“Don’t put ideas into that bear’s head,” warned Mrs Bird. “He has more than enough in there already.”
As things turned out, however, they were all wrong about Uncle Pastuzo. The next morning he was up bright and early, and after announcing he ‘had matters to deal with’, disappeared soon after breakfast and didn’t arrive back until late that afternoon.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” said Mrs Brown, “what do you picture doing for the rest of the day?”
“You mean, what are we doing?” said Uncle Pastuzo.
There was a toot from the limousine outside.
