COMPETITION

Mini-story

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1422 you were in- vited to write a story beginning 'The parrot swore. . .' and ending, 'It would have been all right if only it had been raining.' Despite a multitude of entries there was a paucity of talent this week. Nearly all of you seemed to labour over the transition from the bird to the lack of rain. Perhaps it was more difficult than it looked when I set ir: There were two sorts of parrots I disapproved of — the over-articulate and the really foul-mouthed. Lettice Buxton, Noel Petty and David Harris get com- mendations, the winners below get £12 each, and the bonus bottle of Comte de Robart Champagne (Rosé Brut), pre- sented by the Ebury Wine Company, 139 Ebury Street, London SW1, goes to Peter Lyon.

The parrot swore.

We were on Maskelyne's balcony, looking over London.

`,I beg your pardon?' I said.

My parrot,' said Maskelyne smoothly. 'He's well taught.'

`Hardly relevant.'

`You think not? Polly?' The parrot shook its feathers, then said quite clearly: `Mr Carteret stole ten thousand pounds from his firm.' After a pause, it added: 'Fiddled the computer.' I'll wring its bloody neck!' I said angrily. `And yours too!' `Murder is worse than fraud, Carteret,' said Maskelyne. "The bird will be put down . . . under certain circumstances.'

`Like passing you five thousand pounds?' Maskelyne inclined his head. 'A pleasant thought.' I had already plugged in and switched on. One terminal was clipped to the balcony rail. I touched him with the other. His face contorted, then he pulled away from the rail and kicked me in the groin.

`Mercifully,' he said as he stood over me, 'I have very dry hands.'

It would have been all right if only it had been raining.

(Peter Lyon) The parrot swore genteelly. Peachum used words like 'sugar' where coarser birds damned a thing honestly.

Peachum's torrent of carbohydrate expletives was ruining Archie's health. For months he hadn't slept more than five minutes at a time. When asked why he didn't throttle the creature Archie explained that his aunt had bequeathed him Peachum. 'She taught him all he knows.'

`And you say there's half a million goes with his upkeep?' asked Bernard.

`Yes, And if he dies prematurely Auntie's will specifies an inquest. Any signs of foul play and I lose all. It's mortifying. I'm stuck with Peachum if I want to remain residuary legatee.'

`I'd no idea your aunt was so rich.'

`Mostly she wasn't. But one Grand National she backed Butterfly, a lightweight outsider, 300-1. No one reckoned he had a chance. Cleaned up a bundle. And now I can't afford not to keep Peachum. Funny really. I might have lived a poor but rested life. It would have been all right if only it had been raining.'

(Charles Mosley) The parrot swore, shifted slightly on its perch and added, as an afterthought, 'Pardon my French.' I decided that I preferred the MTV mode; the vocabulary of expletives was richer and the unexpected 'More tea, vicar?' always drew a laugh.

Through the window I could see ADAM at his work, watering plants and pulling up weeds. Soon he would be mowing the lawn. Then something seemed to go wrong. ADAM stopped in his tracks, turned and walked out of sight. When he reappeared, he was dressed in a raincoat and wellingtons and carried an umbrel- la. Abandoning the plants, he proceeded to throw covers over all the garden furniture. Perhaps the over-sensitive detector in his hat was unable to distinguish between summer showers and bird droppings. The illusion had been destroyed. My electronic parrot would fool an ornithologist; but with the sun shining down from a cloudless sky nobody would take my Ambulatory Domestic and Agricultural Mechanism for anything but a robot. It would have been all right if only it had been raining.

(Keith Norman) The parrot swore again. With a muttered oath, Guy hurled an empty whisky bottle.

`Careful, Pritchard, mind the oil lamp,' Hardy said.

The reply was curt, dismissive: "Lamp's OK. Cheap. Bloody night rains make everything damp.'

The dig had nearly been a disaster, due entirely to Guy's tactlessness and obstinacy. Yet, now, they were on the brink of success, thanks to Hardy's own perspicacity and local knowledge. As he left the tent, Hardy reflected on how Guy, as nominal leader, would un- doubtedly take all the credit when they got back. Suddenly he smiled. Pritchard had never been here in May before. In May, the night rains did not fall. Then he swore. Not in his own voice, but in the screech of Guy's monstrous parrot. Something was hurled inside the tent. A book, maybe. In a second or two, the tent was in flames, the dry canvas burning like tinder.

Later, back in England, Hardy told the reporters: 'Everything would have been all right if only it had been raining.'

(Morris Clarke)